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Help in Desperate Situations

Christmas Is no Time for Suicide
A Christmas dinner invitation thwarts a planned suicide and turns around the life of a lonely woman.

Blessings of the Internet
Chance encounters on the Internet can lead to life-saving experiences.

Suicide — I don't want to die!

by Traute Klein, biogardener

In the middle of committing suicide, a friend emails me, telling me of his despair, asking me not to try to save him. Now, why would he even think of telling me that if he were serious about the suicide?

The Dilemma

He was so young. He should still have been able to enjoy his youth, to date, to love, to find a life's partner. He had been through all that. He was now a single father and was shouldered with the heavy responsibility of providing loving care as well as food and shelter for his children. His work took him out of town for days at a time. Not a good thing when your children have no mother to be with them, and no one else can look after them. He had no choice but to quit his work and apply for welfare.

The authorities, however, have their rules to fall back on. They saw that there had been a paycheque last month and were not about to hand out benefits so soon. The wolf was at the door, and on Monday, Chris and his children were to be evicted from their apartment. And in four weeks it will be Christmas.

What is a man to do? His worries consumed him. He had spent a week in the hospital and was diagnosed with depression, got antidepressants and was sent home, sent home to wait for the eviction.

Antidepressants do not conquer depression . . .

. . . because they do not put food on the table or a roof over your head, but they do kill. They make suicide easy when taken in sufficient dosage.

HELP!

On Saturday, Chris had an online chat with an Internet friend and poured out his heart. The friend tried to say words of comfort. He interjected a few questions, but Chris did not hear them. He continued in his enumeration of sorrows. Even though he did not respond to his friend's expressions of care, I like to believe that his friend's expression of love could not have been lost on him. Even over a distance, love can be felt. Without it, the friend would not have listened so patiently nor would he have been so gentle in his interjections.

Last Call for Help

I knew Chris from an Internet forum. I had felt a special bond with him from the beginning and had adopted him. He was the same age as my son and had the same job. He was my second son, my Internet son. On Friday, he had posted an unexpected message in a discussion thread which had alarmed me. I read between the lines, and all the sirens went off in my head. I immediately emailed him a message which I entitled, "I feel like crying." Yes, my hunch was right. Chris was in serious trouble.

All day Saturday, I was singing in rehearsals and in the performance of Bach's glorious Christmas Oratorio, in German, the only language which speaks to my heart. I came home late at night on a spiritual high, too high to be able to sleep. So I downloaded my email. Nothing from Chris. But as I was working my way through the other letters, an emailed cry for help arrived from Chris. I responded immediately. I tried to encourage him. I shared personal experiences with him which had been just as desperate as his. I tried to drive home to him again and again that his children needed him more than anything or anyone else in the world, no matter what. Chris, are you hearing me?

Traute,
. . . I don't know where to turn or to whom I can talk, and this is bottling up inside me fast. These poor children need a family, and I don't think I can raise them alone . . .

Hopelessly,
Chris

I continued to hammer home that the children need their father. Everything else is secondary, but Chris did not hear me. He had convinced himself that his children would be better off in the care of someone who would be able to provide for them better than he could.

It's too late.

Then came the fateful announcement. Chris had taken all of his antidepressants. It was just a matter of time before the end would come.

I was convinced that Chris wanted to live. If he had wanted to die, why would he have ask me to "please keep on writing?"

Then one more email:

Please don't call anyone to help me. I dont want any help.

Now how could I call anyone for help? I had no idea where in the world Chris lived. And this was the middle of the night on a weekend. Forget it. I might as well shout into the darkness of this cold November night and wait for my echo.

Follow-up

First thing Monday morning, I was able to contact someone who was able to trace the town in which Chris lived. The local police found him in the hospital. He had left his ex-wife a desperate message on her answering machine, and she had found him just in time to save his life.

No, Chris did not want to die. Suicide was simply his final desperate cry for help. He is alive and well today and so are his children, because he cried out for help where he knew he would be heard.

He was saved just in time to celebrate Christmas 1999 with his children.

Postscript

One of the readers of this article has sent me the following message:
i DO WANT TO DIE

The capitalization of the sentence speaks volumes. Little "i" feels insignificant in the face of life's problems. Unfortunately, I have no way of contacting the sender of the message. All I can do is pray that she received the help she needed.

A teenager who read this article contacted me in a chat, and I was able to encourage her and suggest some sources of help.

If you feel that you want to leave me that kind of message, please include your email address so that I can contact you, or better still, telephone someone in your own community who is willing and able to offer help in your time of need.

Note: The name and some of the circumstances
in this article have been changed to protect
the identity of a vulnerable person and his children.