Destigmatising conversations around suicide and mental health: I’m a human before I’m a journalist
“Sushant Singh Rajput,” a message from my colleague read.
I sent question marks in reply.
“Suicide.”
It was my off on that day. After finishing lunch, I was preparing for a nap when I thought of checking my phone.
Just like everybody, it came as a shock to me. The first question I asked my colleague was “Why?”
As reports of Sushant suffering from depression came along, I felt a little lost. He seemed a happy person to me. I always got those ‘full of life’ vibes from him. There was something in his voice that always spoke to me.
Soon after, I reached out to some friends to see if they were doing fine. I engaged in conversations with people to discuss why it was important to talk to vulnerable people at that time.
When somebody posted that mental health talks are being done because a celebrity has died, I tried to tell them why I was reaching out:
To let people who were triggered by the news have a safe space.
Personally, I felt sad and a little lost. I was taken back to the time when I was dealing with my mental health issues. I tried to understand what Sushant would have gone through because I’ve been in a similar place a long time ago.
My friend, who is a mental health professional, told me why we should say “died by suicide”, instead of “commit suicide”. It helps remove the stigma around mental health. She helped me update my vocabulary.
That was how Sunday and Monday went by. When Tuesday came and I picked up my first article about Sushant, I acted all strong. Being a journalist, you have to report facts. You have to detach yourself from your emotions while reporting.
“The actor died by suicide on Monday. He was found hanging…,” I typed and backspaced immediately. Something didn’t feel right.
“The actor was found dead at his residence…,” I typed again.
It was only on Wednesday that I was able to gather my courage to use the word “suicide”.
I spent a lot of time with Sushant’s memories while working. Each time I watched his throwback videos, I found myself immersed in a pool of tears. He was a dreamer, just like most of us.
While some people have moved on from his death and started the blame game, I’m still stuck there where I was on Day 1. But my question has evolved. Now, I ask myself:
“How can I help?”
As I tried to initiate conversations, asking people to “reach out” became a question mark soon. I faced difficulties. How would I know somebody needs help? If they do, why would they reach out to me? I need to provide them with a safe space. But how do I do that?
Over the last few days, I have started opening up about my story. I have started being more vocal about emotions. I’ve started to let people know that I’m comfortable to talk about my story. (A part of this has been sharing these blogs with the people I know in personal life.) I may not be talking about my story as a whole but I’m sharing in bits and pieces.
A while ago, I opened up to a friend. They listened to my story calmly. When I was done, I could feel they did not know how to respond. All they did was to tell me that they are there for me. I felt positive vibes coming from them that assured me their words were true.
These conversations have also helped me understand the difference between sympathy and empathy in practical life. While sympathy is about me having feelings of sorrow for your troubles, empathy is about me stepping into your shoes to understand and share your experiences and feelings.
For years, I have told people, “Har kyun ka jawab nahi hota.” But when I engaged in these conversations I realised how asking “why” becomes a second nature of the listener.
I am learning to stop asking people, “Why are you feeling sad?”
I am learning to assure people, “I am here with you. Let me know if I can do anything that will make you feel better.”
Maybe I’m trying to reach out to people by letting them know that they can reach out to me.
