Tag: suicide

Catch 22

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

There is a disturbing new trend in the U.S. military, and it’s killing our troops with increasing frequency.

No, we’re not talking about roadside bombs or militant terrorists. We’re talking about something that is much more frightening: suicide.

The U.S. military’s highest court is wrestling this week with whether it makes sense to punish service members who attempt suicide.

According to an article in USA Today, the military’s Court of Appeals appears perplexed about whether it makes sense to prosecute soldiers who make an attempt to end their own lives. The uncomfortable subject matter reared its ugly head during an appeal filed by attorneys for a Marine private who was court-martialed after slitting his own wrists.

From the article: Underpinning the case is the question of why the military criminalizes attempted suicide when it does not treat successful suicide as a crime.

“If (the marine) had succeeded, like 3,000 service members have in the past decade, he would have been treated like his service was honorable, his family would have received a letter of condolence from the president and his death would have been considered in the line of duty. Because he failed, he was prosecuted,” noted Navy Lt. Michael Hanzel, the military lawyer representing [the appellant].

Suicides among active-duty troops have soared in recent years, from less than 200 in 2005 to 309 in 2009, and a spike this year has put 2012 on track to set a new record high.

As someone who struggles daily with a mental illness, this story caught my attention for a number of reasons, including my own dismal military performance.

I received an honorable discharge from the United States Air Force, but it’s hard for me to think of anything “honorable” about it. Like me, this young Marine was never in a combat situation, making it all the more difficult for most people to understand — nevermind legitimize — his claim of post-traumatic stress disorder.

According to the article: “Mental health experts say criminalizing attempted suicide will undermine the Pentagon’s efforts to prevent troops from taking their own lives. Those laws might make troops reluctant to come forward, seek help and be candid with mental health counselors if they fear potential prosecution.”

So, we are left with a situation that clearly mirrors the foundations of Joseph Heller’s classic novel, Catch-22.

Essentially, the Catch 22 argument is one that predicates an outcome upon a contradictory set of rules. For example, if you are sane enough to seek discharge from the military because of a mental impairment, then you are not mentally impaired. You can only be mentally impaired if you are in complete denial that you are mentally impaired. Thus, you cannot say that you are mentally impaired and must remain in the military.

It’s actually understandable why the military is wrestling with this case. It’s damn hard to know the difference if someone is simply using the guise of a mental impairment to escape the otherwise uncomfortable bounds of their own consequences. I say this as someone who has made a serious suicide attempt.

I mean the kind of suicide attempt when you don’t write a note. You don’t make a call. There is no drama. There is just cold, dark, insufferable pain that you desperately want to end.

It happens. It’s not convenient or a light subject but it cannot be ignored without consequence.

Today, I am doing everything possible to avoid ever being in that situation again. But how much harder would that be if I knew I could be criminally prosecuted for my admission?

If you are so inclined, you can click on this link to sign an online  petition to urge the military to stop prosecuting U.S. service members who attempt suicide.

As always, thank you for reading.

Uncle Bert

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Originally posted on Dec. 22, 2005 on All Along The Watchtower.

Last week, I thought today would be little more than a day of drinking and celebrating with my co-workers and those I developed relationships with during the last seven years as the Courier’s editor.

But God had different plans.

So, instead I will be going to a funeral.

Uncle Bert is an “in-law” relative. And since Laura and I have been together just a little more than four years, it’s not like I can say we were particularly close. And even Laura, I think, is grieving the uncle she knew from her childhood more than the Uncle Bert who decided to end his sorrow and grief a bit sooner than the rest of us expected.

But his suicide, like all suicides, has left me troubled.

Roughly a year ago today, Uncle Bert smoked a cigarette with me outside my new home. He was always very nice to me. Sure, all of Laura’s relatives were nice to me (some more than others), but Uncle Bert seemed comfortable talking with me; and he wasn’t what you would call a big talker.

He had a thick Downeast accent, gray hair, a wiry frame and a warm smile. We talked about my driveway, which really needs to be repaved. He spent several years as the owner of a paving company, and told me that my driveway was actually in pretty decent shape.

“You have a nice home, Randy,” he told me. “You’re doing a good job with those boys.”

There’s no way to explain how much that comment meant to me. He reminded me of my own late Uncle Leonard, a man who raised me during my teenage years when my mother was overwhelmed and my father was focused on indulging his every biological whim.

I always felt for Uncle Bert; he struck me as lonely, and there was no denying the fact that he never quite accepted the loss of his wife, the woman Laura knew as Aunt Cathy.

Laura and I were both raised as Catholics. And yesterday (or maybe the day before), she asked me if I thought Uncle Bert would go to heaven.

Yes, I told my wife as she brushed away a tear. “The God I believe in would not turn Uncle Bert away. Uncle Bert was a kind, decent and honest man. If he doesn’t go to heaven, then it’s no place I want to be.”

The Church tenets were designed to keep people alive. Although its doctrines are fear-based, the intent, I think, was more practical and based in necessity.

God, I believe, is sad that Uncle Bert is no longer with us. But I believe in a loving and forgiving God, a God who understands and accepts our human follies. Would you turn away your child if he or she made a mistake?

Laura and her cousins have much closer realtionships than I ever had with any of my cousins. They get together frequently every year. So I know Peggy and Liz (two of Bert’s four children) as well as any of my in-laws.

Peggy and Liz are amazing women with families of their own. Their father’s better traits are certainly apparent in the way they raise their own children.

I just hope Uncle Bert knows what a special gift he gave me by openly expressing a vote of confidence in my struggles to be a stepfather.

As someone who spent the better part of a decade struggling with severe depression and at least two serious suicide attempts, I was shaken to learn that Uncle Bert went through with his shuffling of life’s mortal coil.

I just hope God knows what He is doing, and I hope we all learn from the lessons that are so readily available in every day living.

Uncle Bert is gone and will not be here for this Christmas or any other, but I choose to remember that sly grin and gentle demeanor. And I know that all the streets in heaven will be well-paved, at least in the smoking section.