The Other Side of Suicide

When I eventually snapped out of it, I discovered to my astonishment that life actually got much better. Because, hey, if death was on the table, then so was taking an impromptu trip to Vegas and blowing $800 on a necklace. (I only did that once, and honestly, zero regrets. It's one of my favorite things and I wear it all the time.) My eyes were opened to the many, many paths of escalation available to me before reaching the nuclear option.

Let me tell you what happened. You've probably heard it before. Heck, I'd heard it before. "I did everything right, so why am I so miserable?" Before then, maintaining superiority was the whole point of life. I think I got it from my father, the whole "you're not good enough until you're perfect" mentality. When I liked myself, which wasn't often, it was because I was a high achiever relative to my peers at the time. At school, it was grades. After school, it was the job, the house, the money, and so on. I was "saving the world" in healthcare IT. I probably made more in a year than all my college friends combined. I could have walked into any class reunion and expected attention and admiration. I was impressive.

I also hated my life, which was an issue. I felt like I was spending the vast majority of my energy either at my job, or recovering from being at my job, and that my personal decisions had to be framed in that context. Like, I'm really sick, but would it be too inconvenient for the company if I called in? Because, you know, saving the world came first. I disliked pretty much everything that I did on a day-to-day basis at work, but there was no choice but to keep going because it was unthinkable to exist as anything else than a conventionally successful young professional "making a difference".

And so I thought, if all of my time was going to be spent doing things I didn't like so that I could live another day to do more things I didn't like, why not just die and save myself the trouble? In fact, why didn't everyone else just jump off some cliff instead of bothering with their 401Ks? That was me already on a high dose of fluoxetine, by the way.

Inevitably came the burnout and the breakdown. I went on medical leave because I found the idea of my future so horrifying that waking up in the morning gave me panic attacks. I became incapable of forcing myself to do even one more thing that I "had" to do. My fiance decided to jolt me out of my spiraling routine. He flew us out to Las Vegas and for a few days I didn't try to be a responsible adult. I threw money at slots machines with cute graphics, I had (multiple) $100 meals, I got drunk whenever I felt like it, went out for a walk at midnight, and, as you already know, dropped rent money on a string of acrylic pearls with a gold-colored designer logo. It's amazing, the things you can do when you let yourself.

The thing was, I had been presenting myself with a false binary: either I suffered through the same dreary, narrow road until I eventually died, or I cut to the exact same destination a few decades early, and the latter just made more sense. But I got thinking - if death was an acceptable outcome to me, then why the heck should stuff like being admired or being wealthy or disappointing my parents even matter to me? What exactly did I stand to lose by experimenting with some less drastic measures? Like, you know, quitting the job I hated. Or going on a three month-long luxury world cruise, at the end of which I owned nothing but the clothes on my back and had to figure something out right there and then at a strange dock in Florida. Or not being the slick-suited, awe-inspiring power woman that I had always aspired to be.

When I eventually snapped out of it, I discovered to my astonishment that I had way, way more options than I thought I did. Possibilities abound! Everything on the table! In fact, there wasn't enough table for all the everything! Could I bum out at my house for a few months? Sure. Could I take a job at at a bakery making minimum wage but always smell like fresh cookies? Absolutely. Could I spend the last few dollars I possessed while homeless on a concrete mixer at Culver's? I mean, what's it going to do, kill me?

I worry less now. I don't feel trapped anymore. I'm not often self-conscious, and don't get embarrassed easily. I'm still doing the same job, but I'm excited to see what I do next. I ask myself, "what do I want," and believe the answer really, really matters, and I fully intend to act on that answer when I think of something interesting enough. I'm willing to choose the fun option because I've yet to think of a misstep or mistake that is un-bounce-back-from-able.

And, oh, I've changed my mind: I don't want to die.

*Disclaimer: I'm 30 years old, unmarried with no dependents. I have no debt besides a mortgage and have enjoyed several years of steady, substantial income. I realize that most people probably don't have the same privilege of being able to start over and not cause serious problems for someone else. I'm in no way advocating that anyone ditch their kids and blow their retirement fund on a yacht. If you don't identify with my circumstances or experience, I recommend you take this as just something that happened to someone else and is in no way supposed to reflect anything upon your circumstances or experiences.