Dying Can Be Such Sweet Sorrow


When I was a little girl, about 7 or 8 years old, I thought of dying, I actually wished for death… Till date, I have not been able to talk to anyone about it . However, I had made no attempts to kill myself, only wished, fervently, that I was non-existent, nothing, invisible. Like, wasn’t it possible to vanish???

When the news of the suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade hit the internet in early June, the general consensus was ‘so the rich also cry?’. There seemed to be a general agreement by most people on social media that their dying must have been in some way connected to depression. Many opined that all the time that they were living life and looking like everything about their lives was perfection, they were, in fact, camouflaging sadness and yes, depression. A few people begged to differ and I am one of them.


Granted, depression accounts for a high rate of suicide but I do not believe it accounts for all. I speak from a very personal perspective. I am not the happiest person but I know that the good days are better than the bad ones. The first time I had felt like leaving the world it was because I had been involved in something that hurt almost my entire family. I didn’t know better but the disappointment on my mother’s face had been too much to bear and the shame I had felt almost dragged me down but I had been more scared of dying without knowing what lay on the other side than dying itself. I also didn’t want to gnash my teeth in hell. So I fought with everything I had to leave home to a boarding school… Anonymity made me feel better and it worked.

In the past few years I have felt so weary of life that I just want to up and leave. I think of the struggle, which never seems to end and the vanity it embodies. I hear horrible stories and mistakenly watch horrible videos that make me feel so terribly assaulted that I would rather just leave this world than live with the fact that such heart-rending things happen on a daily basis and to people like me- humans. Life intermittently doesn’t make sense and ocassionally I just want to go over. Yes, dying sometimes appears like a better option to living.

I am usually not depressed or sad, but many times, I am weary. Sometimes, the death of persons, even from natural causes, tips me that way because I ask “What is the point of all these?” “When does the struggle end?” “Why?”


Thinking about Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade and their suicides, they had some similarities and I have a thought or two on the possible causes of their suicides. They both were similar in many ways, amongst others-

Successful in careers

They had almost everything that was supposed to guarantee “Happiness” or some form of “contentment” but none did. Everyone assumed depression did it. Maybe it was depression, maybe it was something else. Somehow I think they got tired of chasing yet another goal and succeeding and yet another and succeeding and still striving for yet some new purpose to life.


The unending barrage of those “What next?” expectations they had of life might have finally pushed them over because when you reach the zenith and there is no where else to go but down, some people would rather hurl themselves over the cliff than climb down back to earth because what’s the point of starting all over again? What is the purpose in all that?

So dying becomes a sort of sweet relief for the weary soul who finally, maybe, finds rest and inexplicable sorrow for the loved ones left behind who are burdened with guilt and must blame themselves for not knowing or not noticing.

Dying Suicide can be such sweet sorrow.



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Twinkle, twinkle Chino star.

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