Today we had planned to share a Tiny Bloggers house update, but life went a different direction than I was expecting. Instead, I’ve decided to write about mental health and suicide. What I fun surprise for you! If this is something that is too triggering for you, feel free to skip. If this is something that you think doesn’t impact you, I’d implore you to just give this a read and think about what you can do in your own life to make mental health a priority and an open topic of conversation.
September happens to be Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, and while I know these are uncomfortable topics to talk about, that’s exactly why it’s so important to do. While progress has been made, mental health and suicide still carry a stigma that physical health issues don’t. But just like someone can’t will a cancerous tumor to go away, mental health challenges like depression, anxiety, bi-polar disorder, etc aren’t things that someone can overcome by just having a better attitude or having their loved ones care enough. Nevertheless, mental health is still something that in so many circles we talk about in hushed tones, or not at all. And all the while, every year more than 41,000 people in the U.S. commit suicide.
You might wonder why this needs to show up on the blog…there are lots of important issues that we don’t grapple with here. But this is a place where sometimes we talk about our lives outside of decorating our houses…and today I’m trying to step up to the challenge of honesty around this difficult topic by sharing that someone I care about took her own life last week. A brilliant, compassionate, funny, curious, driven, genuine woman who I was lucky to call a co-worker and a friend. She was 34. Even though you didn’t know her, your life is worse with her passing because she brought so much not just to those who had the luck to know her but to the whole world. The world is darker without her in it.
I am so sad. And angry, and guilty, and sometimes numb. And sometimes I laugh, or get lost in the mindless all-consuming effort of a hard run, or celebrate the amazingness of love in a really beautiful wedding, or see an electric sunset and think about how incredible the world is. (Yes, all of that happened in the last few days. It’s been busy.) And then I think how Alex doesn’t get to have any of that anymore, and how deeply fucking unfair and terrible that is. And then I’m mad at her for not being able to see that beauty and how she was a part of what made it so beautiful, and then I’m so sad wondering what she was thinking and feeling in those final moments. And then I’m mad at myself for not seeing how serious this was or saying the right thing when I talked to her a few days before she died, and then I remind myself that she was sick and it wasn’t her fault or my fault anymore than it’s someone’s fault who has a heart attack. And sometimes I want to talk to other people who cared about Alex and hug and cry, and sometimes I want to be alone and stare off into space, and sometimes I want to work and feel productive, and sometimes I want to put on a bridesmaid dress and celebrate love and not think about anything else. And then I think how my grief and guilt and anger must pale in comparison to that of her family, who lived so long with her radiance and now need to confront life without her in it. And it takes about 30 seconds to cycle through all those thoughts and feelings and then I start again.
That’s a lot of really personal stuff, and you might be like, “whoah, that’s a lot to share on the internet with strangers.” But for anyone who is struggling with mental health or suicide -– themselves, or as a friend/family member, it’s so important for you to know you’re not alone. Alex’s family asked us to talk openly about how she died to continue combatting the stigma around mental health, so I feel some obligation to do that from whatever platform I have — at work, and in my personal life.
I also feel an obligation to talk about how she lived, because she was incredible. Things got bad really quickly, and what I want to remember about her is what defined her for the first 33.5 years of her life…that she committed her career to making college a reality for tens of thousands of students, she grappled with her role in fighting injustice and racism, she loved to dance, she was utterly devoted to her family, she did Peace Corp and loved to travel, I introduced her to the amazingness of Hamilton, she and I fought about Bernie vs. Hillary in the primaries and a text message from her was the only reason I could get out of bed and go to work the day after the election, she cared about things on a global level but was also incredibly focused on individual people and the impact our decisions have on one another, she thought deeply on every issue and question that she came across and was never satisfied with the imperfection of it all. That’s just a tiny bit about the inspiring, complex, full person that she was.
There’s not really a natural conclusion here. I guess just like death and grief are jarring and full of non sequiturs, so too is this post. So here are some resources if this is a topic that unfortunately resonates with you. If anyone out there has advice for what to add I would welcome that…I’m still just beginning to wrap my head around this subject.
- Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 24/7 if you are considering suicide or are concerned about a loved one: 800-273-8255
- Find someone to talk to. There is no threshold for how “serious” things need to be for you to see a therapist. We believe in preventative medicine for our bodies, and there’s no reason that it’s any different for our mental health. Or if you’re going through something difficult, you don’t have to do that alone. I know finding someone can be a daunting prospect (especially with insurance considerations). If you’re in Massachusetts, I’d recommend giving the Social Work Therapy Referral Service a try — you give them some info about what you’re looking for, and your schedule, location, and insurance coverage, and they recommend some options that fit your needs. If you live somewhere else, try googling around for a referral service because many cities/states have them. Keep in mind that finding the right fit can take work, so it’s okay if you see someone and it doesn’t feel right — that doesn’t mean therapy isn’t for you, it just means you should keep looking into you find what’s right for you.
That’s it for today. Just a heads up that I probably won’t be responding to any comments on this post, because I need a little time for myself and the energy I do have for others is being spent caretaking those who are grieving this loss too. But I so much appreciate you all and the comfort I feel in sharing this with a group of strangers who nonetheless feel like a community of support. Take care of yourself and each other.
I almost didn’t read this, but I’m glad I did.
It is shattering when someone takes their own life and while mental illness provides an explanation, one still asks why and what could I have done. That you may have been able to do nothing is very hard to accept. Knowing that she surely treasured you as a friend as much as you admired her, I hope might comfort you a bit.
I just want you to know that I read this, and I am so sorry for the loss of another beautiful soul to suicide. I am sorry for how deeply you and others feel her absence.
The mental health issue of someone that I love is a real and challenging part of my daily life. The ACA provides for greater parity between mental and physical health insurance coverage. I am so grateful for that.
I feel your pain, and you are not alone in your grief.
Thank you for this post. Mental health an important topic that I’m so glad you’re using your platform to discuss. I’m also deeply sorry for your loss.
Thank you, Sage. I’m sure Alex’s family appreciates you using your forum to remember her and encourage others to seek help. You’ve done a good thing. xoxoxo
Do not let the guilt weigh too heavy.(But don’t feel guilty for feeling guilty!) My best friend failed to kill herself when we were fifteen, and after the first shock, I felt guilty–I still do, fifty years later–because I did not know she was unhappy. We saw each other every day at school, and talked on the phone, and I. Did. Not. Know that she was unhappy, much less desperate.After the third attempt she finally got some help. She’s a doctor now, and for the last twenty-five years has been on anti-depessants that actually WORk for her.
I’m so sorry.
Thank you for writing this post. Pain, anger, disbelief, sorrow, love back to fury. Its a toxic brew so keep talking and writing. Im so very sorry. Suicide is a waste so profound, so confusing, so inconceivable we are all at a loss indefinitely. So talk we must…again, my deepest condolences.
Sad to read this – but the message is so important <3
I also thank you for this post! I especially like what you said about the unfairness of the “stigma” of suicide. It is so unfair to an already grieving family.
For those suffering, here are some things to remember (personal experience and gathered information.
Depression lies. People care about you. You make a difference. You have made a positive impact on more people than you can imagine. A mental illness is exactly that, an illness. There is no shame in having an illness. There is still hope.
I am so sorry for your loss. My condolences to you, her family and friends. Thank you for talking about suicide and mental health. Until everyone can accept mental illness as an illness like any other, we will need to speak out for those who might not feel comfortable speaking out for themselves. Your conversation is a wonderful way to honor your friend and educate others. Thank you.
A retired rehab counselor.
Sage, I’m sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, Alex sounds brilliant. On Sept 17th a good friend of mine committed suicide and so I can related to so much of what you shared. As I shared with some of our mutual friends at the service, you wouldn’t blame someone who died of cancer for succumbing to the disease and so it is with mental illness. The killer here is still the disease and that’s what we need to fight. And we wouldn’t shun a friend for getting Parkinson’s or M.S. so we should treat those with depression with the same care and find out how to support them. I’m with you on feeling so helpless though (didn’t they know they could have received so much love and support if only we knew what was going on?!).
Years ago I found this essay on grief (I believe on Reddit) and it’s always spoken to me to remember that grief isn’t linear.
“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gorged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I am writing this a week later, the same day we have learned of a mass shooting in Vegas. What you are going through with the loss of your friend is so profound and so unique, and yet I am aware that it falls during a time in history that grief seems to be all around us. Loss of life, loss of innocence, loss of a sense of meaning and things that we can rely on – it all seems so pervasive.
I hear your struggle with guilt and outrage and confusion and anger. And I hear that plain and simply you also just miss your friend. I am glad for you that she was in your life because how would we get by for even a minute without those who give us solace and hope?
So even though I meant to write a week ago, I am pleased to be writing now to say that I am sorry for the loss of your dear friend, and I am sorry for how today’s events must surely be heightening the grief and loss you are feeling.
And for what it’s worth – this blog has become a safe place for me to go when I need to feel connection and hope. Yes, I get that from my friends and loved ones, but I also find it comforting to have a few places I visit online where there are people with common values and goals. I love the DIY reading as a fun hobby and a good way to escape when things get too heavy, but my favorite blogs are those where the writers will also occasionally get real in talking about this crazy world we find ourselves in. I guess I just can’t ever get too much in terms of seeing that there are good, loving, conscientious, and passionate people out there fighting the good fight.
Take care of yourself, Sage. And be incredibly gentle with yourself and whatever your process happens to be.
Love you so much Sager.