Accidentally on Purpose

A coworker’s son, Ethan, died last week. Thirty-one years old, he was a man who was saddled with both a genius IQ and a lifelong struggle with depression. After his usual Saturday round of golf with his dad, my coworker, Ethan decided to end his life.

July 25, 2011; 6:00 AM • by The Checkout Girl

I have a confession to make…I LOVE the movie Beetlejuice. In fact, when it was first released, I had a huge crush on Michael Keaton, and I looked a lot like a chubbier version of the character that Winona Ryder plays. A taste for jowly, older men? Don’t mind if I do! Darkness in my soul? I haz it! This movie is perfect!

I saw Beetlejuice the first day it came out (yes, I was the one) with a friend, and ended up going back twice in the next two days with other friends. It took a week’s worth of my Dairy Queen salary, but I didn’t care. That movie got me. Plus, I wanted my own undead pseudo-parents.

Despite my adoration for all things ‘juice, there is one part of the movie that straight up bugged me. It’s been years since I’ve seen it, but I remember a scene where Beetlejuice heads into the underworld to see his advisor about something and he’s stuck in this dank, dark, crowded waiting room–a sort of apres-death version of the DMV. The ghoulish-looking girl who gives him some forms to fill out implies that she’s stuck working there because of her “little accident.” When she holds up her arms, there are two very prominent incisions across her wrists. I kid you not, when I saw this I thought “what kind of accident was that? Weed whacker? Sting ray? Lightsaber?” I didn’t get that it was a suicide joke. Not because I wasn’t familiar with suicide (I was a high schooler, for goodness sake, The Bell Jar was my Bible), but because I never considered taking your own life as an accident.

A coworker’s son, Ethan, died last week. Thirty-one years old, he was a man who was saddled with both a genius IQ and a lifelong struggle with depression. After his usual Saturday round of golf with his dad, my coworker, Ethan decided to end his life.

The talk around the water cooler is about the coworker, his son, and “the accident.” From the extensive conversations my coworker and I have had since it happened, Ethan had put a lot of planning into his death. He had concocted a method, whereby, if someone were to discover him before he expired, they would not be able to save him.

In other words, it was not an accident. It was a deliberate choice. He no longer wanted to live.

I, myself, have been down suicide road. There was a time in my life when things were beyond bleak. My boyfriend of two years had run off with my best friend of seven years. I had no one to tell of my sadness, because the only two people that I completely trusted with my feelings were off, together. I was in so much pain that I stopped functioning. I was no longer going to work and I wasn’t parenting my children properly. I decided that everyone should be put out of my misery.

A casual friend, that I had turned to out of desperation, suggested I call a suicide hotline. I dialed, and subsequently hung up three times before I let the call go through. It wasn’t a miracle fix like you see on television or in movies. In fact, I didn’t really jive with the woman to whom I was speaking…at all. She didn’t say something magic, some amazing thing that reminded me that I wanted to live. But, I did realize that me making that call in the first place was proof that I wasn’t yet ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.

While it’s often terribly sad to see those left behind when someone opts for suicide, everyone has a choice as to when their life ends. I’m not saying that we have to be pleased with the person’s decision or have no right to be left hurt and confused by it, so much as acknowledge it. Calling it an accident implies that the person wandered into the end of their life instead of making a choice and planning for it. A non-decision, when, in fact, many people carefully orchestrate that thing.

In the end, suicide was not the right choice for me. But, had it been, I would have wanted it respected by those who knew and loved me. I suspect that Ethan might feel the same way. And I really hope that whatever lies beyond this life does not include a DMV.

Disclaimer: I am not advocating suicide or self-harm of any kind. I’m advocating getting help, when you need help, getting educated, when you need education, and, above all else, talking about your feelings. I reached out to 1-800-273-TALK (8255). I hear that 1-800-SUICIDE (784-2433) is another good option if you want a hotline that is not church affiliated.

Photo by melloveschallah

July 25, 2011 6:00 AM 2