I Think Psychotherapy Saves Lives And Is

I Am A Huge Advocate Of Prescription Drugs Given Wisely And For The Right Reasons And The Right Diagnosis And Also Psychotherapy.

It Is True That I Had Wanted To Die , But That Is Peculiarly Different From Regretting Having Been Born. Overwhelmingly, I Was Enormously Glad To Have Been Born, Grateful For Life, And I Couldn’t Imagine Not Wanting To Pass On Life To Someone Else.

It Took Me Far Too Long To Realize That Lost Years And Relationships Cannot Be Recovered. That Damage Done To Oneself And Others Cannot Always Be Put Right Again.

I Long Ago Abandoned The Notion Of A Life Without Storms, Or A World Without Dry And Killing Seasons. Life Is Too Complicated, Too Constantly Changing, To Be Anything But What It Is. And I Am, By Nature, Too Mercurial To Be Anything But Deeply Wary Of The Grave Unnaturalness Involved In Any Attempt To Exert Too Much Control Over Essentially Uncontrollable Forces. There Will Always Be Propelling, Disturbing Elements, And They Will Be There Until, As Lowell Put It, The Watch Is Taken From The Wrist.

Suicide Is A Particularly Awful Way To Die: The Mental Suffering Leading Up To It Is Usually Prolonged, Intense And Unpalliated. There Is No Morphine Equivalent To Ease The Acute Pain, And Death, Not Uncommonly, Is Violent And Grisly. The Suffering Of A Suicidal Is Private And Inexpressible, Leaving Family Members, Friends And Colleagues To Deal With An Almost Unfathomable Kind Of Loss, As Well As Guilt. Suicide Carries In Its Aftermath A Level Of Confusion And Devastation That Is, For The Most Part, Beyond Description.