Suicide

Depression is an awful condition, with many different causes, many of which cannot be helped by the sufferer, and only through treatment can be abated. But do we ever hear of people that deliberately cause their own depression? Does it even count as mental illness if a person knowingly and willingly does such terrible things in their life as to bring about such a state? Can it truly be called "depression" if it is brought about by self-sabotage?

Moreover, are all circumstances surrounding suicide related to depression? There are those who seek assisted suicide due to failing physical health. Samurai would commit seppuku in order to die with honour rather than be tortured by their enemies. Then there are cowards who kill themselves in jail rather than face justice for their crimes, such as Fred West and Harold Shipman.

I have a story to tell, and I hope that the sharing of it does not reflect badly upon me. It is about a real-life Ebenezer Scrooge, a person whose actions and demeanour led him to be universally despised, even by those who once cared for him. I tell it not only to make sense of my own feelings, but to speculate on whether all suicides should be treated as tragedies.

This man was lazy, and proud to be so. He fraudulently claimed benefits for several years, until he was found out. Still, he never sought work, choosing to leech from others instead of finding his own income. He had two sons to different mothers, and refused to even acknowledge the elder son's existence until his relationship with the mother of the youngest dissolved. Not one payment of child support was ever received by either mother.

He was racist, sexist, and without respect for any kind of authority except his own. Yet he was cowardly too, only able to assert himself with the assistance of others. He was a talented manipulator, getting those around him to do his bidding through bribery. He called people "brother" and "sister", gaining their trust under the illusion of fraternity and keeping them close for as long as they could be useful. Anyone clever enough to see through him and cut him out of their lives soon found themselves at the receiving end of a stream of back-stabbing and secondhand slander. Anyone not so observant would find themselves unceremoniously removed from his life once their usefulness expired.

Yet for what purpose did he need his many lackeys? To him, it was simple: the procuring and partaking of drugs. His was a near-permanent state of removal from reality. Believing himself to be a god among swine, he would sooner smoke a spliff than feed his son a sandwich. Of course, when his neglect was discovered, he threatened violence towards his accusers. To speak out against him was to sever all ties with him.

I wish this weren't a true story.

It ends this way: Having been abandoned by all his former friends for lying and cheating so often, he moved in with his mother. His little kingdom had failed him, yet he sought attention as often as he could. He sent pictures to his ex-girlfriends, taken from the roofs of multi-storey car parks, trying to scare them into satiating his need to control them.

Here, circumstances become a little hazy, but it can be safely assumed that his access to both of his sons was being revoked. He had become increasingly violent and unstable. The final straw came when he threatened to bomb his ex-girlfriend's house whilst she and their son were inside. The police were called, and charges were pressed.

Several days later, he took his own life. Reactions to the news of his death played out with a chilling resemblance to Dickens' Christmas Yet To Come.

I really wish this weren't a true story.

One cannot feel sad for him. He destroyed himself utterly, with a smile on his face as he did so. One cannot feel sad for those closest to him, either. His children will be no worse off without him, for he was never truly there for them to begin with.

Yet I feel sad. That such a person should exist, whose only legacy is the misery he caused others, hardly seems possible to me. People are generally a mix of both good and bad traits, and never a perfect rendition of either. But what good can be said for this person's life? He was too selfish to care for anyone else, and too cowardly to face justice when it finally came to meet him. Does the real tragedy lie in the fact that his end cannot be seen as tragic at all?

My despair for mankind has led to my own depression, and that this story has taken place so close to home makes me despair even more. Truly, no life was ever more wasted than his. But it is my wish that his two beautiful sons lead happy, fulfilling lives from here onwards. They are his only legacy, and his only hope for redemption.