[TW: suicide, self-harm, mental illness. If you are not in a good place to read, please refrain and take care.]
September is National Suicide Prevention Month. This month, survivors, allies, organizations, community members, and those affected by suicide in any way collectively unite to vocalize the tragic mental health epidemic that plagues our day and age. Suicide is an issue that does not solely affect one subgroup of the population. It does not discriminate, and no demographic is immune. Maybe you’ve seen #EndTheStigma hashtags on your Instagram feed recently, or maybe you haven’t heard much about the movement. Regardless, this month is dedicated to promoting vulnerability, spreading awareness, and sharing valuable resources in hopes that they will find those most in need of them.
When I was younger, the notion of suicide and mental illness, in general, seemed almost mythological— a sort of ideological “unicorn.” None of it played a role in my childhood, so trying to comprehend the act of taking one’s own life because of unbearable inner torment never crossed my mind. In my mind, people only died because they got sick with diseases like cancer or heart disease. They were typically older people who had lived long and fruitful lives spanning a handful of decades. It seemed unfathomable to me that someone my age could die, or even more shockingly, choose to die. It wasn’t until I began facing my demons that the concept assumed a tangible form. Suddenly, I understood it too clearly. This was a silent monster, and somehow, it had not only found me but wanted me.
I wrestled in its clutches for years. Navigating middle and high school with a brain that wanted nothing more than to put an end to itself felt, at times, impossible. On the outside, I had an amazing GPA, the most supportive parents in the world, and friends who genuinely cared for my well-being. On the inside, I was being tormented nonstop: skipping school to cry in my bedroom about how unfair it was that I didn’t have any energy to get ready for the day, staring at my body in the mirror at ballet class until I decided I hated it, and hurting myself in ways that still hurt just thinking about it. I was completely shattered under the glittering exterior of false happiness. I smiled big. I took cute pictures for my Instagram feed, posed casually and carefree as if nothing dark lurked in the corner of my mind. I was the life of my friends’ birthday parties. I loved everything about my life except the person who happened to be living it.
I am eternally grateful for how much things have changed since then. A combination of therapy, finding the right medications, and rewiring my mind through conscious, mindful efforts has completely transformed my life. I sought out these resources during my freshman year of college, but only because I had people in my life who walked me through the process. I don’t know where I would be if it weren’t for the friends who backed me up, who walked me to the campus counseling center when I finally confided my innermost secrets, who accompanied me to the waiting rooms for my appointments. That is the kind of support that keeps people alive. I am authentically happy now, full of boundless hope for the future, and can confidently say that it is patience, guidance, and companionship that makes all the difference.
If you have lost a loved one to suicide, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. The pain is unimaginable, palpable, and raw— no matter how long it has been. It is the kind of tragedy that brings entire communities to their knees, breaking hearts beyond measure. Losing a friend to suicide leaves you asking yourself questions such as “Was there anything I could’ve done?” “Why didn’t I notice it the last time he talked to me?” or “Why didn’t she leave an explanation?”
But it is no one’s fault. Not the person who left, nor the person who was left behind.
What do we need to do? We need to care. We need to reach out to our friends and remind them that we are in their corners, but arguably, more importantly, we must advocate without ceasing.
It may be Suicide Prevention Month, but I want to challenge you to spread awareness year-round. Do not stop once October comes. Do not stop at the end of 2020. Fight the good fight for those who can no longer fight, who struggled long enough to become too tired to keep going. Demand better for your community, for your schools, for the establishments and institutions of which you play a part. Petition your administration to be more active and vocal about this reality. And of course, check up on your loved ones: your happy friends, tired friends, distant friends, busy friends.
Maybe someone needs you to walk with them.
—
Struggling? You don’t have to do this alone.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255