Suicide Squeeze

Here's the definition of suicide squeeze in terms of baseball, if you're curious where the phrase comes from. Running for home, risking everything on a hit, something that happens less than three out of ten times, on a good day. Even on those three occasions, you're not guaranteed a score. Pretty slim odds.

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I have sat on this post for so long. So many edits, and I'll never get it right, but I just have to post it.

Many of you know that I was depressed in law school. Few of you know that I was suicidally depressed in law school. That dark joke I make when I say that I'll kill myself if I work as a lawyer for more than six months? Not a joke. There were a couple of times where the only thing that stopped me was that I didn't have any ice to numb my wrists, and was so lazy from the depression that I didn't want to walk to the Rite-aid across the street to buy some ice.

A lot of you wonder why I hated law school, and I couldn't really articulate to any coherent degree the depths of my hatred. The excuses I gave were all valid, giving yourself over to the law, working insane hours, mindless tedium, sure. At the baseline, however, it wasn't so much me hating law school, but me hating the way law school made me feel about myself, drove me to hate my life, myself, so much that it would have been preferable to end it, rather than keep going. Becoming a lawyer would have only extended the stress, the self-loathing, and ultimately, I would have gotten out by any means necessary.

I'm a creative person; no more than many, just more adept at using my creativity. If I don't express myself in a creative fashion, whether through an absurd statement, or writing, or even a silly walk, then I get depressed. Think of the color bleeding off of a painted peacock in the rain. That's the basic effect. There was absolutely nothing creative about law school. To me, it epitomized everything wrong with the educational system. Rote memorization, parroting back of facts and rules, fitting the fact pattern into precedent. I now think this is why I did so poorly for so long, because I insisted on asking "What if?" and all they wanted to know was "What is."

So much time spent learning, so little time spent expressing. Deeper I sank. Then I started thinking about a future, a boring future, filled with motions and pleadings and research and precedent and oh lord my skin crawls even now. There is no intellectual stimulation in it. It would have consumed me. Bleak, hopeless, pointless. Thought to myself, if that's really what I've got to look forward to, what's the point of going on?

I gave the law three and a half years of my life. Three and a half good years. I almost ended up giving it a lot more. It was so miserable, trudging through it, doing it for my parents. I get along with them better now, but it'll never be the same, and I don't think I can ever really tell them how I felt. And not a one of you reading this will ever tell them, either.

The Law means different things to people. For some, it's a way out of poverty. For some, it's respect. The ability to defend yourself in the real world, without resorting to your fists. A way to get away with more than the laws decree you should. The capacity to defend those that need help, because no one else can, or will. Something to do because you don't know what to do. What is The Law, to me? As close to death as I've ever come, or wanted to come. Is it my shield? Sure, but it was also my sword, and I came very close to coming home on it.

Maybe I should've talked to someone. No, no maybe about it. I should've talked to someone. But I just got caught up in a cycle of depression. It was so easy to be isolated in Baltimore, alone. That's part of why I hate living in VA, isolated, alone. But I didn't, I made it through alone, needlessly, as I always have.

I think the biggest thing was that I felt that no one would understand. Everyone was so proud of me, and they kept telling me that I didn't hate it, that it was a good thing, that I was doing good. For them, maybe. In the face of all that, how was I supposed to tell them that I was so "proud" of what I was doing, it was driving me to the point of getting ready to kill myself? And I'm not blaming any of you, because none of you knew, and I think now that, had you known, you'd have listened.

Instead, the enduring memory of my law school experience was one afternoon, lying on the floor in my apartment, curled in the fetal position, bawling so hard that my nasal cavity clogged up. It was like a cement block in there. I couldn't breathe because of how hard I was crying. Everything went dark as I closed my eyes, my wracked sobs and my heart beat the only things I could hear. And I don't think it really bothered me that much when I thought to myself that that was it, that I would mysteriously suffocate with an open window.

So, why am I suddenly writing about this secret that I've kept for so long? I don't know. Why do we do anything in our lives? But I think the biggest thing, there's no reason for any of you to suffer alone, if you're thinking suicide. Talk to someone, anyone. If you're worried that they're going to think less of you, don't be. If they're your friend, they'll want to see you better, see you alive tomorrow. If you think no one will understand, then talk to me. But please, don't let it get the better of you. It may feel and seem like everything's gone so wrong, and the world's so narrow, but it hasn't. There's always some other way.

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No post tomorrow. This was hard enough.