Never Ask Me to be a Suicide Counselor

I would be a horrible suicide counselor.  Honest to goodness, I would.  I just read a young musician's story of his suicide attempt via pills and his reasons why: he's a bad father, a bad boyfriend, a bad friend, a bad son, a bad brother, a failure in music, etc.

After reading, I rolled my eyes, sighed, and thought to myself: he didn't want to die, he just wants people to think he wants to die so they'll feel sorry for him.  He might just be a crappy person.  He needs to man up and fix his problems.

There are some suicidal people that I can understand why they would be suicidal, but there are others who just seem like whiney attention whores.

Am I just completely compassionless?  Maybe I am, but there are some people with disease, some who are starving, some who are just trying to make it to the end of they, and they are fighting for life.  They aren't throwing away their time on this earth.  They aren't whining or complaining about how hard life is, they just want to live.

Part of me is angry because people just don't value life.  Another part of me is angry because if people are crappy, horrible human beings and they want to kill themselves to absolve themselves from guilty feelings, maybe they should just do it already.

Yet another part of me is raging because my father's life was stolen.  And suicidal people, they don't have someone with a gun to their chests robbing them of their dignity and shooting them down like a worthless nothing.

I wish I could have more compassion.  Maybe it will resurface after time, but I can almost guarantee, I wouldn't be a very good suicide counselor.  So if ever you're feeling suicidal, don't call me because I might push you over the edge by telling you that life is hard so you better get used to it.