Suicide is the most defiant tool against dehumanisation

Erotics of Liberation

Suicide is the most defiant tool against dehumanisation

TW: everything

Erotics of Liberation
Nov 27, 2025
∙ Paid
764
201

In 1802, on the island of Guadeloupe, Louis Delgrès and his fellow insurgents faced an impossible choice. The Napoleonic troops were coming to reinstate slavery, to strip them of all they had: their freedom and humanity. Rather than submit, they retreated to the Matouba plantation. Cornered and outnumbered, they chose to ignite their gunpowder stores, taking their own lives and many of the French soldiers with them (yay). Do you know what they yelled as they turned this whole place into a burning cemetery for French colonial laws?

Vivre libre ou mourir!—Live free or die!

Attack by Napoleonic troops against insurgents in Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe, during the Richepanse expedition of 1802 aimed at reestablishing slavery on the island. Fuck them!

Their suicide was not an act of surrender. It was the ultimate assertion of their individuality and their right to self-determination. In that final moment, they seized control of their narrative. They refused to be reduced to property. They chose an ending that was theirs alone. I never heard this story in school, even though I grew up in the banlieue, surrounded by immigrants and their kids. I was one of those kids.

When I first discovered it (it was taught to me by a Black woman of course), I remember feeling goosebumps all over my body. Those freedom fighters taught all of us that, to take your own life — in a context where your humanity is on the line —is to reclaim your individuality from a system that denies it. It is a tragic, and yet powerful declaration that your life belongs to you, and you alone will decide its end.

I am writing this piece to you to remind you:

your life is your own.

Whatever you do with it, whatever the joys and sorrows you experience. Your life is your own.

My fascination with healing is deeply connected to its opposite. I believe in healing because I believe in suicide. Not as an escape, but as a final, desperate act of reclaiming one’s agency.

It is complicated to write this as a somatic practitioner who is supposed to — when faced with a client toying with the idea of ending their life — try to convince them that they shouldn’t.

I want to be clear: I have comrades and friends whose clients have died by suicide and they are forever changed. It has never happened to me yet — losing a client to suicide —but I have lost many people (Black people) to suicide, even more in the last 2 years. I am aware that this disproportionately affects us. And I know in my body why.

My suicide stories

I have tried to kill myselves twice. One time when I was 14 — this attempt went unnoticed — and one when I was 18. This last attempt landed me in the hospital for a week.

Since then, I haven’t “relapsed”, but I have thought about it many, many times. And I’d argue that it’s quite sane. I am a (Black trans non binary) person living in their time, after all. Although I have made a pact with life to stay as long as I can, I would never blame a person who chooses not to stay here.

When I was 18, right after coming back from the hospital, my whole family acted like I was coming back from summer camp or something. They were master avoiders. Acting like nothing happened was their favourite sport. My suicide attempt was a cry for help. I wanted them to understand how suffocating their silence was for me. But that didn’t work. And so I stopped talking. I channeled all my energy into school so that I could get my high school diploma and leave as far as possible.

I thought about dying many times after that.

And yet—two things kept me here long enough to write these words to you, dear one:

  1. My grandparents’ dog, Oscar. I’ll never forget the first time I met him. My grandmother opened the front door, and this ball of black fur came running toward us, the tip of his tongue sticking out, ready to lick our toes. His love was unconditional. We had the same hair.

  2. Around that time, we had just gotten a family computer in the living room, and late at night I would type—and immediately delete the history—‘I want to kill my self’. Google led me this site I’ll never forget:

IF YOU WANT TO KILL YOURSELF, READ THIS FIRST.

I clicked, and found myself on an all‑black page, white letters glowing like a warning.

But it was the most compassionate, kind and patient words I had ever read.

It simply said:

If you want to kill yourself, wait until tomorrow.

I know it feels urgent right now, but if you’re truly sure, I won’t try to stop you.

I’d just like you to wait until tomorrow, to see how you feel about it. Simply wait until tomorrow.

This might sound strange, but that reframe changed my life. I still use it, even now. I’ve taken it further, too: when overwhelm rises, I don’t think about tomorrow at all. I give myself ten minutes at a time.

Ten minutes to make a cup of tea. Ten minutes to look out the window. Ten minutes to journal. Ten minutes to read something that reminds me why I’m still here. If I muster the capacity: going outside to meet trees and maybe dogs if I’m lucky.

That’s it. Just the next ten minutes. No more, no less.

I wish we’d stop looking at people who choose to take their own lives and feel pity for them. I think we would rather pity them because seeing suicide for what it truly is — an act of self-affirmation that indeed can be rooted in despair — is a reminder of how much of a failure we are to each other. If we let go of pity as a shield from collective responsibility, we’d be forced to actually change things. Suicide is a reminder that life is unconditional. Good things don’t always come to us because we’re good, bad things don’t always come to us because we’re bad; they come anyway, without reason. The best ones always leave first.

Imagining a future self is your legacy

If you’re Black or Brown, I want you to know that Delgrès’ legacy is our shared legacy. This legacy is here for us as a reminder, but most importantly: we are here to re- member it.

If you read those words, there is a big probability that you are not facing the same circumstances Louis Delgrès and his comrades did 200 years ago. A lot has changed since then. Some things have evolved for the better—but the ways in which systems have been transforming to continue getting what they need to survive, have evolved too. We live in the aftermath of Black slavery, except the aftermath is still mathing now. The Congo is one of many examples.

The difference between you and I and a child in the Congo is just geographical luck. It is indeed privilege. While some white folks wield ‘ guilt’ to dodge accountability—the only force that could push them to change the systems they profit from—guilt in us becomes responsibility.

So I need you to do 2 things today and for the rest of the days you (choose to) spend with us:

  1. I need you to be responsible for this privilege. I need you to ask yourself: What is it that I would die for? Now go ahead and LIVE for that. I need you. I NEED YOU WELL.

  2. I would like you to imagine yourself old. Like real old.

We live differently when we can imagine ourselves as old. When you hold a vision of yourself as an elder, with gray hair and wrinkled hands, your choices in the present begin to shift. You start making decisions that will sustain that future self. The truth is, although we gained so much from Delgrès’ self-affirmation story — whether we knew about it or not — there is much more we lost from him and his comrades. Their stories, their rituals, their brilliance, their voice, their care.

Thinking about our elders and our future selves is a grounding practice. It pulls us out of the immediate chaos and connects us to a longer timeline. It encourages us to build a life that can last, rather than one that simply survives from one moment to the next. It’s an act of faith in our own longevity, a declaration that we intend to stick around. We deserve this.

This process of becoming is not always graceful and it is often so painful. So here are some eco-somatic practices gathered in a zine you can use when you feel extremely vulnerable.

Bodies you can embody when being in your own is just too much

Those practices focus on the following feeling states:

Alongside the somatic invitations, I added reflection questions this time. I hope they meet you gently, wherever you are.

Thanks for reading! A quick reminder: this newsletter runs entirely on reader support. There are no ads, I only write for the folks whose wounds have the shape of my words. If you enjoy the content, consider contributing a few dollars a month. Your support makes a huge difference — and as a bonus, you’ll get access to exclusive articles, the full archive and all my zines for free. Founders, you’ll be part of shaping the very first Somatics for Abolition app. And as a thank-you, every course I ever create will always be free for you. Thank you !

Continue reading this post for free, courtesy of Erotics of Liberation.

Claim my free post

Or purchase a paid subscription.