Who's to determine what is and isn't terminally ill. Like where do you draw the line? Any cancer, 20% survival, 50% ?
Also along the same lines, what about mentally ill? Couldn't it be argued that they aren't thinking in good judgement because of the illness? Or how do you decide that a 13 year old with cancer with a 1% survival rate has more to live for than an 80 dementia patient or a 20 year old with severe depression that has decided that they're ready to go?
Not really trying to start shit or piss anyone off, just to get people thinking. I think that suicide is definitely one of the biggest taboos in modern society and that it is completely frowned upon, so how does assisted suicide change that at all? You would be content with a terminally ill patient opting out through euthanasia, but why is it that your feelings change if you heard that the same person had jumped off a building or shot themselves? Shit, if I was terminally ill I would have a tough choice, do I try to ride it out until the end and possibly suffer? Do I opt out, and if I do, when do i feel is the best time and how am I going to do it? Do I want to be injected and go out tripping balls with my family around me, do I go out in a blaze of glory and do one thing that I've always wanted to and ski BASE jump off a cliff and enjoy the adrenaline ride to the bottom as I don't deploy my chute?
I dunno. Its late and I love thinking about all the different shit that comes along with controversial stuff.
I don't think I've told anyone this, but I totally use to contemplate suicide almost daily. Which way would be best, how I would prepare everything before I left, everything. The thing that stopped me from doing anything was actually me being a pussy. I never went through with anything because I knew the impact that it would have on everyone, especially my family. I thought about how fucked up it would be if I did it in a way that someone had to see it after. It was mostly the little shit. I was living in the dorms and I thought about how much it would pain my parents to have to go in and move everything out of my room, how they would have to clean my room and go through all my belongings and sort through all the old memories they brought. How they would go on my computer and see random posts like this and wonder why they didn't see any signs and what they could have done to prevent it. The worst one was imagining my dad cry. He's a complete asshole to me, but I imagined that it would literally eat him away knowing that he did nothing about it and it killed me knowing that out of all the times I've fucked up and all the opportunities I've wasted that I would still end up disappointing him the most from that.
Sorry for the wall of text, it was just kinda nice being able to get everything out .