All week, I’ve been reading the little tributes to Alexander McQueen. Some of them just feature a nice picture with either “R.I.P” or “There are no words.”
But there are words, and I’ve been waiting for them.
People who kill themselves take a lot of other people with them.
They aren’t “laughing in heaven with Isabella Blow”, they are just dead.
People who kill themselves are usually in great distress. They are not right in the head. If we take care to monitor our depressed friends and loved ones, we might be able to save them; but we might not. Maybe we need to reach out more. Maybe we need to make depression easier to talk about. Antidepressants still carry a stigma even now. I can’t stand to hear people say “Oh, my doctor recommended medication but I’m not taking that route.” You never hear anyone with pneumonia making that statement.
Maybe Alexander McQueen was unhinged by grief over losing his mother. Now his dad has to deal with the loss of a son.
No one wants to talk about the brutality of suicide. The people left behind are victims as well. It’s an act of negation, a complete loss of hope, but it’s also a selfish act. I would even say ruthlessly selfish.
I’m not worried about whether poor Alexander McQueen is resting in peace, but I’m deeply sorry for his family. It will fuck them up forever.
Don’t kill yourself, you fuckers! We need you here. Things will get better. That is my message, so pass it on.