Four people, so far, have told me that I have talked them (so far) out of one or another degree of serious intention to commit suicide. Since I could talk them out of it, they probably needed someone to talk to a lot more than they needed to die, and I believe all four are reasonably happy about their decision at this time.
It's remarkably difficult to convince someone who's serious about suicide that there is something worthwhile about life, or rather worthwhile enough, though most seem to agree to at least some extent that death will come all on its own without really needing to be sped along.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Which would eventually result in The World is Full of Tiny Guns:
"The strapping young orphan, with his aquiline nose and only the slightest hint of his childhood limp, glanced across the room at her, his steely blue eyes flashing. 'Nell?' he asked, mixed emotions playing across his face. 'I...I thought you were dead.'
"'Darling,' Nell laughed, her white teeth flashing, her diamond and platinum earrings jingling, but her dark eyes still unreadable pools. 'I got over it. It was easy.'"