I’ve been on SP for a few months now, reading, occasionally commenting. More often than not, opening posts, beginning to reply, and proceeding to stare at the blank screen for a while before realizing that I have no idea what to say to ease the pain in a post. To those of you I have no idea what to say to: BlueDiamond, you’re a hell of a lot more than carbon under pressure. BraiNsane, Sad Potato and Chip are right– you’re better than you know. SweetQuietus, you are a literal literary genius, I truly wish I could write as you do. There are scores I won’t mention, partially because I don’t have the slightest clue how to begin (and partially because I have a terrible time spelling usernames). I have so much respect for each of you– all of you, for just getting up day after day. There are some of you who simply seem to understand, who seem to know what to say. I know this is a bit of a wall of text, so thank you to those of you who take the time to read it. Here is my cry into the abyss and prayer for some meaningful echo.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a priest. It’s not that I felt some deep connection to God or some calling from the divine, it was simply that people seemed to like them, to respect them. They seemed to know how to help people. I never was very religious, even then. It’s simply that it’s who I wanted to be. As I grew older, things changed (as is the nature of things when exposed to such indomitable forces as time). Throughout middle school (that glorious era), my aspirations were military. I wanted to be an enlisted man, a marine, spreading freedom and helping civilians. As I studied history and politics, I became disillusioned with the nobility of war. By high school, however, my mind had been set upon the military for so long that it seemed the path within which I could accomplish the most good. I reasoned that the best way to prevent officers from committing war crimes was to both become an officer and not commit war crimes (it was difficult logic to argue with). This is one of many reasons that I chose to seek my higher education at the Virginia Military Institute. As a Rat, I excelled beyond my expectations and earned mediocrity among the most driven men and women I had ever met. I forged bonds that are difficult to explain to anyone who has not suffered physically and emotionally within an isolated group. I excelled academically and physically. Watching the developments in the political world, I chose to make contacts in the Coast Guard, where I intended to become an officer.
Mere weeks from Breakout (the point at which the initiation phase ended and words like “me” and “I” were permitted back into our vocabulary), after months of being a Rat, a roommate noticed scars. I was generally careful, keeping burn marks hidden on legs, under a watches throughout high school and using a belt in the Institute when lighters were not a luxury we were afforded and too much flesh revealed periodically. Sleep deprivation and stress limit logic and restraint, however, and at one point I slipped up with a pair of scissors. My fevered mind reasoned that the scratches could be explained as marks from a run in with vegetation during an earlier weekend field training exercise. Unfortunately, I both cut too deeply and had roommates too experienced in such matters to maintain such a ruse. I was sent to counseling, where they inquired regarding suicidal ideation. In high school, I would and have smiled, lied, and gone on dancing to whatever tune would return me to whatever semblance of life I was living. The concepts of honor and integrity, however, drilled into us since matriculation, did their usual thing and brought hot water to a boil. It was there revealed to me that actively constructing and refining plans to end ones own life was not a trait shared by a majority of healthy adults.
I was then removed from the Institute, diagnosed with MDD, and sent to an Intensive Outpatient Program. Since then, it’s been med changes and smiling doctors. My identity from the past decade– “he who wishes to become an officer in the military,” was abruptly cut off from me. The military isn’t so fond, it turns out, of suicidal recruits (who knew?).
Since that point, I’ve been attempting to break into the fire protection field, going through the volunteer process at a local station and studying the field at community college. They, too, are not enthusiastic about a suicidal recruit, yet have no codified objection to one.
This is my life. I have actively wanted to end it for over ten years now.
Thank you to those of you who took the time to read.
6 comments
that stare at the blank screen, trying hard to come up with something that could be practically useful for the topic creator..I can relate to that. it happens to me a lot too. but I reckoned in this website it’s better to participate and try to trigger a conversation with all you got.
our stories and pains are different, but we have one thing in common; that we are all so detached from our “real life” that we’ve had to look for some comfort through the internet, among the people that we don’t even know what their real name is. that’s how lonely we are. so imo, do not hesitate to talk to lonely souls that may not have anywhere else to go to talk about their struggle.
Apparently, some careers are off limits for suicidees. The reason they’re doing this is because the suicide rate is already high in the military. You lose a few things when you’re mentally ill like buying a gun. I won’t be able to sell plasma for while after being in the hospital. At least, the fire department took you in. I could recommend being a police officer but since you have suicide idealization they won’t let you on. I don’t understand why is society so determined to keep us around, yet denied us to make use of ourselves?
It’s good to hear someone, anyone, decry the nobility of war. I don’t understand, and never will, the mentality of death and destruction, other than to see it for what it is – functional humanity.
The stigma of suicide. You are a loser, unfit to play with our toys and in our group. Go over there, sad person, you scare us.
I firmly believe many more people than anyone is aware of have actually resigned themselves to suicide, without ever uttering a word. It’s only when the intention is made known that the label is branded into your forehead for the world to see. “CAN’T HACK IT. WEAK.” Motherfuckers, one and all. It’s one of our more charming qualities.
It sounds to me like the military wasn’t going to have been the best course for you. I don’t know. That’s judgmental, but I was turned down for the Air Force at age 18 due to epilepsy, and now, in retrospect, I see what a huge mistake I avoided. I cannot accept that the reason armies and the technologies of destruction and death exist is a positive one. You seem to have a spirit and attitude of genuine caring and concern for life and people, and in my humble opinion, it would have been misdirected in military service. I mean no offense, sir.
Your desire to die, like ours, is an unusual trait which seems to populate the souls and hearts of some of the most caring people. People’s whose intentions are good, but from whom disillusionment has stolen a vital aspect of ourselves – the desire to keep fighting. We seek respite from the insanity of the “modern” world and all its sameness, a respite that is often only found in isolation, substance abuse, self harm.
The priesthood, fire protection, these are careers built on the concept of nobility. These concepts are a more accurate reflection of “you, the person” and are worthy of your driven efforts. The lack of a codified objection to suicidal candidates is a loophole that you can use. Like Rosa Parks taking her seat and raising a symbolic middle finger to society, until they make you quit, fuckin’ go for it. The world needs good firefighters with a heart for helping.
The stigma that has been imposed upon you and the desire to die will be roadblocks, and ultimately might win out. Who knows. I try to think positively and do good when the opportunity presents itself, because what else is there TO do that doesn’t hurt, harm or maim? And still, Smith and Wesson call to me daily. . . “Just one quick squeeze, and eternal sleep. . .” . Yeah, I hear you calling.
You’ll figure it out. Your heart will guide you.
It’s quite noble to maintain a life long desire to serve and protect. However, I think it’s important to remember that we also need to try to look after ourselves. O and it’s good to see that you’re going for another option after the unfortunate events in your military service. I wish you the best of luck with your studies, and thank you for the kind words.
Thank you for sharing your story… and also for what you said.
I wish there was something more I could say/offer, but my mind is kind of tangled up and gross at the moment .
It’s awesome that you’re going after something you want, by going Through training. I hope that you find it helps you in some way, doing that sort of work. I hope you take care of yourself first though.
I dunno who Cath Ars is or why you’re chasing her, but it sounds to me like what you’ve really been seeking hasn’t been a career as much as belonging. Whether the motivation is to serve a higher purpose, an ideal, or mankind, you may have been looking to define yourself in relation to others. It’s normal to want this and admirable to feel led to lead. (It is funny the polarity in your choices).
You have my permission to not be a hero: priest/officer/fire fighter. There’s nothing wrong with being an everyday hero. You needn’t wear a badge or a uniform to deserve respect. You’re okay as you are.
Try to find out who you are apart from these choices because that’s where you’ll find your catharsis. There’s an unsung nobility of the common man, even the uncommon common man, meaning you don’t need to be special to be truly special, JDoe.
Appreciating your sharing and your sentiments.