The message started innocently enough. “Hey, did you unfriend me?” The truth is I did unfriend him. Why? That’s a bit complicated.
First, let’s clear the air. I’m one of those people who love Facebook. I know, I know, I shouldn’t type that out-loud. I’m a comedian. So as you can guess it does feed my narcissistic personality. I like sharing funny little thoughts, photos of my twerps, my minor successes, and my gigs. Facebook has given me, like it has a gazillion other folks, a community. Sure, I had a community before Facebook. My community other than a handful of friends, odd relatives and a few snarky parents from my kid’s school, consisted of comedians. Before social media, we tended to be solitary creatures with a butt-load of time on our hands, and no outlet other than an hour or so, a couple times a week. So Facebook for me, has surrounded me with my own ilk. Which for the most part is tremendous. But truth be told, I genuinely like seeing the goings on of others, congratulating their loves, giving sincere condolences on their losses, and throwing kudos out to clever little jokes and meme’s. My heart still genuinely swells when reading the gains others have, both personally and professionally.
So my response to the question of having unfriended this person was this, “Hello. Honestly, I unfriended you because you were repeatedly talking about self-harming.” I still remember defriending him, and how in that moment it made me feel like a complete shit-bag.
It’s not the first time I’ve unfriended people. I do it all the time. Mostly it’s due to a reaction that others have over something I’ve posted as a joke. Let’s face it, social media wars are the best. I can use my wit, exorcise my demons and talk a good game of bull, all while never having to comb my hair or change out of my pajamas. Sexy, right?
The last three times I’ve unfriended were for different reasons. One was over a point I was trying to make to an animal rights activists, who was calling out people for not donating to animal charities outside groceries stores. In my defense, I was just trying to point out that just because people don’t stop and empty out their change purse, doesn’t mean they don’t think about the cause you’re pitching, and donate later in private. She didn’t see it my way and it got strangely ugly. There have been a few men I’ve kicked to the curb for getting waaay to sexually graphic on my feed. Btw, I’m vulgar, I get it, but please try to be clever. Don’t get me started about the frenzy I caused when I joked about the Duggars a few months back, saying statistically one of their kids is probably gay, after reading about Michelle Duggar lending her voice to robo-calls against LGBT folks going tinkle in public restrooms. The hell that reigned down on me was insatiable. I unfriended people en masse, I was hotter than a 9 year old Drew Barrymore acting out with eyes a blazing, in the movie “Firestarter.” I ain’t gonna lie, it was fun and it felt Goddamn GLORIOUS!
I don’t think I’m alone when I say the one thing I find hard to see on Facebook, is when people become despondent and talk about self harming. For me it’s a double edged sword. I explained to the person that had messaged me, “I grew up with a parent who was always trying to kill herself and had to go "away” several times, leaving me to fend for myself for months on end starting at the age of 11. My brother at the end of his short life was threatening to do the same. I just can’t go there. Sorry, if this makes me broken and cruddy, but it’s hard for me to witness the struggle of true depression. I’m raising two boys, one who struggles with issues and sometimes I need to put blinders on to other people’s pain just to make it through the day. It wasn’t done out of malice. I’ve skimmed your page and I’m glad things are smoother for you. I always wish you the best! Glad you are safe!“
The response I got back was this, "I understand. Thanks for your honestly and good luck to you. I’ve had a suicide in my family too. To be honest, I’m really ok and most of my negative posts have a twist. I do go there, I’m not going to pretend I don’t. But never did I stop to think I’m affecting others in a negative manner. My narcissism blinded me. Apologies for doing that to you. However, not to excuse it, but when you saw a negative self destructive post, did you ever think to reach out to me? See how I’m doing?”
The answer that I want to give him, but I know he’s incapable of hearing is this…Suicide is always a tragic end to any life, but I can’t pretend that I can actually stop you if you are serious about doing it. I knew you briefly 25 years ago. I don’t have your phone number. I don’t know where you live. If I had known any of that information, the only thing I would’ve done is call the police.
But the real reason I didn’t reach out to him is because I truly am broken and deaf beyond all belief when it comes to this subject. Even after many kind people responded to him on Facebook, he still went on with it. I recognize this pattern, it makes me angry, it literally makes me taste my own bile. I know and understand all to well that people sometimes can’t crawl out of the hole of self loathing, helplessness and isolation they find themselves in, without the help of others. Those people are straight-up in some serious fucking pain. It’s heartbreaking to witness. It can be situational, it can be chemical, it can be impulsive (the scariest one), or it can be just how they’re hard-wired. I’m miserably ill equipped, as some of us are, in how to deal with it.
Quite frankly seeing threats of suicide on Facebook is a slap in my face with a handful of hard-ass memories I have about my mother and my brother. Like when I would come home from school to find my mother in the middle of spent pills and vomit on and around her. The collect phone calls from my brother in and out of jail and half-way houses asking for money so he could self medicate, refusing to see a Doctor or Psychiatrist, even though I constantly offered to pay for one, still eats away at me to this very day. Especially when I look at the face of his beautiful daughter, my mother’s visual doppelgänger, who grew up fatherless. It’s a reminder to me that tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone, and that every morning when I get up, I should fucking grab at the day. It reminds me that friendships on Facebook, just like in real life, only work best when you are truly present, aware, and able to call out your own flaws when they are presented to you. It makes me want to shout at the top of my lungs, that if you are seriously struggling and need help, by the love of God, please call someone that is equipped to handle it. Please don’t casually toss it out to others. Sometimes those “others” are still picking up the pieces that was left behind because of it.
Need help? United States:
1 (800) 273-8255
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Hours: 24 hours, 7 days a week
Languages: English, Spanish
1 (800) 273-8255
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Hours: 24 hours, 7 days a week
Languages: English, Spanish
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