Suicide Notes - Learning Through The Stigma
*** TRIGGER WARNING: THIS ARTICLE DISCUSSES SUICIDE AND SUICIDE NOTES. PLEASE USE DISCRETION WHEN READING THIS PIECE. ***
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In journalism there are so many codes and guidelines on what to include on the occasion of a suicide - and with good reason. Ever since the sudden influx of suicides following the publication of Goethe’s ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’ where we saw the protagonist end his life, media has had to be responsible with the information they reveal so as to control what was dubbed the ‘Werther Effect.’
Sometimes this is done badly - but a lot of the time, huge effort is taken to withhold facts from us about details. Yet, we seek it out. We look for it in our documentaries and our stories; when given the choice we all look for the absent information - the how, the what, the why.
I know I certainly have. I remember reading Virginia Woolf’s suicide note after studying ‘To The Lighthouse’, I remember Charlotte Perkin Gilman’s last words infused into a sixth form drama class, I remember searching for ‘the most beautiful suicide notes’ in my first year of University, I remember requesting to write my dissertation on suicide notes (and being told no).
I mean this with no intention to glamorise or romanticise but, I have to confess - I am obsessed with suicide notes.
I know it’s morbid and, at worst, totally insensitive but let me explain to you why.
I love words. Which, consequently, just like my mate T.S Eliot, leaves me also endlessly intrigued by the futility and failings of language. It is the combination and balance of the two which amazes me; the fact that a talented few can string together a handful of words, available to every other human, and create something that, miraculously, manages to recreate or explain a human emotion… I find it mind boggling.
However what also amazes me is when we cannot; it’s the space in between where writers and philosophers must throw their hands in the air, put the pen down, and admit defeat. They have to admit, we cannot always say how we feel.
It is for this reason that I find myself so inexpressibly drawn to suicide notes; to the paralysing notion of having to decide on your last words, with only your mind and your vernacular available to you.
I know I am veering dangerously into the wrong lane; as if I am spraying perfume on these notes. I am not - but, with this in my mind, when writers such as Virginia Woolf, Hunter S Thompson, Ernest Hemingway, Yukio Mishima, Anne Sexton (and more) do settle on their last words, I cannot help but pour over them. These people who have used words like clay, sculpting masterpieces - when they arrive at their final chance to write, to use their craft and their passion one last time, how can I not read them? In a world where science is ever more put on a pedestal and creativity waits on the wings, it amazes me that, at the end of their time, people still go to words. They still have faith in them to leave a last mark on the world; to say how they feel. It is the ultimate statement in the belief of Language.
But, due to the nature of their creation - is it better we ignore them? Is it disrespectful to separate the tragedy from the writing? Or, in fact, to combine the two?
I would argue not - but I do so tentatively and, I hope, with reason. Please bear in mind that I am not talking about notes from the general public; I am discussing certain situations. What I would suggest is that there is an intended wider audience and an intentional literary beauty; in these notes I see a letter asking to be read, a piece of work that can educate and do good when seen for what it is - when it is neither romanticised or hidden away.
When I think of suicide notes like that of Virginia Woolf and Hunter S.Thompson’s, or even from the lyricist Kurt Cobain, I can’t help but think more about this idea of them being literary. I think of myself as a writer and I consider - if I was about to write the last thing I would ever write, I would want it to be the best, most beautiful thing I had ever written. This isn’t because I think of suicide or mental health in a ridiculously glamorised way - I have seen those I love experience it - I know the ragged grief, the brutality of it. However, I do think, it is worth bearing in mind that if you are a writer - this is more than a note, it is your last piece of work. A thought which I believe you can see brought to reality in a suicide note from modernist icon, Virginia Woolf:
“Dearest,
I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.”
There is of course the chance that she was just effortlessly brilliant; that when pen touched paper, no matter her state of mind, she would create beauty. However, reading this, the variety of sentence structures, the emotion behind it, certain lines that strike like a fist (‘I can’t read’) and that ending (‘I don’t think two people could have been have been happier than we have been.”)… I find it hard to believe that this piece was written without craftsmanship in mind.
Or if we look at moments from Kurt Cobain’s suicide note - yes, it felt like a letter to his wife, Courtney Love, but it also felt like a letter to his fans. In short, it felt like an intentionally well crafted final piece of art which he wanted shared. The letter in question reads as such:
“…when we’re back stage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowds begin…it doesn’t affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury… The fact is, I can’t fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God, believe me I do, but it's not enough)….”.
He continues:
“There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad.”
Before then ending his note with this:
“I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy…And that terrifies me to the point where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become… Please keep going, Courtney, for Frances. For her life, which will be so much happier without me.”
To me, there is the practical aspect of the note. It feels like an explanation; something he needs getting off his chest - something he cannot meet his maker, or leave his loved ones, without saying. Like I mentioned at the beginning, this alone amazes me. The fact that someone leaves it up to their ability to express themselves to feel at peace with themselves - it genuinely astounds me.
But, if I take off my sentimental lens, and instead view this purely from a literary standpoint - just like with Woolf’s - this note feels undeniably literary. There is a beauty there which feels intentional; that feels like it wants to be witnessed; wants to be noticed.
It’s in the varying use of punctuation, the insertion of brackets, the literary tools like triplets and, perhaps most obviously, it’s in in his terms of address. He fluctuates from addressing Courtney and then addressing his fans, evoking us all as individuals. He explicitly says “I can’t fool any of you”. That’s us he’s speaking to.
My question then - and it is one I will keep returning to - is if this letter was meant to be read, and read widely, are we doing the writer any benefit from not commenting on the beauty of the note or to hide it behind guidelines about what is socially acceptable. I’m not pretending that this note isn’t famous - it is - and it is indeed widely read - but there is this reaction to suicide notes, that it’s wrong to read them, or that it is best done covertly. Is it wrong? Or are we saying that mindlessly because we’re scared that society will think of us as immoral? Is this shame a remnant of society’s stigmatisation of suicide and mental health? Moreover, is this shame stopping us from educating ourselves - and helping others?
Surely, in the case of Cobain for example, if the letter was written to be read publicly, we cannot assert that we are protecting the victim. What would we be protecting them from? Their own wishes? Whether it is beneficial to indulge in this desire is another matter (and another Opinion article altogether) but if we consider only Kurt or Virginia, or Hunter S. Thompson who I will go on to discuss, is it not more respectful to honour something intended to be read?
Hunter S. Thompson, the father of Gonzo journalism, shot himself whilst on the phone to his wife Anita. Anita later published his suicide note to her in Rolling Stone. It read:
“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun - for anybody, 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your (old) age. Relax - This won’t hurt.”
Even if I limit the conversation about the literary tropes in here and I could talk extensively about how this matches his personal tone as a writer, let’s just discuss the fact that his wife, the person who assumedly knew him best, chose to publish this piece - I’m guessing, on the understanding, that this is what he would have wanted.
I think there is something to be said about this. It may be that writers and artists want their work to be a reflection of their passion and are more mindful of publication due to their career. But - consider this, every single person who has committed suicide on Golden Gate Bridge has always done so in the same place - the side facing the city, rather than the ocean. In a Vice interview with philosopher and author of ‘Notes on Suicide’, Simon Critchley, says this about the intentional publicity of suicide:
‘it’s kind of a public act, an act of publicity, of making a statement.’
This is never more clear than in the case of those who chose to die by suicide whilst live on air or television. Notable public suicides include that of Eduardo Chibás who shot himself live on air (his intention was to do so during a broadcast but he forgot the timings of the show and did so during the commercial), or Christine Chubbuck, an American News Reporter who shot herself mid broadcasting with the last words ‘“In keeping with Channel 40’s policy of bringing you the latest in ‘blood and guts’, and in living color, you are going to see another first — attempted suicide.” Famously, there was also the case of Robert Budd Dwyer, the Pennsylvanian State Treasurer found guilty of various crimes including conspiracy, who shot himself during a press conference. The news reporter thought he was about to resign before he said these final words:
“Please tell my story on every radio and television station and in every newspaper and magazine in the U.S. Please leave immediately if you have a weak stomach or mind since I don't want to cause physical or mental distress. Joanne, Rob, DeeDee [sic] - I love you! Thank you for making my life so happy. Good bye to you all on the count of 3. Please make sure that the sacrifice of my life is not in vain.” Some news reporters continued to film the entire event.
The publicity of these notes is unambiguous. It is indisputable that the suicide was meant to be watched and meant to be taken notice of. In the case of Budd Dwyer, he desperately requests that we tell his story. He doesn’t leave us asking why he chose to do what he did during a press conference - he wanted his actions seen. However, if I were to tell you that a few of the news reporters did indeed stream the whole event - I’m sure, like me, you would be instinctively shocked and saddened.
Do not for one second think I am about to suggest it was right to see a man take his own life on air - I cannot imagine the trauma done to those who witnessed this. What I am drawing attention to is, again, this very explicit desire to be seen, to be heard.
Yet, decency, concern and journalism guidelines will do our best to shield us from it - and rightly so. However, my question is this - in cases such as this one, if we were being entirely objective and, somewhat black and white with our rationale - should we be more open about who we are respecting? Out there in the open is this idea that we are protecting ourselves, not the victim - and rightfully so.
What I am arguing is that there is a thin line between stigma and respect. I know that the fear of romanticisation is informed and correct and not for one second am I saying that journalism guidelines should change. You can see the importance of restricted reporting in the fact that in 2014, the day after Robin Williams died by suicide, the number of calls to a suicide hotline in the US doubled from 3,500 to 7,400. The ‘Werther Effect’ is not some fanciful idea, it is real and there for a reason.
However, I do think that some particular suicide notes could be studied as a genre of literature and I don’t think that the writers of the notes would be appalled by this fact. So many of these notes are intentionally published and yet they are hidden away; the irony being that some of the most notable works of literature aren’t even intended to be seen - Anne Frank’s Diary for instance. The reason why they are published is obvious - for education and awareness - yet why does this not extend to suicide notes? I think there is a scab of stigma that society is yet to unpick.
A suicide note, at its core, is so tragically human - it is about being understood, about expressing yourself, about being remembered. For writers, it may be a melting pot of things - included being remembered for their craft. Perhaps that is why Hunter S.Thompson’s wife chose to publish his note or why some have chosen to die so publicly and, in some sense even more extremely, why there are some cases, like that of Mitchell Heisman who actually published a 1,905 page essay entitled ‘Suicide Note’ before shooting himself on the Harvard University Campus. We all want to be remembered. We all, as one person out of 7.594 billion, want to be listened to and remembered as an individual - as someone who has something to offer the world.
Suicide notes can prompt huge discussion - important discussion.
Take for example, the suicide of Leelah Acorn - a transgender woman whose suicide attracted international attention. Among transgender persons, rates of attempted suicide are about 40% - this is compared to a general population rate of 5%.
In her pre-scheduled suicide note which she published on Tumblr, she wrote:
“When I was 14, I learned what transgender meant and cried of happiness. After 10 years of confusion I finally understood who I was. I immediately told my mom, and she reacted extremely negatively, telling me that it was a phase, that I would never truly be a girl, that God doesn't make mistakes, that I am wrong. If you are reading this, parents, please don't tell this to your kids.” She ended her note by saying "My death needs to be counted in the number of transgender people who commit suicide this year. I want someone to look at that number and say ‘that’s fucked up’ and fix it. Fix society. Please.”
Her parents responded with the statement our ‘sweet 16-year old son, Joshua Ryan Alcorn, went home to Heaven this morning. He was out for an early morning walk and was hit by a truck.” Later on an interview with CCN they continued to misgender her - saying simply, ‘we loved him’. To me, this says enough.
Her suicide note and, crucially the unblinking discussion of it, shone a light on the discrimination that the transgender community faces. Society still has so far to go and - of course - the ideal world is a world in which there are no pens writing a suicide note. However, whilst we have them, I think we honour the victims more by learning from them - and listening to them.
There are many conditions to this - not least the victim’s wishes and the environment in which the notes are read and like all controversial and sensitive information, these conversations should be held with consideration. My discussion point is not in how much information is revealed, but how permitted we feel to talk about the event.
As author of ‘Notes on Suicide’, Simon Critchley says, ‘I think the more words we have, the less romantic suicide becomes.’ If you take the forbidden nature away, it just becomes what it is. From then onwards, all discussion will feel less like romanticisation and more like education.
There are so many caveats and nuances to this discussion on suicide notes and obviously, I am not speaking about suicide notes from everyone nor am I saying we should have a right over people’s final words. However, I think when we are asked to listen - we should. Especially when we can learn so much.
From Cobain we can learn about the psychology of fame and create a kinder culture, from Leelah we can learn and progress in how we protect and embrace the transgender community, and from writers such as Woolf, we can learn, as she intended, more about the beauty and talent of her greatest passion. I doubt, when she wrote her final piece, she wanted it to be labelled as context for further reading. I think she would have wanted it where it belongs, this honest, beautiful piece of work, in books, in discussions about depression, in dissertations written by those who value and continue to learn from her.
Written by Jess Blackwell
I’m Jess, the founder of The Everyday Magazine. Day to day I work in marketing and am training up as a photographer in a Boudoir Studio in Bath. As a general rule, I like to write about things that would be awkward to discuss with the family. Try not to blush.