I recently read an article in the Time magazine called One A Day by Mark Thompson & Nancy Gibbs. Its subtitle grabbed my middle: “Every day, one U.S. soldier commits suicide. Why the military can’t defeat its most insidious enemy.” The article goes on to say, “More U.S. military personnel have died by suicide since the war in Afghanistan began than have died fighting there. The rate jumped 80% from 2004 to 2008.” It adds, “No program, outreach or initiative has worked against the surge in Army suicides and no one knows why nothing works.”
This article is one of the most frightening I’ve ever read. How can this be? We were raised to believe that the American military was the strongest, bravest armed forces in the world. They protect us from other evil government actions. Iran, North Korea, Libya, Russia, China and especially the terrorists that seem to grow by the thousands every day, are just names to most Americans. We know they are an unhealthy, sadistic, power hungry group of people but we’re mostly not worried. After all, we have the strongest military in the world. But do we?
Suicide is one of the most misunderstood acts of aggression there is. I know. I’ve tried it more times than I can count. Those who are sane, emotionally stable, wise, and have a perfect life with much to live for have nothing but contempt for those who try to take their own life. After all, it’s murder isn’t it? Unfortunately, this idealistic description doesn’t fit most people.
According to the Thompson and Gibbs article, Army Major General Dana Pittard, commander of the 1st Armored Division at Fort Bliss, Texas, complained on his official log that he was “personally fed up” with “absolutely selfish” troops who kill themselves, leaving him and others to “clean up their mess. Be an adult, act like an adult and deal with your real life problems like the rest of us,” he continued. He later said he wanted to “retract” what he called his “hurtful statement” but he didn’t apologize for what he said. Many soldiers and family members believe Pittard’s attitude is salted throughout the U.S. military. Only 4% of the pentagon’s $53 billion annual medical bill is allocated to mental health. Sadly, even therapy often is of little use. 50% of those who committed suicide had already seen a behavioral health specialist.
Many of you reading this article may agree with Pittard’s attitude. Most feel that people who commit suicide are so mentally disturbed that they are beyond redeeming anyway. So if they want to kill themselves let them do it. What do we care?
What goes on in the mind of someone who commits suicide? Let me describe my version. Your life is filled with many colors, red, blue, green, gray and often black. The black is shadows of events that come back to haunt you. You struggle to stay with the other colors but there’s a dark pit waiting for you. You fight valiantly on with your life, despite problems that beset you. These may be childhood agonies and abuses; they may be current seemingly insurmountable problems; they may not have a face at all. Or perhaps they wear many faces: the haunted hungry children in deepest Africa who you see on television commercials, animals who have been abused who also show their sad face and abused bodies to those sitting on the sofa trying to sort out their own lives and feeling guilty because they can’t help those who seem more oppressed than they are.
Potential suicide victims live in a dark place. If they could only get a good night’s sleep every night they might have stronger weapons to fight the lions and tigers and bears that live inside their head. They function normally on the outside; they go to their jobs and perform well; they laugh at people’s jokes; they put their children to bed; they go to church; they go to the movies; they have parties. No one knows what is going on inside their minds.
When I was suicidal it came in thrusts and bursts. For a few minutes, all seemed well; my hair and makeup looked good, then I fell into the dark pit, but it was an ugly face and the person wearing it was no good. I’d pull myself out of the dark pit. Maybe chain smoking for a while would keep the colors in my life vibrant and alive. Maybe a few drinks would do the same. Sex. Sex would do it. I’d feel better about myself if I had sex. It didn’t matter with whom. It was the primary quality my father verified in me so it must be good. But then, like an alcoholic suffering a hangover the next day, the dark pit paraded in front of me and I’d feel myself sliding towards it.
I’d find myself alone, cut off from everyone I loved. My mind was a whirlpool. The abuser I was married to called me no good and unclean. Funny, so did my dad. He would taunt me repeatedly with all the wrongs I’d been so foolish to write in my journal. Finding it gave him his potent weapon over me. If I wasn’t obedient after the taunts he would leave me. Now the slide into the dark pit felt almost good. I’d find pills to take; I’d write the note to my kids; I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I cannot bear living in the world I’m in. Everywhere is darkness and pain. If I leave this world I won’t be in pain anymore.
But something always interfered and pulled me away from the abyss. Today, I’m incredibly grateful. I never wanted to end my life. I only wanted to end the pain. All potential suicide victims think this. They are not weaklings trying to find an easy way out. They are human beings who carry so much pain that it becomes unbearable to take one more step. Only ending their life would end the pain.
If they were to go backwards in time and find the root of the pain, pull it out, put ointment on the wound, then heal with positive wording that replaces the ugly words they used against themselves, then they would never be suicidal again. They need to Repair the damage of whatever the source was. If they were in the military perhaps they’d seen their best friend blown up by an IUD. Perhaps they’d gone into a village to look for their friends they’d had breakfast with this morning. They’d found them, in pieces, caught by the Taliban. It could be anything. How can you erase something that happened? You can’t. But you can find a way to reshape it, to redefine it. The primary goal is to find the source of the pain. Where did it begin? How did it happen? How did it impact you personally? Repair the damage.
Whatever you do, never, never see someone who is suicidal as a weakling without character or courage. You are seeing not who the man is but what has happened to him. He was not born suicidal. Somewhere in life, something happened to him to rip away the bright colors of the world and leave only the dark with all its unbearable and taunting shadows.
