The trend towards re-framing, as a journey, what Homer Simpson once accurately described as “just a bunch of stuff that happened” embodies the narcissism of an age where the tools of mass communication are more commonly used as a mirror – one that reflects an augmented reality that frequently dials-down on hard-cornered truths. A journey implies a sense of purpose and destination; destiny even. It dispels, to the peripheral reaches of the mind, the uncomfortable notion that, more often than not, we are drifting through life like pieces of seaweed on the current.
At the hospital where I used to work, the patients who were out of options were placed on an end of life pathway, which always made me think of The Canterbury Tales. What lies at the end of the end of life pathway? A euphemism commonly used by nurses in reference to patients who had recently slipped the mortal coil, described them as having “gone to Rose Cottage”.
Who wouldn't want to visit Rose Cottage with its pale-pink exterior walls, and trellises, and its cupboard-under-the-stairs toilet conversion that shows traces of the old wallpaper. Just watch your head on the low beams of the bedroom ceilings.
Any journey can be transformed into an amazing journey when it is viewed through the prism of reality TV. Whether your path to greatness is paved with a stepping stone arrangement of Victoria sponges, or by an over-seasoning of classic songs with melisma, in a bid to secure a future as the kind of music industry houseplant that Simon Cowell will eventually forget to water, you may rest assured that it will be amazing. Don't forget to remind everybody how amazing it is. They will want to know. Even if they don't, they will still need to be told.
You are laying the foundation for your own exit, though hopefully that will not be via the A10, which will only take you as far as Kings Lynn. Furthermore, you cannot realistically expect your mum to push you through the doors to Valhalla and not immediately be laughed out of the place by Odin and his mates.
There was a music journalist called David Cavanagh who always struck me as a sensitive and principled man. These traits left him vulnerable to the rigours of a profession that is not kind, and where one needs to put one's elbows out and carve a niche. Despite his abilities as a writer and critic, he struggled with the hard realities of the industry. On the 27th December 2018, he stepped in front of a high speed train. He mentioned in his suicide note that he had delayed killing himself by a couple of days so as not to inconvenience anyone who was travelling home for Christmas.
The circumstances of his death greatly troubled me and still do – the violence of it. This was a man who lived by the pen, but who chose to die by the sword. We are back to this idea of the imposed narrative of the journey – that a man's death must be consistent with the way he lived. If Cavanagh had swallowed the modern day equivalent of hemlock, after first arranging for the delivery of a KFC party bucket to the nearest shrine to Asclepius, I might have been more able to accept that.
You have set your sights on intellectual peaks, along with the more conventional rocky variety that have contributed to your present circumstances. I think of you more in the vein of Ambrose Bierce; a man who straddled the worlds of thinking and doing; a veteran of the American Civil War who became a journalist, before disappearing into the Mexican Revolution in his dotage. The closest thing that we have to his last words are in a letter that wrote on the 26th December, 1913 (again that awkwardly-shaped liminal space between Christmas and New Year, where souls fall through the cracks): “I leave here tomorrow for an unknown destination.” When he wrote these words, Bierce would have meant that he literally did not know where Pancho Villa's army was going next, though I expect that a man with his elevated levels of sarcasm would have acknowledged, with hindsight, the dramatic irony laced into that final sentence.
In this context it is hard to think of you willingly fading away. Not when there is a current of willpower that breaks through the surface of reality and compels you to haul yourself around the car park, and thereafter to roam the foothills of academia, and also to engage in the losing battle that is chess. Beyond the nursing home, which is a transitionary step on what I would not dare to describe as a journey if I were within charging range of your wheelchair, there is another chapter that occurs in a space that is your own.
I recently lost a really good DSA mental health supporter (trauma and autism informed) and I am now stuck with one that spouts the ‘life is a journey’ or, even worse, ‘life is an adventure’ lines whenever I dare to say that I’m not happy with my life and situation. I spend the sessions staring at the little screen of me in the corner to see if I’m scowling too hard at her surface level suggestions of what I can do to be happier whilst not considering the complicated situation I find myself in, so I can’t imagine how frustrating it is with yours.
I think people are scared by the word suicide mainly, every time I mention it, I follow it up with a mandatory ‘I’d never actually do anything don’t worry’ but that then defeats the entire point of bringing it up either. Then, the whole ‘temporary problem’ argument fails to acknowledge that even if you do manage to get over that problem, which isn’t always the case you you know all to well, there’s probably another 10 problems that have emerged since then. It’s a shit thought to have, yes, and it makes other people feel bad but I think we do need to talk about it more openly without others jumping to conclusions and not hearing your thought process out properly. Most of the time it’s just trying to feel heard and understood, which I think assisted suicide is good at too, because even if you don’t go through with it, people are taking you seriously and not treating it as a temporary moment where you’re out of control, but rather recognising the very real pain and giving you some power over something you do own, your life.
I obviously don’t want you to die, but I think you should be taken more seriously when you say that you do have these thoughts. It’s Groundhog Day in itself when you get the same repeated general advice you get on reasons not to kill yourself, you don’t speak about it for a while and then when you do again, it’s the same list of reasons yet again. I think it’s harder for people that study philosophy, because we know where the repetitive advice comes from, and more importantly, we know how to challenge it because it’s what we are trained to do, especially if you don’t subscribe to the same philosophy yourself (e.g. the world/ life is inherently good for everyone).
It’s hard, and your pain and want to die is a natural response to the situation, after all you need to consent to a journey, otherwise it’s just kidnapping.
I think I’ve pissed off a couple of people at various points by snapping at them that there is no redemption arc here unless *you* find it, and it’s not anyone’s business to try to make this feel ok *for them* by seeing it in terms of an inevitably meaningful epic journey (obviously completely excepting your family and loved ones who must do what they need to do). It was of course lovely to read your previous post on this, where you had decided not to proceed with this plan, but I was also aware that a general sense of the suicide question being settled, in that comfortable redemption arc way, might take away the safety valve of your having voiced the thought in the first place, and I’m not surprised you need it back. This entire thing is intolerable. Nobody should be expected to withstand it, never mind make a “journey” out of it.
Another thing though. I remember framing the specific thought when I donated to the fund, that I didn’t want you to bow out for a stupid fixable reason. Let it not be because you don’t have the maximal amount of mobility available, or because the lights are on too much, or because it’s too noisy. I thought, let’s try and help fix a bit of that, and then see. Really don’t underestimate the effect these apparently trivial things can have on the physical senses, on the nervous system, and the very mechanical follow-ons that can produce in brain chemistry. We are moist robots, as the unappealing phrase goes. It was obvious from your writing in the hospital that you were pretty much under physical assault from the environment at all times, on top of everything else you have to deal with, and it was unsurprising and pleasing that things shifted a bit when you moved (initially). It’s also unsurprising though less pleasant that you’ve now adjusted to a new normal, with lesser but still considerable strains on top of the essential work. As you partially suggest, I don’t think you should see this bouleversé as wildly out of line with what might be expected, but I realise knowing that is very different from sitting there in the grip of the storm. As I think I might have suggested before, there is probably one unimpeachably rational argument for staying alive and it’s this: at some point, things will change, internally or externally. Change is guaranteed, we just don’t know what kind of change it will be. Whether it weighs enough with you, now or at any other time, is another question.
I don’t think you’ll like this much because it involves tarot cards which I imagine you have no truck with, but in passing it’s about society’s fascination with healing, and our inability as humans to construct a narrative that isn’t about things getting better through our own strenuous and inevitably rewarded efforts at some point. She has a series of subscriber posts that delve into this more deeply and reflect on the lack of cultural tools we have for “wounds that don’t heal”. It was one of those things that, after I’d read it, I suddenly saw it everywhere.
Yes, your physical condition will not improve, but Depression is the temporary mental condition you are in. Depression always can improve but you are in no position to believe that. It's the conundrum all of us who suffer Depression face.
I recognise my incredible privilege of having quiet places and spaces. I appreciate and respect your thoughtfulness in flagging your plans.
Most recently I've been having tentative conversations about planned/assisted dying with peers (60++). An Irish Citizens assembly have just proposed a referendum on legal changes to support assisted death in particular circumstances. I welcome the opportunity as a health care worker and citizen to increase personal choice.
It's definitely personal. I'm hoping knowing you have some choice will bring relief in the noisiest moments. Virtual hug 🫂 and love to you and your folks.
WTF look at the comments your leaving your readers bereft if you go through with these ideas. Don’t you realise you are making a big contribution ?? And there are so many who are nt . Do try a rethink ….
I know we readers love you and all your honesty so much that we don't want to lose you. Your writing glazes my life and so many others, with a sweetness borne of bitters. We also love you so much that we want you to do what's the kindest most illuminating most comfy most loving thing that you can do to find release!
Hello Paul. I am going to respond to the first part of your piece first, the tormenting noise part. I spent most of my adult life cohabiting with multiple people, in flats with thin walls. I'm a very light sleeper, and I used silicone ear plugs to sleep for most of that time. Other things that people use to counteract noise are a white-noise machine, or noise-cancelling headphones. When I was considering your situation I was thinking about whether there would be a way for you to remove the earplugs or headphones if you needed to: possibly you could yank a cord connected to them or something like that. White noise might be better.
In any case, I moved house last year and now for the first time in my adult life I live in a quiet house where I can I sleep without earplugs. I never, never take the peace for granted. I very seldom play music, preferring silence. I grew up in the bush, a very quiet and dark place. Silence and darkness are human needs if not rights, in my opinion (though obviously also a massive privilege not afforded to many).
As to the 'journey' metaphor: that seems somewhat like the male Doctor who told me that the cervix is painless... OK, bro... Metaphors are powerful in shaping thinking. I think it's sometimes a habit for Doctors, who have to communicate with... well, everyone- that they tend to deploy easy ideas that work for most people.
As to Dignitas: fair play. A few elections back in New Zealand we had two referenda. People voted (narrowly) against the legalisation of weed. They (we) voted with a 65% majority to legalise euthanasia via the End of Life Choice Act. Both of these issues were discussed a great deal around the lead up to the election but still, I was surprised at the results: I thought it would go the other way round (yes to weed, no to euthanasia). So assisted suicide is now legal in my country.
You should definitely have a say in whether you want to continue with life and, as you mention, this gives you a sense of autonomy. Who knows what will happen? You may pull out of your depression and feel differently or not. Thank you for letting us into your head.
I respect your sanity and your choices. No one should be expected to suffer. And, assisted suicide means that no poor lorry driver will have to feel guilty for being the unwittingly instrument of your demise. If free will matters for any reason, it should be this.
You don't have to pretend to be optimistic to make other people feel better. Your readers are all learning what it's like to be trapped and helpless inside a poorly functioning body.
It sounds like you had a good life; the life you wanted. You enjoyed your friends and your health in a way few of us do. You had a promising academic career. You lived a life of joy and satisfaction. You were lucky.
You do not have to live in joyless perpetuity and no one should expect you to. We all have our limits to what we are able to tolerate in our life. It is fair and just that you make this decision for yourself, based on your needs.
I hope you can get used to working with noise. Part of me thinks it must be possible while knowing that I struggle with noise myself. I’m not an academic but my job is fairly academic. I know I can’t seriously read and think even with music playing as it’s too distracting- let alone people speaking or shouting. I had to get used to the tv constantly being on during lockdown as my partner always has the news on and we shared a tiny flat - but obviously that’s not the same. Presumably you’re also needing to find new ways to take notes and write things. That must be hard too - we all have our processes. On the other struggles - well - what you say is heartbreaking but we can all empathise. I can only continue to hope that life becomes happy again for you, in new ways. But it’s your life and it’s completely up to you whether you ultimately decide to go on with it or not. Hopefully this piece of autonomy or freedom is enough in the background.
The trend towards re-framing, as a journey, what Homer Simpson once accurately described as “just a bunch of stuff that happened” embodies the narcissism of an age where the tools of mass communication are more commonly used as a mirror – one that reflects an augmented reality that frequently dials-down on hard-cornered truths. A journey implies a sense of purpose and destination; destiny even. It dispels, to the peripheral reaches of the mind, the uncomfortable notion that, more often than not, we are drifting through life like pieces of seaweed on the current.
At the hospital where I used to work, the patients who were out of options were placed on an end of life pathway, which always made me think of The Canterbury Tales. What lies at the end of the end of life pathway? A euphemism commonly used by nurses in reference to patients who had recently slipped the mortal coil, described them as having “gone to Rose Cottage”.
Who wouldn't want to visit Rose Cottage with its pale-pink exterior walls, and trellises, and its cupboard-under-the-stairs toilet conversion that shows traces of the old wallpaper. Just watch your head on the low beams of the bedroom ceilings.
Any journey can be transformed into an amazing journey when it is viewed through the prism of reality TV. Whether your path to greatness is paved with a stepping stone arrangement of Victoria sponges, or by an over-seasoning of classic songs with melisma, in a bid to secure a future as the kind of music industry houseplant that Simon Cowell will eventually forget to water, you may rest assured that it will be amazing. Don't forget to remind everybody how amazing it is. They will want to know. Even if they don't, they will still need to be told.
You are laying the foundation for your own exit, though hopefully that will not be via the A10, which will only take you as far as Kings Lynn. Furthermore, you cannot realistically expect your mum to push you through the doors to Valhalla and not immediately be laughed out of the place by Odin and his mates.
There was a music journalist called David Cavanagh who always struck me as a sensitive and principled man. These traits left him vulnerable to the rigours of a profession that is not kind, and where one needs to put one's elbows out and carve a niche. Despite his abilities as a writer and critic, he struggled with the hard realities of the industry. On the 27th December 2018, he stepped in front of a high speed train. He mentioned in his suicide note that he had delayed killing himself by a couple of days so as not to inconvenience anyone who was travelling home for Christmas.
The circumstances of his death greatly troubled me and still do – the violence of it. This was a man who lived by the pen, but who chose to die by the sword. We are back to this idea of the imposed narrative of the journey – that a man's death must be consistent with the way he lived. If Cavanagh had swallowed the modern day equivalent of hemlock, after first arranging for the delivery of a KFC party bucket to the nearest shrine to Asclepius, I might have been more able to accept that.
You have set your sights on intellectual peaks, along with the more conventional rocky variety that have contributed to your present circumstances. I think of you more in the vein of Ambrose Bierce; a man who straddled the worlds of thinking and doing; a veteran of the American Civil War who became a journalist, before disappearing into the Mexican Revolution in his dotage. The closest thing that we have to his last words are in a letter that wrote on the 26th December, 1913 (again that awkwardly-shaped liminal space between Christmas and New Year, where souls fall through the cracks): “I leave here tomorrow for an unknown destination.” When he wrote these words, Bierce would have meant that he literally did not know where Pancho Villa's army was going next, though I expect that a man with his elevated levels of sarcasm would have acknowledged, with hindsight, the dramatic irony laced into that final sentence.
In this context it is hard to think of you willingly fading away. Not when there is a current of willpower that breaks through the surface of reality and compels you to haul yourself around the car park, and thereafter to roam the foothills of academia, and also to engage in the losing battle that is chess. Beyond the nursing home, which is a transitionary step on what I would not dare to describe as a journey if I were within charging range of your wheelchair, there is another chapter that occurs in a space that is your own.
I recently lost a really good DSA mental health supporter (trauma and autism informed) and I am now stuck with one that spouts the ‘life is a journey’ or, even worse, ‘life is an adventure’ lines whenever I dare to say that I’m not happy with my life and situation. I spend the sessions staring at the little screen of me in the corner to see if I’m scowling too hard at her surface level suggestions of what I can do to be happier whilst not considering the complicated situation I find myself in, so I can’t imagine how frustrating it is with yours.
I think people are scared by the word suicide mainly, every time I mention it, I follow it up with a mandatory ‘I’d never actually do anything don’t worry’ but that then defeats the entire point of bringing it up either. Then, the whole ‘temporary problem’ argument fails to acknowledge that even if you do manage to get over that problem, which isn’t always the case you you know all to well, there’s probably another 10 problems that have emerged since then. It’s a shit thought to have, yes, and it makes other people feel bad but I think we do need to talk about it more openly without others jumping to conclusions and not hearing your thought process out properly. Most of the time it’s just trying to feel heard and understood, which I think assisted suicide is good at too, because even if you don’t go through with it, people are taking you seriously and not treating it as a temporary moment where you’re out of control, but rather recognising the very real pain and giving you some power over something you do own, your life.
I obviously don’t want you to die, but I think you should be taken more seriously when you say that you do have these thoughts. It’s Groundhog Day in itself when you get the same repeated general advice you get on reasons not to kill yourself, you don’t speak about it for a while and then when you do again, it’s the same list of reasons yet again. I think it’s harder for people that study philosophy, because we know where the repetitive advice comes from, and more importantly, we know how to challenge it because it’s what we are trained to do, especially if you don’t subscribe to the same philosophy yourself (e.g. the world/ life is inherently good for everyone).
It’s hard, and your pain and want to die is a natural response to the situation, after all you need to consent to a journey, otherwise it’s just kidnapping.
I’m glad visits are making it more bearable, too.
I think I’ve pissed off a couple of people at various points by snapping at them that there is no redemption arc here unless *you* find it, and it’s not anyone’s business to try to make this feel ok *for them* by seeing it in terms of an inevitably meaningful epic journey (obviously completely excepting your family and loved ones who must do what they need to do). It was of course lovely to read your previous post on this, where you had decided not to proceed with this plan, but I was also aware that a general sense of the suicide question being settled, in that comfortable redemption arc way, might take away the safety valve of your having voiced the thought in the first place, and I’m not surprised you need it back. This entire thing is intolerable. Nobody should be expected to withstand it, never mind make a “journey” out of it.
Another thing though. I remember framing the specific thought when I donated to the fund, that I didn’t want you to bow out for a stupid fixable reason. Let it not be because you don’t have the maximal amount of mobility available, or because the lights are on too much, or because it’s too noisy. I thought, let’s try and help fix a bit of that, and then see. Really don’t underestimate the effect these apparently trivial things can have on the physical senses, on the nervous system, and the very mechanical follow-ons that can produce in brain chemistry. We are moist robots, as the unappealing phrase goes. It was obvious from your writing in the hospital that you were pretty much under physical assault from the environment at all times, on top of everything else you have to deal with, and it was unsurprising and pleasing that things shifted a bit when you moved (initially). It’s also unsurprising though less pleasant that you’ve now adjusted to a new normal, with lesser but still considerable strains on top of the essential work. As you partially suggest, I don’t think you should see this bouleversé as wildly out of line with what might be expected, but I realise knowing that is very different from sitting there in the grip of the storm. As I think I might have suggested before, there is probably one unimpeachably rational argument for staying alive and it’s this: at some point, things will change, internally or externally. Change is guaranteed, we just don’t know what kind of change it will be. Whether it weighs enough with you, now or at any other time, is another question.
I don’t think you’ll like this much because it involves tarot cards which I imagine you have no truck with, but in passing it’s about society’s fascination with healing, and our inability as humans to construct a narrative that isn’t about things getting better through our own strenuous and inevitably rewarded efforts at some point. She has a series of subscriber posts that delve into this more deeply and reflect on the lack of cultural tools we have for “wounds that don’t heal”. It was one of those things that, after I’d read it, I suddenly saw it everywhere.
https://jessicadore.substack.com/p/offering-fall-equinox-2022?utm_source=profile&utm_medium=reader2
It is important for suicide to be talked about openly as such a common feeling. Thank you for sharing so eloquently. Sending hugs to you 💜
Yes, your physical condition will not improve, but Depression is the temporary mental condition you are in. Depression always can improve but you are in no position to believe that. It's the conundrum all of us who suffer Depression face.
"If you know where you're going when you start, it's not a journey, it's a bus trip." (Camus)
All best wishes, David
So moving, such brilliant writing
Hello Paul.
I recognise my incredible privilege of having quiet places and spaces. I appreciate and respect your thoughtfulness in flagging your plans.
Most recently I've been having tentative conversations about planned/assisted dying with peers (60++). An Irish Citizens assembly have just proposed a referendum on legal changes to support assisted death in particular circumstances. I welcome the opportunity as a health care worker and citizen to increase personal choice.
It's definitely personal. I'm hoping knowing you have some choice will bring relief in the noisiest moments. Virtual hug 🫂 and love to you and your folks.
WTF look at the comments your leaving your readers bereft if you go through with these ideas. Don’t you realise you are making a big contribution ?? And there are so many who are nt . Do try a rethink ….
I know we readers love you and all your honesty so much that we don't want to lose you. Your writing glazes my life and so many others, with a sweetness borne of bitters. We also love you so much that we want you to do what's the kindest most illuminating most comfy most loving thing that you can do to find release!
What you have written here about opening up this option makes such sense. I wish you peace. ❤️
Your honesty and thoughtfulness are touching. This seems very corny, but if you go, you will leave behind much love for you.
Hello Paul. I am going to respond to the first part of your piece first, the tormenting noise part. I spent most of my adult life cohabiting with multiple people, in flats with thin walls. I'm a very light sleeper, and I used silicone ear plugs to sleep for most of that time. Other things that people use to counteract noise are a white-noise machine, or noise-cancelling headphones. When I was considering your situation I was thinking about whether there would be a way for you to remove the earplugs or headphones if you needed to: possibly you could yank a cord connected to them or something like that. White noise might be better.
In any case, I moved house last year and now for the first time in my adult life I live in a quiet house where I can I sleep without earplugs. I never, never take the peace for granted. I very seldom play music, preferring silence. I grew up in the bush, a very quiet and dark place. Silence and darkness are human needs if not rights, in my opinion (though obviously also a massive privilege not afforded to many).
As to the 'journey' metaphor: that seems somewhat like the male Doctor who told me that the cervix is painless... OK, bro... Metaphors are powerful in shaping thinking. I think it's sometimes a habit for Doctors, who have to communicate with... well, everyone- that they tend to deploy easy ideas that work for most people.
As to Dignitas: fair play. A few elections back in New Zealand we had two referenda. People voted (narrowly) against the legalisation of weed. They (we) voted with a 65% majority to legalise euthanasia via the End of Life Choice Act. Both of these issues were discussed a great deal around the lead up to the election but still, I was surprised at the results: I thought it would go the other way round (yes to weed, no to euthanasia). So assisted suicide is now legal in my country.
You should definitely have a say in whether you want to continue with life and, as you mention, this gives you a sense of autonomy. Who knows what will happen? You may pull out of your depression and feel differently or not. Thank you for letting us into your head.
I respect your sanity and your choices. No one should be expected to suffer. And, assisted suicide means that no poor lorry driver will have to feel guilty for being the unwittingly instrument of your demise. If free will matters for any reason, it should be this.
You don't have to pretend to be optimistic to make other people feel better. Your readers are all learning what it's like to be trapped and helpless inside a poorly functioning body.
It sounds like you had a good life; the life you wanted. You enjoyed your friends and your health in a way few of us do. You had a promising academic career. You lived a life of joy and satisfaction. You were lucky.
You do not have to live in joyless perpetuity and no one should expect you to. We all have our limits to what we are able to tolerate in our life. It is fair and just that you make this decision for yourself, based on your needs.
I hope you can get used to working with noise. Part of me thinks it must be possible while knowing that I struggle with noise myself. I’m not an academic but my job is fairly academic. I know I can’t seriously read and think even with music playing as it’s too distracting- let alone people speaking or shouting. I had to get used to the tv constantly being on during lockdown as my partner always has the news on and we shared a tiny flat - but obviously that’s not the same. Presumably you’re also needing to find new ways to take notes and write things. That must be hard too - we all have our processes. On the other struggles - well - what you say is heartbreaking but we can all empathise. I can only continue to hope that life becomes happy again for you, in new ways. But it’s your life and it’s completely up to you whether you ultimately decide to go on with it or not. Hopefully this piece of autonomy or freedom is enough in the background.