On the Far Side of the Glass

In 25 years as a Crisis Negotiator I have spoken with dozens of people contemplating suicide.  These experiences have changed my views on the topic.  Like many, I used to view someone taking their own life as selfish, as weak, and as “taking the easy way out”.

What I found over the years is that people in this position don’t want to die, so much as they just want the hurting to stop, and they cannot see any other way to make that happen.  That’s what I try to do, to let them see a way out of the hurt.  Sometimes it’s successful and sometimes it’s not.  But just imagine how bad it must be for a person to see ending their own life as the best, or only, solution.  I can’t be angry with anyone feeling such hurt that they see death as their only option.

Imagine being a fish inside a large tank at an aquarium; not a tropical fish in a bright tank, but some sort of deep sea fish, where the tank is barely illuminated.  There are no other fish like you in the tank.  You know that there is a world outside of this tank, but glass walls prevent you from going there.  You can see the occasional flashes of tourists’ cameras, and faint movement of crowds looking into the tank, but it’s simply too dark for you to see much more than that.  The people looking in see aquamarine water, shimmering in the subdued light, while fish glide effortlessly and gracefully by.  The tank appears beautiful to them. You hear occasional laughter, warbled by the water, of children on the far side of the glass, but never see them. You know that world exists outside of your tank but you cannot see any way of joining them on the other side.  You’re doomed to swim alone, in your cold, dark tank.

That is how someone once described suicidal depression to me; like living in a dark world by yourself, knowing another world exists where people are happy but knowing there is no path for you to get there, no way to pass through the glass.

A friend of mine killed himself yesterday.  This is not someone anyone expected.  Ed was always the life of the party, outgoing, loud, and gregarious.  I’d never seen him without a broad smile on his face.  He re-married just 2 years ago, and they’d bought a house together last year.  He treated his dog like a son.  He seemed to have everything going for him; but somewhere underneath, kept well-hidden from friends and family, was a feeling that his best option in life was death.

I wish he’d reached out.  I wish I could’ve talked with him like I have so many others.  I wish he could’ve seen the life on the other side of the glass.

We’ll miss you Ed.