**I am talking about suicide and self-harm.**
It was July 23rd, 2020. My hair was blonde at the tips and freckles topped my nose. My eyebrows were outgrown, my nails bright bubble gum pink and baby blue. My sad figure lay on my pastel sheets, while The Paper Kites played in the background. I opened and reopened my Snapchat, unable to bring myself to actually reply to anyone. My parents had gone for a walk, and in an out-of-breath state, mom walked into my room to talk.
She asked me what was wrong, so I told her all that I had been feeling. I had been sad for so long. Unable to eat nutritiously, unable to socialize to the extent that I was used to, unable to not wallow in these emotions that seemed to engulf me.
"Have you had any thoughts about wanting to harm yourself or kill yourself?" said mom. I could feel the worry stab the air, the very thing she never wanted to say to her own daughter.
My puffy eyes darted across the room and with a heavy head, I shook "yes" while sobbing at this revelation. This is not who I am, I thought. This is not what I want to tell mom.
Whether obvious or not, I have been fighting these thoughts since I was in the seventh grade. I remember getting upset one December night, close to Christmas break. I told mom and dad how I had been sad for some reason and I couldn't figure out why. They bombarded me with what felt like a million questions. My naive 12-year-old brain didn't understand what was happening. What were these feelings? Why couldn't I seem to shake this inevitable sadness that followed me throughout the day and idled around at night? Nothing seemed to make sense.
When I was "diagnosed" with GAD, (Generalized Anxiety Disorder; what the average person faces when dealing with a heavy amount of anxiety and/or while learning how to cope with the newness of anxiety.) I felt so incredibly worthless. No one seemed to understand what I was dealing with. No one wanted to lend a shoulder. Aside from my family, I only had one friend who understood. I didn't want to burden her, so a lot of what was happening in my brain was only written in my brown covered notebook. I vividly remember writing in a bright orange pen: "I just want to fly away. I want to be away from this feeling. I want to be anywhere other than here."
Mom and my therapist would often ask me if I was facing suicidal thoughts, ideation, or even self-harm tendencies. Not a single part of me had the courage to tell them I was. It wasn't intrusive, it wasn't something that lasted long -- what was the point of worrying them even more?
Now, don't get me wrong: I was a happy person. I don't look back on life from 12-15 and only see someone who was sad or felt worthless. Likewise, I never reached out because I was afraid of what would happen. I didn't want to be "sick." I did not want to be the child of the four of us that had the issues. Keeping quiet had always seemed easier than speaking up. And about a year and a half ago, there was a rumor that they were going to turn our local hospital into a Psychiatric Hospital. I explicitly recall telling my parents: "Why would they do that? I don't want the crazy freaks roaming around our town." I kick that unempathetic version of myself to this day.
Following this meeting with my mom in July of 2020, I faced a series of highs and lows, not really sure where I was going or who I was. I wandered aimlessly through my everyday life, aching for a better perception of reality. While I knew that being depressed was a possibility, my go-to was to equate much of this cloud following me to the fact that I had been locked in the house for almost four months. If you retrace what happened, begin to pinpoint causes in this huge effect, the lockdown was the common denominator. I will never understand how leaders, officials, and the higher-ups ever even thought for a second that their choice to keep us in for so long was beneficial to all involved. But, that is another rant for a separate time.
Because these feelings of suicidalness felt more real than before, I knew that speaking out was the right choice to make. I have always been afraid of the "S-Word." I try to avoid songs that talk about death. I can't watch movies that have suicide involved in any aspect. Unfortunately, I have known more than two people that took their own lives for numerous reasons. It took me a long time to cope with the reality of this. I have come to realize the seriousness of suicide, self-harm, and even substance abuse. I have also realized why we have to have these uncomfortable conversations.
The only reason for these feelings is because we live in a fallen world. In Genesis 3, when Satan tempted Adam and Eve and they gave in, our separation from God began. Throughout history, man has proven that we cannot do anything apart from God. The nation of Israel tried to do so for so long before they finally realized the only hope we have is in the Creator of the Heavens and the Earth. Nebuchadnezzar tried to rise above God (Daniel 2 & 3), placing himself as king and ruler, demanding glory from all until he finally realized that God is the only one worthy of this glory -- the only King worthy to be praised. Our separation was mended when Jesus Christ came as fully man and fully God to give us the free gift of eternal life. (Romans 6:23) And although Jesus Christ is the mediator for us as sinful people, this does not stop A) the inevitability of a fallen world and B) the continuous need for a relationship with Christ.
Pre-hospital stay, when I was feeling the most suicidal, I felt so angry at this false reality I had found myself in. I felt so betrayed by fellow believers who refused to talk and understand the graveness of this epidemic among teenagers. I felt so puzzled as to why I could never shake this want to not be here. When I share my story with others, I never come right out and say that I wanted to die, because it seems like a false point to make. Truthfully, my brain was so fogged, that I find it hard to really remember a single moment where I ever wanted to be dead. It was more just a want to flee these feelings, erase this part of my mind, run away from this scary dream. However, none of this changed the actuality of feeling unsafe with myself.
I share this part of me to bring awareness to the fact that suicide is so real and so present. I never expected to be in the hospital. I never expected to lose acquaintances to suicide. I never expected to be so looked down on because I face these thoughts. I hate to relate my writing continuously back to my hospital stay because that isn't who I am. But, one of the things I took from that seven-day stay was to listen to people when they speak up.
Many people think that reaching out about suicidal thoughts/ideation/tendencies is from attention-seeking. While this statement may rank true for a small percentage of cases, it is not true for the majority. The people I have talked to and listened to stress just how hard reaching out is and was. You never want someone to know you're hurting. In that same sense, it should become part of your utmost concern that you take this person seriously and understand the strength it takes to tell someone.
Suicidal thoughts aren't always things like: I want to die, I'm going to kill myself, I can't wait to be dead. I found that mine were often: I want to be all alone, away from everyone; I want to run away, I want to be anywhere but here. The thing is: suicide is not a cookie-cutter experience. Just like a physical sickness, everyone deals with inner turmoil differently. Likewise, not all depressed, anxious, OCD, or bipolar people are suicidal. Mental illness does not immediately equal extensive psychiatric care, medication, or the future possibility of becoming a threat. Mental health stability takes time, just like building your immune system during the flu seasons.
We have to address suicide within the Church -- big C. From a believer who wanted to take her own life: I know that God is in control, I know that how I approach prayer is crucial, I know that Scripture is a place that I can find life. But I cannot change these chemicals in my brain, I cannot delete this sickness from my mentality. Being suicidal and being a Christian was the toughest thing for me to comprehend because Christ has given me life and life more abundant, He has turned my mourning into dancing, and His mercies will be new every morning. I do not need your anecdotes or best wishes. I need your advocacy, your willingness to learn. I need your armor on, and your ability to accept the reality that suicide is something very real and prevalent in our society.
I always thought suicide to be selfish, cowardly, something only the weak gives in to. While this can be true in very specific cases, the truth of the matter is that suicide seems pleasant when you are in pain. I never want another person to take their own lives, but we can't bash someone for how they feel and the sickness they are facing. How often do we blame someone for having cancer? We don't. Being mentally ill is no different. Never blame another for their feelings or choices. We are all doing our best.
If you have been suicidal, are suicidal, or dealt with anything the sort: your story is important. Being here tomorrow, next week, next month, next year etc. is important. Mental illness loves to tell us lies. It loves to make us create false realities and believe those evil voices in our heads, but I am here to say that they are not true and they never will be.
You are needed. You are loved. You are seen.
Please do not give up, please keep fighting. I'm here to fight with you.
- Emma