Dying Of Depression *Trigger Warning*
I’ve been dealing with major depression, as evidenced by consistent diagnosis, since at least 1980. Before then, diagnostic standards were a bit wonky when dealing with children. It is my understanding that referring to children as being clinically depressed was frowned upon, professionally, for reasons I don’t recall and don’t now care to re-research. I was first hospitalized in 1975, for what now would be recognized as major depression. I’m just saying this to say that I go back a ways, with this burden; and may have learned something of use to keep me alive, along the way; and maybe this might help somebody; even though my own long term viability is very much in doubt; and I’d be lying to tell anyone otherwise. Ok. If anyone is interested in learning why there has been a surge, in recent years, in the incidence of suicide among men in their fifties; here’s a primer (from someone who is a glaring example of Ground Zero).
I’ve had the curious lifelong experience of being a person, for better or worse, whom others seem to feel comfortable in confiding in, almost from the moment of first meeting; and I’ve heard probably many times my share of life stories. Maybe that’s why I work in human services, and why I’m good at what I do; and why I have some confidence that what I am about to tell you reflects not just my experience; but a terrible common thread of despair that I cannot look away from, for I know so many others in my shoes.
My name is David. More than a dozen years ago my wife; the mother of my children, withdrew all of her affections; for reasons that I do not fully understand; but which did not include inappropriate, disrespectful, neglectful or harmful behavior on my part (as evidenced only by her being unable to refer to a single example) against her, our children or anyone else; and seemed to begin and end with her no longer finding me attractive as the only cause that mattered to her. It would serve no purpose to flesh out the details of what resulted from that, other to belabor the obvious. Because of my situation and it’s complexities; the probability that I will ever again find someone to be affectionate with, is vanishingly small. I am objectively profoundly unattractive, poor, completely without retirement funds, soon to lose my health insurance and increasingly prone to unseemly bouts of self loathing. I am (or have become), for all intents and purposes, functionally unlovable. I have spent the last forty-four years working minimum wage jobs and have no realistic expectation that I will ever get more. A year and a half ago, I made a half-assed attempt to take my own life; which resulted in medical bills that vastly outstrip all resources that I will ever earn or receive from any other source in my lifetime. I will work until I die, and I see fewer reasons, every day I exist in this world, why I should extend that period of time a day longer than my tolerance for pain will allow. This is why men in their fifties kill themselves. This is why I will almost certainly soon be among them. Mental Hygiene laws are utterly absurd and obscene; and serve no legitimate purpose. ‘Behavioral Medicine’, as practiced in ‘Behavioral’ wings or units, is not correlated with long term positive outcomes, at least in a statistically significant way. Men in their fifties, like me, kill themselves because the universe seems so desperately to require it.