Soliciting Against Suicide

I hate solicitations and I've never considered using my blog to solicit but this isn't for me. It's for my kid, Molly Sumner, who has decided to take it upon herself on June 4-5, 2011, to walk 18 miles through the night throughout New York City to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in their Out of the Darkness campaign. In order to take that walk, Molly had to raise $1,000.00 and, thanks to so many generous friends and neighbors (If you're one of them, Molly and I can't thank you enough!) she has far surpassed it! Her personal fundraising goal is $2,000.00 and, while she's edging closer by the day, she has a little bit further to go.

Molly shoveled walks in the big snowstorm all around New Jersey in return for donations. She was contacted by our area newspaper for a story which they wrote about her quest. So things seem to be gaining momentum. But times are tough for all of us right now and it isn't easy to support a cause when we have to budget every penny we get. It's even harder when the cause is one that no one wants to think or talk about.

Our government has a policy that, for every soldier that dies on active duty in a war zone whether killed in action, accident or illness, the President of the United States writes a letter to the family - except when that soldier dies by his or her own hand. There is such shame attached to suicide, I can't imagine what that must be like for the soldier's family to have such condemnation placed upon them on top of their loss.

For survivors of someone who kills his or herself, there is such tremendous guilt, the sense that they should have been able to do something, that somehow they were at fault. For the one who dies, often there is little sympathy, as if the person actually had a choice. People say it's the coward's way out or that it's the most selfish thing a person could do. They connect it with character. Or people just shake their heads and say they never saw it coming or there's nothing you can do to stop someone anyway.

The thing is suicide is the end result of a physical illness that is all too often fatal. For anyone who has suffered from depression, you know the kind of pain - actual physical pain - that you endure. Clinical depression is a biological condition that affects the body and the brain in many ways. Some sufferers can't even get out of bed. Often they see no hope for ever getting better. Add to that the invisibility. It's extremely difficult to go out and engage in the world when you have no energy, when everything hurts, especially to be met with suggestions such as "cheer up" or "smile and you'll feel better" as if such a simple remedy had never crossed the person's mind. Can you imagine how awful it would feel that people thought you were just not trying hard enough?

Of course nobody wants to hurt a friend. You simply don't know what to do when your friend seems to just want to give up. I mean, haven't we all heard that there's nothing you can do when someone is hell bent on killing themselves? Or that you'll put the idea of suicide into a person's mind if you mention it? So, even if you're worried your friend might be suicidal, you don't dare ask.

But you see, no one in their right mind is hell bent on killing themselves.

It's not about wanting to die. It's about needing to stop the pain.

It's about getting medical help for a physical illness that is so painful, if left untreated medically, it can be fatal. So do ask. Do talk about it.

It's time to bring the subject of suicide out of the darkness. It's time to take away the stigma that is so undeserved to both victims and survivors. You are fortunate, indeed, and a rare human being if you've never, even if just for a fleeting moment, thought of suicide. I will tell you that I have struggled with depression and thoughts of suicide for much of my life as have some closest to me. And I and those closest to me have lost loved ones to suicide - as have most people. And many of those lost to the disease were sensitive, bright, compassionate people who would have made great contributions to society.

The ones we lose are the ones we can least afford to.

So here's the thing. If each of us can try to begin to change their beliefs about suicide and make just their own neighborhoods feel like welcoming, nonjudgmental places, then neighbors that they don't even realize are struggling with this right now might begin to feel hope. That's all we need to start - to have hope. To have an open dialog.

And if you are able to contribute to Molly's journey Out of the Darkness (see the link below), that will spread the word beyond the neighborhood to a day when shame is no longer connected to a disease for which no one is immune. We need to start here.

Much love and thanks,
Skye


The fine print:
Thank you for considering this request for your support. Checks must be received by May 20th to be counted towards my goal. Credit cards donations by June 3rd. Please visit my Overnight fundraising page if you would like to donate or see how close I am to reaching my personal goal:
"http://theovernight.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&eventID=500&participantID=1326"

Columbia University's the Kathryn Faughey Fellowship

Amazing news: Columbia University has established the Dr. Kathryn Faughey Fellowship which is a post-doctoral research scientist position to evaluate the Care Monitoring Initiative and associated public mental health policies and programs hopefully to insure that those like Kathryn's attacker will be treated and monitored properly so as not to pose a safety risk.

I think Kathryn would be so touched by this. Imagine an end to people roaming the streets of New York City, homeless and tormented so that they end up striking out at others. Imagine that what happened to Kathryn might someday never happen again. This fellowship in Kathryn's name looks to appoint someone specifically to study and fix our broken public mental health system so that nobody again falls through the cracks.

What an honor to her memory! I have no doubt that Kathryn, before she knew she was in danger, tried to help the man who ended up killing her. I'm sure she cared about his welfare as she cared about everyone she ever met. This Fellowship will see to it that nobody is neglected and forgotten. That's truly carrying on the work that she devoted her life to.

On a personal note, when I went to Kathryn's funeral, after it was over I walked down the street past the little memorial of candles and mementos in front of her office and just then, a scruffy man in a tattered dirty raincoat stopped and put a Beanie Baby bear on the sidewalk there, patted it into place, and walked on. What a remarkable sight! There is no question - and no surprise - that Kathryn had reached out to him at some point. No one was invisible to Kathryn. And no one will be now. Bravo, Columbia University!

Kathryn Faughey Fellowship: http://www.mnyscherc.org/c/job.cfm?vnet=0&page=2&site_id=672&sort=date_&jb=7875035

It's been three years since Kathryn Faughey was brutally murdered and she is still all around me.

I had to hear about it on the local New York City 5 o'clock news as I crafted bookcases in my dining room. The board I dropped was on the floor for days.

The story broke with her name and I ran to my kitchen bulletin board where I had thumbtacked Kathryn's handwritten note listing her address. The summer before during Martinfest, Kathryn had offered to be a reader of my manuscript and I had sent it to her a few weeks later.

The address was the same.

By six o'clock they had a photo of her, the pavilion in the background, the beginning of the unbearably endless local broadcasts of her face staring out from the TV.

I'm writing here in that room, surrounded by those bookshelves. I remember which board I was cutting that day. My manuscript is on the next shelf where I placed it when I got it back. Kathryn's note is still on my bulletin board.

Besides her comments on my manuscript, a memoir of domestic violence, shortly after finishing the book she expressed in an email her initial reaction:

As I was reading it, I was so sorry this was happening to YOU! Amazing how the distance of the unknown author (in theory - I may read a memoir, seen the person on Booknotes, etc. - but never really KNOWN them) - well, how that distance can help handle whatever I may read. Here, the violence and cruelty and morass of being stuck in an impasse with bureaucracy is additionally difficult in that I know you. Amazing how you have triumphed over it all. (I was really touched by the scene when they audition you for voice class.) Incredible also that I was holding a manuscript that this young woman managed eventually to write. What a testament to you!

That's the thing, she knew I got out alive. It was a triumph because the odds were against me. What were the odds for the most gentle soul I have ever had the privilege of knowing? It is still so incomprehensible.

The violence and cruelty of this senseless act makes it forever impossible to process because I knew her.

Kathryn, I am so sorry this happened to YOU!

On this day

Message from H.H. the Dalai Lama

A central teaching in most spiritual traditions is: What you wish to experience, provide for another. Look to see, now, what it is you wish to experience--in your own life, and in the world. Then see if there is another for whom you may be the source of that. If you wish to experience peace, provide peace for another. If you wish to know you are safe, cause others to know they are safe. If you wish to comprehend seemingly incomprehensible things, help another to better understand them. If you wish to heal your own sadness and rage, seek to heal the sadness and rage of another. Those others are waiting for you now. They are looking to you for guidance, for help, for courage, for strength, for understanding, and for assistance at this hour. Most of all, they are looking to you for love.

This is the moment of your ministry. This is the time of teaching. What you teach at this time, through your every word and action right now, will remain as indelible lessons in the hearts of those whose lives you touch, both now and for years to come. We shall set the course for tomorrow today.

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.

Goddamn perfect weather

We've got that goddamn perfect weather again. I kept shaking my head thinking how the fuck could a pilot fly into the tower when there wasn't a cloud in the sky- until the other plane...

Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-T35WXFOmwI

Time is of the essence! We must stop Obama's socialist agenda!

Time is of the essence! We must stop Obama's socialist agenda!

If you agree then show your support by taking this pledge. Then be sure to pass it on to everybody in your address book.

Pledge to Stop the Obama Socialist Agenda

I, _______________________, do solemnly swear to uphold the principles of a socialism-free society and heretofore pledge my word that I shall strictly adhere to the following:


I will complain about the destruction of 1st Amendment Rights in this country, while I am duly being allowed to exercise my 1st Amendment Rights.


I will complain about the destruction of my 2nd Amendment Rights in this country, while I am duly being allowed to exercise my 2nd Amendment rights by legally brandishing unconcealed firearms in public.


I will foreswear the time-honored principles of fairness, decency, and respect by screaming unintelligible platitudes regarding tyranny, Nazi-ism, and socialism at public town halls.


I pledge to eliminate all government intervention in my life. I will abstain from the use of and participation in any socialist goods and services including but not limited to the following:

* Social Security

* Medicare/Medicaid

* State Children’s Health Insurance Programs (SCHIP)

* Police, Fire, and Emergency Services

* US Postal Service

* Roads and Highways

* Air Travel (regulated by the socialist FAA)

* The US Railway System

* Public Subways and Metro Systems

* Public Bus and Lightrail Systems

* Rest Areas on Highways

* Sidewalks

* All Government-Funded Local/State Projects (e.g., see Iowa 2009 federal senate appropriations)

* Public Water and Sewer Services (goodbye socialist toilet, shower, dishwasher, kitchen sink, outdoor hose!)

* Public and State Universities and Colleges

* Public Primary and Secondary Schools

* Sesame Street

* Publicly Funded Anti-Drug Use Education for Children

* Public Museums

* Libraries

* Public Parks and Beaches

* State and National Parks

* Public Zoos

* Unemployment Insurance

* Municipal Garbage and Recycling Services

* Treatment at Any Hospital or Clinic That Ever Received Funding From Local, State or Federal Government (pretty much all of them)

* Medical Services and Medications That Were Created or Derived From Any Government Grant or Research Funding (again, pretty much all of them)

* Socialist Byproducts of Government Investment Such as Duct Tape and Velcro (Nazi-NASA Inventions)

* Use of the Internets, email, and networked computers, as the DoD's ARPANET was the basis for subsequent computer networking

* Foodstuffs, Meats, Produce and Crops That Were Grown With, Fed With, Raised With or That Contain Inputs From Crops Grown With Government Subsidies

* Clothing Made from Crops (e.g. cotton) That Were Grown With or That Contain Inputs From Government Subsidies


If a veteran of the government-run socialist US military, I will forego my VA benefits and insist on paying for my own medical care.


I will not tour socialist government buildings like the Capitol in Washington, D.C. and pledge to never take my family on a tour of the following types of socialist locations, including but not limited to:

* Smithsonian Museums such as the Air and Space Museum or Museum of American History

* The socialist Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson Monuments

* The government-operated Statue of Liberty

* The Grand Canyon

* The socialist World War II and Vietnam Veterans Memorials

* The government-run socialist-propaganda site - Arlington National Cemetery

* All other public-funded socialist sites, whether it be in my state or in Washington, DC


I will urge my Member of Congress and Senators to forego their government salary and government-provided healthcare.


I will oppose and condemn the government-funded and therefore socialist military of the United States of America.


I will boycott the products of socialist defense contractors such as GE, Lockheed-Martin, Boeing, Northrop Grumman, General Dynamics, Raytheon, Humana, FedEx, General Motors, Honeywell, and hundreds of others that are paid by our socialist government to produce goods for our socialist army.


I will protest socialist security departments such as the Pentagon, FBI, CIA, Department of Homeland Security, TSA, Department of Justice and their socialist employees.


Upon reaching eligible retirement age, I will tear up my socialist Social Security checks.


Upon reaching age 65, I will forego Medicare and pay for my own private health insurance until I die.


SWORN ON A BIBLE AND SIGNED THIS DAY OF __________ IN THE YEAR ___.

_____________ _________________________

Signed Printed Name/Town and State


(Found somewhere a year ago)

Okay, at the risk of condemnation, losing friends and being carved in stone on the Internet, I'm going to be completely honest here...

Born in Manhattan, watching the towers rising and living within earshot of their collapse, 9/11 hit close to home. Quite frankly, I thought the world was coming to an end. I thought I was never going to feel safe again. And I have to admit, when I spot a Middle Easterner even nine years later, I still change subway cars. I avoid them in Penn Station and Grand Central and I feel like it will always be a war zone when I walk past the guys in Army camouflage and the cops with bomb-sniffing dogs. It upsets me when, so as not to be caught racial profiling, airlines double check every tenth passenger even if the tenth is an 80 year old white woman, when no 80 year old white woman ever crashed an airliner into a building.

So, you see, my old world did come to an end and I don't really feel safe anymore and it leads me to do things or assume things that, even though understandable, I'm not very proud of. What it means at a very personal level is that the terrorism worked.

As the grandchild of Russian immigrants who settled on West 57th St. on one side and the descendant of a Dutch counsel to Peter Stuyvesant in New Amsterdam on the other, I come from a long line of people to whom America - and New York - was very special. And I feel the same way.

I love my country. I define my country's uniqueness by the Constitution of the United States. It still blows my mind that the founders had such foresight for this place and such promise in its people that they provided for the ability to amend its words as years brought change they could never begin to imagine. And what country but ours in the history of man gives its citizens the right to pursue happiness? It can't give us happiness. No one can. But it tells us it is our right to go looking for it.

Forget the specifics in the later Amendments for the moment. Doesn't that alone tell us we need to find a common balance so that we ALL can be in the hunt for what makes us happy? I mean, if these people want to build a house of worship for their beliefs and they comply with all the building codes and ordinances and it is a private property that is up for sale in the proper manner, they are doing nothing illegal to buy it and be there. In fact, we can't BY LAW really stop them.

And maybe it is unsettling for them to be so close to Ground Zero and I wonder, too, why they couldn't pick another spot just to be good neighbors and respect New York's sensitivity to the hallowed ground where the World Trade Center stood. Maybe it crosses my mind that they have another agenda like it crosses my mind that the person I spot on the subway might be carrying a bomb.

But feeling this way reduces MY ability to pursue MY OWN happiness. And disallowing this cleric the same rights reduces the chance to show all the people of the world, and especially the young, whether they wish us harm or wish to be one of us, that America is indeed very special, that its Constitution is something worth preserving, that we Americans have a spirit like no other - and that hate in any form doesn't belong here.

And now for something completely different...

...Skye takes to the air (thanks to recording guru, Bill Falco)

At the Rat on open mic night covering a Kasey Chambers song - I'm joined by Dan McCluskey and I'm playing my 1951 Martin D-18.

An oldie, Steve Goodman's City of New Orleans

Always good to end with a little audience participation. (For the guitar weenies, I'm playing my 1967 Martin 000-18) - courtesy of Bill Falco who did sound and recorded these videos.

Perhaps you are wondering how to celebrate National Poetry Month

Well wonder no more! Try Sandra's fortune cookie way and step up to the mic and share. I'm hosting the first Poetry Open Mic @ the Rat (The Rathskeller below the National Hotel in Frenchtown, NJ) this Sunday, April 11th at 2pm. Good fortune is around the bend - in poetry!

Lucille Clifton - she lived

When I was getting ready to read at Dodge, I took a few minutes by myself and Lucille Clifton went by in a golf cart. She looked at me and gave me a knowing nod of acknowledgment. I'll never forget that. At least I had the chance to thank her at dinner for her poem I kept above my desk that helped me during my darkest days - "she lived"

Boy, did she ever.


she lived

after he died
what really happened is
she watched the days
bundle into thousands,
watched every act become
the history of others,
every bed more
narrow,
but even as the eyes of lovers
strained toward the milky young
she walked away
from the hole in the ground
deciding to live. and she lived.

Bunch of Phonies Mourn J.D. Salinger

CORNISH, NH—In this big dramatic production that didn't do anyone any good (and was pretty embarrassing, really, if you think about it), thousands upon thousands of phonies across the country mourned the death of author J.D. Salinger, who was 91 years old for crying out loud. "He had a real impact on the literary world and on millions of readers," said hot-shot English professor David Clarke, who is just like the rest of them, and even works at one of those crumby schools that rich people send their kids to so they don't have to look at them for four years. "There will never be another voice like his." Which is exactly the lousy kind of goddamn thing that people say, because really it could mean lots of things, or nothing at all even, and it's just a perfect example of why you should never tell anybody anything.

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/bunch_of_phonies_mourn_j_d

Re: But How Was The Music?

At first I thought it was one of those questions like, "So Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?" The subject line was on an email from a friend with a Wall Street Journal article attached about Woodstock that described the music as "marred" by complications like poor sound quality and bands that were no-shows. I guess I've grown a little defensive since the media frenzy escalated on the occasion of the 40th anniversary where it seems everybody has an opinion. In response to him for what it's worth, here's mine:

I went to Woodstock at 17 with my then boyfriend, Robbie, and I loved the music, particularly Country Joe and his F cheer with the military choppers flying over and the guys flashing the peace sign and then Santana who blew us away and who nobody'd heard of since they didn't have a single record out yet.

What's most amazing to me is the hostility from people who either didn't go or are gen x or something and blame boomers for everything from the stock market to SUVs. Glad they stayed away or were too young or it would have been an entirely different scene.

I was pretty shocked when I mentioned it to some musicians on a forum and one guy jumped down my throat saying "oh yeah, we all went to Woodstock" as if I was lying. I've given up mentioning it, especially these days. Instead I emailed Robbie on Friday after not being in contact since 1970 (what would I do without Google) and he answered right back telling me he was watching the movie on TV the other night and was wondering what ever happened to me.

Great op-ed piece in the Times (below) but even there, many comments repeated "where's the picture of you to prove it." Obviously they don't get it at all. It was all about spontaneity. Guess they missed the point of the article where Gail Collins writes, "The lesson I took away from it is that whenever anybody asks you to do something off the wall, you should really try to do it." She adds, "When I was actually at Woodstock, it never occurred to me anybody was going to want to discuss it 40 years down the road." Or, I add, that we'd have to prove our having gone as the-god's-honest-truth. Hey talk to my mom. It was her car I returned covered with mud inside and out (that never crossed my mind to bottle and save.)

We read about the "Aquarian Exposition in White Lake NY" in an ad in the playbill from the Fillmore East (yes they had playbills and no I didn't think to save any of them either) and decided to go "check it out" at the last minute without tickets, driving up Rt 206 to 209 from Jersey and having to ditch the car just west of the Monticello harness racetrack to hike the last seven miles. How many of us thought to bring a camera? Or food? Or water (no bottled crap those days)? I mean, WHO KNEW??

Our return home was uneventful except for that humongous haystack (as in the needle-in-a-haystack kind, not to be confused with a hay bale) I came upon in the dark in the middle of my lane that I had to swerve past. I can't prove that either, even to Robbie who was sitting next to me in the passenger seat, fast asleep.

August 15, 2009
Op-Ed Columnist
To Be Old and in Woodstock
By GAIL COLLINS

Forty years ago this weekend, I was at the Woodstock concert, and now I am getting alarmed about all the retrospectives. They’re beginning to make me feel like Frank Buckles, the 108-year-old last surviving veteran of World War I. Although I will never come up with a line as good as Frank’s secret to a long life. (“When you start to die, don’t.”)

Also, it has brought back my concern about the fact that I do not have any memory whatsoever of having heard any music. Woodstock-wise, I am the walking definition of anhedonia.

I spent a lot of time trying to talk a state policeman into helping me charge the battery on the car I had borrowed from my boyfriend. And, having left the picnic basket behind on the front porch, I was in charge of finding food for myself, my brother and the six friends who came with us. This took a great deal of time, and involved making my way to a little town down the road, where the store shelves had been stripped nearly bare and the people seemed to feel as if they were living out an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”

Fortunately, it turned out that eight people could live on peanut butter and marshmallow fluff for much longer than you might imagine.

But it was still a great adventure. The lesson I took away from it is that whenever anybody asks you to do something off the wall, you should really try to do it — unless it involves being unethical or a two-plane connection. You might not enjoy it while it’s going on, but somewhere down the line the anecdotes will always come in handy.

When I was actually at Woodstock, it never occurred to me anybody was going to want to discuss it 40 years down the road. In fact, the only time I envisioned the concert having any impact on my future was on the way home when I decided all of us were going to die in a massive traffic jam.

It was already dark when a girl walked up to my car — which was easy to approach, since we hadn’t moved for several hours — and said something like: “All the people ahead are going to sleep, so you might as well just settle down for the night.”

Then she gave me a flower and walked away. This was a sweet gesture, but I was so overwhelmed by the wish that the flower was, say, a saltine cracker, that I didn’t really respond.

As the hours slowly ticked by, I decided that the cars were never going to move again — and that months later rescuers would find our desiccated bodies, some collapsed behind the wheel, others slumped over the glove compartment where they expired while searching for a stray cough drop.

I fantasized that this mass tragedy would cause all the people over 30 to regret the terrible way that they had ignored the wise advice that the younger generation had been offering on how to run the world. Then the much-discussed revolution would finally occur, the world would achieve peace and harmony and we would be remembered as the Woodstock Martyrs who made it all happen.

Or, you know, we might just decide to get out of the cars and walk.

The Woodstock-mania must drive young people crazy since it is yet another reminder that the baby-boom generation is never going to stop talking about the stuff it did, and that when they are old themselves there will probably still be some 108-year-old telling them how everybody slept in the mud but that it was worth it because Janis Joplin sounded so awesome and the people were all mellow.

Current younger generation, I know you would be equally good-natured if you found yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the world with 400,000 other people and a bunch of bands. But it will never happen because although you will have many, many fine adventures of your own, you will never be cut off.

My sister-in-law Laura just got back from the Lollapalooza concert in Chicago, which was the exact opposite of Woodstock in the sense that it was an extremely pleasant way for a middle-aged person to spend a weekend.

The thing that struck her most — besides the misting tents, the lobster corndogs and the truffled popcorn — was that “at any point you could look around and 50 percent of the people were texting or reading a text. Which is fine for keeping in touch, but I wonder how truly involved you can get with the music.”

As the person who went to Woodstock and didn’t see the concert, I can’t really comment on that last point. But 40 years ago, I knew eight people who would have killed for that lobster corndog.

Top Five Favorite Movie Quotes

1. "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!" - Dr. Strangelove
2. "A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti." - Silence of the Lambs
3. "I think we're gonna need a bigger boat." - Jaws
4. "The Second Rule of Fight Club is you DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB" - Fight Club
5. "I like to watch." - Being There

People I Had On My Bedroom Wall When I Was Growing Up

1. Jimi Hendrix
2. Janis Joplin
3. Cream
4. Duane Allman
5. Led Zeppelin

Five Things I Could Grab From Where I'm Sitting

1. Sony Vaio Laptop
2. A really cool vintage Martin guitar
3. Books
4. iPhone
5. Shiba Inu

Five Favorite Smells

1. Play-Doh
2. Lavender
3. Dogs' paws
4. Crayons
5. Coffee brewing

Five Jobs I've Had

1. Head Shop Clerk
2. Taxi Driver
3. Dishwasher
4. Poet/Writer
5. Creative Writing Professor

Five Dead People I'd Invite For Dinner

(Not in their dead state, of course)

Abraham Lincoln
Virginia Woolf
Jack Kerouac
Emily Dickinson
Hunter S. Thompson

Five Things That Terrify Me

1. Nuclear war
2. Religious Fundamentalists
3. Gun Nuts
4. Socially adept psychopaths.
5. Being on a tall building while being chased by spiders, snakes, and Rush Limbaugh.