1 Year Ago

Jonathan Vair Duncan

Winter of 2015-2016 was probably the worst moment of my life. I remember how my satisfaction in my work died. Any moment I enjoyed myself was just delaying the inevitable—a mixture of apathy, self-hatred, and isolation. January 2016 seems like it was so long ago. Much of it was spent thinking about my friend who killed herself a few years prior. I used to think there was no excuse for suicide, or that it was only selfish, until I realized that maybe—just maybe—I did not comprehend her level of suffering. Maybe her killing herself would have been a reasonable response to the pain she experienced. I'll never know, but I'm certain I understood her better last winter, when just being alive hurt me. Even cooking and eating delicious food hurt me. Even being with the friends I loved hurt. The happiest I had felt in weeks was when I started making an Amazon wishlist for suicide supplies and then scheduled how many commissions it would take before I could afford to go out the way I wanted to go. I excitedly planned the best way to pack up and rearrange the apartment to be as helpful as possible to whoever found my body or needed to pack things. I even huffed chemicals once because my body didn't let me get drunk one night and I was determined to do something self-destructive. Because I forced myself to share my feelings out of fear of being dishonest, I stopped planning my suicide after a few friends dragged me out for fresh air, then one friend helped me move in with her, and at the time I was responsible for two huskies who would be VERY disappointed if I couldn't take them on regular walks. I'm sharing these feelings publicly because I'm not the first person to feel this way, and I won't be the last. Maybe you can personally relate to some of the things I wrote, it was all the more important I wrote them here. I hate that mental illness, relationship struggles, sexual dysfunctions, or other common issues are seen as taboo. Humans need to focus on understanding problems instead of distancing themselves, and I refuse to contribute to a model that hides those issues. In this way, my suffering is a gift. It may be the fulcrum of my career and therefore the majority of my conversations. Without suffering, I would be less effective, less complete. Without suffering I'd never have been able to make 2016 the best year of my life, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to handle the relationship I'm in now. Bottom line: Share your feelings, and probably don't kill yourself.