Life...or something like it...

I spent most of the afternoon talking to a friend of mine over the phone. We hadn't talked to each other for quite awhile, so we hada lot of catching up to do.

Even though i'd known about it for quite some time, I was still weirded out when the subject of his aborted suicide came up.

He's going ballistic right now because he's turning 30. I don't think he counted on going nuts but here it is, the mad rush to review your life and complete all things before you turn 30.

Anyway, the attempt happened when he was around 22 or 23, somewhere near my age. He took a bunch of sleeping pills and managed to knock himself out. Seriously.

It's very hard to achieve a graceful death through barbituarates, you have to get it quite right. Either you take too little, in which case not only will you not die, but you will be awake when you puke it all out and hope your brain comes with it because it fucking hurts. Take too much and you are going to cramp up and seize--all while still conscious.

Like most of the things he does, he got the number right and chased all down with a couple of rounds of vodka.

I don't know who found him, but he got retribution when his stomach was being pumped. Not a pretty sight.

Although I know he's not perfect, it's still hard to reconcile him with the idea of an unbalanced young man.

If there is one thing that I learned from him, it was to regret nothing.

You are young, you have your life ahead of you. You have nothing but oppurtunities, you just have to open your eyes and grab them.

Tons of things have happened to my life since then, but I've come to regret nothing. The good and the bad, they are all a part of who I am.

Talking to him today reminded me of my own trip to the edge.

I know two or three people who have gone to the same place. Still go to the same place. I am proud of them for still coming back, for being able to come back.

Having that kind of experience just binds you together. Whether that person is intimate to the details, or is only vaguely aware of them, they just know and completely understand.

Not a lot of people understand what it's like to recover from clinical depression, or even depression. It's a balance, like everything else.

The myth of "i'm finally happy!" dies on your first sad day during your recovery.

Nothing scares you more than a sad day. It's almost like having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, only this time, the trigger is loneliness. Isolation. Desolation. Sadness.

When you start feeling "sad" again, you wonder whether this is a relapse, or just your round of the mill, ordinary sad day.

What could be so bad that someone would think killing themselves is the only solution?

There's no definite answer. But no one understands more than a person who's been there.

Nowadays, when I someome suicidal talks to me (and I get at least one every half year) I tell them this: "When you feel sad, call a friend. Immediately. Tell them. If it's not someone you can trust, then just...talk."

I usually end up forking my number too. Some call, some don't. But no one has, so far, gone over.

That's a big achievement in my book.