With the recent death of Soul Train creator and entertainment pioneer, Don Cornelius, I’ve seen a lot of conversations around the “taboo” of suicide. When I first heard that Don died of a self-inflicted gunshot to the head, I made sure to steer clear of the conversation. More often that not, in the wake of a tragedy, social media becomes dangerous ground full of preconceived notions, half-cocked opinions treated as facts, and an utter lack of empathy. On most days, I can navigate the mine fields without incident, but as the survivor of a suicide attempt, I knew that the wrong words about Mr. Cornelius’ death would push my buttons.
Of course, there were the normal “shock tweets” (i.e. “Suicide is for faggots” Yeah. Aiight.), but among people who I consider to have good sense, I kept seeing the idea that “Suicide is a selfish act.” I didn’t find this notion as offensive as I found it, well ironically, selfish.
When a person is so depressed and exhausted that they can only find relief in death, the last thing they want to hear is that they should keep going for your sake.
When I sat down that morning in February 2008 and penned my “good-bye letter,” I was exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. Living my life had become far too difficult a task for me to manage. Did I think about how my actions would affect my loved ones? Yes. But what could I possibly have to offer them when I had nothing to offer myself? Nothing. Who among those who would cry at my funeral could step into my shoes and live this life, a life that I was no longer interested in, for me? No one. I never consciously thought “Fuck the people who care about me.” I simply didn’t have anything to give to anyone, anymore. I’d call these thoughts short-sighted, perhaps, but not selfish.
Reports have surfaced that Don Cornelius was in poor health at the time of his death. If you could put yourself in shoes for a moment, here was a man, a trailblazer in the entertainment industry and Black American history. He probably saw himself as formidable. To step into the Civil Rights Era culture with an idea as bold as a “Black American Bandstand” took courage. And balls. Rewind to 2012 and the reflection that greets him on a daily basis isn’t that brave, proud Afro-wearing change agent, but a crumpled, sickly version of that. There are no more bright days ahead; just a slow, gray decline until the lights go out for good. What is there left to do? What is there to look to forward to? What reason does he have to keep going?
For those who believe in a punishing God, there’s the threat of hell, but what happens when that fear is outweighed by the misery of hell on earth?
I’m not saying that Don was “right” to take his own life, but it’s certainly not my place (or any human’s for that matter), to determine that he was “wrong.”
What we can say is that we’ve lost a legend in an unfortunate tragedy. We can mourn, respectfully. If our personal beliefs allow, we can hope, pray, or wish that he finds a peace in the afterlife that he couldn’t find here on earth. And of course there’s that age old practice of holding your tongue altogether if you have nothing nice to say. If his death offends you, take that energy you’d use to judge his decision and pray for his family instead.
For those of you who can’t imagine being in so much pain that you’d end your life, it’s probably best if you don’t speak on those who do. If you’ve never been there, you’ll never get it.
