Loneliness and Isolation

The past few weeks have been somewhat of a blur.

Some time at the end of January, my bottom right wisdom tooth began pushing through my gums, impacting my second molar. The pain was…exquisite. It hurt just enough to make it difficult to focus, but, not enough to make me feel as though I had a good excuse to take a step back from my project.  

That was until the area became inflamed. I emailed the Watson Foundation in a daze of pain. They encouraged me to take the time necessary to remove it and to heal. So, I did. I opted for a local anesthetic to save some money and because mama didn’t raise a little bitch.

In hindsight, I wish I had just been knocked out.

I have never felt as lonely as I did lying on that damn dentist’s chair.

The wisdom tooth was massive and curved; the surgery took close to two and a half hours. Drilling. Pulling. Yanking. By hour two, when the extraction became the focus of the operation, tears began streaming down my face.

I was screaming silently in my head. I was so lost in the pain – I felt as though they were pulling out my memories.

I wanted to stop the extraction mid-surgery, asking for my mom with both of their hands in my mouth.

I know what you’re fucking thinking – okay. “Tone down the melodrama, Sam.”

But, I shit you not when I say that this experience was so painful… the iconography reprint of Jesus looming over the dentist chair spoke to me.

It turns out, mama did raise a little bitch.

I spent the following days in an opioid-induced haze. But, I am happy to report (as though any of you actually care) I am fully healed (even though the sutures float around in the spit of my mouth, still).

My tongue played with the stitches every day while I was in Wellington. I went to interview farmers who have had loved ones die by suicide or have attempted suicide themselves. My intention was to understand the unique challenges of rurality and see how and where rurality intersects with suicidality.

Working along FarmStrong, a Kiwi ran organization dedicated to encouraging farmers across New Zealand to “Live Well and Farm Well.” Gerard, the founder, welcomed me into his home and spoke to his passion for making mental wellness accessible to the men and women who typically are unable to access stigma-free mental healthcare.

As a city-slicker. I began at square one with Sarah, Andy, and Austin.

Sarah, a licensed psychologist and farmer, as well as director of the Rural Support Trust, was able to offer insight into the unique challenges of farming as well as show me around her farm. The rolling hills extended for miles.

Andy, a sixty-three-year-old farmer told me about his life of farming and the expectations he has for himself as well as his “beef production.” He is the first person I have come across on this year-long excursion of understanding suicide that has named suicidality as a form of “cowardice.”

And, Austin, a fifty-three-year-old, who looks more like a very, very tan forty-one, told me about the legacy of his family – he never thought of anything else for his life. He is a farmer.

He spoke to his post-suicide attempt hospitalization in his early-twenties.

 He stays alive for his early morning, before the sun has fully set, four-wheeling rides with his dog racing after him, barking.

He swears that with aging comes wisdom and that with the years grows an understanding of solitude and isolation.

Speaking of isolation, we spoke to loneliness for an hour.

I left that conversation questioning the different kinds of isolation.

How does the loneliness we experience in the city differ from the loneliness in the countryside?

And, more importantly, how frequent do feelings loneliness accompany suicidality?

Indeed, suicide rates in rural areas are higher than those in urban areas. But, what I hope you all know by now is that we ought to be incredibly skeptical of suicide statistics. They can mislead us in many ways.

For example, Sarah offered the insight that it is common practice to rule a suicide a “rural suicide” if it occurs in a rural area. However, the issue arises when we consider that many people choose to kill themselves in rural areas far away from where their loved ones can find their body. This practice alone skyrockets rural suicide rates significantly.

After flying back from Wellington, with my mouth on the mend, I have begun to approach my project with a new kind of vigor.

I’ve been thinking about suicide pacts and suicide contracts. Indeed, one Māori woman, a social worker told me about the stories of six high school girls who all agreed that they desired to die young. She claims that there was no preventing their deaths. They made up their minds.

Whereas,  Rachel, a Māori social worker, working with native youth, told me about the continued, yet futile, use of suicide contracts in certain mental health care practices. Her step-brother killed himself when he was twenty. We spoke for hours about the role of the mental health care practitioner and the fallibility of psychiatrists and psychologists – how they lose sight of the person, especially when their young, especially when they’re native.

 At the end of the day, I am unsure of how to actually speak to these thoughts succinctly –

But, so much sporadic philosophizing (whatever the fuck that actually means) is going on. And, when I think about philosophizing long enough, I feel very lucky to be in a country where I am allowed to sink into my mind and toy with it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about forgetting.

I’ve been thinking a lot about darkness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about isolation and loneliness.

I’ve been thinking about temporality and transience.

I’ve been thinking about Valentine’s Day, romantic love and its inherent pain.

I’ve been thinking about the Uber driver who drove me to the dentist – he told me about his suicide attempt two weeks prior – his girlfriend broke up with him – as he was tying the noose she called to come over – he slid the rope under his bed – I asked him if it’s still there – “yes.”

I’ve been thinking about identity and Hegel’s mutual recognition.

I’ve been thinking about the biases I bring to my understanding of the Israel-Palestine conflict.

I’ve been thinking a lot about gender and queerness.

I’ve been thinking about souls.

I’ve been thinking about homesickness.

I’ve been thinking about Indonesia.

I’ve been thinking about hope and curiosity.

I’ve been thinking about fear.

I’ve been thinking a lot.

My birthday was so beautiful. I am so lucky to have found such a supportive and loving community here. Thank you, Kenzi, baby.

Wellington opened my eyes to how special Auckland is – even though I did have a really wonderful V60 Kenya and a really lovely Bourbon Varietal Ecuador cappo while I was there.

Farming is so cool and so volatile.

I keep my extracted wisdom tooth on my person at all times. I’d hate to lose all the wisdom trapped inside.

I will begin exploring suicide as it relates to spirituality and religion in the coming days. I’m talking sin. I’m talking curse. I’m talking martyrdom.

Don’t forget about me.

Hey Kenz, thank you for your endless love and support and joy. I know soulmates exist because you exist. I will forever remember our trip to Hobbiton as a privilege and a lesson in passion. I am so happy you loved New Zealand. I cannot wait to see you again.

Sheep lands

My beautiful birthday party — who drank that entire bottle of fernet?