The Marvellous Malleability Of Suicide

A suicide is a wonderful thing. It allows us to do so much.

It lets us prove that we were right all along. We were right because it Ended Badly. We were right because it was caused by the thing we always said would End Badly. We were right because we thought what the dead person thought, and they’re dead, so they must have been right.

It lets us open our pores and ooze compassion. We are kind and we are caring and we are so overwhelmed by our own empathy that we can barely even tweet about it. Suicide is the most fertile ground for our compassion because we can make it clear just how much we disapprove of the dead while saying how sad it is. Are we not all the more noble for demonstrating our nobility to those who didn’t really deserve it? Are we not all the kinder for letting you know how hard it is to show it?

It lets us explain just how much we know. We know why a person would kill themselves. We know, even more certainly, why a person would NOT kill themselves. It is a beautiful gift given to us at these times to display our depth of understanding, to take the time to educate the less enlightened about their stupid misconceptions. A suicide happens for a very particular reason: let us tell you what it is. You think it happens for a different reason? Don’t be a fool. Only an idiot would think such a thing. Thank God we’ve been allowed to bring a bit of wisdom into the public square and shatter the irritating myth that anything is other than as we say it is.