Typical, isn’t it? I start writing a novel about depression and end up getting depressed myself. Nivi is one of my characters – it must be all her fault.
Joking aside, what got me here? To this point where I tried to jump out the window of my first floor flat – a place I love, by the way – on what was a rather cold and wet Thursday night?
There are bruises on my arms from where my ex-partner tried to stop me from jumping. Of course he was scared, and yes, I was angry. I was angry at him for the lack of awareness about himself and the rest of the world around him that he displays in his decision-making. I was more angry because he is intelligent and there is nothing stopping him because it’s all in his attitude to everything. All of his important decisions are (usually) made from a starting point of absolute fear and then he rarely chooses wisely. As his partner that affected me.
Maybe it shouldn’t have. Maybe I shouldn’t involve myself so much in my partner’s life - whomever that partner may be. Then again, I don’t know any other way of being – of being a friend, a colleague, a partner, a relative.
I was angry at nearly everyone that made up my social life too. I involve myself, I do a lot and then I expect others to act as if they care as much as they say they do. I suppose that’s a character failing – I am neurotic in how I like things to be consistent or at least to be kept updated of changes when they occur.
People don’t do this though. They have a million and one very reasonable things to do than let me know “We’re still here, this how much you mean to us.” Or, they have very reasonable barriers that prevent them from doing so, like being half a world away.
And then I feel betrayed. That’s a strong word, isn’t it? In a world of email, texting and skyping, why is it that friends can’t be bothered to take two minutes to say “Hi, how are you? We’re missing you.” Why can’t partners open up to you? Why can’t people be more honest about when they are moving on in terms of friendships or relationships?
Because there is a lag between the time someone makes up their mind to not continue a relationship of any sort with me and the time when I am fully convinced they are not worth spending any more effort on. During that period I spend a lot of time a) wondering what’s wrong, b) wondering if this is just a temporary blip due to circumstances or not and c) wasting time and energy when I could spend it on people who actually don’t mind working at being friends or anything else with me.
It’s not that I am particularly hard to make friends with – at least, I don’t think so. Quite possibly, I might be tiring for someone to look at simply due to the amount of pies I seem to have my fingers stuck in. I just think relationships should not only be easy in a particular sense, but for them to evolve with the two people in them, both having to put some level of effort into it – even if it’s just your best friend in another country picking up the phone.
“You don’t need this kind of stress.”
That was my counselor talking. After wondering if my demands in relationships were too much and having three different members of the opposite sex tell me exactly that within the last ten months, it’s nice to have both her and my dad say:
“People don’t always tell you the truth – it probably isn’t about you but about them. They can’t handle it.”
In fact, my father wants to know why I am “demanding” if what I want is emotional honesty and some emotional support from my friends and family. That seems basic to him. It seems basic to me too. I wonder if it’s just an idea I have inherited but then…
…I have friends who back me up on this. Friends who had no idea what was going on because frankly (and have since been there and very supportive which is restoring my faith in my social circle bit by bit), I believe if you don’t get to choose when you are born, then it seems unfair to not be able to choose how you die and I knew that if I voiced it when it started, I would get:
“Don’t you care about the people you will leave behind?
And the answer to that is this:
“It’s equally as selfish when you feel – when life is agony – to be asked to prolong that agony for the sake of someone not wanting to grieve. The other part is – quite frankly – a lot of rage and disbelief because IF people did care about you AND showed it AND were going to be so drastically affected by your potential death, then you would have never ended up at the point where life was agonising enough for you to contemplate suicide.”
Which was why I didn’t want to talk about it.
“At the time, I did feel as if I was in agony.” I said to a family friend.
“If people cared the way I have tried to for others, then I don’t think I’d be in that situation. Instead I feel I have been, in a sense, abandoned and betrayed by quite a few – not all – people I put a lot of trust and faith in.
“What about the people who were trying to be there?”
“It’s there in your brain – that thought – but the emotion takes over so strongly that it crowds it out as you remember everyone you feel so hurt by.”
Another part of this picture is that death has never been something that I have been afraid of. In my non-suicidal, ecstatically happy moments I love life. But I also see life for what it is to me and I can’t apologise for that.
Life is a series of experiences that include both the positive and negative – both teach you about life, and running away from negative ones seems to go against the point of living because that’s where the mistakes are made and the lessons learnt. That being said, you don’t take stupid risks either.
I also want to go through life making an impact. In 28 years, I have made an impact, I can see that. So if I was to die tomorrow, I would not have any regrets because I have tried to learn something from most things that have happened to me and I have tried to do and achieve a lot. I have had a good life up to this point – beyond death is great comfort and adventure (or so I believe personally) and looking forward to that keeps me going when life gets me down
Kind of like: “I can hack this because there is something better waiting that will make up for all of this.”
Is that morbid? I don’t think so. I think it’s rather balanced and objective really. What I have learnt is that in a suicidal moment my thoughts are that I have done everything I can, people are inherently selfish and forget that they have a duty of care to the people around them and smart people know when to give up and I have no worries about death so why not exit.
“You’re mine, you remember that.”
That was my mother as she talked about how when I was born she kept checking on me in the crib, finding it hard to believe that a child of hers had survived.
I am an independent kind of person as well, you see, and as much I love being around people, I belong to myself. You can blame this on the cats that I grew up with if you like – it probably explains a lot. I am happy to let my mother think I belong to her because it was what I needed to hear at the time:
“You’re mine because I care about you and want you.”
Also because my mother studied the Classics and one Greek philosopher was of the opinion that you saw beauty in something because you wanted, loved and desired to possess it. My mother states I am her possession so there’s my backwards logic for you – she must love me.
At least someone finally said something. Now I’m worried that people are only going to say things when there is a crisis and not before. What’s the point of telling someone at their deathbed that they are loved when you had their entire lifetime to tell them when it could have possibly had more of an impact?
What a waste of time. You don’t deserve to be around people in my view if you aren’t honest emotionally with them about how you feel, good or bad. To hell with being halfway across the world or country, there are ways around that. That it isn’t something you are used to doing is equally a lot of hogwash because it’s something well worth getting used to and it enriches your life.
Never, ever be the person who only realises how much someone else meant to you at their graveside. You can’t sit around waiting for people to open up to you themselves, you have to try as well.
I also do worry that the novel – and hey, maybe this article itself even – will make people think that I am inciting people to suicide. I’m not. What I want to point out is that you can’t brush it aside as a selfish act because it hurts other people. You have to realise that people are driven to this through what they believe but also because other people, being human, have failed them. Because other people have not bothered to realise how they affect them. Because they haven’t stopped to think twice. Because they assume that they already know they care about them. Because they haven’t been hugged in a while.
Because people have failed each other in their duty of care towards one another – something very basic that I think we all need to be doing, no matter if the other person is our other half, a friend, an acquaintance or a stranger you pass by in the street.
That’s what “love one another” means. That’s why I believe and continue to believe in the capacity and capability of people to be and do so much but then get depressed when they don’t live up to it. When they don’t believe in themselves.
The best reason to live up to it and believe in yourself is because it can then cause you to behave better, to reach out and maybe then you will have a logical leg to stand on when you’re trying to coax your best friend back into your arms and away from that slippery border.
Because then maybe you will be able to say “I have been here, I am still here and I still care” and maybe they will be able to believe you.
“We just want to know that someone gives a damn about what we do, what we stand for – about us.”
And yes, I am happier now. And Nivi, as a character is still damn annoying.
 MARISA WIKRAMANAYAKE Marisa Wikramanayake plays with words for a living as a writer, editor and journalist. Science Network WA pays her to talk to fascinating scientists, prior to which she penned a four year long weekly column about politics, popular culture and life in Perth for The Sunday Leader newspaper. She has also written about gaming for Specusphere and about the latest independent music.
She cannot seem to stop blogging either: continuing Perth Diary on Saturdays, cross posting her Emergen “How to write a book” posts on Wednesdays and discussing general freelancing on Fridays. She also plays around with a camera and writes about books she has read, hoarded or hated. When she isn’t working, she’s – well – working: on her novel Sedition. As an editor, her clients have included Diabetes WA, the Centre for Policy Development and Dorian Gray Pictures.
If you want to know more about Marisa, you can find her on LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter or look at her portfolio.
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