the suicide poem

TRIGGER WARNING – I AM TALKING ABOUT SUICIDE
I have a poem I want to share because I wanted to reflect on the growing number of suicides that are happening in the Chronic Pain world. People with Chronic Pain (PwCP) are not getting adequate treatment and are suffering desperately, leading many to take illicit drugs off the street, which can lead to drug overdoses, or to just outright commit suicide, because their pain has become too much for them to manage.
Marijuana is becoming legal on October 17th in Canada and medicinal marijuana has been available for some time. There are several states in the US where cannabis is legal as well. Many patients find that this is a great treatment for their pain, but for those that don’t even have this option, what is left for them? Inadequate treatment plans, mismanagement of their conditions and a crackdown on necessary treatment with opioid medications because of fears of addiction. It is medically impossible to become addicted to an opioid when you’re body actually needs it. Addiction happens when you no longer NEED the drug, but you continue taking it because your body develops a craving for it.
Data indicates that from the approximately 36,000 suicides that happen in America every year, 10-15% of those are from PwCP*. That’s a powerful statistic and one that really caught my eye.
If you are living with Chronic Pain or know someone who is, and are having a hard time coping, please don’t keep it to yourself. Ask for help. Let someone know you are struggling. There is NO SHAME in admitting you are having dark thoughts or in a depressive state. I have gone through depression and so has my husband. Because of my Bipolar Disorder, I have to be on medication 24/7 or I will disappear into Manic/Depressive cycles that cause great despair in my life. The manic phases are sheer chaos and the depressive phases are dark and very scary and I have come very close to not wanting to live in those moments. It’s only because I have a great husband and a great doctor that I am still here, alive and kicking and cheering on the people like me, who live with chronic illness and mental illness and are doing life every day and surviving.
TRIGGER WARNING – this poem is about suicide
It’s hard to continue to fight and stay strong
It’s scary in dark places, where you linger so long
It’s cold and its brutal and you’ve given up hope
When you find yourself at the end of the rope
Too many times, you have been to this place
Too many times, with the tears on your face
Begging for mercy, all the words that you’ve said
And this time you’ll be using the gun at your head
You’re too tired to listen to the love all around
The words smash together til they make no more sound
It all has no meaning to you anymore
As the drugs take effect while you crash to the floor
How can I reach you, to show that I care?
How can I save you, how do I dare?
I’ll risk our whole friendship to do the right thing
While you stand on the bridge and go for a fling
In hindsight, it seems like your problems were small
You just couldn’t see it, so big was the wall
The gap that you’ve left can never be filled
The sorrow I feel will never be stilled
And those left behind will be mourning in pain
If only we had time just to talk to you again
We’d try harder to reach you, to bring back the light
We’d do everything different, we’d not stop the fight
Until we had you back safely, on this side of grave
Oh the things we would do, if you we could save.
There is always hope

*http://www.lynnwebstermd.com/suicide-and-chronic-pain/

0 thoughts on “the suicide poem

  1. Moving poem Pamela…..it’s an universal problem, as more and more people from all walks of life are becoming prey to loneliness and depression and majority of the times the sufferings are done in silence, hiding, not sharing with anyone, feeling afraid or shy to reach out to……more and more awareness and human connection is the need of the hour to tackle any of this problem….

  2. I spend a lot of my time wondering if I could have stopped her. On the surface she was one who never ever would, but she did. She left in a way we could never imagine anyone doing; although statistics prove that it is done. She walked up the tracks and waited. Her daughter and son her husband and Father; sisters nephews and neices and friends are forever changed. As her friend and confident, I carry a guilt, a guilt of my own making; because I did not know, so could not help.
    Your poem captures the tragic truth.

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