Let me try this again

I’ve written and re-written this post three times now. I can’t seem to say what I want to say. So let me try again. 

I don’t have any kind of personal affinity for Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain. I don’t own anything she designed and I never watched his show. That being said, I am feeling devastated by the news of their deaths this week.

 Just days apart. 

It can be easy to forget how prevalent death by suicide is. But there are so many people we don’t know about. There was even a student at my son’s school this year. And then when two well-known people fall victim to the disease that consumed their brain, their body, their whole being, it’s all anyone can talk about.

And then we remember how pervasive suicide is. 

Suicide is real. 

Too real. 

And we need to remember that there are so many people who live with depression and anxiety who do not die from it, but struggle in a real way. People like me. High functioning, ambitious, successful...mental illness does not discriminate. Suicide does not discriminate. 

If you’ve never felt the effects of mental illness, you are likely trying to understand...

Why?

How?

You are pleading for people to ask for help and reach out. My reaction is to do the same, even though I rationally know how “silly” that is. I legitimately said “I am here, let me know when you need me and how I can help.” How can you not say that? 

The trouble with this sentiment is that someone who will die by suicide CANNOT reach out. The battle in their head has ended and a winner is declared. The winner will not allow the person to ask for help. And it is impossible for you to understand how this feels unless you’ve been there.

If you live with a mental illness, news like this is terrifying. It reminds you that even people with every resource at their disposal can die from this. What if I am one of those people where, no matter how hard I try, the brain wins and suicide is the outcome?  Anyone who has struggled with this knows how scary this is. 

Thankfully(?) my depression has morphed into anxiety as I’ve gotten older. It feels different and I haven’t had suicidal thoughts in years, but it’s no easier to deal with. 

I’m not always struggling. I am high functioning. But when I struggle it is still EXTREMELY hard to reach out and ask for help. Or to even just say “I need to talk.” The arguments that go on in my brain are as ridiculous as they are exhausting. My brain ultimately tries to convince me that I don’t have anyone to reach out to, and that I’m going to burden anyone I ask for help, and that if I just tried harder or was a little stronger I wouldn’t struggle so much. My brain is nasty and coercive and loud when I’m struggling. The physical symptoms that manifest from the anxiety are impossible to ignore. And all the while I worry that it will never get any better. A common theme at the peak of my anxiety lies in the concern that I’m not going to be able to break free from the worst of it. That I’ll never go back to not struggling. That this is the beginning of the end. It sounds rather doomsday-ish, but that is what mental illness does to a person. 

I feel better having written this. I don’t know why. But I do believe the more people say these words and speak these truths, the more we will talk about mental illness...and not just after famous people die. We should be able to talk about depression and anxiety with the same candor and honesty that we use to talk about orthopedic injuries and heart disease and reflux. 

Talking about mental illness makes people uncomfortable, and that needs to change. We need to talk about it more often and not let a celebrity suicide be the only catalyst for these conversations.