The James R. Thompson Center for Mental Health

I've been wanting to write about the James R. Thompson Center for Mental Health for at least two months. But it wasn't until this weekend that I felt the truly soul deadening ramifications of my temporary office work employment forcing me to break the silence. It's been bad. For the past few days of officelessness, my will to enjoy life has notably decreased. I laid on the couch today, cacooned by blankets, and only felt dread in my heart. Dread, that I would at some point have to get off the couch, dread that that point would inevitably bring me closer to going back to the office, and dread that everything leading me up to these series of points has been utterly, utterly meaningless. Happy V-day to me.

When I first started temping in downtown Chicago I met a friend during break at the James R. Thompson Center. The building itself is quite impressive.- All glassy and shiny and elevatory. It's huge and vacuous and bustling with the insane energy of people talking on their cell phones, carrying briefcases and scurrying to get in line to the highlight of their day:Lunch, Potato and Steak, Panda Garden, Pita Express and of course Mickey D's. They're loving it.

Once I passed security and made it off the elevator onto the 14th floor I was immediately faced with my impending mortality. The hallway that links the offices together is edged by a sheer dropoff overlooking the hollowed out center of this conchlike building. Much like the guardrails in national parks that deter you from thrusting your whims into the Grand Canyon, there is waist high wall with a rail on top to prevent the office workers of America from falling to their doom in front of the Sbarro's on the first floor.

I was shocked. How could people work in an environment in which their imminent demise is constantly (Sorry, I have to) at their disposal? ESPECIALLY since they are all working in OFFICES, pushing paper, talking on speakerphone, mass emailing, and drinking water all the time. I would surely have to be pulled down from the ledge several times a day before I got anything done. I was in there barely five minutes and felt the urge.

What was this architect thinking? Maybe he wanted office workers to have a sense of danger and excitement in their lives. To literally give them the feeling of living on the edge. Like working in a gun shop, or the circus or something. Maybe, he thought, the more people have the opportunity to fling themselves down the mercy of modern architecture, the harder they will work to distract themselves. That their molecules will be roused by this opposition to their Darwinian survival that they will push harder, work longer, and watch more internet porn to persevere. I can only speculate, but either way, the building gave me vertigo, and harrowing images of my own death.

There's nothing in Google to indicate suicide has been attempted or achieved in the James R. Thompson Center for Mental Health. Which is shocking, truly shocking to me. It's the perfect place for such an act, especially considering the fact that in 2002 1.53% of death worldwide was caused by suicide while only .98% was caused by violence. Meaning, more people decided to kill themselves before anyone else got a chance to.

Chew on this:

A study conducted by the National Institute of Occupational Health approximately 10 years ago reported three conclusions to the link between suicide and career paths:

1) White male physicians have a higher than average suicide rate.
2.) Black male guards (excluding correctional institution guards) have a higher than average suicide rate.
3.) White female painters, sculptors and artists have a higher than average suicide rate. *prolly cuz they have to get office jobs to support their canned sweet corn and thrift store habits.

It's times like these when I really wished there was a statistic for everything. I would really love to know how many white collar office workers in the James R. Thompson center have entertained thoughts of hurling themselves off the precipice and at what time of day, which shitty food court bodega they ate from, and how frequently these thoughts emerge. I might have to get investigative about this...

On that note: Have a great Monday no matter what job you have! And if you're going to the James R. Thompson Center- Bring a parachute!