Captain Ed brings the news that Switzerland is moving toward something truly Orwellian: assisted suicide for those who are merely depressed.
They've already allowed for people who are suffering from terminal illnesses, people who have no likelihood of finding a cure in this next decade, to snuff themeslves with the help of the nearest "do no harm" professional. But now, they're going to the next stage: Let's just help to them thar pearly gates everybody who says he wants to die.
According to the article quoted by the Captain, the lawyer who founded the Zurch-based assisted-suicide organization Dignitas, Ludwig Minelli, "said that he believed assisted suicide should be open to everyone." He called the objection to suicide a “stupid ecclesiastical superstition”.
Before anybody thinks I'm shrugging off the pain of suicidal tendencies as "merely" anything, let me offer a brief disclaimer: I'VE BEEN THERE. On both sides of the issue.
Speaking as the survivor of two family suicides (a pair of cousins, one very close) and the suicide of one close friend, I have to say that the "stupid ecclesiastical superstition" in our house is that, we have, quite frankly, not been helped by the loss of our loved ones.
No matter how hard it is to live with somebody who is miserable, it's harder to live without them -- especially when you know that there are modern tools to help them. There are medications, there are physical therapies, there are countless other methods for treating this particular psychological disorder known as depression. It is not a fatal disease, unless you choose to make it so. Losing somebody to suicide when you know it wasn't necessary, therefore, makes the loss double.
Worse, for the rest of your life, you second-guess yourself. "What did we do wrong? Why didn't we see the signs? What should we have done differently? Weren't we good enough at loving him to keep him/her alive?"
The suicide of a loved one is the cruelest form of theft a family can endure.
And, as somebody who, for nearly thirty years, has lived with mental illness untreatable by current meds (due to a host of other health challenges), I am more than deeply concerned. This is now my life we're talking about. I have been suicidal, before. I'm quite certain I will become so again. That's the nature of this beast. It's also the nature of the beast to release its grip on me regularly. I have long lucid periods, now -- much longer than I had even ten years ago.
My life now has genuine moments of good. Not only do I feel better, I am told that I occasionally make a difference in other people's lives. If I had been granted a readily available opt-out kit fifteen years ago, I'd never have known most of these days. I'd never have known the respect of my peers in this community on a Saturday morning after my column has been debated (I'd never have known I could write a thing worth discussing!). I'd never have known the peculiar joy of having a cat purr on my chest. I'd never have known the pleasure of helping a young man celebrate his twenty-first birthday. I'd never have met my own niece and nephews. I'd never have tasted a tomato fresh from my own garden.
I'd never have learned that my life was more than just my illness.
The worst part of this proposal to help would-be suicides is that it confirms the one absolutely wrong notion they have: "It's true, you aren't worth saving."
Life is hard enough without extra help from the opposition.
Update: made a couple of minor changes for clarity, Friday p.m.
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