S being Sunday. I am so done with this weekend. Give me Monday. And work.
I learn today that the uncle who shocked me by his untimely death on Friday, had committed suicide. I can’t wrap my head around this one bit. This chap was a very successful doctor in a large town, had pots of money, a very smart wife…..no children, but I wonder if that would be disturbing enough for a 59 year old man to kill himself. I hear from the grapevine that he had been disturbed for a few months now due to setbacks at work, but seriously – why must someone’s work be connected to his survival instinct? I don’t know if I should be angry or sad.
It really bothers me when I hear of people committing suicide. When I was a teenager, two of my friends committed suicide for stupid reasons. One was our maid’s daughter- my age, but who had married early (~16, yes illegal), who burned herself because she had a fight with her husband. Another was not quite a friend, but a neighbour, whom I occasionally chatted with, but I didn’t quite get along with – she and her boyfriend drank pesticides and died because their families wouldn’t agree to their union. Bollocks.
I live in a university township where there are college kids that periodically hang themselves from the ceiling fan because they didn’t get good grades, or failed, ,or were spurned by their crush or whatever stupid reason. It burns me up. I very uncharitably want to say “good riddance” to them. A 16 year old who used to be my neighbour and who I have seen grow up, killed herself last month because she had a spat with her boyfriend.
I don’t get it. I just don’t.
This uncle of mine who bit the dust was a doctor. A brilliant doctor. I don’t get how and why he could not see the symptoms of depression in himself and seek help. I will never know.