The ease of suicide
I told a colleague that I thought suicide would be difficult and she said, “No. I had my suicide all planned. It will be easy.” Her plan was to take some drug or other and walk into the woods to die of hypothermia. Since that is essentially *my* current plan (and was my daughter’s plan at one point), I found it interesting that she had the same idea. This particular suicide fantasy might not be as comforting in a flatter or warmer terrain, but it feels right in the mountains where we’re always hearing about people who’ve wandered off, become lost, and died.
No matter how comforting the plan, though, I still don’t think it will necessarily be easy to die.
I rented “The Bridge” a few months ago. As people contemplated jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge, the decision didn’t seem easy for any of them. The choice is between living a non-life and ending it early, but our instincts seem to scream against suicide. I know that even when I’m facing that moment of decision, part of me will wish it could have been different–that I could have had friends, a mate, joy. The glimmer of hope keeps one alive, but it isn’t hope grounded in reason.