Am I A Coward For Blogging About Suicide Anonymously?

In December of 2009, I bared the first tiny bit of my soul to the universe in "This, Too Shall Pass?"

There was no place in my life where I could tell the truth about what led me down the path of suicide.

So I created one for myself. And for everyone else who didn't have a place, either.

In real life, you can't tell people to STFU when their idea of" helping" you is spouting some cliché like, "God never gives us more than we can handle."

In this blog, I can say whatever I want...because I do it anonymously. Which means I don't have to deal with stigma. And judgment. And rejection.

ANONYMOUS=GUTLESS ???

In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be shamed into silence for my feelings. I could speak openly about what I have been through, what led me to the brink, and how I found my way back.  I could look forward to compassion and understanding ... instead of condemnation.

But that is not the world we live in. It is a world where people believe it is easier to die than to be looked upon with the stigma of mental illness.

It is a world where people internalize the hatred of everyone around them and pull the trigger. 

BUT.  Can I keep hiding forever?

All the lying and pretending that alienates me from myself as much as others … isn’t that precisely what got me into this mess to begin with??? 

BUT.  Can I afford NOT to keep hiding?

Some, like The Bloggess, write courageously about their battles with depression. Others, like JD Schramm, have broken the silence by bravely sharing how they survived a suicide attempt.

But what about people who don't have a well-established career and hefty savings account to fall back on if honesty backfires?

So I brought my dilemma to Penelope Trunk, the authority on blogging about taboo subjects, and she asked if she could publish her advice to me in her Mailbag: 

"You should blog under your own name. Of all the things that are terrible, doing something this good, that you are this devoted to - doing it anonymously is too close to a metaphor for suicide. So you have to use your name. To do it anonymously is to give up on everyone around you -- their ability to see the site and see you for who you are. Your ability to be yourself in the world and be accepted. All that stuff is really important given that the topic is suicide."

Now THAT, that made me cry.

Because I DO continue to split off (i.e. murder) the parts of myself that I can't quite own.

And I HAVE given up on every single person around me.

When I try to think of 1 co-worker, 1 friend, 1 family member who I would even THINK of telling that I write this blog, I don't anticipate acceptance as the outcome.

I know what I stand to lose: my job, my credibility, future employability, professional respect...and control. Not that I've ever HAD control over what others think of me, but I DO control which parts of myself I share.

What do I stand to gain? It's one thing to play the odds, but when it's all risk and no reward, I can't help but think I would be a fool for rolling the dice.

Fellow blogger Izzy put it to me this way:

"In regards to human nature, most people are incredibly compelled by those that are willing to be authentic. Your blog is an interesting combination because by not revealing your identity you are able to completely hide yourself ... Yet, at the same time, you completely reveal yourself."

Therein lies the conundrum. 

Keep hiding…or come clean?  Could you bear the exposure of people seeing into your soul?


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Whitney Houston’s Death: Do we have compassion for those who have none for themselves?

“She was a druggie; she deserved to die.”

Some people make callous remarks like that for the shock value, while others truly judge that harshly. It’s not as simple as a failure to understand addiction, a lack of empathy, or a holier-than-thou attitude… and it’s not unique to the critics. I would suspect many addicts think similar thoughts about themselves. Some may not want to live; others actively wish to die. Then there are those who are ambivalent about which category they fall into. Like me.

I don’t purport to understand addiction, but in a way I think we ALL do in some regard. I have my food issues, which run a similar path of self-destruction, and sometimes seem worse than drugs in the sense that you can’t just not eat (and therefore have to manage it constantly). The thing is, it doesn’t matter if you’re Whitney Houston or Jane Doe. You can have it all in the eyes of the world, and have nothing inside.

If you have struggled, you can relate. If you’re human. If you’ve known loss. Or shame. I can’t imagine enduring the whole world’s judgments for all my mistakes; how many people could cope with becoming a laughingstock? I’ve fallen from grace, destroyed my career, and allowed my addiction to overtake me … but fundamentally, nobody cares. I write an anonymous blog and I don’t speak to anybody from my past. It’s the inner critic I have to contend with. That’s the enemy for most of us.

The point is this: I understand self-destruction. I understand self-hatred. I understand getting into a hole you can’t climb out of. I have compassion for what she went through. Why is it, then, that I can find no compassion for myself? The lyrics, “ Learning to love yourself … it is the greatest love of all” run through my mind, one of the Whitney songs I grew up listening to. But why does it always sound so hokey to even talk about? Because we don’t even know what it really means?

Therese at The Unlost writes, “I love all of you. Emptiness and all. Fear and weakness, insecurity and all.” You know, those parts in ourselves which we refuse to tolerate, which convince us we are unacceptable to others. Fittingly, the title of the post reads, “TheGreat Valentine’s Day Hoax: Why the Love We Seek is our own.” If you don’t have it, no one in the world can fix it for you, or give it to you, or buy it for you.

I hope 

life treats you kind 

And I hope 

you have all you've dreamed of 

And I wish you joy 

and happiness 

But above all this 

I wish you love

On Shame.

This evening I commented on a post from my kindred spirit Suzanne of The Invisible Prison on the topic of "Shame and Setbacks." As usual with Suzanne's posts, I felt like she had somehow gotten into my head and was writing down everything I think and feel on a daily basis while fighting not to succumb to the weight of wanting to just give up.

Depression assassinates your former self, and substitutes an imposter that might look a bit like the old you (though admittedly less well-groomed), yet bears little resemblance to the person you once were. What remains is a sham of an excuse for a human being. A fraud. And it's hard to feel proud of being THAT.

Nearly a year ago, I divided a paper into 2 columns entitled "Who I Used To Be" and "Who I am Now" (give it a rest you cognitive behaviorists ... I know those headings are misnomers & that who I AM has not fundamentally changed). It was hard to swallow. Self-loathing oozed from my pores. What I was looking at was the result of internalizing the hatred and cruelty of others. My new "characteristics" seemed to scream, "If everyone is going to treat me like a worthless piece of garbage not worthy of respect...I may as well become it!!"

It looked a WHOLE lot like surrender.

My full comment as posted under "Shame and Setbacks:"

"i - literally - can't even tell u how much i relate to everything u wrote, ESPECIALLY paragraph #4. i get SOOOO ashamed and disgusted with myself, i regret any commitment i make when i'm feeling a little better, because inevitably the time comes and i just don't want to go out and be a member of the human race.

what i hate most: this is the complete opposite of the person i used to be. the dependable, responsible one. the one you can count on. now, i don't want anybody to count on me for anything, or i will disappoint them AND myself.

grief/loss on top of depression is what put me over the top 3 years ago.

ur right, it all becomes one and the same; a big blur of pain.

i'm filled with fear at the moment, because i accepted a job the other day. just a part-time seasonal gig. it's the only interview i've made it to recently; the others have been no-shows and, like u, i just can't even deal with how bad i am making myself look so i usually don't cancel. i end relationships because i feel like all i do is let people down. i HATE this. i hate myself for being like this. anyway, i am afraid i can't even handle this dumb job or the possibility that - once again - i won't make it out of bed in the morning to get there and the self-loathing will overflow once again...

‎"There are four ways you can handle fear. You can go over it, under it or around it. But if you are ever to put fear behind you, you must walk straight through it. Once you put fear behind you, leave it there."

grief is misery; sometimes u gotta just lean into the pain instead of resisting it because "What we resist persists." eventually, if we're lucky, we come out the other side...

it is hard to try and show yourself the same compassion that you would extend any other person in your situation. i mean, really: ARE u a horrible person? do u deserve what ur going through? i can think of some pretty terrible people, and i doubt u fall into that category."

As I wrote before in this post about the revelation I had the night in Nashville when I came close to annihilating my existence on this planet ---

The question I have to answer every single minute of every single day: Who is going to win - the people who have treated me like sh*t in this life, who don't give a damn if I live or die - or the people who love me [and...am I one of them]?????

Hatred is a strong sentiment, after all. To wind up in the category of people so despicable as to deserve hatred is really quite reprehensible. I feel ashamed. Not just of things I have done, but of who I am. My very being.



"I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be"