Eulogy of One
*suicide content warning
Death by choice, a socially acceptable subject to suppress, keeping humans stuck in our relationship to it.
I’m talking about it I guess.
It works well, the programming we have knowingly and unknowingly, consciously and unconsciously created that tells us what is acceptable to discuss. Resistance socially indoctrinated into me is indeed present.
It’s both, always is.
Both protective and oppressive, but which one?
The felt sense of fear, the chemistry of resistance.
Is fear in fact excitement without breath?
It’s something I am exploring and thus far seems true. I’m keen with it, creating with it and grateful to no longer be disassociated from it.
It’s a friendly thing, the nervous system, I say that knowing most of us interact with it like an enemy. The internal relationship to self is a wicked one.
The nervous system will for you point to the duality in the thing, like this;
If humans need to cease perpetuation of toxic cycles to survive, we will have to talk about what is oppressed and why, in the shadow is the way out of the cycle.
With sufficient safety, otherwise detrimental to society in the perpetuated pain winning the day.
Which it does regularly, by the way, wins the day.
Our addictions to survival mechanisms well beyond their intentional expiration date can no longer hide easily. We have to have safe non judgmental space to talk about these conditions addictions to oppressive society, it’s vital to our livelihood. And, it seems important to me that we do it safely or we don’t do it at all.
The preferably unacknowledged human prerequisite of dense and obscure emotional pain, that can and has led to chosen death, is a hard mirror to look in. A hard conversation to have.
Avoiding the seat at the table isn't changing what is waiting there is it?
For me and the many of the people I find myself holding safe space for the shadow in, the mirror of over-accumulated depression shows up, dense and obscure pain that indicates low probabilities of survival.
The data from this angle, my expression of depression is unoriginal, many of us have it, and many of us need to believe we don’t.
Running like the cow, away from the ever chasing storm.
Let’s be the buffalo, the animal that goes toward the storm knowing the path is through it.
I’ve had on several occasions, a deep desire to disappear, a wish to dissolve into nothingness, to have very specifically never existed.
I’m not even sure if this constitutes idealizing, but maybe.
It’s a subject largely misunderstood, by most if not all of us. I think it speaks to the state of defeat and overwhelm that comes with this excruciating human existence.
The nervous system is wired to seek a way out of what is unbearable.
Coincidentally, mental processing is reduced far too much for clear visibility when in a state of suffering. Which means the protective self deduces there is no way out.
Knowing what is happening to me while it’s happening has been grounded in just one thing, knowing I can’t trust my thinking when I want to dissolve.
And, science keeps me from attempting to become nothingness.
I have a sense the endeavor might be futile in nature. Energetic evolution and existence have been biologically and epigenetically proven.
In a way, nothingness is not how energy works, and all things are energy, and I don’t think we know much about energy yet.
It seems to need medium for alchemy, what happens when it has none? Does it cease to continue to pursue evolution?
And then there are the creations I’ve already biologically and energetically produced. I’m beyond erasure, maybe always was.
Yet, I still get enchanted by the illusion or erasure, swept by the hollows of despair.
A maddening but life saving contradiction I occupy.
I’ve known people who have chosen to end their life. And then watched the dysfunctional grief that seems inevitable for the ones doing the grieving. The humans connected to the invitation to review life through the lens of not wanting it, are an interesting bit of science added to our collective human story.
We are under-resourced as humans on either side of the coin, hanging on or wondering why. Might one aspect be our collective denial of shadow reality? Looking at it wins the day.
Reflection, stillness necessary. And, breath goes a long way.
Suicide statistics are actually hard to calculate, and contain variable discrepancies (as most statistics do), still they demonstrate some data.
* As of 2020, suicide was the 12th leading cause of death in the US.
* Close to 46,000 deaths in the US and 1.2 million attempts every year.
* This is on average 120 suicide deaths per day and 3,287 known attempts.
* The leading demographic in completed death by suicide is actually middle aged white men.
I wonder if systems categorize the suicide of women and children some other way, unable to accept the depth of suffering in other demographics, and also my own experience of completed suicide supports the statistic, I’ve known 3 white men who chose out of the meat suit.
What if there are actually legions of humans killing themselves slowly, addicted to suffering, but not calling it what it is? Judgment is always a great indicator of oppression.
Socially acceptable self destruction, conveniently creating an illusion that neither the individual nor society need own what is closeted. But saying it's not, doesn’t make it so.
Expressions of a biological system that has lost community healing, preference for perpetuating unmet needs and parental hunger.
It’s a humanities epidemic chronic emotional pain crisis.
I have a proclivity to occupy the landscaped park for the living to visit the dead, I do it recreationally. Tonopah Nevada cemetery is unlike the rest. Body markers made of deteriorating wood and metal nail punched plagues with dates we’d expect there, indications of the beginning and end of the body.
Also indicated, the manner of death, a peculiar burial tradition.
The majority of which are volatile. Hundred of stories about murder and suicide, with an occasional mining accident woven in.
I appreciate the honesty in this volatile dusty desert graveyard, it’s oddly refreshing in a way. A reduction of shame, no hiding. There is something safe about it.
My mind ruminates on two things when the grief of human loss takes me to a funeral;
Speakers highlight rainbows and butterflies and miss out on the vulnerability of shadow stories, with tremendous inequality.
And, there are as many perceptions of an individual, as there are people who knew them.
For this reason (and maybe a few other annoyances), I'd like to be the keynote speaker at my own life celebration. The articulation of a life lived to be told by the one who lived it, shadow equality included.
So, I've been attempting to write my own eulogy for a few years now.
The most successful attempt this one, a torturously written book of essays, published one week and one nuanced story and stream of thought at a time.
Eulogy of One.
One unoriginal life lived, one with the collective.
Audrey
Source - (American foundation for suicide prevention.) https://afsp.org/suicide-statistics/