September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. A month dedicated to advocating for those who have taken their own lives, educating those on mental health, and preventing those who struggle with suicidal thoughts or actions. As part of Her Campus, we are trying to raise awareness for suicide prevention by sharing a letter from a team member who has experienced a suicide first hand. Suicide is the third leading cause of death among young people. The horrific statistics show the need to erase the stigma of mental illness and educate those around us about the resources available. By sharing your story, opening up about personal struggles, and finding the help you need, awareness can be raised for the taboo subject that needs immediate attention.
Content Warning: The following content contains information and personal stories dealing with suicide, something that may be triggering for people.
Dear Abbey,
I thought it was a joke; someone had surely gotten it wrong. There was no way you could be…
But it was true. A call from my mother confirmed it. I’ve heard my mother cry before, but this was different. This was pure agony. I could barley understand her and for the first thirty seconds of the call we cried together.
On September 15, 2015, you took your life. You would’ve turned 20 the following month. I still remember you as that fun loving little girl who always made me laugh. You were loud, stubborn and unapologetically yourself and everyone loved you for it. I couldn’t understand how someone with so much love and beauty to give the world could simply not be anymore. It wasn’t fair.
On the day of your funeral, black tears were already streaming down my face as we pulled into the lot and I mentally cursed myself for wearing mascara. So many people came to say goodbye to you. Our teachers were there from elementary to high school. The girl I smoked my first cigarette with was there. So was the girl who threw that huge party sophomore year and even the first guy I ever kissed. So many familiar faces I couldn’t claim to still know and yet, in that moment, we all understood each other.
It was clear from the turnout at your funeral how much you were loved and still are loved. I know you saw how much people loved you. I just wish you could have believed it for yourself.
The stigma surrounding mental health needs to change or more beautiful people like you will keep feeling like they don’t matter. But they do. Just like you, they are kind, brave, sensitive, caring and stronger than they believe. We need to make sure these individuals feel safe enough to ask for help when they truly need it.
Sometimes, I think I hear you laughing. I’d recognize that bold, contagious giggle anywhere and anytime I see a girl walking by with fire red hair, for a split second, I think it’s you. But it’s not. It never will be again and that is something I don’t think I’ll ever get over.
I love you, beautiful girl. Rest easy.
– Maria
Dear Cade,
It is nearing the four year anniversary since your death and I still think about you almost every day. September 26th, 2012 was the day that your life ended and the day that everyone around you will remember until ours does too. I was not close to you, nor did we have classes together in the years preceding eighth grade when this all occurred, but every once in awhile, I would see your bright red curly hair walking through the halls. It was beautiful—striking, I could say. When I heard the gunshot that took away your thirteen years so quickly, I remember standing next to the library in the middle of our junior high and being so frightened. The fear is still with me. When I think of my fear, I cannot help but think about what was going through your brain in the seconds, days, and months leading up to that moment. Was it fear? Loneliness? Hopelessness? I will never know. What I do know is what I want you and the people who are, or will ever be in your shoes, to know.
You are loved.
You are cherished.
You are valued.
You are not alone.
Cade, I do not claim to know you, but I sure wish I did. Sometimes I look back at old photographs of you and see something so incredibly special in your eyes. You had something so unique about you that I wish that I could know and love today. More than anything, I wish you would have known this before you left us. I wish you would have known the things that I wrote abov, and I wish you would have believed them.
– Stella
If you or anyone you know is in need of immediate help, please call the Suicide Prevention Hotline, open 24 hours a day: 1-800-273-8255
Image: National Alliance on Mental Illness