Dependence: Death and People
Dependence
What merit is there in suicide? The prospect of death is that you no longer need live. And the life that Cornelia no longer needed to live was that of senility, belligerence, and unreliability – a dark reflection of the same aunt she both scorned and yearned for. Perhaps she didn’t want to be another Shelley, not that she’d be able to be anything anymore.
Cornelia ran away from her fear of growing old and dependent. And with it, she took every right she had to be depended on as well. I wonder what sort of pride is worth dying for. In the end, you’re not very reliable dead.
When her life flashed before her eyes, it seemed quite sad that she thought of no one coming to stop her. These people you rely on, rely on you in turn and become your friends. Cornelia’s death was not a tragedy. It was her life that was. It was that she led this life alone.
The price of her independence was isolation. No one is truly independent. We all fall back to someone at some point. And I think it’s better that way. Even if you really could manage everything alone. You can wipe your own tears but you can’t scratch your own back.
I wouldn’t attend the funeral of someone who committed suicide. Especially if that were someone I cared about. I’d only be angry that I wasn’t asked for any help. Why would you celebrate the life of someone who wanted to escape from it? People like that don’t deserve to be buried. They threw away their bodies after all, along with the people they left behind. I do not see life as so great a pain that one should end it herself. And neither would any pain justify hurting the ones who care for you precisely by not letting them care for you.
But despite friends and family, we all die alone.
Fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives - they die alone. But when you die by your own hand, you take with you every hope anyone ever had for you. Along with you goes every moment you shared, and all that you’ve been given can no longer be given
What merit is there in suicide? The prospect of death is that you no longer need live. And the life that Cornelia no longer needed to live was that of senility, belligerence, and unreliability – a dark reflection of the same aunt she both scorned and yearned for. Perhaps she didn’t want to be another Shelley, not that she’d be able to be anything anymore.
Cornelia ran away from her fear of growing old and dependent. And with it, she took every right she had to be depended on as well. I wonder what sort of pride is worth dying for. In the end, you’re not very reliable dead.
When her life flashed before her eyes, it seemed quite sad that she thought of no one coming to stop her. These people you rely on, rely on you in turn and become your friends. Cornelia’s death was not a tragedy. It was her life that was. It was that she led this life alone.
The price of her independence was isolation. No one is truly independent. We all fall back to someone at some point. And I think it’s better that way. Even if you really could manage everything alone. You can wipe your own tears but you can’t scratch your own back.
I wouldn’t attend the funeral of someone who committed suicide. Especially if that were someone I cared about. I’d only be angry that I wasn’t asked for any help. Why would you celebrate the life of someone who wanted to escape from it? People like that don’t deserve to be buried. They threw away their bodies after all, along with the people they left behind. I do not see life as so great a pain that one should end it herself. And neither would any pain justify hurting the ones who care for you precisely by not letting them care for you.
But despite friends and family, we all die alone.
Fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives - they die alone. But when you die by your own hand, you take with you every hope anyone ever had for you. Along with you goes every moment you shared, and all that you’ve been given can no longer be given