Have you ever reached that point where you just feel like you've had enough of it all, you can see no great reason to carry on and you can see no way out of the situation you are in? I was rather surprised to open the Guaridan this morning and find myself reading the story of the final few weeks of someone I vaguely know. They had stage 4 bowel cancer and took the decision to travel to Switzerland and end their life. They spent the preceding few weeks living life to the full and I presume took the decision to end their life before things became truly intolerable. I must confess that I found the article profoundly disturbing, on many levels. It is 100% clear to me that the law is not fit for purpose in this regard. It is obvious that Paola Marra was more than capable of making her mind up to visit Dignitas and it is ridiculous that anyone should risk prosecution by going with her, assisting her. I have reservations when people cannot demonstrate mental capacity, but where it is clear cut, someone has a disease like bowel cancer, where treatment paths are exhausted and all that you can be certain is that today will be bad and tomorrow will be worse, then I can't deny anyone the right to end it all at the time of their choosing and be around their loved ones at the moment.
Why this causes me so much angst is that I have two friends who lost children to suicide. Like Paola Miller, we can only presume that they felt the situation was beyond hopeless, but unlike Paola, they were not in a good place when they made their decision and were clearly deeply troubled. Both seem to have been influenced by online material and I have little doubt that had things worked out a little bit different, at some point both would have been overjoyed that they survived. The thing that is sadly the same for both them and Paola, is that in the UK the law, the powers that be and the medical industry does not support their situation adequately. All have been let down.
I have not been at the point where I have seriously considered taking my own life, but I have on three seperate occasions been at a point where it did, for a short period of time, seem a realistic option. The first time was when I was a very unhappy teenager aged 14 and I simply felt that I was living on the wrong planet. I was an undiagnosed dyslexic, doing terribly at a school, which had an extremely oppresive environment. I had mates, but no close friends that I could tell anything at all to. The second time was when I was 22 and I had serious health (not mental health issues) issues following the breakdown of a very significant relationship and the band splitting up. I was living on my own in a horrible flat and the firm I was working for had just been taken over, the new firm were encouraging me to leave, as I didn't have a degree, which was a requirement for their technical staff. The third time was last year, on the day when I was told that my cancer situation was far more serious than I had expected and that I had to have treatment, which would, most likely, remove all erectile function. By a cruel twist of calendar, my wife was away at the time. I have never felt so low and lonely and for a couple of days was in a horrble place and I was extremely angry with everything, as well as rather depressed.
Each time, I was in a dark place. The circumstances of each time were very different, but oddly, the solution, for me was the same and I realised something last year that no one ever tells you. We come into this life alone and we leave alone. There may be people there, but whatever happens before we are born and after we die, it is a journey we make alone. I've always hated being alone. When I was a kid and may parents were not around, I heard every creak in the house. When I was fourteen, my folks went to Australia for three months, leaving me with my brother and his wife who were wonderful. When the returned at Xmas, I went home and realised that they really didn't want a stroppy teenager in the house. I felt very alone.
When I was 22, in my grotty flat, without the person I'd been with for two years, it was grim. Having no one to talk to, share a cup of tea with, chat to was horrible. I cannot imagine how prisoners cope with solitary confinement. When I had my cancer diagnosis last year, it was something I really needed to talk about, but no one was home (well the kids and the dogs were, but in some ways that was worse, I didn't want to burden the kids and the dogs were just too cheerful).
What lifted me out of these troughs? From Xmas 1976 to June 1977 was awful for me. Then on 6th June, I saw The Ramones at the Roundhouse. I'd never really got music until then. It was revealation. Any depression lifted and I found my gang. I'd listen to John Peel at night, go to gigs and started planning a band. When I felt down, I'd put an album on. I bought a stereo system and some headphones and things became alright. Music healed my soul.
In 1984/5 when things were at there worst, I picked up my guitar. The band had split up, I was physically in very poor shape and had been hospitalised for an extended period following a stomach bleed. I started to play a few notes and realised that I couldn't make the noises I wanted. So I vowed to practice for three hours a day. For maybe three months, I lead a very Zen existence, where I would go to work, come home and then just practice guitar. I bought a Tascam Port-A-Studio and started to write songs. I then enrolled in a songwriting course. After a few months, I made the decision to get the band back together, with a new line up. The constant practicising, learning new chords and scales payed off. It was the one time in my life, where I really felt on top of the instrument. It chased the dark shadows away and let the light in.
Last year, when I was at a real low point, not knowing what to do, I decided that I would not have surgery. I would let the cancer take it's course and then do what Paola did when it became unbearable. My reasoning was that I'd have 2-5 years where I would still be fully functional and then, well so what? I ran a bath, took my phone and a speaker and put on my Wire playlist. I sat in the bath, in floods of tears, just wishing I was someone else, somewhere else and not going through this. I had never felt so alone. But then the music started to cut through. There is a line in the song "A mutual friend" that says
This really hit home. It was a wakeup call. Written by someone I don't know, for reasons I never understood, but for a few seconds, it unclouded my vision. I didn't feel miraculously OK. But a penny dropped. Whatever happens in life, I want music in it. Whatever happens, music is always there. It is an inspiration and a therapy. I followed the Wire playlist with a blast of The Ramones. It is impossible to be miserable for too long if you listen to The Ramones. I followed that by listening to one of my own songs, "Buy me a bottle of Jack", a song I wrote about facing up to living with cancer.
I realised I am not ready for the "Bottle of Jack" yet. There is still stuff to do. Yesterday, a Facebook friend asked what song do want played at your funeral. I gave my choice. I've told everyone that I want "I'm stuck in a Pagoda with Tricia Toyota" to be played. What I'd not given any thought to is what playlist I'd like playing for my final moments, as I drift to the next plane (assuming I don't get hit by a bus). (Maybe that will be the next playlist I put together).
I do wonder what people who do not have my deep love of music do when they are at rock bottom? For some, they never really listen to the lyrics, don't appreciate the playing and the solo's. It is just a pleasant noise in the background. I just don't get that. To me, it is a gateway to something or somewhere better. When I play with my band, it elevates me. The act of playing makes you focus. It is a good form of therapy. I was once asked whether I thought 'being a musician makes people self destructive" given so many young people who are musicians die early. I was flabberghasted. It is clear to me that the opposite is true. Being someone who needs something in their life and is struggling, makes music attractive and gives them a gateway out of the horrors that they otherwise may have to deal with. For some, even being in the finest bands in the world and writing the best music is simply not enough and they succumb to the grind that is life. But music gave them a reason.
There is more to life than simply existing. For me, when you lose everything you can still have music in your life. I've known this for most of my life, but only recently properly appreciated the fact.
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