A poster designed to support the American Foundation of Suicide Prevention's 10th annual National Suicide Prevention Day.

“Every 16 minutes someone in the U.S. dies by suicide. Every 17 minutes someone is left to make sense of it.” This message was designed by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention to promote it’s 10th annual Suicide Survivor Day, on Saturday, Nov. 22.

I listen to a radio story about the occasion, an attempt at spreading awareness, but an awareness of the wrong kind. My body shakes like I’ve just been in a fight. The adrenaline pumps through my system. I’m upset and angry, but I’m less upset about the people who’ve committed suicide, then with the way our societies chooses to handle it.

In this radio segment, the suicide victim is deprived of victimhood, and it is handed over to the the dead persons relatives and family, and friends. Yes, I imagine having a close friend or family member commit suicide is a horrible event. But how can we so easily pass over the elements that drove the deceased to kill themselves?

This appropriation of victimhood was no better exhibited then on one Sunday as I sat for lunch at a restaurant. As I ate, I overheard two women next to me fresh from church who were speaking of their troubled children. I discovered that one of the women had moved because her son, who seemingly had everything anyone could have wanted–a nice wife, a house, a good job, and, of course, a loving family–, had committed suicide. The other women, a local, told about how her daughter was a depressed alcoholic. Here these two women were, trying to bond over the pain that had supposedly been caused them. They spoke as two innocent and unfortunate victims, but I couldn’t help but imagine the pain they’d caused their children. I could see myself just how terribly prude and unapproachable these church ladies were. They rested so high on their moral and righteous pedestals, that they were completely lacking in the compassion or understanding that marks an authentic human being.

My aunt told me second-hand that a man from my home town committed suicide a couple months ago. She said, “It’s a terrible thing. Don’t tell anyone, because it’s really not supposed to be out.” I inquired about any the reasons why, and my aunt responded. “I don’t know what the reasons were, he had a good job at a physicians office, he had a wife and two kids. I tell you, there is no reason good enough to kill yourself, when you have a family who loves you. Someone who does that, is just thinking about themselves. They’re not thinking about how they’ll hurt others.”

I can imagine many people raising a toast to something like that being said, but this is absolutely what makes me quake with anger. The modern discourse on suicide is redirected from the heart of the issue, onto its second hand effects. Have we no pity for the dead, who can no longer judge us for lack of it? Do we not care at all, why this man was driven to end his life?

It seems everyone just passes it all off, as a terrible tragedy, a unfortunate occurrence, a statistic, a freak accident, with no actual rational cause. And (must I really say this?) if a man kills himself, he has damn good reason! But instead of recognizing it as the most extreme indicator of pain and suffering that can be expressed and letting it resound thoroughly so it cannot be ignored and must be addressed, we turn to comfort the people who are likely the most responsible for the death. We try to to hush it up. We say foolishly, “Everything will be OK.” “Don’t Cry.” “It wasn’t you’re fault.” But I say let them cry and cry and cry, let their hearts bleed, let them feel every ounce of responsibility, so they will never allow this to happen again.

Don’t mistake me for saying that the relatives and friends should not bare full responsibility for a suicide. It is not any one person’s fault entirely, and it was ultimately the decision of the deceased, but every single person who ever knew the this person, had a chance to get to know him or her better, and a chance to help him out. You always can recognize the folks who didn’t make any effort at all when they claim they saw no warning signs. This type of person should be considered criminally negligent, especially if they claim to have loved the person. It takes a real loveless soul to ignore the painful emotions that expose themselves as true as day in the human countenance, or to have caused the person to utterly hide or suppress them.

In my opinion if you haven’t done your best to know an unhappy person, and take the time not only to understand the real issue behind it, but to share it as a problem of your own, and to work with that person to help him fix it, then you cannot claim impunity when that person decides to end his life. I do understand, however, that as much as a person tries to comfort a victim of depression, it doesn’t always work. I know first hand.

I have a friend, who has told me on more than one occasion, “If I didn’t have a family that loved me, there wouldn’t be anything stopping me from blowing my brains out.” I have listened to this friend and I have comforted him through the hard times, but I no matter what I do, I have been unable to pull his spirits out of the pit. Fortunately, he is still alive. I know this person very well, and I care for him very much, but I can’t be the solution, I can only encourage him to take the steps he needs, and I’ve tried to take these steps with him. But so far, he’s chosen not to.

Suicide is undeniably the ultimate result of the mental illness epidemic that is overrunning the modern world. Over 90% percent of suicide victims are severely unhappy or unstable at the time of their death, according to the AFSP. Of course, the foundation terms it a “significant psychological illness,” instead of unhappiness, but I purposely disuse the term, because it places fault on the individual rather than the society. The same goes for the act of suicide itself where people place the fault on the suicide victim, rather than on the community, the circumstances of which, caused him to end his life. In both cases, we tend to treat the depressed or the suicidal as acting completely irrational, never once, will we even consider the possibility, that depression or self-termination isn’t actually a rational reaction to our society. We couldn’t possibly believe it, but it’s time to change our thinking. that Does anyone recall the suicide rate in East Germany.

Suicide is the sign of the failure of a society (take the startling rate of suicide in East Germany), but it happens so frequently in our society, and we’re so embedded in our traditions, that we are reluctant to find fault with our society, or our way of life, or our traditions. And naturally there is an incredible reluctance for the government to admit any increase in the suicide rates. There is this quibble about the increasing number of people diagnosed with depression as to whether it is increasing or if more cases are just being diagnosed. When the Associated Press reported on increase in calls to the government’s suicide prevention hotline,, program staff attributed the increase to efforts to promote the hotline, rather than an increase in suicidal people.

Really, all it doesn’t matter to what precisely we have to attribute these increases, the fact is they are increasing. The fact is it’s a problem, and if it’s not getting bigger, it was bigger than we imagined to start with. But statistics, are incredibly irrelevant to me. Statistics are for legislators and administrators. I know the problem is bad, the subject strikes my locality often. And just with the frequency at which the subject strikes my ears at random, I know the problem is bad:

Let’s not forget the suicidal friend and the man from my hometown already mentioned above, and let’s add to that. When I was in high school my girlfriend tried to kill herself, by swallowing a bottle of pills. Around the same time a boy from the middle school hung himself in his family’s garage. I had another friend who suffered from manic depression. My cousin, was almost driven to suicide after his wife left him. A boy who lived in my dorm killed himself by shooting himself in the head with a pistol. My roommate planned to purchase a rifle from Wal-Mart to kill himself, but I intercepted the gun counter clerks call to inform him that he’d passed the background check. This roommates girlfriend became chronically depressed after he left her. My boyfriend suffered from manic depression, also known as bi-polar disorder. My new roommate was clinically depressed before he came to live with me. The problem isn’t just bad, it surrounds me everywhere I go. And by no means is it to be blamed on solely on any one of these individuals. I myself have been depressed, and in the past I have contemplated suicide, but I’ve been able to reign in my problems because I am an abnormally self-reliant person. But it’s important to notice that I’m just another unreported statistic.

Let’s consider an even more important, but uncounted statistic. The immaturity with which we handled suicide in the modern age has caused an inestimably-skewed under-reporting of suicides. You know, the man from my home town who worked at the physicians office who committed suicide? Well I looked up his obituary in the local paper and there was no mention of suicide. He just “died.” It did not read as it should have appropriately, “committed suicide at Craig’s Crest parking area on Grand Mesa. He was found in his car.” I imagine this omission occurred in deference to his relatives, but who is this omission really protecting? Are we protecting his loved ones, or are we protecting the system and perpetuating the same ignorance that lead to this man’s suicide in the first place?

Now, the AFSP actually has a set of recommendations for the media in reporting on suicides. The foundation suggests not giving prominence to reports on suicide. For example it recommends that stories on suicide not be run on the front page of any newspaper, and that the word “suicide” not be used in headlines. Instead of encouraging awareness of the problem, the AFSP wants to bury it. What they’re afraid of is a trend called suicide contagion, or “copy-cat” suicides. When the media covers a suicide, research has shown that people may be more inclined to impulsively commit suicide. While, this method may help prevent actual suicides it is not at all addressing the overall issue of a suicidal population–the problem of unhappiness.

You see, organizations like the AFSP, don’t actually look to solve the problems that cause suicide, they don’t actually help anyone with their depression, or their lack of interest in life, they just act to prevent people from pulling the trigger or jumping off the bridge. They conduct depression screening tests at college and universities, and direct students at risk to professional help if they appear to be at risk. But I’ve known at least three very depressed people who sought out professional help, and their experience with these professionals didn’t make them any happier, the conversation nor the medication actually improved anything in their lives, sure the drugs made them feel better temporarily, but the role of the health care professional was simply a distraction–an inhibitor of the patients will.

Now, AFSP educates people institutions about depression and mental health in order to prevent suicide, but the population remains just as unhappy. In fact the AFSP has devoted an entire project to the country of Hungary, which has three times the suicide rate as the United States. The AFSP acts in advocating the treatment and diagnosis of depression and other mental illness as a method of helping people. But in all reality, the AFSP is just abetting an oppressive society, by putting unhappy people on selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (anti-depressants known by the acronym SSRI), or pairing them with psychologists so that they will be distracted from the natural fruition of their will. This whole prevention process is designed, not actually to help anyone, but solely to keep them from killing themselves. It doesn’t make them any less suicidal, rather it cloaks the terrible suffering of people under a terrible society.

It is in this mindset that AFSP administrators and government officials are led to believe they have reached some great success when the suicide rate has dropped, but where no actual improvement has been made. For instance in Washington D.C. when the infamous Ellington Bridge was fitted with an insurmountable suicide barrier, the cities suicide rate dropped, thanks to absolutely no improvement in quality of life. The project was cited as proof that available means to suicide encourages suicide. Prevention of such suicide was lauded with respect to the statistic that just “10 percent of those prevented from jumping from the Golden Gate subsequently killed themselves.” Once again, less people may be actually committing suicide, but there are just as many suicidal people, if not at increased number with the prevention of their deaths. The problem of unhappiness persists, and it will remain and grow until it is addressed.

There are so many people like me and my friends, who are surviving, but who are not happy. We are all suffering from no wrong-doing of our own, it is the wrong of the institutions and governmental entities, our forefathers and our mothers and fathers. This represents an overall failure in leadership of a people. And we continue to suffer because we have little recourse and few option to act against the calamitous systems of power alone. Despite the challenges we face, let us not forget the real victims of suicide, and the real cause of it.

Photo by pixielauren

Original Caption: ''The kids getting candy at the mall in their costumes.''

Last Halloween, I was on my way back from a quick motorcycle trip to Mexico. I took a friend on the back seat down to Puerto Peñasco specifically to escape American culture and get a glimpse of El Dia de los Muertos. Our American ignorance proved unfailing. We were surprised or rather disappointed to find practically no public celebration. Perhaps, that’s because we assumed the day of the dead was the same day as Halloween, when it was actually celebrated on Nov. 1 and 2. But despite that important misunderstanding, we didn’t notice any marketing campaign pushing goods for the upcoming holiday. We didn’t see any skulls for sale in the supermarket or in the candy store. We were surprised to find absolutely no commercialization of the holiday at all.

We left Mexico on Halloween, the day we thought was The Day of the Dead, and on our return trip spent the night in a suburb north of Phoenix called Anthem. We happened to stay in a Howard Johnson across the street from an outlet mall, and when we ambled on over to the mall we found the strangest site. The children of the suburb were all dressed up in costumes, walking door to door with their parents collecting buckets of candy from merchants such as Gap, Nike and Ralph Lauren.

The contrast between Puerto Peñasco, Mexico and Anthem, USA was sickening. The sight horrified me for two reasons. This takes the meaning of a corporate holiday to new far more malignant level. This wasn’t just marketing and clever holiday packaging. The corporations were actually hosting the holiday itself!

Photo by Ken Rachynski

Children in line and in constume for candy at the mall.

What horrified me more, though, was what the event told me about it’s community. This suburb at the outskirts of Phoenix probably hardly existed five years ago, now it was teeming with a commuters and their unfortunate offspring. These people really don’t know each other. There is relatively little that bonds this community together and hence, these inhabitants of Anthem don’t trust their neighbors. So the safe alternative–the only haven of trust–turned out to be the corporations that set up shop in Anthem’s Outlet Mall. Isn’t that just sad? Is it not curious how the increasing disintegration of our communities drives us further and further into a dependence on the corporation?

When I further researched the Outlet Mall, I also found they offered free interactive kids programs on Wednesdays. Now, why do you suppose the outlet mall offers a free interactive kids program? I’m sure they’re marketing manager knows it’s worth the investment. Not only will this “free” class drag parents into the outlet mall, but it will also familiarize a whole group of young potential consumers with the brands of evermore paternal corporations. This terrifying event seems like an event lifted from the pages of an old distopian novel, but this scene is real, and iI’ll bet it’s not an isolated incident. Rather, it’s likely the beginning of a rather disturbing and popular trend where communities spring up in external elegance, numerous conveniences, complex city government and advanced infrastructure, but lack all the innards that make a real community of human beings a cohesive unit.

There was a girl I once knew in high school. She was a beautiful spirit. The kind of person who would cheer you up, when you were down. Her name was Marie.

That was four years ago. Upon a visit to my old hometown, I just happened to run into her. She was working for my father as a secretary. But when I first saw her, I did not recognize her. Her smile was gone, her face had rounded out, her hair, which had once fell long and full, was tied back carelessly and she was wearing a black and unwashed over-sized t-shirt. Her spirit was all dried up.

I sat down and spoke with her briefly. “So how’ve you been?” I asked.

A note I found in the back of my high school year book.

“Oh, ya know, just working.”

“So, your with…uh… Keller, right?”

“Yea.”

“Great,” I said having nothing better to say.

“Not that great,” she blurted.

I stumble, I nod my head like an idiot. I don’t know how to respond, I want to console her, but instead I change the subject: “Well, what else have you been up to?”

“We moved out to Denver for a while, cuz Mark wanted to try college. But he hated it, so we moved back.”

I’m afraid to ask another question. I feel like this casual meeting has become an interrogation, a rude exposé. But she continues anyway without my prompt, as if to confirm her utter sorrow.

“Married. … Two kids. … yea.”

And there it was everything bared, in sincere dejection, yet without shame and without embarrassment.

God. What frustration. What sadness. What’s a man to do? I feel just as helpless as her, and I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do. God. I wish I could ride in on a white stallion, rescue her in my arms, and gallop of into the sunset to some place where people would treat her the way she deserves to be treated. But there is no such place. And alas, I’m a homosexual. And while I’d still be there for her, I cannot give her myself and I cannot give her the love she deserves.

As I ride home across the Colorado passes on two wheels, wind in my ears, my mind replays the scene. I’m angry at the world for stripping away her spirit. No, I’m not angry at the world. I’m angry at the failure of my community. High school taught us nothing of how to deal with this. I’m angry at my father for paying her something just above minimum wage to work for him. I’m angry at him for not caring about her, beyond the fact that she shows up on time. I’m angry at her husband for consuming her beauty. I’m angry at all those around her who could allow this to happen. And I’m angry at myself for being able to do nothing.

I came home and found her picture in the yearbook. There’s that genuine smile. There’s the sparkle in her eyes. There’s the lively girl I once knew. And as I flipped to the end of the book I see a note written in silver marker. It read: “You are the funniest smart kid I know. Remember life is short so smile. You are just sooo cute. -Marie.”

Addendum [October 12, 2008]:After a conversation with my dear aunt in regard to this article, I would like to make a few clarifications. Namely, that I realize there are compassionate souls like my aunt who take the initiative to help people like Marie. But I would like to stress, that there is really only so much a person can do in a working relationship. Marie’s problems extend far outside of work, yet if personal problems disrupt work, Marie risks being fired.

We tend to place the blame squarely on the individual, but no one benefits from that mind set. In all reality, anyone else in her shoes would have no more decision than she has now. Life is tough, and it’s difficult to go it alone. That is why community is important. If Marie really had a close community, Marie’s sadness would be everyone’s sadness. So naturally everyone would want to help her. But as Marie’s story proves, the crucial supportive framework know as the community is being broken down, and it is partly the professionalism and boundaries of the work environment that is causing its ruin. Now, my father is a business owner, and I’m not saying business is bad, but I’m saying that community needs to come before business.

Author’s Note: Due to the sensitive nature of this article, the actual names of the people mentioned above have been substituted with false names. I am reluctant to do this as I believe we just waste each other’s time by protecting false images of each other’s lives. But in this case, I will defer.