Essays, Etc.

Words, Etc. (By @live4music)

Hey guys, WooWoo here. So a very lovely, very close friend of mine asked if she could contribute to Essays, Etc. I granted persmission, and this lovely piece is what came out of it. Hope you like it, and if you do, make sure to drop her a line and tell her what you think! 

Suicide is a funny thing. People seem to be terrified by it. I don't think it's so much the idea of a person killing her/himself that really freaks people out.

It's the word "suicide".

Did they have to make it such a scary-sounding word? Someone killing himself; eh, that's a horrible tragedy. But someone committing suicide? Now, stop the presses!

Not only is suicide a "scary" term, but it has such a negative connotation. When you hear this word, who do you think of? A depressed divorcee with a dead-end job? A hormone-driven teenager? A drug addict? A criminal? A psychopath?

That brings me to my main point here: all these wicked stereotypes that prevent people from getting the help they deserve. These stereotypes portray horrible images of quite normal things. Already the fear of admitting they have anxiety, or are depressed, or suicidal will keep many from the help they need so desperately. To make matters worse, these people are terrified of all the awful stereotypes they hear. How can we expect people to come and talk about their "problems" when we are shoving these horrible ideas down their throats?

Last week, I visited a councillor for the first time. Upon arriving, I saw a label on the door, with the woman's name and her title: therapist. Why did that freak me out? Why did I hate it so much that instead of visiting a councillor, I was seeing a therapist? Why did I want to walk straight out of that office, with its overly squishy chairs and "relaxing" music? Because in every movie I've seen, people with problems and mental issues were sitting in a therapist's office in a reclining chair, crying about their feelings and who knows what else.  

I didn't want that. I didn't want to be that girl.

But I went in anyway. And I didn't sit in a reclining chair, or talk about all of my problems. I just talked. For a while, it felt good to get things off my chest.. Until she started reading off the signs depression.

Psychosomatic symptoms. That's what she said. "Are you experiencing any psychosomatic symptoms?"

I reeled back. Psycho? Oh, no. You must be mistaken. I am not a mental institution escapee. I do not belong in a padded room. I am normal. I am not crazy.

But as my therapist began explaining further, I realized that maybe psychosomatic symptoms aren't so horrible after all. Psychosomatic symptoms: (n) a physical illness or other condition caused or aggravated by a mental factor such as internal conflict or stress.

This is around the point when I realized that psychosomatic was a pretty good explanation of my situation. And maybe, just because the word "psycho" is in it, it doesn't mean I'm crazy.

So, why did these things bother me? Why did I not want to visit a therapist? Why was I so freaked out by the thought of having psychosomatic symptoms? Why am I afraid to use the word suicide?

Words have power. So much power. You may not realize it, but the word you choose to use can change everything. You can use a certain word, like suicide, and describe its definition, and people would be more taken aback by the use of the word suicide. There doesn't have to be a reason. Maybe it's from the movies, or from newspaper headlines, or simply from cliches. But however they come about, these words have power to their names. Undeniable power.

But, maybe these words aren't all that bad. They may sounds scary, but in reality, they may be closer to the truth than anything else you can say.

Maybe I should be seeing a therapist. Maybe I do have psychosomatic symptoms. And just maybe, I might have to use the word suicide as well.

Because these words are powerful, without a doubt. But the only thing more powerful than the word itself is the person who finally has the guts to say it.