I recently saw on social media that a psychotherapist committed suicide. Sad, shocking, every time I find out about something like this. I remember the note left by Dalida, when she committed suicide: ‘La vie m’est insupportable’ (Life is unbearable for me).
Some people, maybe quite a few, end up having such thoughts, attempts, some unsuccessful, fortunately. The feeling of loneliness, that of meaninglessness, or insignificance, of embarrassment, of inner nothingness, must be so overwhelming that it all becomes too great a burden.
Going back to the person who no longer wanted to look for the resources needed to continue living, I wonder where the people around them were. I do not know details about this case. But I wonder rhetorically, of course, every time I hear about such cases, was there no one around to care? People whose lives become unbearable are far too lonely, far too disappointed, hurt, desperate.
I know that, in general, everyone is doing their job, impassive, regardless of the others, regardless of whether others are doing well or not. But if we read about the past, we find that the species survived when they were under the protection of the tribe. As soon as they reached the outside of the tribe, they were excluded, they perished.
We no longer have tribes but we need to know that we are part of a community, that we belong, that others care about us and we care about them. Nietzsche said that every man carries chaos in himself in order to give birth to a dancing star. But this means solidarity – you need two to dance, you need to have others by your side, not just declaratively but as a manifestation.