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Lately I've been in frequent contact with a disabled friend. To some extent, this friend relies on me for psychological and other types of support. This friend, who refuses to see a therapist or to take antidepressants, is massively depressed. Not a conversation goes by in which this friend -- who uses a wheelchair but is not paralyzed, and who has full use of arms, eyes, brain, and much more -- does not tell me in detail how much better it would be to die, how incredibly welcome death would be, and how all the people who have died recently -- from Michael Jackson to the man down the street who had a stroke -- are better off, are enviable, e.g. "I wish it was me going into the ground, not him."
As I've wondered here in a previous post, what do you say at such times? Believe me, I've tried everything. I'm not a professional counselor, just a writer of books on social trends. Sometimes I try sympathy, as in "I know -- it's awful, isn't it?" And sometimes I try practical suggestions: "We could get grab-bars installed next to your toilet." Sometimes, on what I'm not sure was good advice, I've tried a twisted kind of humor: "They say rat poison makes for a very painful death." Driven to my limits, I've tried guilt-tripping: "What if it was me, not you, wishing I could be dead? How would YOU like to hear ME fantasize about contracting terminal diseases or setting my clothes on fire?"
And no, none of it "works," if "works" means changing my friend's attitude or making my friend stop invoking death. The fact that I'm a hypochondriac who treasures life and has an admittedly unhealthy terror of death means nothing to this friend.
None of it "works." My friend continues on as if I've said nothing at all. But certain things I've said have actually made it worse. These weren't just ineffectual but rather drove my friend into a rage. What were they? Well ... comparisons. I said things that amounted to "other folks have it even worse than you do."
While this might seem logical to those of us who aren't suffering and/or who aren't feeling very sorry for ourselves, comparisons make my friend livid. Say "At least you can afford your own home" or "At least you aren't blind" and my friend howls, "Big deal!" or "So I should be grateful for my s---y life?"
So I won't tell my friend about Nick Vujicic. Born without arms or legs, the 26-year-old Australian types, writes, shaves, swims, golfs and travels the world as a motivational speaker. A college graduate, he has a tiny two-toed foot, which he calls his "chicken drumstick," growing out of one hip. The fact that Vujicic is also a preacher who credits his Christian faith with saving him from suicide will matter more to some than to others. The fact is that this guy has no arms or legs. Many things he can't do on his own. Yet many others he can. And he values his life.
Don't tell my friend this. Just ... don't bother.
