to write bravely about David.

There was a time not long ago that I thought suicide was totally beyond the realm of understanding. That changed for me just under 13 months ago. It is now not only understandable, but a possibility--even though I know it is the final and most unjust form of lashing out; of selfishness and defeat, not even to begin to address concession. My father committed suicide when I was 24; I never thought I would consider it. However, circumstances alter cases, and that is exactly what has happened.

I am so sad for the people left behind, and that is what has always prevented me, because I did not wish to leave that as a legacy, to hurt others. Obviously, there are other factors as well. I just know that I could never have predicted the desperation, isolation, pain, loneliness, confusion, and despondency I live with--and this in spite of friends, loved ones, and yes, aggressively sought and followed through professional help. Sometimes there is just no fix.

I'm glad to see that at least a couple of new books are available for those whose lives are struck by suicide. In 1992, I handed a book, "Silent Grief" to a bereft mother of a friend of mine. A.J.(the girl who committed suicide)'s Mom later wrote me and thanked me for that book, saying it had helped them cope. It was the ONLY book I could find at that time. Sadly, it seems the need for books on this subject has only increased with the passage of time.

I hope anyone considering committing such an act of violence on oneself will pick up the phone and ask for help. In every city, there are "hotlines" for help. Pick up the phone. Ask for help.

I think Salon should include a Help-Line Number with any article on suicide, because often, a person considering this will tend to read and reinforce the idea(as is mentioned in this very article)in various ways.The Help-Line number would definitely save at least one life. Which is plenty.

I lost my father to suicide when I was 20. I have also sought extensive professional help to process my grief -- and it has helped. I have dealt with (and continue to deal with) incredible anger and bewilderment about the circumstances of my father's death. Like you, I could not fathom his choice, finding it so selfish and cruel. Recently I have been going through a difficult period (divorce, etc.), and for the first time I actually fantasized about death. It terrified me! Is there something in our genetic makeup that makes us think these awful thoughts?

I have also watched my brother's sanity flicker in and out as he has suffered serious depression. I don't want to believe that we're doomed -- but sometimes it is really hard. I felt the need to respond to your letter because, really, I have some hope, and I want you to have it too! The wonder is that I emerged from that awful, depressive day when I fantasized about death, and you will too, if you just hold on a little longer. Like those people in the study who survived their own suicide attempts -- it passes. Get help in the mean time and hang on. We are really strong people, those of us who have survived suicide. We have to remember that -- how strong we are. To make it just one solitary day after a trauma like that is a miraculous thing, and a testament to our ability to emerge from the patterns of depression that plague our families. Please be proud of how far you've come. That's the one gift of a suicide -- a sense of incredible pride in our ability simply to survive this messy, intricate life.

Re "But there is often a fuse, as well; not every depressed person kills himself. The fuse would be the delusion that human responsibility lies behind every misery, the conviction that each suffering must have an author, that somebody must be to blame."

So the "fuse" for suicide is blame? I kindly suggest that Miller has reached too far-- way too far-- in her attempt to philosophize the subject. It's my experience that people kill themselves because they can't stand to go on living, not because the idea that the blame for their misery can be pinned to a particular person (themselves or someone else). If some neat little leap of logic were responsible for spurring people to take that final step, we'd have figured out suicide a long time ago.

The whole terrible awfulness of suicidal depression is that the black cloud can descend with no warning or reason - there is nothing or no one to blame, no contours to the fog that obscures reason and the will to live. The people or events that one could point to, that one could blame-- none of it really matter to the person stuck in the fog. It's not a rational decision, see? Saying that "the delusion of human responsibility" is behind suicide is not just wrong, it's wrongheaded, because it says that people who try to kill themselves are using suicide as a finger-pointing tool, and not as a measure of last resort to simply stop the pain of living.

I think that a lot of people who are depressed get sensitive, and tiny slights seem like big offenses. They left for lunch without asking me. And whenever they have anything important to discuss, I'm not in the room. By design?

One of the things a depressed mind often does is to cherry-pick evidence and find slights where there are none. Find faults, in yourself or others, where there are just imperfections.

So all these can snowball. And you get angry. At other people and at yourself. Sometimes it seems as though anger at other people is the same as anger at yourself, because one can convert to the other so easily. Anger begets more anger, biochemically. You look for more ways people are shitting on you. And you slowly start to believe. You believe that you deserve it.

The most insidious part of depression is when you hate yourself to the point where you don't think you deserve anything good. I've got to pay my bills. I've got to wash the dishes. Why? It'll be ... good for me. So again, I ask, why? I should really go on a bike ride, I need to lose weight and it'll cheer me up. But... why? I don't deserve to be cheery. I deserve to be the overweight slob that I am, that I've made myself, by my sloth and my gluttony. I really should take my antidepressants, they'll help me get out of the rut that I'm in. The rut that I made for myself. Wallowing in my own lack of ambition, a fat pig who can't get traction in the mud of his own pigsty. He just sits on the couch drinking beer and watching stupid infomercials until 4am, then he wonders why he feels tired in the morning. Fuck, when are they going to fire me? How long can this go on? I really should call someone, when I get like this, I'm supposed to call someone from my support group. My buddy. But I don't want him to see me like this. He already rolls his eyes as I describe my problems. He's leaving the group anyway, leaving us losers behind in the dust. We'll never pull our heads out of our asses.

That's what it's like, this vortex dragging you down. Physically, you have the ability to help yourself. You're just not interested. So many facets of the disease seem to feed on themselves, including the fact that it's depressing to know you have this disease, Depression.

Hey, here's a suicide prevention phone number: 1-800-273-TALK