I met a woman once, who was constantly in and out of prison and jail. She was smart, and kind, but also knew that she didn’t know how to exist in the world the way society wanted her to. She didn’t like being in prison or jail, but she knew that was where she would keep ending up. She had brought suit in Indiana to ask to be allowed to die. She was a drain on the system, she wasn’t happy, and there was no way out that she could see. The judge didn’t allow her to die with dignity.
I’m a big fan of Death With Dignity. I think there are all sorts of times that it makes sense for a person to opt out of living intentionally. I don’t think deep depression is one of those times, but there are other circumstances. We all die eventually, and I sure would like to be of sound mind and body when I decide when my time will be.
This attitude has helped a few of my friends when they’ve been in dark times. I’ve been told more than once that someone I love has wanted to die, always with the expectation that I would demand they not! That I would cast shame. I’ve sat with them quietly, and then talked to them about getting their affairs in order. Please don’t leave a mess for those of us mourning you to deal with. This has been enough to snap 2 or 3 people out that depth of depression and into a reality — they’re not making things easier for the people around them, it isn’t consequence free, there is work involved in doing it responsibly.
One of my dearest friends has been actively suicidal for about a month now. He’s spent a bit of time in a hospital after an attempt, but since returning home has returned to unhealthy coping mechanisms that feed into his doom spiral. I get something like a hundred texts a day ranging broadly between coherence and disassociation. I do my best to ground him in reality while also laying my own boundaries on how much I’m willing to engage with his spiral and wanting to respect his wishes if he truly does want to die. He lives far away and tends to keep people at arm’s length, so trying to rally his community around him has been complex and piecemeal. I’ve been trying to get him to be ok with me flying out. I’m not ok with him being around my kid in his current state, so having him here would be hard. He refuses to get his affairs in order, his attendance to therapy is spotty, and he’s unwilling to stay somewhere else long enough to do their Death with Dignity program in a way that only has people dealing with his body who know what they’re getting themselves into. There have been a number of close calls.
A month is a long time. I bet it’s been even longer for him.
There was this post on Twitter, the day George Floyd’s killer was convicted, where someone said something to the effect of “strange day to be a prison abolitionist.” I felt it that day, and I sure do feel it now. I think my friend should have the right to decide if he’s done living. He has both very silly, but also some legitimate reasons to be done with life. But also, I’m going to miss him so much. He’s been one of my favorite people for over 10 years. Selfishly, I want another up-all-night session talking about really tiny things, and adventures, and music, and how precarious humanity is. But maybe I don’t get that with him anymore. But I do get to sit (distantly) with my friend who is suffering, and tell him I respect whatever path he choses, and that I’ll love him regardless. But also I hate it.