September is suicide prevention month. 

We can talk statistics:

In 2018, 7,254 Albertans visited the Emergency Department for suicide attempts.

50% of all visits were made by YOUTH, ages 0-24.

3 out of 4 suicide deaths are male.

Almost 50% are middle-aged men, ages 40-64. 

63-67% of LGTBQ+ youth, ages 14-25, report thoughts about suicide.

Suicide is 5 to 6X higher for Indigenous youth than non-Indigenous youth.

Every year, more Albertans die by suicide than the number of people who in die in motor vehicle collisions.

But statistics are not the actual people. Statistics aren’t the ones who look into that abyss. Statistics aren’t the ones who can’t look away and get swallowed by it. Statistics aren’t the ones who can look away and crawl out of the abyss’s tar like grip. Statistics aren’t the ones that struggle, to keep those thoughts away.

Suicide is not malicious.

Suicide is not cowardly.

Suicide is not selfish.

Suicide is not loud.

Suicide is not attention seeking.

Suicide is desperate for relief from pain, mental and/or physical.

Suicide is a release from torment.

Suicide is because of being tired of being a burden.

Suicide is to quiet the inner monsters who have stolen the outer voice.

Suicide is when there seems to be no other relief to be found anywhere.

I have lost people to that abyss.

I have almost lost myself into that abyss.

I have had mental health problems since I was a child. Not diagnosed until I was older, but in looking back, markers had been there since my earliest trauma. I am also genetically wired to be susceptible to mental illness and addiction. 

The first time I remember wanting to end my life was maybe a year after my Mother died. I would have been 13. The weight of the shattered pieces of my life were too much. I never had a concrete plan at that time, I was numb then, I  knew I wanted my life to fade to black, to match the way I felt inside. 

I was so full, that I couldn’t feel. It is about the time that the self harm behaviour began. 

Rather than take my life in one swoop, I did it in chunks. I began to outwardly (I’ll be it secretly) hurt myself, as well as engage in risky behaviour. Cutting, underage drinking, taking drugs…… by the age of 15 this included promiscuity too. Allowing myself to remain in violent situations. All with the secret ‘hope’ that one of these things might accidentally go too far, and end me. At least then it would be over and no one’s fault. 

Counselling? Yep… many times over the years. I can relay, in a very dry way the things I have experienced. I can join into my own analyzing with the best of them. The ‘rational” vs ‘non rational’ internal conversation does not change. 

Medication? That too, has been explored in many forms. While I see the wonderful things these meds can offer, I have never found one that has worked effectively for me. 

I have, over the years built weaponry and armour to protect myself and battle the mental monsters that live inside my head. I continually do the work, some days are great, some days are good and some days are hell. Some days I feel engaged with the life around me, other days I am detached and isolated.

There are many facets to my journey in my shadow side. 

I lead a very full life. A career I love, I have the honour of helping people. I am the mother to two incredible humans. I have amazing experiences, adventures and connections.

I carry the battle scars of my life.

Why have I wanted to just not be here? To die? Because it hurts, the world hurts, I am easily wounded, the noises too loud, light to bright, words to harsh, humans too uncaring- it can be an unbelievable amount of pain. I feel invisible, unworthy, damaged, a needy void that will never be satiated. This manifests physical pain at times, and when it doesn’t, I pray it will- to make it easier to explain. The fog that comes with the roaring screams of my mental monsters threatens at times to obscure me. 

It was never as revenge, (they’ll be sorry they were mean to me). It was never for attention or drama, (at least now I will have some attention).

Why am I still here? Some days I can answer confidently and without hesitation. I am loved. I have a job to do. I am needed, I matter. I am determined. I am in love with the magic of life. 

Sometimes it takes me time to answer this, sometimes I am unsure. Sometimes I am angry that I am.

It has been almost three decades since my last ‘serious’, planned attempt. I would love to say those dark feelings are not a part of my current battles with my monsters. But they are there, The underlying whispers behind the screaming refrain of ‘you are not worthy’, ‘you are not needed’, ‘you are not valued’, ‘everyone will see you for the damaged fraud you are.’

I empathize with anyone choosing suicide. I know that desperation. That pain. Not feeling heard. Not feeling seen. Afraid to ask for help, not just because of the courage and vulnerability it takes, but for the fear of being turned away, turned down, ignored.

While I appreciate the attempt to normalize these conversations, the campaigns encouraging people to ask for help, the posters with positive affirmations, etc…..But here in lies the rub, most of us in that real dark place can’t (or won’t ) ask for help, let alone your time. We are frozen on the path. We can’t hear platitudes above the din of the fog. We fundamentally know : “it’s not that bad. It will get better, but……..” 

There are things I have yearned for when I am on that dark side, that I am mindful to offer when I am in the light. 

I have learned the value of sitting with someone in their dark, (holding space), just a hug and quiet acceptance that even in their mess they are valued.

I truly try to listen, validate the pain they are experiencing, their story as they are living it. 

I try very hard not to give advice, (unless asked), most times people just need to speak their truth out loud to hear their own answers they carry.

I try not to point out positivity unless it is sought out, Most often people know the wheel will turn, but they want to talk the moment, not what’s to come. 

I try very much to see the people I engage with, the beauty in their flaws, their wholeness.

I try to be aware, because we all carry some shadow, we all carry some pain and sometimes we all need help. And most times we will not ask.

I try to check in with those that I can, especially given the times we are in. Just to let them know someone is here.

I am not ashamed of my anxiety disorder. 

I am not ashamed for having stared into that abyss. 

I am not ashamed for sharing my story. 

I am humbled I have found a way to remain, when others have not.

For as long as I can, I will Always Keep Fighting. For myself. For you.