Suicide Is Not Painless: A Reflection on Why We Stay
In recent weeks, a series of suicides has profoundly impacted the lives of men I know, love, and guide. Each loss has been a man, each one overwhelmed by the unbearable weight they carried in silence—a stark reminder of the hidden battles so many men endure. These heartbreaking moments highlight the urgent need to confront this silent epidemic and emphasize the critical importance of helping men uncover their why—their reason to hold on, persevere, and move forward.
For me, this crisis is deeply personal. Eighteen years ago, my father became one of those men. He chose to leave this world by suicide, believing—perhaps desperately—that it was a painless solution to the chaos he felt consumed his life. But if there is one thing I know for certain, it’s this: suicide is not painless. Not for the one who chooses it. Not for the loved ones left behind. It’s an act that leaves a profound wake of pain, questions, and unfinished business.
What pains me most is that there was a way forward for my dad. It wasn’t suicide—it was his why. If he could have found it, held it, and let it guide him, he might still be here. This blog isn’t just about my father’s choice. It’s about why we stay. Why we endure. And what we can learn from the darkness that sometimes beckons us.
A Drive Down Memory Lane
Recently, I was driving from Denver to Sedona for a weeklong trip with friends. As is my custom, I spent the hours listening to books and meaningful music. Somewhere past Santa Fe, I felt a sudden urge to revisit my father’s favorite TV show, MASH. The satirical war comedy, which he adored for its dark humor and biting commentary, often felt like an extension of his personality.
Instead of watching an episode, I queued up the show’s iconic theme song. Normally, when I want to feel close to my dad, I turn to Motown, but that day I needed something different. The haunting, nostalgic instrumental filled my car. For a moment, it was like stepping back in time.
Then the lyrics started.
The Song That Stopped Me Cold
For those unfamiliar with the MASH theme, its original version wasn’t just an instrumental—it had lyrics. Dark lyrics. As I listened, I found myself stunned:
“Suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please.”
The song continues with an equally chilling conclusion:
“…And you can do the same thing if you please.”
The words felt surreal, almost absurd. How could a theme song for a comedy about war carry such a message? I pulled over and searched for an explanation. I learned that the lyrics were written for the MASH movie as satire, a commentary on the absurdity of war and the human condition.
But satire or not, the words hit me like a freight train. My father had believed those words—or at least something like them. He thought suicide could be an “elegant” exit, a way to leave behind the pain he couldn’t resolve. I had begged him not to follow that path, especially after witnessing the devastation his mother’s suicide caused him decades earlier. Yet, in his final act, he did exactly what she had done.
Retracing His Steps
As I drove past Santa Fe, I thought about my father’s journey and the choices he made. He spent his final days searching—searching for peace, for meaning, for answers—but ultimately, he didn’t find them. What he needed wasn’t in the retreat centers he visited or in the external fixes he sought. It was inside him all along.
What my dad needed was a community where he could share his struggles, a space to explore his why, and the courage to uncover the purpose that could have guided him forward.
Why Haven’t You Killed Yourself?
In my work as a coach and guide for men navigating the second half of life, I often reflect on a startling question posed by Viktor Frankl, the Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist who has profoundly shaped my thinking. Frankl would ask his patients:
“Why haven’t you killed yourself?”
At first glance, it sounds shocking, even cruel. But Frankl understood that in our darkest moments, the most important question we can ask ourselves is why. Why are we still here? What tether keeps us connected to life? What gives us meaning?
Frankl believed, as do I, that finding your why—your reason for being—can help you endure almost any how. It can transform tragedy into triumph and despair into purpose. For me, my why has become clear: to help other men avoid the path my father chose, to guide them toward meaning, connection, and hope.
Man UPrising Peer Groups: A Movement Toward Meaning
This drive wasn’t just a personal journey through grief—it was also a reminder of why I am so passionate about Man UPrising Peer Groups. These groups exist to create exactly what my dad didn’t have: a space where men can come together, break their silence, and confront the hard questions.
In these groups, men support each other in exploring their purpose, their meaning, and their why. It’s about connection, vulnerability, and rising together—something no man should have to do alone.
The truth is, suicide isn’t just about death. It’s about the disconnection, isolation, and despair that lead to such a decision. But I believe there is another way. Through peer groups, men can find the strength to move forward, not in spite of their pain, but because of it. Together, we create a foundation for healing and growth that allows men to thrive in ways they might never have imagined.
The Truth About Suicide
If my father could hear me now, I’d tell him what I wish he had understood: suicide is not painless. It is not an elegant solution. It is darkness masquerading as light. And while it may feel like an escape, it leaves behind a mountain of pain for others to carry.
For those of us still here, the work is clear. We must ask and answer Viktor Frankl’s question: Why haven’t you killed yourself? This isn’t a question of despair—it’s a question of meaning. It’s about finding your tether to life, your reason to endure, and your reason to thrive.
My father needed to know there was another path. A way to endure his pain, to confront it, and to move through it—not by escaping life, but by discovering the why that made it worth living. His way forward wasn’t suicide; it was why.
Moving Forward
As I drove into Sedona, I thought about the men I guide, the men I’ve lost, and the men I’ve helped find their why. And I thought about Frankl’s words:
“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
To every man reading this: you are not alone. There is a way forward. Find your why. Hold it close. Let it guide you. And remember, no matter how dark the road may seem, there is always light ahead when you walk it together.
Where there’s a why, there’s a way. Let’s discover your why. Let’s live your why. And let’s leave your why as a legacy—a legacy of meaning, connection, and hope for those who will follow. Together, we can rise. Together, we can endure. Together, we can thrive.
Dr. Baruch HaLevi, aka “B,” is a Logotherapist specializing in WHY-focused counseling, a men’s coach, and the co-founder of Man Uprising. His work is dedicated to helping men discover their purpose, rise up, and thrive in the second half of life.
To learn more, visit:
www.manuprising.org
www.defiantspirit.org
