“You are loved.”
A phrase that’s almost become synonymous with mental health awareness and suicide prevention. A phrase that can mean so much in a time of need or fall so incredibly flat when you’re in the depths of your struggles. But nonetheless, I want you to know that you are loved. And you are capable of loving others. And that you matter. You matter to someone somewhere at this very moment. You mattered yesterday and you’ll matter tomorrow because you mean something to the world.
If that’s something you needed to hear, I hope you know that I truly mean it. If it’s not I hope you understand that there’s someone in your life that does so you should tell them. Even if you don’t know who that “them” is yet, just remember that you are the hope that someone somewhere clings to for survival. I say this not to put pressure on any given person to wear the weight of someone else’s life on their shoulder. I say this because college is a community.
Vanderbilt is a weird, uncomfortable, loving, close-knit, crazy learning environment that’s small enough to feel like family but big enough to get lost in the shuffle. And here’s the thing about Vanderbilt – we know the environment we live in. We know that there are hundreds upon hundreds of students struggling every day with severe anxiety, depression, and/or suicidal thoughts. We know what we’ve been through; we know what our friends have been through; we know what our classmates have been through. And I hope that with that knowledge we say the incredible importance of supporting each other. Suicide prevention seems scary and daunting, but in reality, it can be oh-so simple. The most famous quote from Jamie Tworkowski, the founder of To Write Love on Her Arms (which is an amazing organization btw!), is the best way I’ve ever heard someone describe the importance of “the little things” when it comes to suicide prevention.
“You’ll need coffee shops and sunsets and roadtrips. Airplanes and passports and new songs and old songs, but people more than anything else. You will need other people. And you will need to be that other person to someone else. A living, breathing, screaming invitation to believe better things.”
As a college student, contributing to a community of people working towards suicide prevention does not have to be about the dark, underbelly of self-harm. You don’t have to be in the trenches fighting off those persistent suicidal thoughts with every person who’s struggling. You can be That Other Person for someone else by way of grabbing coffee with a friend and having a conversation, genuinely asking how someone’s day is going and listening to their response, or even something as small as a smile when you pass by in Rand or on your way to class.
These seemingly simple things we do are what radically change the world of the people around us. These small moments are why suicide prevention is so important in college. Our lives during the four years that we’re here are composed of influential, tiny moments with friends and faculty. It’s imperative that we know that we matter and we can make a difference. Just as much as you need people to look out for you and your mental health, you are that person for someone else. I have friends that I depend on in order to get through the week. Whether it’s meeting them for lunch or having them support me in my venture to take over the world as a badass woman, the little things they do for me make it possible for me to keep going on the hardest days. And I am that person for others. There are friends that I know I’m a support system for. We’ve talked in depth about their mental health struggles and what they need in order to survive. But there’s also the people who surround me that I have no idea what they may be going through, but my love and support and presence help them make it from Monday to Friday. Being That Other Person doesn’t require a formal appointment and a lot of times you won’t even know that’s your role. What’s important is that you realize it’s a role you hold, regardless of age, race, gender-identity, socioeconomic class, or disability. You matter to someone somewhere at this very moment.