* * * * * sensitive subject matter | reader discretion advised * * * * *
Part I: background
In previous posts, shared that I have struggled with dysthymia – chronic, low-grade depression, for more than half of my life, and have contemplated suicide – suicide ideation – as an escape (mechanism). Dysthymia is sometimes referred to as functional depression; I get out of bed each morning, and go about my day. To differentiate, I am not manic; I don’t go from sky-rocketing highs to cratering lows – but rather – constant, low-grade, never-ending, shitty.
I don’t possess any sense of personal or professional accomplishment. I am often overwhelmed by self-hatred, almost every day. Recognize that hatred is a learned behavior, and recognize that self-hatred is a learned behavior. People are not born to hate. It’s been suggested that the only antidote for hatred is love (and kindness). Buddhism teaches that to love myself is to love others; to be kind to others, is to be kind to myself. Freedom from judging others, is freedom from judging myself; freedom from judging myself, is freedom from judging others.
Part II: adaptive response
Preparing this post, invested time learning about Iain McGilchrist and Shelly Kagan. Their material is dense; and was difficult to unpack.
Iain McGilchrist is a psychiatrist, writer, and former Oxford literary scholar. He came to prominence after the publication of his book, The Master and His Emissary. McGilchrist trained in medicine and has been a neuroimaging researcher at Johns Hopkins University.
Shelly Kagan is the Clark Professor of Philosophy at Yale University; his research focuses on moral philosophy and normative ethics. He is known for his introductory course on death and ethics, with three lectures dedicated on the morality of suicide (available on YouTube).
Before drafting this post, I loosely held the hypothesis that dysthymia and suicide ideation may be an adaptive response – in other words – may extend some type of benefit in nature. In hindsight, I believe that my hypothesis is incorrect. As such, I considered not publishing this post – as it is a “failure.” On second thought, I published this post, to provide some insight on how I’ve been spending my time and energy (spinning around in circles).
Part III: discussion
Depression may not be a disorder, but rather, an adaptation, a state of mind which manifests costs and benefits. Depressed people often think intensely about their problems, break problems down into smaller components, one at a time, becoming more tractable.
My car has various dashboard warning lights; green lights (headlamps, cruise control), yellow lights (tire pressure), and red lights (oil, brake). In 2012, visited Death Valley National Park; the red brake warning light went off on my Honda Civic; not an ideal location to break down.
It’s likely that dysthymia or suicide ideation is “yellow,” a warning that something isn’t right. Dysthymia and suicide ideation has made me resilient; or maybe, I’ve always been resilient (or stubborn). However, people who survive cancer, are also resilient. People who “battle” amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), or multiple sclerosis, are also resilient. I’m not unique.
Some entrepreneurs suggest that their dyslexia or attention deficit disorder allows them to view the world differently than other people, and realize great success, due in part to their disorder. Certainly, these people are resilient, but don’t see how this would be “adaptive.”
I don’t know if depression is adaptive; I’m inclined to believe that it is not. Cancer could be adaptive; cancer cells multiply, trying to survive. As we’ve learned during the pandemic, a virus – like COVID – is adaptive; it mutates constantly, similar to the common cold.
I’m also plagued with migraines; but I fail to see how migraines are adaptive. Migraines certainly inform me that something isn’t right; often times, it reminds me of certain food allergies (ie. chocolate, red wine, etc.), or that I have elevated histamine levels.
When I was born, no one asked if I “wanted” migraines, or suicide ideation, or dysthymia, or cancer. Are these medical conditions faults, features, or bugs. I certainly fail to understand why anyone would “choose” any of these medical conditions, either. I could imagine a scenario that when we’re born, it’s like a multiple choice exam, choose one item (illness) from column A, one item (disease) from column B, etc. As often reminded in Zen Buddhism, no one “gets out” alive. We each will grow old, fall ill, and die.
In Season 4 of Malcolm Gladwell’s podcast, Revisionist History, he explores casuistry, the Jesuit process of reasoning that seeks to resolve moral problems by extracting or extending theoretical rules from a particular case, and reapplying those rules to new instances (or cases), not previously considered. I tried to apply casuistry to dysthymia and suicide ideation, and failed to identify how either could be considered an adaptive response. The only conclusion that I could reach, is that the Jesuit order, and very likely, most religions, would consider suicide a sin, as the act of suicide kills and harms a living (sentient) being.
I am single; it’s likely that I will never marry or have children. This is likely beneficial; whatever is broken inside of me, won’t be recreated, won’t be passed on to others; an example of Darwin’s survival of the fittest; kill off the weak and defective; what a (sense of) relief.
Part IV: statistics
It may come as a surprise to learn that the (per capita) suicide rate in the United States is twice as high as the homicide rate. News reports tend to report homicide more often than suicide. The under reporting of suicide may be influenced by social stigma, as suicide is often a taboo topic. Alternatively, there are often concerns that reporting suicide may lead to a risk of suicide “contagion” and an increase in suicide, attributed to “copycat” crimes.
United States suicide: 14.2 per 100,000
United States homicide: 7.5 per 100,000
Wyoming, Alaska, and Montana have the highest rates of suicide in the United States; Massachusetts, New York, and New Jersey have the lowest rates of suicide. With all its beaches, perhaps New Jersey really is the “garden state.”
Wyoming: 30.5 per 100,000 Massachusetts: 8.4 per 100,000
Alaska: 27.5 per 100,000 New York: 8.0 per 100,000
Montana: 26.1 per 100,000 New Jersey: 7.1 per 100,000
Russia has the highest rate in the world, followed closely by South Korea, more than twice as high as the world average; Jordan and Syria have the lowest suicide rate in the world.
Russia: 21.6 per 100,000
South Korea: 21.2 per 100,000
United States: 14.2 per 100,000
World average: 9.0 per 100,000
Jordan: 2.0 per 100,000
Syria: 2.0 per 100,000
In the United States, one person dies by suicide every twelve minutes; 120 Americans die by suicide each day; one American attempts death by suicide every minute.
In July 2022, the United States implemented its 988 hotline – modeled after 911 – as the new suicide and (mental) crisis lifeline, accessible via phone or text, 24-hours per day.
Part V: Camus
It’s been suggested that those with depression, are able to see reality clearly and objectively. Perhaps one of the reasons that I have dysthymia, is that it allows me to see reality clearly and objectively. Perhaps it allows me to see that life has no purpose, that life has no point, that life has no meaning. Perhaps, I am simply deluding myself; wouldn’t be the first time.
French philosopher, Albert Camus, in his essay, The Myth of Sisyphus, suggests that “there is only one really serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.” For some people, a life without meaning is not a life worth living. Camus suggests that suicide provides little benefit, as there may be no more meaning in death, than in life.
Camus suggests that a beneficial solution is to embrace that life has no meaning. The person who accepts that life is absurd, and retains the ability to smile, is a “hero.” Camus suggests that “we must imagine that Sisyphus is happy.” The hero is able to carry out a meaningless life – rolling a boulder up a hill – for all eternity.
I often wonder if religion and philosophy exist only to “fill the vacuum” created by this lack of meaning. The multitude of religions, the multitude of philosophies – are very likely a crutch – to help man live in a world devoid of meaning. Likely, my practice of Zen Buddhism, in part, fills this void (of meaning); guilty as charged.
Part VI: poem
“The Morning After I Killed Myself” is a poem by Meggie Royer, and is a message about the finality of suicide, the impact it has on loved ones, and the lost opportunity for a better day.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to un-kill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.
Suicide & Crisis Lifeline | 988 | 24-hours per day | 7-days per week
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