Do you think people who commit suicide should be considered "cowards"

I have talked myself out of suicide so many times and I always did it by seeing clearly it is a cowards way out and nota noble act and basically would make me a giant baby havoing the ultimate temper tantrum. It takes courage to live. It doesn't take courage to die by your own hand. IOt takes delusion!

That said, for others I have buckets of sympathy having been in that predicament so many times... it does take a hideously depressed mindset though and I know from deep multiple personal experience having had my ex kill hinself and having lost several aquaintances this way that it is an act of desperation and deranged mental processes caused by medical depression -not cowardice.

Encouraging suicide in others by romanticizing the act is wrong. If people feel it is romantic and they wish to encourage others to suicide , well spare us all and they should go shoot themselves now and spare the vulnerable the trouble, quite frankly, rather than encourage people to suicide when things could change and fix whatever is prompting the desperate feelings.

No one has the right to counsel suicide. That is flat out evil whether deliberate or not. You still end up causing a body bag where before there was a living breathing soul with a fighting chance.

To call it an act of courage is to romanticize something that cannot be undone when the problmes troubling the particular soul i questions could well be solvable with more time and other thing.
:-/ It's too final a solution.

Also it leaves the living to deal with what you have done - and to bury you - leave them holding the body bag. So that makes t irrespoisble.

So everytime i figure i want to end it all I tell myself the same thing - it'sa coward's way out and I am not an irresponsible person who would leave my friends bereaved as Pierre left me, nor am I one to leave someone having to deal with my mouldering lifeless corpse.

No point in romantciizing death or suicide,. that's just dangerous.

And I say this as some one who is exceedingly gothy, for the record.

Not cowardice, just severely depressed, lonely and alone.

Wow, I can't imagine getting up the courage to kill myself. There have been times that I wished I could just breathe out and never breathe in again - the death of children, a mentally abusive marriage, but somehow, like you, years later, here I am.

I've had to teach myself to love life, and it was a DECISION. I decided to start each day giving thanks (to God, to the Universe, whatever you're comfortable with) for a chance at another day. Then each evening I began to give thanks for the good things that happened in my day. Some days it was hard to find something - anything. But I'm healthy, I have my eyesight, good hearing, I can move, walk, breathe, I have 3 healthy children and 3 healthy granchildren, I have a roof over my head and food to eat. There are so many people who can't say many of those things. I'm so lucky.

It's just requires looking at things from another perspective.

You were moving away from family and friends because of your husband's job? Wow! What an opportunity to get to know new people, try new things. Think of how many women don't have loving husbands. Think of how many husbands don't have jobs.

If you are lucky enough not to have to work outside the home, then volunteer once or twice a week. Most towns have a city mission to help feed the homeless. Volunteer there. Or volunteer in a hospital. You'll go home being thankful every time.

This sounds like I'm trying to be preachy, pointing out how ungrateful you are, but it truly I'm trying to encourage you to look at your life from a different point of view. It's deciding what blessings you'll think about when thoughts of what you DON'T have come into your mind. Decide ahead of time. Then you'll be ready when the bad thoughts come. Try it for a month.

I used to think about wanting to die a lot. I don't know that I really wanted to die, I just wanted the pain and sorrow to stop. This helped me. Today I can say, "Thank you for my life exactly as it is today." My life's far from perfect, very far, but it sure is better than the lives that many people live.

Suicide is something that, until it's happened in your world, you can't understand it's impact.
My only sibling, my twin brother, took his life over two years ago. I can tell you than my life stopped that day and it will never be anywhere near what it was before. To know you've failed someone you loved so dearly, to wonder. . .
You wonder what you could've said or done to make a difference. You remember EVERY single argument you ever had with him and wish it wasn't. You wish you'd have given in every time there was a discussion or disagreement. And most of all, you wish you'd have told him you loved him when you could have.
Your mind focuses on that last visit, and you realize that he knew. You didn't, of course; you couldn't have. Bue he did, now you re-think all he said and it's clear he knew. And you cry for him and you cry for you and you really never stop crying for either of you.
You become angry when people who berate victims of suicide, and you rage when it's called the "ultimate sin." You defend their honor and remind people you don't even know that to betray God is the ultimate sin. And for the survivors, for those who've lived through it, life isn't like it was; the light is and will always be just a little dimmer than before. For you've failed someone terribly, and you cannot be forgiven, for the one you've failed isn't here TO forgive.
You hear songs like "Suicide is Painless" and realize they're talking about for the one who does it, maybe, but not for those who must live through it. Simple phrases take on new meanings, and you find yourself pulling your car over and sobbing over a song played on the radio that your loved one used to love, also.
Survivors know what it is to read a letter by a dead man saying that you are loved. And they know what it is to scream, "Then come BACK!" And, realizing the hopelessness of it all, collapse onto the floor exhausted, making pleas with God to take you instead. . . going to sleep still trying to make the trade. Telling God you're sure your parents won't mind. . . take me, I'll go.
Survivors know that no matter what, they must be strong and not do what's been done to them. My parents have only one child now, and I cannot disappoint them. Even though I'm sure he wants me with him, he needs me to show him which line to get into, I cannot go. We were never apart, even in the womb; together always, everyone said. And when I go to the phone and have the number already punched in before I remember he won't be answering, it just. . . you know, it still brings me to my knees and I picture him smiling at me self-assured and so THERE for me and now that he's not I just, I wonder if he realized that he wasn't only killing himself that day, he was killing us both.
My twin's suicide note requested that "Let it Be" be the only tune at his funeral, and it was. Now when I hear it, those first haunting chords take my breath away and I'm filled with a passion that's rage and disdain and the most terrible sense of loneliness I've ever known. And McCartney can sing as he will long and loud, but there never will be an answer, the unfairness of it is riveting.
And there's a reason I won't read the replies to this question. I don't believe anyone could know what that's like. . . what it's like to wonder, to never know what those last moments were like, and to wonder how much of it was your fault. Wondering if maybe he changed his mind before it was over, when it was too late. These are the things nightmares are made of. Living with that isn't living at all, but surviving, which is more than he could manage.
If anything not horrific came from this, you find yourself being kind to people you don't even know, so afraid they're on their last legs and if you say a wrong thing it'll be the last thing they'll hear. You overcompensate with everyone you meet, and you're to get over on. You refuse to contribute to another death, so you do for people much more than you should for the comfort of knowing if they go, it wasn't something you did or said. You're covering yourself.
Suicide isn't cowardice, it's nowhere near that. It's terrible and it's cruel but the victim wasn't a coward, they were a loved one. They were someone we let down, someone we wish we could've helped, someone I'd never allow to be called names, "coward" included. The notion that, even in death, they are being indicted, the subject of name-calling brings on a ridiculous notion to defend them, even while they're not even here. "There'll be no name-calling," you
tell them, ridiculously, lucky not to hear their chuckling.
You answer questions like this one and then forget they ever were and hope anyone reading takes away from it not that you are mad but the message that there are no do-overs. Love and apathy and compassion are for the living, and we must show these to those we love, especially when it's hardest to love them. For we never really get a do-over, and when the end result takes their life, the realization that it is you and not them that is the victim of the suicide becomes painfully clear.
Be good to those you love, and when it's hard to do that, be even better. Life is precious, with no second chances to say what we know we should. It could mean everything. I can't gain a thing by telling you so, but you could gain so much by hearing it.
"And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me.
Shine until tomorrow, let it be." (P.McCartney)