Posts Tagged ‘suicide’
Singer Chris Cornell Dies at 52
Folks, yesterday I read the stunning news that singer Chris Cornell, frontman for Soundgarden and Audioslave and Temple of the Dog, had died at age 52. Cause of death: suicide by hanging.
I’ve read a great deal about Mr. Cornell’s passing since then. It appears that he was taking Ativan (generic name: Lorazepam), an anti-anxiety medication, and he admitted to his wife by phone shortly before his death that he may have taken a few too many.
I am familiar with Lorazepam. It is a central nervous system depressant. It works to calm an anxiety attack, and is a very good medicine…but taking too many can lead to despair and suicidal thoughts precisely because it depresses the central nervous system. (That is its function.)
I’m also familiar with playing concerts; I’ve been a musician since age 10 or so, and while I never did much singing, I am familiar with some of the things that tend to happen after concerts. So please, bear with me, as I try to discuss some of them.
(Note before I do, I do not know the circumstances beyond Mr. Cornell’s death any more than anyone else does via various published reports. All of this is speculation, and I can’t be certain I’m right. I say this as a disclaimer; everyone here should know I’m not a medical professional.)
First, when you don’t play well, it eats you up inside if you’re conscientious and care about music.
This does seem to apply to Mr. Cornell, because audience members at his last concert said he wasn’t at his best. And his wife said he was slurring his words (this according to a published report at Huffington Post) in their final conversation…all of this tells me, as a musician, that Mr. Cornell was anxious before his concert, so he took some Ativan as prescribed.
And to my mind, this makes sense. I have taken anti-anxiety meds before a big concert where I’ve had solos I’ve worried about. And I’m not a multi-million dollar artist, known for at least twenty-five years as a big-name act.
See, we all want to play or sing well, and do our level best.
In my case, I took the lowest possible dose, and refused to take any more despite still feeling nervous. I had a reason for this; my grandmother used to take this medicine, and I knew how it affected her. So I didn’t take any additional meds; I just waited it out, played my concert, and did my best.
I think taking the medicine at the very low dose prescribed was useful.
But if you don’t have someone in your background who’s taken that medicine, maybe you might think differently than I did. Maybe you might take an extra one. Or two.
And if you don’t realize that it’s a central nervous system depressant, or you don’t realize exactly how much it’s going to affect you after you hit one of these “performance lows” you can sometimes get…well, my best guess is that these two things combined to cause Mr. Cornell’s passing.
From published reports, it sounds like his family wants a toxicology test done to see exactly how much Lorazepam Mr. Cornell had in his system. That makes sense to me; I’d want to know it myself, in their place.
I hope they also are aware of the whole idea of performance highs and lows. Most musicians are, whether they talk about it much or not.
I’ve known about it since at least my mid-teens; sometimes after concerts, where I feel I’ve exceeded expectations (and my own are pretty high), I’ll feel extremely happy, and it takes hours to “come down” from that feeling. But the reverse is also true; if I finish a concert and think I’ve played much worse than expected, I’ll feel extremely awful. And it takes hours to regain my equilibrium.
That leads to a story…
Last year, in the summer concert season with the Racine Concert Band, I felt awful. It was hot, it was humid, my hands were aching and sore, and I felt ten steps behind the rest of the band. I nearly had an asthma attack on stage if I remember right, and I did not play well at all.
Hours later, I was still ruminating over this concert. I was wondering if I just shouldn’t play my saxophone any more. (Was this an overreaction? Sure. But I’m trying to explain how badly I felt in that moment.) I thought, for a brief time, that maybe I was just getting older, and there was nothing I could do to improve my performance.
It took a few hours of a friend talking to me to realize I was overreacting. (I’d usually call it “being silly,” but in this context, I don’t quite want to do that, because I don’t want any fans of Chris Cornell to think I’m saying he was being that way. He wasn’t.)
And I did reach out. I did say to my friend, “Hey, I had a bad concert and I’m feeling terrible.” And my friend patiently talked me through it…staying up until two a.m., even, to make sure I was going to be OK, before he and I stopped talking.
Not everyone can admit to that. Not everyone wants to…they think of it as a personal failing they need to hide. Or maybe they just don’t realize that this feeling of playing or singing badly is going to go away. There will be other, better concerts; there will be other, better days.
But when you are in the downward spiral, it’s really hard to get out of that. You start to think that your whole life has been a waste, that your musical talent and training is a waste, that you don’t have any reason for being, etc.
I am not saying that I know what happened to Mr. Cornell that night, mind you. I can’t say that.
I’m just saying what happened to me that night.
And I’ll tell you what; if I had had some anti-anxiety meds that night, I might’ve been tempted to take too many. I was in a terrible state. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that, or hear me, or realize I was in that rough of shape.
But I was. And for some reason, I was able to reach out.
My friend, whether he knows or not, may have saved my life that night. (Or at least my sanity.)
As for Chris Cornell…all I can tell you is that I wish he were still alive, still singing, and could still tell his family that he loves them.
I will miss Chris Cornell. I never knew him personally, but his songs, his musicianship, and the emotion that came through every time he sang spoke to me.
I hope wherever his soul is now, he is at peace and feels the outpouring of love and sympathy for himself and his family that has occurred since his tragic death.
And I hope his family will also feel that comfort. It isn’t enough — it will never make up for Mr. Cornell’s absence — but it may help them realize that they don’t grieve alone. (Though they will grieve harder, and longer…as a widow, I know that full well.)
A Saturday Request: Give Yourself Time
Folks, after reading this post from Jason Cushman (also known as the Opinionated Man) about an acquaintance of his who committed suicide years ago, I have some thoughts.
Jason’s post discusses a young man he knew from church camps, Josiah. Josiah was often teased, as Josiah’s name means “the Lord supports, the Lord saves, and the Lord heals.” (Or to put it another way, Josiah is a very tough name to live up to — the kids often teased Josiah because they felt he was meant to be a messiah, if I understood Jason’s post correctly.) Perhaps none of the kids meant badly by it, but Jason quite rightly calls it a form of casual bullying. As Jason put it in his post:
When I reflect on these trips and more importantly Josiah, I feel like he probably dreaded coming to them and that was a shame for someone who obviously valued our faith. I stop myself from thinking that way because I don’t know for sure and it really does no good to burden one’s self with guilt if you aren’t sure you are guilty. I can say that I am somewhat ashamed that a boy going through his own journey of self-realization couldn’t recognize another person who was doing the same. More importantly my own experiences receiving daily bullying from my differing cultural surroundings did not create any sense of understanding at the time of what I was taking part in and that it was wrong. Like I said, we were children and children can be some of the most evil creatures on this planet when it comes to social drama and interaction.
I think the most important line there — or at least the one that resonated the most with me — is this one: “I can say that I am somewhat ashamed that a boy going through his own journey of self-realization couldn’t recognize another person who was doing the same.”
But we’ve all been guilty of that, from time to time. Haven’t we? (If we’re honest, we’re going to say yes.)
Anyway, Jason’s post got me to thinking. Thus today’s request, which is simply this: Please, give yourself time.
Sometimes, it can be difficult to shrug off someone else’s opinion of you, especially when you want them to care or be impressed by what you’re doing. But if you live long enough and give yourself time to understand yourself a little better, eventually you learn that their opinion of you is not what’s important.
What’s important, ultimately, is what you do in this life. How much you learn. How much you grow, and change, and experience…but to do all that, you must first give yourself time to figure yourself out.
Too many kids, whether it’s Jason’s childhood acquaintance Josiah or transgender youth Leelah Alcorn, don’t realize this. They are in so much pain, and they think that pain will be everlasting, unending, and of course they can’t stand it. They get to the point that it seems that no one will understand, or care — and they take themselves out of life before they can learn otherwise.
I understand this feeling quite well. I was often depressed, growing up. For a time, I felt like I was encased in a wall of ice, and I couldn’t reach out…fortunately, my parents found me a good counselor, and I was able to open myself up to him.
You see, I was different than everyone around me. I often was bullied, too, especially in junior high school. (We didn’t call it “middle school,” then.) I got along with many people, yes, but most of them were a great deal older than I was…I thought I was a misfit, doomed to never find a friend, doomed to never be happy with anyone, ever.
Eventually, I learned I was wrong. But it took me time, and a good amount of trial and error, until I figured this out.
So, today, I want you to do one, simple thing: Give yourself time. Time to step back. Time to forgive yourself, if need be. Time to recognize your growth. Time to recognize that you, yourself, are a worthwhile and valuable person.
If you can do that, you are one step ahead of the game. And you’ll be much more mentally healthy, besides.
Tragedy in KC: Chiefs linebacker Jovan Belcher Kills GF, then Suicides
Today, something awful happened in Kansas City.
If you haven’t heard already, the Kansas City Chiefs linebacker, Jovan Belcher, has died. Worse yet, he killed himself in full view of his coach, Romeo Crennel, and his general manager, Scott Pioli, at the team’s practice facility — this after killing his girlfriend in their home.
Belcher leaves behind a three-month-old daughter.
Yahoo Sports explains all the particulars in this article. Here’s a relevant quote:
Police told the Kansas City Star that Belcher, 25, and Perkins got into an argument at approximately 7:00 a.m. Saturday at a residence in nearby Independence, Mo. Belcher shot Perkins multiple times. She was taken to a local hospital and pronounced dead there. The couple had a 3-month-old daughter, who is currently safe in the care of a relative.
Members of the Chiefs’ staff tried to stop Belcher from committing any other acts of violence before the player turned a gun on himself. The team’s practice facility was evacuated and put on police lockdown.
This is nearly an unimaginably tragic event. Yet the NFL, in its infinite whatever, has decided that the Chiefs should play their game against the Carolina Panthers as scheduled at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City.
I don’t agree.
Neither does Yahoo Sports columnist Michael Silver, who says:
I’m appalled that the team and league are sticking to the script, and I question the logic behind the decision. Pardon my skepticism, and that of one Chiefs player who predicted this in the wake of the tragedy: “It’s all about money,” he said.
In this particular situation, it shouldn’t be. If the NFL wanted to do the right thing for the players, coaches and team employees reeling from this horrible occurrence — not to mention the loved ones of Belcher and, most of all, Kasandra Perkins, the woman he is believed to have murdered — the league should have postponed the game until Monday or canceled it.
Silver goes on to state that:
The abrupt loss of a teammate and friend is a tough thing to confront. The fact that Belcher apparently took lives carries even darker overtones. That Belcher’s death happened at the workplace is another level of horror. That his death happened in front of Pioli and Crennel makes the notion of playing on Sunday even more dubious. Asking the organization to soldier on through Sunday’s game – a decision made in large part by Crennel and team captains – is absurd and unreasonable in my opinion. They need grief counseling — which the NFL, to its credit, is providing — and they should get at least 24 hours to collect themselves and assess their respective emotional states.
A head coach typically addresses the team on Saturday night and presides over meetings, then speaks to the players again on Sunday morning before they take the field. In addition, the head coach oversees many other aspects of the football operation during the weekend of a home game. Should Crennel be expected to handle these matters in a business-as-usual fashion? The answer, to me, seems obvious.
During my editorial internship stint today for the Web site Bleacher Report, I came across this article by Brian Kinel. He points out that the Chiefs and the NFL should try to help the orphaned three-month-old baby:
Here’s a chance for sports to redeem itself for fans like me that struggle with this issue.
Take care of that baby.
She should have a whole lot of Chiefs’ “uncles” who will love her, help take care of her and do the best they can to help her have a good life.
Put some money aside from the bountiful gate for the Panthers game tomorrow for the baby.
If this game absolutely must be played, Kinel’s suggestion should be taken to heart by the powers that be in the NFL. Because it’s plain, flat wrong to put those Chiefs players and coaches into a situation like this when nothing good can come of it — except, perhaps, to give that little baby some financial assistance at a time she needs it most.
My quick take — recognizing, of course, that I am not a medical expert — is that Belcher was probably sleep-deprived. His girlfriend, too, was probably sleep-deprived. So the argument they had over her late arrival from a previous evening’s concert may have had a great deal to do with the frustration of being new parents.
Belcher, too, could’ve been more upset than usual as the Chiefs have won only one game all season long. That puts a great deal of pressure on everyone in the organization, but most especially on the players and coaches.
In this case, the argument between a 25-year-old man and his 22-year-old girlfriend escalated into a murder-suicide. That’s tragic. Two lives have been lost, cut down too soon due to pressures we may never fully understand.
That said, if I were Romeo Crennel and I’d just seen one of my best linebackers kill himself in front of my eyes, I think I’d have asked for a postponement of the game. And if the NFL refused, I believe the Chiefs should have just forfeited the game rather than go out and play with heavy hearts and risk serious injury because they can’t possibly be focused on a mere game at such a terrible time in all of their lives.
I understand the NFL’s “play or else” mentality. One of the best games I’ve ever seen was Brett Favre’s complete dismantling of the Oakland Raiders on Monday Night Football on December 23, 2003, one night after his father’s sudden death due to a heart attack or stroke. (See this link from Sports Illustrated for further details.)
But that was one man’s tragedy — bad, but not anywhere near as bad as what happened today in Kansas City.
The NFL should do the right thing and either postpone the game tomorrow between the Chiefs and Panthers, or cancel it altogether. And they definitely should do something for that poor, orphaned baby girl.
And although I know it’s trite, my heart definitely goes out to the people affected by this tragedy — the coaches, players and fans of the Chiefs. The family members of Belcher’s girlfriend. Belcher’s own family members. And anyone affiliated with Belcher in any professional or personal capacity.