The author and her friend

September was Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. I must admit, I never thought too much about needing a month for prevention before. I realize now this thought process selfishly was because suicide wasn’t something that personally affected me. That was, until January 18, 2016.

My good friend of 21 years died by suicide. I hope you noticed I didn’t say “committed suicide.” The Sarah I knew would never have “committed suicide,” left behind her two young sons and a life full of promise and opportunity. Saying she “committed” suicide is like saying you intentionally went into a diabetic shock from lack of insulin. It’s taboo to say your brain, another organ in your body which is susceptible to disease or illness, is sick.

That’s what I want to change. I said “died by suicide” because my friend had a mental illness.  No one seems to care if you have a mental illness in this country. They call you names like “crazy” or “addict,” and they never look beyond that. My friend was the “victim” of a suicide. Maybe that explains it better. She was a victim of a mind that turned against her. She was a victim of a system that couldn’t help her.

Sarah was absolutely brilliant, even when I had met her at the young age of 14. Standing tall and proud at 6’3”, she was an unmistakable presence. Her outer shell was witty and tough, but her inner shell was vulnerable and insecure. I remember her battling depression when we were teenagers. In our 20s, she managed (under the care of a therapist) to go off medication and was using meditation and yoga to help manage her symptoms.

When she had her first child at 26, I remember having a conversation with her about postpartum depression and how we would have a plan if I thought I started to see it. She was thoughtful, agreeable and logical. The birth of her beloved child came and went without incident. Depression never reared it’s ugly head. In fact, the time during her first son’s young years was some of her best. Park outings, fishing trips, splash parks, Sarah did them all with her young son as any mother would have.

Our friendship saw a renewed uptick during this time as well. I had my first child a couple years later, and we once again bonded as juggling the life of being mothers along with our life as working, professional women. I think we both forgot about depression. That’s a lie.  I’m sure it was just me who forgot about depression. Either way, it seemed that cloud of darkness had left, and it lulled me into complacency.

About five years after her first child, her second child was born. She was giddy and happy about her new baby. I never suspected postpartum depression until it happened. Unfortunately, by then there was no plan as we had with her first child, and she was simultaneously going through a separation from the kids’ dad. She became estranged, and I was unable to reach her.

One incident a year before she died landed me at her house with others, convincing her she needed to go to the hospital to “rest.” We knew if we said for mental health reasons, she never would have gone. I was able to be available for a part of this. Yet, I wasn’t next of kin, and, thereby, unable to be her advocate. HIPAA privacy rules are strict and deep. I understand their purpose, but honestly I truly believe they are hurting more people with mental health issues than helping. That’s an entirely different post though.

Instead, my smart and savvy friend was able to talk herself right out of the hospital and informed us all she only had a dx (or diagnosis) of “exhaustion” and needed more sleep. My heart sunk. Sarah knew she had depression, but now she wasn’t even admitting that. She was sick, and I was powerless to stop it.

One year almost to the month after that hospitalization, my friend was dead. Estranged after that hospital incident, I had only spoken to her through Facebook comments and likes for the last year. Had she reached out, even a little, I would have ran to her side. I really would have. She never called, messaged or even texted me though.

I’m mad at myself for becoming complacent. I’m mad I didn’t realize suicide was an end result, even after knowing she had battled depression since she was a young teen. Had she texted, I would have told her one small phrase that is now the name of a non-profit started by a mutual high school friend of ours. If you haven’t heard of it, check it out. She’s on the internet and on Facebook.

At any rate, I would have said, “You matter. You matter to me and I know things suck right now, but they will get better. Let me help you. I will help you. You don’t need to live this way.”

You matter.

You matter.

You matter.

I love you Sarah.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

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 Image via contributor.


Before I start this, I’d like to get a few disclaimers out of the way. First, I’m not a danger to myself or others. Please don’t take this that way. Second, I’m not doing this for attention, I’m doing it to raise awareness for mental health. I’ve found that being raw and real about my own struggles has helped others, so I do it for those who haven’t found their voice yet. Third, as with any essay I do about mental health, I know this will cause some of you to see me differently. I know and I’ve accepted that. However, I ask that you don’t treat me as fragile. If you’ve got questions, ask. I’m an open book about this stuff.

Now that that’s out of the way, here we go.

Suicide. Killing yourself. That’s what I want to talk about. Specifically how suicide pertains to me. It’s a highly stigmatized topic, and humans tend to go one of two ways when confronted with it. We either ignore it, or treat it like a priceless china artifact, delicate and frail. This in turn continues a vicious cycle of people wanting to reach out, but not wanting to for fear of judgement and alienation.

Passive vs. active suicidality is something some people have problems wrapping their heads around. I can say with absolute certainty I’m suicidal. I’ve waged war against depression and anxiety since I was 13. Seven years of fighting an endless battle really does a number on the brain and the psyche, let me tell you. If anyone wants to read my story about the journey, it is here . So I’m suicidal. I have been for almost a year now. However, it’s passive. The difference between the two is very simple (but also super complex). Being passively suicidal means you wish to die. Actively suicidal is just that — you’ve got your plan and you’re planning on going through with the plan.

I’m not going to lie to you: a lot of mornings, I wake up wishing I hadn’t. It’s not early morning blues, it’s a deeply flawed brain chemistry. I go to work, and it wouldn’t really bother me if another car ran the median and slammed into mine. At work, it gets a little better because I’ve got a lot of things to do and distract myself with. I’ve got people who appreciate me and sometimes even laugh at my jokes (you guys are the best). Life becomes OK. However, that can change in an instant. If I say or do something wrong, anxiety tells me I suck and I shouldn’t be here, both at work and in the world. The thoughts come back and I need to fight them off again.

I’d love to tell you all that it goes away after a while. But it doesn’t. Like my depression, it comes and goes but never truly fades. Some days are so much better than others. All the right songs come on the radio, the weather is just right, my humor is on fire, and everyone loves me. Those days, often I don’t even think about wanting my life to end. Other days, depression breaks on me like a tsunami. One big wave in the morning, sometimes for an extra long time, and then aftershocks throughout the rest of my awake time. Those days, thoughts come almost constantly. Everyone would be better off without you. You’re nothing to them, you don’t matter. No one cares if you’re here or not. Not a damn person. I know that’s not true, but anxiety is a helluva brain changer.

Until my brain decides to stop being a little shit, my life will continue like this. I’m in the long-overdue process of finding a therapist and hopefully a course of anti-anxiety and depression medications that work for me. For now, I weather the storm with good humor, coffee and a wildly strong support group (thank you, internet). I weather it because I’ve got people to prove wrong. I weather it out of spite and out of love. I weather it with a f*ck-ton of coffee and tight pants. I always find the little things to enjoy and be happy about. Despite my personality being best described as a cold machine, I let myself cry it out. I run, I walk, I lift and I laugh.

And I survive.

This post originally appeared on Medium.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

During National Suicide Prevention Month, Active Minds asked its community to share why they speak about suicide using the hashtag #ReasonsISpeak.

Just because September’s over doesn’t meant the conversation has to stop.

To keep it going, we asked the Active Minds’ community to tell us why they speak up about suicide, and compiled some of the great messages shared throughout the month.

Suicide is the second leading cause of death among college students. Let’s talk about:

1. “It felt like I was stuck in a very dark, endless cave. I just couldn’t see a way out. But good mates brought me back, and I have not thought like that for well over 12 months.” — Taya N.

2.I’ve needed the support of friends to help remind me to keep fighting, and I hope I can be that person to others by speaking out.” — Robyn S.

3.Because one day, someone might actually listen, rather than dismissing it as ‘negativity’ and ‘attention seeking.’” — Ash F.

4. “To break the stigma of mental health.” — Simone M.

5. I speak because my dad is no longer is able. He died by suicide last November. He battled depression with a warrior’s heart for over 49 years. I tell his story in the hopes that it will spark a dialogue in other people’s homes, workplaces and society in general. My dad used to say he found the shame of his depression as crippling as the disease itself. No one should ever believe that mental illness is anything other then a medical condition… I have no shame of my father or his battles. My dad was a funny, brilliant man. He had a life well lived, was loved deeply and is missed every day. I am proud of who he was and gladly share our story whenever possible.” — Heather T.

6. “I’ve have had depression since I was a young woman. I felt so different, but I put on a smile. It was not until I was in my 30s that I was told this is depression. When I speak about it, I hope just one young person will be helped.” — Diane S.

7. “Because it’s my reality.” — Marianne R.















Why do you speak? #ReasonsISpeak #SuicidePrevention #Depression






Want to join the conversation? Use #ReasonsISpeak to tell us why you speak up about suicide on social media or in the comments below.

This article was originally published by Active Minds and was written by Colleen Coffey, a member of the Active Minds Speakers Bureau who speaks to schools and groups nationwide about mental health.

I think mental health issues exist on a spectrum. I mean this, of course, in the context of the range of issues we all face and the spectrum of severity of diagnoses. I also mean this as it relates to how issues appear within us.

The best analogy I can think of when it comes to mental health issues is a Russian nesting doll. A little doll, inside of a medium sized doll, inside of a larger doll that presents to the world. Usually, the larger doll is me — the best version of healthy, happy me. The little doll is anxiety and depression — it’s always there but kind of little in comparison to the rest of me.

Most days I feel great and my quality of life is pretty awesome.

Some days I still struggle.

Even after years of being well — I still struggle.

I have learned over the years how to manage that struggle. Whether it’s sadness or stress or worry or grief — I know how to feel those feelings, deal with them for what they are and not let them rule me.

But the truth is, some days I feel like dying.

These are days (and they are few and far between) when I can’t get ahold of what I am feeling. When the little doll — the depression and anxiety — seems stronger than the real me. These are days when I couldn’t feel sadder, when I couldn’t possibly be more anxious, when I could not feel more out of control. These are days when I just want to give up.

Do I really want to die? No.

I just don’t want to feel that out of control anymore. What I really mean is that I want the feelings to stop. Those feelings that can seem so impossible to manage. Those feelings that are out of the realm of what’s real and good in life.

Most people who die by suicide don’t really want to die — they just don’t see another way out. I’m here to tell you that there is another way out. All that feelings do is change, but living and dying are both immutable states of being.

The way out is in.

The way out is about having the courage to tell someone you are not OK and to seek help at the first signs of feeling out of control. The way out is to learn how to cope with things that seem impossible and to continue to surround yourself with people who love you. There are so many resources available that specifically address suicide prevention.

Dying is not the best option. It means that the world misses out on you. Whatever it is that you are going through, there is hope and I promise it gets better. It will stop, you will feel better, you will get yourself back.

The world needs you here — stay with us.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

When I was feeling suicidal I had forgotten about all of the little things in life that can often bring small moments of joy. Here are seven things I got to experience in the two weeks that followed my suicide attempt — seven things that made me a little more grateful I lived.

1. The warm towel from my radiator that awaited me after I pulled myself out of bed to have a shower for the first time in three days. I wrapped myself in it after stepping out of the shower. I felt warmth — warmth I had never felt before.

2. Falling in love with my puppy all over again — seeing his excitement, his joy for everything. Seeing the way his tail wags when anybody get close to him. Seeing him try to contain his excitement when I open the cupboard with his food in. Seeing him look at me like I am his whole world.

3. Being able to wish my sister a happy birthday — this brought both guilt and joy. Knowing I had pre-written her card a week before her birthday, as I didn’t think I would be here to give it her. Holding back the tears as I gave her a hug, knowing she didn’t have a clue about what had happened. I wanted that hug to last forever. I made it to her birthday. I hope I make it to her next one. I love you, sis.

4. Treating myself to a sugar in my tea — I hadn’t drank anything in more than a day. My water bottle had run empty. I got out of bed, wrapped my dressing robe around me and made myself a cup of tea. I put one sugar in. I treated myself; it felt good. I was letting myself enjoy the little things in life.

5. Feeling proud of myself for emptying the dishwasher — it may seem like an easy task, but you may as well have asked me to climb Mount Everest. Except I didn’t have to be asked; I volunteered. (I’m still proud of this, can you tell?) It was the first bit of housework I had done since my attempt. It took every ounce of energy I had. 

6. Feeling the rain on my face when I went outside for the first time in a week — it was like I had never felt the rain before. I felt like I was feeling it for the first time, and it felt good. It made me feel alive. I usually shy away from the rain for the fear of making my hair frizzy or my makeup run. I usually put up my umbrella or the hood on my jacket, but on that day I embraced it. It gave me feeling on a day I felt so numb.

7. Watching the sun rise — my safe haven when I am feeling majorly depressed is my bed. Sleeping means I can avoid my feelings; 7 a.m. gets confused for 7 p.m. My curtains remain shut until I am able to come out of the darkness. I awoke early on this day. I watched the sunrise. It wasn’t the most amazing sun rise I had ever seen, but it reminded me of all the sun rises I had seen before and all of the sun rises I will see again. It reminded me I am a part of this world. It reminded me that perhaps there is someone else out there, feeling the same way as me, watching the same sun rise. I am not alone.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Image via Thinkstock.

dad smiling A father and his young daughter play her favorite game in their front yard. Dad holds the girl’s hands and spins, her feet flying in the air as they go round and round. The world became a blur.

The game never ended for the dad, my dad, as his life continued to spin and spiral out of control until it ended in the early morning hours of January 17, 1991 when he died by suicide. Had he spiraled so far down that he had no other choice? No other “solution” to his pain? Could this horrible event have been prevented?

Intervention, prevention and the belief that suicide is preventable rules the day now. If one can learn and notice the warning signs and be willing to get involved, a tragedy might be prevented, a life might be saved. Not always, but trying is better than not trying.

This sentiment can be hard to swallow if you tried to intervene and still a suicide happens. A survivor of suicide loss already feels so much guilt. Are we piling on more, implying they should have/could have done more? A survivor does feel an inordinate amount of guilt, and it is possible this will make things worse for them. For me, after therapy, support groups and the passage of time, I have been able to resolve my feelings of guilt.

When the spinning game stops, the child flops on the ground laughing, feeling the dizziness subside as the minutes pass.

My dad’s dizziness never subsided. It is suspected he struggled with bipolar disorder most of his adult life.

If I could find a time machine to go back to the 1970s, I think my father would have been a good candidate for intervention. It would have involved staring down the shame and stigma of mental illness and alcoholism — not just by my dad, but by my entire family. Skeletons loosed from their cozy closets and into the world.

Sure, there was talking — or rather yelling, shaming, blaming, accusing and rejection. We had a lack of understanding. We made his problems about us. If he would/could only notice our pain he would stop his destructive behavior, we reasoned. But real intervention? No. Dad fought his demons alone and the best he knew how, but they only got bigger and louder until they drowned out all reason, taking over the mind of a man who seemed to have all the answers when I was growing up.

The idea of and methods for suicide intervention and prevention came around too late for my dad. The stigma of mental illness and suicide is not gone, but it is fading away. Surging forward is the thought that it is part of the human condition and should be treated as such. There is far more understanding and openness surrounding mental illness, but there is still work to be done.

If you know someone who is struggling, I hope you have the courage, compassion and caring to speak directly to them, ask if they need help, listen and help them get help if they need it.

If you are struggling, I hope that somewhere in your darkness you can find a sliver of light and reach out for help from someone you know, a crisis line in your area, or the National Suicide Lifeline (1-800-273-8255).

Follow this journey on Baby on a Raft.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255

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