Content warning: self-harm
This is an account of what happened, I do not wish to get into metaphor or abstraction. Please, please do not read if sensitive to the topic of self harm.
As we pulled into the bus hub, one of the drivers announced via radio that police needed to be called, someone had ended their own life. Bystanders thought he was leaning against the fence, so who knows how long he had actually been there. It had been under a half hour, that was certain, because our buses pull into the hub every 30 minutes. Since we do not have security or a constant manager-presence, we will never know. He was unknown to us, an unfamiliar face. He left his fanny pack and watch and a few stacks of coins on the hub bench. That was it, that was everything. Speculation was he had been drinking, he had been standing around the hub earlier that day, he had come from the men’s shelter. Two colleagues took pictures. This was perhaps more surreal than anything else. What is that fucked-up compulsion? They had no shame. I’ve read that this is an act of detachment, of dealing with a traumatic event in the moment, but it was also cruel and cold and unnerving. Even though his eyes were closed they were still very sad. This was a tragedy.
There are certain topics and depictions that people might try to avoid in their life, and this is one for me. Perhaps it is my propensity toward self-hatred spirals and angst, and childhood-teenage years spent praying to leave the earth. I do not feel this any longer, but the theme of suicide in film and art is something I still approach cautiously, and have not really voiced aloud to anyone- or had a meaningful discussion about. That said, it is art that has helped me confront and question this fear and topic. I remember living with my grandma for a short time, a retired nurse who’d seen a lot of death. She and I are similar but I believe I am better at “being still.” Anyway, I told her I could not see myself in the future, it was something that had never come naturally. She looked away and said “don’t say that, the only people who say that kill themselves.” I don’t remember the conversation continuing. This has stuck with me, though doesn’t maybe have much power or bite any longer. I don’t know. Is it true? Not entirely, I think.
This man had seemingly left all he had on that bench, and no matter what he had done or been through before that moment, he was an infinitely valuable human soul. I hope he has found peace. Today is for grieving. This song is for him.
This song was featured in one of the final episodes of Reservation Dogs, which is a profoundly beautiful show, and relates back to this post in a serious way.
Fly - J.K. & Co.