Final Exits
Two weeks ago my mother called me and told me that someone that she worked with committed suicide. Last weekend someone at the Hospice I volunteer with committed suicide.
I did not know her very well, my few interactions with her were not particularly wonderful, and she was reprimanded for the way she treated me.
Even though logically, I know that my one encounter with her and the subsequent dressing down that resulted, did not cause (what was described to me as) a profound depression.
I can’t help but feel a little guilty. It was not the straw that broke the camels back, but it was no doubt one of the straws that helped.
One of the staff I spoke to today told me that the on going theme since they found out what happened and also at the funeral was “If Only”
“If Only” I hadn’t.
“If Only” I had.
“If Only” she told me…
“If Only”
“If Only”
I went to the memorial today and was struck by two things:
One: I seemed to be the only one crying. What am I? Some sort of “super suck”?
Two: And more importantly why had no one thought of putting some sort of professional help, crisis line phone numbers, support of any sort in place for the volunteers who may have been shocked and distressed by this.
Statistically, in workplaces and schools where a suicide has taken place a “copy cat” is likely.
What the fuck? Don't these fuckers read?
When I called the hospice last week asking about what had happened, the woman I spoke to said something to the effect of, “I guess she didn’t feel she could reach out to any one." That comment rankled me a little bit. Of course she didn’t feel she could reach out to any one. Any one who has ever been the slightest bit depressed knows that no one wants to be around you when your down. It doesn’t help that depression twists your perspective enough that little or nothing brings you pleasure and the brightest most hopeful of days look bleak.
They say that 50% of people have suicidal thoughts at some time in there lives. I don’t know if the woman I was speaking to that morning had ever had suicidal thoughts, but it seemed to me if she did, it was a long time ago. I think she lost touch with that soulless black emptiness that engulfs one at such times.
I’ve seen the edges of that ugly place, I pray that I, and you, and yours, never, never truly understands that level of despair.
And just in case you’re worried,
I’m fine, thank you.
A little pissed, a little freaked, but fine.
I did not know her very well, my few interactions with her were not particularly wonderful, and she was reprimanded for the way she treated me.
Even though logically, I know that my one encounter with her and the subsequent dressing down that resulted, did not cause (what was described to me as) a profound depression.
I can’t help but feel a little guilty. It was not the straw that broke the camels back, but it was no doubt one of the straws that helped.
One of the staff I spoke to today told me that the on going theme since they found out what happened and also at the funeral was “If Only”
“If Only” I hadn’t.
“If Only” I had.
“If Only” she told me…
“If Only”
“If Only”
I went to the memorial today and was struck by two things:
One: I seemed to be the only one crying. What am I? Some sort of “super suck”?
Two: And more importantly why had no one thought of putting some sort of professional help, crisis line phone numbers, support of any sort in place for the volunteers who may have been shocked and distressed by this.
Statistically, in workplaces and schools where a suicide has taken place a “copy cat” is likely.
What the fuck? Don't these fuckers read?
When I called the hospice last week asking about what had happened, the woman I spoke to said something to the effect of, “I guess she didn’t feel she could reach out to any one." That comment rankled me a little bit. Of course she didn’t feel she could reach out to any one. Any one who has ever been the slightest bit depressed knows that no one wants to be around you when your down. It doesn’t help that depression twists your perspective enough that little or nothing brings you pleasure and the brightest most hopeful of days look bleak.
They say that 50% of people have suicidal thoughts at some time in there lives. I don’t know if the woman I was speaking to that morning had ever had suicidal thoughts, but it seemed to me if she did, it was a long time ago. I think she lost touch with that soulless black emptiness that engulfs one at such times.
I’ve seen the edges of that ugly place, I pray that I, and you, and yours, never, never truly understands that level of despair.
And just in case you’re worried,
I’m fine, thank you.
A little pissed, a little freaked, but fine.
Labels: Rants, Volunteering
posted by veronica at 8:15 PM
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