Tell People I Killed Myself
Like most of us, I’m not sure how or when I’ll eventually go. If I’ll live to the ripe age of 90 or if I’ll die tomorrow.
I am very much aware, however, that it’s possible that I might do the deed. I have several of the risk factors going for me: depression, on anti-depressants, known people who have, previous attempt, childhood abuse/neglect/trauma.
I’m talking suicide.
To put you all at ease right off the bat, I’m not in any danger currently. I am doing well and have been solidly in recovery for over a year now. I’ve been dealt triggering life event, one after another, and have been able to navigate them all without relapse. My psychiatrist basically gave me a gold star last visit.
That being said, with what is known about depression and my own personal experiences with the illness, it might not be this peaceful forever. Anti-depressants stop working. Stressful life events occur. Depression can cycle.
So, it’s not completely ridiculous to contemplate that one day I might kill myself. (I’ve been trying to reframe this as “dying from depression/victim of depression”) If this does end up happening, if this does end up being the way that I die, this is where I need your help:
Please tell people.
Put it in my obituary. Post it on my memorialized Facebook page. Don’t sugarcoat or euphemize it. I want people to know.
I want them to know for several reasons. Chief of all is to continue breaking down the stigma around mental illness, depression, and suicide. Sure, maybe some will be none the wiser if you simply put “passed away suddenly,” but others will figure it out. Others will hear. Others will know.
People absorb and digest the messages from those closest to the lost one. They can see through them. And they interpret them as indications of shame, embarrassment, or — at the very least — confusion.
Tucking suicide away only indicates that there is something wrong, twisted, or sordid about what happened. And that’s not the case. While of course I don’t want people to take their own lives, it doesn’t implicate the victim in any wrong-doing. Nor should it implicate those surrounding them. Human beings can only help so much. Human beings can only bear so much.
A useful tool I’ve found in wrapping my head around this destigmatization is is comparing mental illness, in particular depression, to cancer. This shifts the focus to what mental illness is : a disease.
When our loved ones die of cancer, we say…
- It was a long, drawn-out battle
- They fought long and hard
- We caught it too late
- They tried every available treatment
We never blame the dead. We never blame those around them. We grieve. Simply.
And it should be the same in cases of suicide.
When I pitch this to some more skeptical audiences, I feel like they get held up on the brain of it all. That mental illness is all about controlling one’s thoughts. That since these people take their own actions to end their lives, they should be able to take inaction to prolong it.
However, mental illness distorts perspective. Distorts thoughts. Concepts. Core understandings of yourself and the world around you. You are constantly being fed lies by your own brain. Can you imagine not being able to trust your own brain, the organ so closely linked to SELF?!
So… being able to control your thoughts while depressed? Not so much.
And I’d like to return to my cancer analogy for a sec. How is suicide (at least some cases) much different than someone who has fought cancer forever, maxed out their body, and simply wants to fade peacefully? If a patient stops their own cancer treatment, they are taking action to not prolong their life. If they sign a DNR, they have taken action to not prolong their life.
And to all the people living with the concept that suicide is a selfish act: NO.
If anyone is being selfish in this situations, it’s the person wishing the deceased were still alive, even if that meant they were constantly going through incomprehensible pain.
Suicidal people often believe so deeply that their loved ones and even the world would be better without them in it. That they are a burden and are keeping you down. It’s not that they are dying because of you. They are dying because they simply can bear no more and maybe they want you to move on.
About two years ago, I could have killed myself. I was in that headspace. The cliches do well to describe how it felt: the light and color were drained from the world. I felt like I had exhausted all options.
However, I was lucky. I had the resources to cling onto life as I eventually found the combination of treatments that worked for me. I am now living a wonderful life, pursuing more than I could have ever dreamed of. I love, and I am loved.
But not everyone is so lucky. Not all mental illness is as easily treated. And that’s taking for granted that all mental illness is being properly detected. It’s still being misdiagnosed, which often leads people down a long and painful path, seeking the incorrect forms of treatment and potentially adding to the stress of an already unbearable situation.
There is so much broken in the treatment of our mentally ill. Too much to get into here, at the end of my story. But I whole-heartedly believe that reconfiguring mental illness, depression, and suicide in our minds as true illnesses is vital. It’s the first step of many to start fixing what is broken.
One step towards true acceptance of mental illness and suicide as disease and outcome, respectively, is being willing to be open. To not cower in shame. To be proud of the person who fought so hard and for so long. And help others continue the conversation.
Maybe this can lessen the shame those suffering in silence are feeling. Maybe lowering the stakes for someone debating whether or not to reach out for help.
I desperately hope to never have to experience such a dark, hopeless, and at the same time apathetic state again. But if I do, and if it results in my death, please be open to talking about it. Please don’t hide my illness.
Please don’t hide me.
