forum A rant from a character of mine...

Started February 14, 2018 by Mio

tune

(I just wrote it, and you won't understand every reference. Basically, this character is a mom friend in her senior year of high school. She's ranting to her boyfriend about the one thing she hates more than anything else. I can't think of how the boyfriend would respond. So, I request to know how you guys would respond. Here it all is:)

So, Tom was getting all depressing, talking about our friend group splitting up after graduation. Then he started talking about regrets and hating himself and wanting to die. And, all I could think is "There's one more person… One more friend who's depressed. One more friend who's suicidal. One more friend I can't help. One more friend to disappoint." Really, all I'm doing at this point is telling all of you to not die. I can't give any of you a better reason than "I care." I truly can't stop any of you. So, snap just like that, one of you drops dead. And, I lose you, and I cry. Then snap there goes another one. And snap and snap and I'm on my own and I hate my life but I'm too strong to die. It was so much easier when high school started. When I first became the mom friend. Because, I had all the answers. Everyone would come to me. I knew things others didn't. And, I could help, and it felt great and made me so happy when I did. But, now I can't do anything. I'm useless. And, everyone is slipping away. They're still coming to me. Still telling me things. But, all I can do is sit there and listen in response. It kills me. It kills me, because I want to help them so bad but I can't. And, there was a time when I could. So, I don't know what's wrong. If I can't even cheer my friends up anymore, then what can I do? And, the best part, Tom doesn't know I haven't spoken with Dj for almost a year now. So, he brings her up, saying he expected me to be busy talking to her. But, I'm not. Because, I've lost her, and I don't what I did wrong to cause it. But, I'm sure it's my fault.

JESUS TAKE THE WHEEEEEEL

Yeah, I'm a Christian, so I'd probably share my life story if I'd just listened to everything she just said. I'd tell her who CAN help, and who DID for me.

I think awkward silence, and contemplative staring would be the common response to this. Also, maybe a hug. This character sounds like she needs a hug. Also, she could use a reminder that not everything is on her. That she's done so much already. That she has fulfilled her 'good person' quota. That she can let go.

I agree with someone being silent upon hearing that, or holding out their hand and asking for a few minutes to digest before they reply. I couldn't tell you exactly what your character would say in response, but I have two snips of my own characters in situations kind of similar. (Two different works, it's a multiverse.)

In both, it's about the character thinking about cutting. One is just (ha! Just!) cutting, the other is snip is him thinking about self-harm in general and suicide tangentially. As such, they both might be triggering.
The first one is about a character who is very presently emotionally broken.) He's been very badly betrayed and hurt and that shapes the opinions in the piece, and he's very much atheist. (I mention that because I saw a comment about religion above and want it noted I'm not posting this in opposition to that.)
But one of the snips might help inspire you or your characters or help you with a differing view.

Snip 1:

Here was about where he was supposed to realize that life was beautiful and worth living. Except life being beautiful didn't stop it from being ugly and cruel. He flipped the knife around his fingers. Should I or shouldn't I?

Expectations were the worst curse humankind had ever been saddled with. Why was suicide such a tragedy? Why was abortion such a travesty? Because think about who those people could be. What if that unborn child could cure cancer? What if that suicidal teen could end world hunger?

What if that struggling mother could have cured cancer if she'd only been able to afford to go to school instead of being saddled with a child? What if that depressed teen instead picked up an assault rifle and gunned down his entire class?

What if-what if-what if? People got too attached to their imaginings– and always only the positive ones. God knew they couldn't dare think something bad of someone. That might hurt their feelings. That wouldn't be nice. And God forbid someone not be nice.

Because God, you see.

If people based decisions on what was instead of what might be, the world would have been a much fairer place.

He tapped his knife against his wrist. Yes. No. Maybe?

Why?

Because it will make me feel better. Because I want a pain that I actually know will fucking get better.

Why not?

Because… reasons. Except all the arguments against sounded less like reasons and more like excuses. They all amounted to the same thing in the end.

'Because I don't want to watch you hurt.' 'Because I don't want to carry that burden of knowledge.' 'Because I don't want you to shatter my perfect picture of you.'

'Because I because I because I'. What if I don't care what you want anymore? What if *I* choose? What if *I* want? Couldn't have that, couldn't disrespect someone's opinion like that. That wouldn't be nice. The horror! Think of the possibilities! So much future wasted!

What if that powerful man was accused of rape? Can't do that. He has such a bright future, done so much– so much more to go! A rape accusation could ruin his life and that would be the epitome of Not Nice.

Leo could write a treatise on the subject. 'Philosophy, the Art of Saying How Much the World and Everyone in it Sucks, a Memoir.' In the end, the decision to cut, or how deep to cut, or what to cut, came down to one key factor: how much he wanted to versus how much someone else wanted him not to– No, it came down to which of them was worth more on the subject, and he already knew where he placed in regards to other people.

What if *you're* what I choose to hurt myself with? Was mental health only a concern when it presented physical symptoms?

Even 'help' for those mental 'illnesses' were done selfishly. People just didn't care about one another. There'd been a suicide at the school the last year. He'd watched the distant figure on the top of the roof, heard the crowd in the courtyard below shouting for them to jump, jump, worthless lump of nothing. (If he'd have had any faith in humanity at that point, it'd have died then.) The students had gotten their wish, the jumper had gotten their rest. Everyone went home happy. Leo didn't see the issue.

Better than 'wrong-wrong-wrong. This is wrong with you, fix it. No, no, you can't be yourself. You're broken.' There were only so many times a person could be told everything about them was wrong by the people around them before they realized they were the only common denominator. He'd have jumped, too. Leo would die before he let someone else make decisions about his life and body. He wasn't going to go through that again on pain of death. Relief of death.

'Become a functioning member of society, because that's all you're worth: what you can do for the whole.' That was why people got upset at suicide and abortion. Not just because of the lost potential, but because of the loss of their potential gain through the potential –the fantasies they crafted– about the life they saw cut short. It was selfish and Leo was so sick of it all.

He wasn't allowed to be selfish and he wasn't allowed to be Not Nice and he wasn't allowed–

Fuck the world and everyone in it. They'd gotten their say. Had gotten their say for the first eighteen years of his life. It was his goddamned turn and he'd be selfish if he fucking wanted to. See if they could stop him.

His grip on the knife tightened. The world couldn't beat him and wound him and fuck him over again and again and not expect him to bleed. The fact it was internal, mental, didn't make it any less real, didn't make his bleeding to death less real. But that was exactly what it did. A punch, a kick, a stab, stand back up and smile. Just a scratch, continue on.

Snip 2:

Leo didn't have to look up to know Ferroc had frozen in the doorway. He could feel the stillness in the air. He could hear the nervous swallow.

"Am I… interrupting something?"

"No." Not yet.

"Then could you… please, put down the knife?"

"Why?"

"Why not?" Ferroc countered.

So many reasons… He twirled it in his fingers and didn't answer.

"Leo. Look at me." He did, caught by the intensity in Ferroc's sunstone eyes. "Don't. I know it's tempting. I know, but don't. That's not a decision you can ever undo."

"I know."

"No, you don't. You really, really don't. Okay?" He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, cautiously not coming and closer. His face creased and he closed his eyes. "Addiction is… It's starting at the top of a high, steep hill, and ending at the bottom of a rocky chasm.

"You start out and the view is great. All you can see is the mud-slick hill. There's a dangerous, painful landing at the end, but you can't see it from up here. There's this mythical bottom that you've only ever heard about, and it's just so far away.

"So you put your foot out and step away. Some people fumble and land on their ass at the edge and they get that skipped-heartbeat feeling. They back away, they don't ever come back.

"I envy those people. But for the rest of us, that first step is our last. It feels like you know what you're doing, at first. Sun's just as bright as ever and you feel more alive. Except you begin to realize there's a bottom after all, and it's coming up on you quicker than you ever thought. But there are no brakes, there's no stopping. It's just you and the fall.

"And they were right. They were so fucking right about hitting that mythical bottom.

"It's cold down there. Cold and alone and painful and the sun can't reach you there. Climbing sucks–" Ferroc laughed. "God… It sucks so much. Because you can never get out. You can get higher, you get five feet, ten, twenty, and then you slide right back down to the bottom. Sometimes, if you're good, if you're lucky, you find something. A landing, a ledge. But it's not the top, and it's not stable. The sun can maybe even kind of reach you at times.

"The higher you climb, the further it is back to the bottom when you fall again. And that's the thing. There's always a fall waiting. No matter how high you climb, for how long, the ground is never stable. On good days, you can stay there and rest. You think 'maybe this isn't actually impossible. Isn't so hard.' But the bad days…

"The bad days it storms, and it's cold and mud from up top overtakes your little ledge until you're holding on to the crumbling edge by your nails. Until your arms are shaking and the fall back to the bottom doesn't look so bad, really. You've been there before, you lived through it once– twice– a dozen times. You're familiar with that place.

"And you're tired. More than anything, you're tired of climbing. Tired of clinging. All you want is to lay down, and even if it's at the bottom, it's almost worth it, for the rest. So you let go.

" 'God, I was a fucking idiot,' you laugh, lying bleeding and broken. You can see bone sticking out of your leg, these wounds are so familiar you almost can't feel them anymore. You look up at the sky and forget what sunlight feels like. Just let the muck bury you, drown you. It's tempting– Christ, it's so tempting to just lay down and give up.

"I got lucky. I couldn't stay down. I got back up again, broken leg and all, and started climbing again. I'm lucky. The ground I'm standing on is pretty solid most days. The sun even reaches me here.

"But it's still a ledge under my feet. And it's still crumbling. And no matter how far away I get, I can still see the bottom waiting for my next fall."

Sunstone eyes finally opened again, flickering with pain and shadows of a haunting past. "So, from someone who's standing on unstable ground, back away from the fucking edge, please."