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“If you’re that depressed, reach out to someone. And remember, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”
-Robin Williams
Did Spencer want to die? Yes, absolutely. Would he kill himself? Not a chance. There's too many variables, he could fail and be paralyzed for life, or worse, he could fail and lose his job and be sent to live in Bennington with his mother. It's not that he doesn't love his mother, everyone knows he loves her, he just couldn't bear to watch her deteriorate in real time.
Luckily for him, suicide isnt the only option for death, especially in his line of work. The FBI had more opportunities for death than basically any other occupation.
Spencer Reid is what people would call passively suicidal. He doesn't actually have a plan, but he doesn't look both ways when crossing a street, he cuts himself carelessly without a single thought of the veins that he knows are just under his skin. He also has a habit of talking down unsubs unarmed with his vest thrown off to the side. He must have the worst kind of good luck, because every time he’s been close to death, he's been saved by his team or medical professionals.
He’s not saying he's ungrateful for doctors or his team, he just wishes they'd try a little less to save him. Surely there's more important people that need saving, he's just taking a bed away from somebody more deserving at this point.
He is actually very grateful for doctors, grateful that they don't say anything about the obvious self-inflicted scars on his arms, or the healing cuts on his thighs. He’s grateful that they don't send him away and rather choose to ignore what's hiding underneath the composed mask he puts on. He's grateful for the team's ignorance, apparently he seemed so put together not even the best profilers could see through it.
He wasn't going to kill himself, but he does have letters written for the day he ultimately died. He had one for each member of his team that stated it wasn't their fault, one for his mother saying how grateful he was to call her his mother, and even some for the online chess forum he was a part of. It was kind of like a group chat, one with people all over the world with the same interest in chess. He’s grown quite close to those people online, some he’d even call his best friends outside of work, they make each day he doesn't get hit by a car or shot dead by an unsub bearable. They don't even always talk about chess, a lot of the time they just talk about their days and what was going on in their lives.
He plays chess with one of them weekly, not always online chess, sometimes they just set up their respective sets and play it out over the phone. He’s grateful for these days, it's nice to not have to worry about anything for a while. They let him ramble too, which stretches out their games until one of them has to say goodbye, it's almost always him, being called away on yet another case.
Though, none of those people could make his will to live magically appear. Sometimes the fear of leaving them made that urge a little smaller, the possibility that they'd never know what happened to him is always in the back of his mind. But the pain never truly went away.
They check in from time to time when they know he's had a bad case, they're the only people who truly know the extent of his past drug issues and his struggle with self harm. They were also the only people he often said “I love you” to, because he never knew if an unsub would kill him before he met any of them in person. Yes, that was a little far-fetched and “teenage girlish,” but these people mean everything to him.
One person on the forum reminded him of Gideon, she’d always send pictures of the birds she came across. Another reminded him of Morgan, strong willed and determined each day. A lot of them would get along greatly with Garcia, colorful and full of whimsy. There were even some that reminded him of himself, silently fighting a battle with nobody the wiser. All of these people meant something to him, hell they even gave him little nicknames that sent flutters to his heart. Sometimes, he wishes he could be a little less careless in his everyday life so he’d get more time with them.
But again, people on the internet couldn't magically revive his hope in life. Though they notice the geniuses suicidal nature a little more than his team.
The team calls him “careless” when he heads into a hostage situation underprepared, they pull him back and tell him to get out of his head when he tries to cross the street without looking. They blame his Vegas roots for the long sleeves during summer and his allergies when he scratches at his neck due to cravings. They blame his “autistic tendencies" when he goes off to the bathroom for a break during rough cases. Sometimes he thinks they notice, but just choose to ignore him when hes obviously struggling.
He should be glad they don't notice, but he wishes somebody who could actually do something would. He doesn't want to be like this forever, he wants to grow old, maybe meet some of the people who care most about him.
When starts joining the others on their phones during the “slow days” they welcome him to the 21st century. They all assume he's reading articles on there, when in reality he's texting his chess friends. During a case, they're surprised he has friends outside of work when he brings up that one of them actually specializes in what they're stuck on.
That's when he realizes he's isolated himself so much, his team, the people he calls family, barely know him at all.
He tries more after that, tries to be more involved in the outings they go on, but they still don't realize how deep into a hole he has himself. The only people who notice his struggles are the people hundreds or thousands of miles away from him, stuck in his phone in the form of a chess forum.