I found the following document among Linda's papers. It was written just prior to her second attempt to end her life.
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Notes
for the Living
These are some notes I wrote in my last weeks
for those I've left behind who might like to read them. I'd come to terms with
dying. Everyone has to do it. I just wanted to do it sooner than is acceptable. Remember me in better times and know there is
nothing anyone could have done to prevent it.
October 1, 2017: We're part of a culture that goes to great lengths to prevent all suicides,
forcing those of us who do choose to end our own lives to do so in secret and
alone. It makes it impossible to say
good bye. I would have liked to have
conversations that in reality could not have happened. The professional
therapists have a "duty to report" so you can't openly discuss it
once you've made up your mind. My suicide could not have been prevented, only postponed which it already had been for longer than I
want to go into here. I tried to make it work for longer, but depression swallowed me
completely and my efforts resulted in no hope for improvement. There was nothing left for me to survive
on. I couldn't build a future for
myself that I would have wanted. I hope to be forgiven and remembered as
positively as possible. I wish I had accomplished more.
I wish I had been stronger. And I wish life would have been softer.
October 19, 2017: I was living in pretty close to ideal conditions at the
end. The weather was sunny and perfect every
single day. I lived in such a beautiful place with one of the best friends
anyone could hope for. I sometimes felt like a very privileged person who had a
terminal illness and didn't have to be busy or responsible for much, like in
the old days of tuberculosis. I had a safe and warm place to heal and in some
ways I did heal even though I felt strongly I was in my last days. In some ways
I'd never been more content.
October 20, 2017: I was employed just
marginally as a paralegal, enough to have something to talk about and keep me
minimally occupied. In all honesty though -- and Wayne would corroborate this
-- he and I together over the years and until very recently worked hard and
got some very good outcomes for his clients who didn't have a whole lot going
for them other than us. Without that meaningful connection to him and to
working at something meaningful
for a living, depression would
have taken me sooner. The kindnesses I have received from my friends
collectively bought me eight additional months of living.
Mary is my beautiful artist friend who lives in southern Arizona now but
who I met here in Albuquerque shortly after I moved out
here. She's a painter and an
all-around cool and intelligent person who brought such humor and harmony to my
life. Apu was the first person I met in Albuquerque and we became immediately
close and traveled everywhere together. Our friendship was always a complete
joy to me.
He took me in at the end and could not
have been more generous or better company. I hope he always feels it was worth
it even if it didn't get him as much time as he might have wanted. The quality
of his company and support was perfect. Evan, my dear friend who spent so much
time with me making sure I wasn't lonely. It's in no small part because of Evan
that these last eight months were enjoyable. We had good times and he was a
true companion. What a tremendous connection we shared because he was brave
enough to want to be close to me even though he knew I might leave. Monica
always made me feel important. Her free spirit always touched me and made me a
better person. All the way from NJ, her
friendship kept me warm.
October 26, 2017: Occasional
appointments with medical/mental health professionals have all but stopped. I
spend most of my time alone. I see Apu every
day when he's
not traveling and it's always
such a pleasure interacting with him. I know he thinks living is a
matter of motivation and free will, and he's not alone in thinking that. No one
knows where willpower comes from exactly.
Depression has interfered with my
decisions so profoundly over the years that I can't find my way back. I want to
sincerely apologize wherever it's due for
having to disconnect this way.
November 1, 2017: To me Donald Trump
being elected not only shocked me
because I believed it could never happen, but it seemed like a huge strategic
mistake for our country. Clearly the banks and the corporations got the
president they wanted. I was heartsick about what I saw in the first year. I
had become convinced that a free and independent press did not exist on a
national level in the United States; I was crushed
to have had to finally admit that. I'm not at all sorry I lived only to see the
first year of such a demoralizing time in America.
November 2, 2017: I did get some
measure of a second wind after my February attempt but the inertia of
depression came over me again and I could not continue putting one foot in
front of the other any longer. Even with my very life at stake in such a clear and present way, I spent
my days isolated, unalarmed, doing impractical things
like reading and drawing and listening to music. One common rationale for suicide is that the person
didn't want to be a burden on others and I know that's
the case for me. I wasn't going
to be able to help myself.
November 8, 2017: Most people's
perspective on life is deeply rooted in free will and self-determination. They
believe everyone has the power to set goals and work towards them. I had always
struggled with an inability to construct a future
even when I broke it down
to the smallest objectives. How can
anyone ever know another person's
potential? I think it was Emerson who wrote
about how unrealized human potential is common, but who could ever know that? I vacillate between
thinking I'm tired
and checking out early because
I'm an exhausted, high-mileage
vehicle who didn't pace herself for a long race. Or at times I think it's
simply that I'm depressed and let's face it: Depression kills people. Not
everyone recovers from it. I do take medication but I have what they call "refractory
depression" that is recalcitrant and malignant and often enough, fatal.
I'm afraid of a future where I can't be self-supporting and where I will have
to rely on assistance because
of an invisible mental illness
that so many people think is so much more
treatable than it actually is. And people aren't particularly nice to depressed
people. And pride is part of it, sure. But it's more about control, and
avoidance of entering the last trimester of my life in such a deep hole. And I
do have a head-full of philosophy that took me too close to the sun on many
occasions. But it's not possible to unlearn all of what you went to great lengths
to teach yourself about the meaning of life and why people
behave as they do no matter how much pain they cause. It's impossible to
sort out what we owe each other when we don't all value the same things and
some take so much more than they give without feeling an imbalance. Life itself
isn't as important to me as being able to say I ultimately gave more to the
world than I took, even if it's not by all that much. I needed life and people to be a lot softer.
November 9, 2017: The political climate
in this country has changed into something I scarcely recognize. The separation
of church and state has become negotiable under the ruse of "freedom of religion." Speaking
for myself I'm feeling
disoriented, like when the World Trade Center fell and I couldn't find New
Jersey only I found 9/11 easier to adjust to, frankly. This conservative
counter-revolution rolling back the clock is asking too much. Progress made on
social policy and civil rights that I thought was settled law that
made the world better for people, and that so many
people dedicated their lives and careers to advancing, is being reversed with
the flick of a pen by an unbalanced
egomaniac in God's name. All this makes my decision easier.
November 8, 2017: What do we owe each other? How
can we tell what's within our power? Are non-religious people more likely to
commit suicide than religious people? If so that's a good argument for
believing in something beyond this existence. If there's something else after
this, I'm confident it won't resemble any of the scenarios I've heard proffered
by various religions throughout my life. I expect to return to the same state I was in for millions
of years before
I was born. I'll be quite
surprised if there's an accounting or judgment of any kind.
November
12, 2017: I am all but gone already. Goodbye to everyone I've ever known.
Forgive me if you can.
Love
always,
Linda
A hand-written separate document entitled:
"Immediately after #2 attempt"
But for the nervous irritability that interrupted me, the final minutes of my life would have been a dull, wearisome and lethargic affair. Among the many other singular coincidences that left me standing thunderstruck -- like the last column of some ruined temple --my suicide became just one more manifestation of my diseased ambition. Instead of the perfectly motionless contentment and eternally vacuous nothingness of death, I instead face unheard of perplexity wrought by sentimental souls erroneously convinced they would have suffered an irreparable an unspeakable loss because they are entitled to my existence. And so my melancholic discontent is a debt that I owe to the living despite my own wishes to the contrary.
