When you are suicidal, you need logic, not laments

Clear thinking is critical for someone in distress as sentimentality just doesn’t penetrate their mind, writes Christina Reihill

‘WHEN you’re not honest with yourself, you’re lying, you’re lying from morning to night,” said Nicolas Sarkozy last week as he hit the campaign trail or maybe that’s how I interpreted what he was saying.

Reports of Whitney Houston’s daughter and her primal screams in the wake of her mother’s death touched an old wound but it was something written in this paper the week before that which was the real source of my anguish.

The article by Eilis O’hanlon claimed those who committed suicide were selfish and that ’touchy feely’ responses to those who die this way were useless to everyone, particularly those left behind.

Her ‘tough love’ article was a hard swallow as I’ve never wanted to reflect on my history of suicide attempts in this way before but her medicine is healthy stuff.

Of course, it seems wrong and even sacrilegious to accuse those lost to suicide of selfish behaviour but moralising doesn’t save lives or change thinking — it just slaps gagging orders on both.

Eilis O’hanlon tells us that suicide is now the leading cause of death in Ireland for men under 35 but we don’t need harsh statistics to tell us these figures are breaking records as well as hearts all over the country and that a clear way of thinking on this subject is critical.

Clear thinking evaluates the consequences and allows confused thinking to be challenged appropriately. Soft thinking — actions driven by emotions — has us sinking in a quicksand on this issue.

How can young adults look to us for answers if our faces are telling them we don’t have answers. We need less lamenting and more logic. Besides, sentimentality doesn’t penetrate the mind of someone in distress. It never reached me or the many I know who’ve survived suicide attempts.

When I was there, when suicide was a preoccupation at one point in my life nearly 20 years ago, I used to quote poetry when I was depressed, or more accurately when I drunk. My favourite poet was Emily Dickinson but a few lines from Sylvia Plath came back last week as I paced the floors inside my head. Bit my pretty red heart in two, I was 10 when they buried you, At 20 I tried to die and get back, back, back to you, I thought even the bones would do

Like Plath, I lost a parent when I was 10 (my mother) so it made perfect sense to me to follow her. At the time, I genuinely believed that killing myself would reunite me with mother and I never for a minute considered its lack of logic or the consequences for those around me, which at the time was a lovely husband, a caring family, two gorgeous cats and a wonderful circle of dysfunctional friends.

But thank God my lame efforts failed and years later my thinking was challenged at the Rutland Centre when I was indulging thoughts of suicide again.

“You’ve duty to live your life,” said a therapist, provoking my rage (I wanted sympathy) but her wake-up call inspired me to make meaning of my despair and the result, Soul Burgers, 15 years in the writing, will be launched next month.

In my experience, clear thinking, sensitively delivered, is compassionate — it protects poor choices driven by emotion. In fact, and this was probably the most difficult thing to admit in my reflections, to me, those who expressed upset around my suicidal deliberations felt selfish! It made me feel resentful of their emotional demands when I was in such turmoil.

I don’t like admitting any of this but if it sobers the thinking of one person dealing with this, it’s a good thing — this is not a time for vanity or hiding from the dark side.

Clear thinking reaches through the fog of a confused mind like a thick rope pulling them back to ground where there is the possibility to reconsider the question. Soft thinking, however unconsciously, colludes in the dark web of a suicidal mind — a clear mind with a patient heart is the way forward. Does it always work? No, but it’s a better bet at a critical time.

Most professionals agree that those who engage in suicidal ideation live in a world of detached reality and selfabsorption of some description — whether it’s the belief that death will relieve intolerable pain, provide meaning in an existential void, fire up a life that feels dead or even be thrilling, the hope is to connect to the lost soul.

It doesn’t matter how justified or deluded our belief system — I like to think my moment of death will lead me to a CS Lewis corridor of fur coats to meet my mother again — all this is magical thinking.

The truth is, if I decide to kill myself, I don’t know where I’m going or how my best plans could pan out (I could choke on my vomit, have a stroke or be left paralysed) but I’m glad I’ve been honest with myself and look forward to a good night’s sleep tonight. Christina Reihill’s book Soul Burgers will launch at IMMA next month. For more on its recovery story in verse, visit www.soulburgers.com