Since the sad news that Robin Williams took his own life, I have seen some heated debate over two related issues: whether the suicidal have a choice, and whether suicide is selfish. I may be coming late to the party, but I needed time to sort through what was being said to articulate my feelings on these questions.
As a woman who lives with mental illness, I have faced the specter of suicide myself. I have experienced the pain of mind that makes death seem like beautiful freedom. But I refused freedom at the cost of life, and I may have to refuse it again.
I WANT TO DREAM…
of a life, of a world…
where I’m free from the bondage of mental illness.
There, I’m free from my limitations, and the world is mine. My energy is limitless; nothing overwhelms me. Whatever I put my mind to, I can do.
I have dreamed of this world since I was a little girl.
A friend reminded me today that beer is an acquired taste.
I never have.
Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s okay to drink beer, I just don’t see the point of drinking anything distasteful just to get used to it and train yourself to like it. And nothing about the smell wafting out of your bottle, can, stein, glass or frothy mug has convinced me to forget my one previous, nauseating experience and give it another try.
But, maybe I don’t know what I’m missing.