Tag Archives: suicide

Children, suicide and race

March 19th, 2018

When my son was 7, he tried to jump to his death.  He was climbing our stairs to a landing twelve feet above a tiled floor.  When he got there, he put his foot over the bannister and tried to launch himself into the air.  I was right behind him, grabbed him and yanked him back to safety.  As I held him he struggled, sobbing, “Let me go, let me go.  I want to die.”

My heart was pounding, time slowed and everything I saw and heard became sharper and more vivid.  There is no single word to describe how I felt.  It was some combination of shock, horror, disbelief, anguish, inadequacy and panic.  My young son, who until then had been school phobic with nightmares and sadness, had veered sharply into new, horrifying territory. It was his first suicide attempt, but not his last.  He got older and more sophisticated in his methods and I felt that combination of shock and anguish each time.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the suicide rate for children increased 64% from 2006 to 2016.  The rate for young children rose even higher. But the rise in suicides for African American children outpaces all other groups, rising 71% in the same time period.  Just like me, their mothers and fathers no doubt feel unprepared, in shock and disbelief.  We wonder how to make sense of this.

The Washington Post article, “He was happy. So far as I know” tells the story of 11 year old Rylan Hagan, an African American boy, who hanged himself last November. His mother found him and is devastated each hour and each day.

Rylan was loved, he had friends and did well in school and sports, even winning a trip to Disneyland that he never had a chance to take.  His mother is searching for clues she might have missed in the music he listened to, the video games he played and the movies he watched.  Once, when she asked him to do chores, he reacted emotionally, saying he wanted to kill himself. She wonders if she missed an important clue.

Parents look for answers everywhere after a suicide attempt and certainly after a completed suicide. Since we can’t look inside our children’s minds, we look at the things they surround themselves with, hoping to find leads.  We hope we will know it when, if, we see it.  A lot of the time, however, we don’t find what we are looking for.

Researchers don’t know why the rate of suicide for children has jumped and they can only guess why the rate of suicide for black children is even higher. They are alarmed by this spike and we should be too.  Researchers do suspect that racism plays a part as does an idea, a myth, that suicide is not a “black problem” and black children don’t kill themselves, says Rheeda L. Walker, a psychology professor at the University of Houston-Downtown. Myths like these mean that African American parents can be slower to get mental health care for their children.

Have you ever noticed that myths seem to congregate in groups? We believe groups of myths about food such as eating before swimming causes cramps and Twinkies don’t have an expiration date.  We believe clumps of things about animals including that toads cause warts or bats are blind.  People will still tell you that spicy food causes ulcers and carrots improve vision. No matter how often they are debunked, some myths seem to live on and on. If we believe one myth on a topic, we are more inclined to believe others.

We have a lot of myths about mental health, too, and they can encourage us to act or delay.  The one parents hear most often is that mental health issues stem from bad parenting.  Another myth is that mental health problems are a sign of weakness or only a phase.  Just wait, we are told, he will grow out of it. People will say with great authority, repeating common and false ideas, that therapy for kids is a waste of time and considering medication will lead to overmedicating. Just as people continue to believe that teaching sex education in schools leads to more sexual activity in teens, many also believe that talking about suicide will put that thought into a child’s head.  None of these myths are true.

Some of these myths are stronger and more persuasive for some groups of parents than others, but most of us buy into one or two.  No parent should be faulted for what they don’t know.  No one wants to believe that small people, children, can have big illnesses.  Unless you have a personal or family experience as a point of reference, myths guide us away from realizing what’s going on with our child. At least until it smacks us in the face.

Nikki Webber Allen created I Live For, a storytelling intiative to end stigma around depression, anxiety, and other mental disorders in teenagers and young adults of color.  When her 22 year old nephew took his life, Allen realized that remaining silent about her own depression had also robbed her of the opportunity to talk to him about his own mental health issues. Allen, an Emmy winning producer, is creating a documentary to tell the individual stories of people of color who have struggled with anxiety and depression.  She hopes it will help boost understanding and dispel myths.

When my son made his first suicide attempt, I looked for other parents like me.  They were very hard to find and in my search I was often met with disbelief that young children could be suicidal or depressed.  Even my son’s pediatrician and teachers were unhelpful, telling me I’d have a hard time finding other parents who were going through the same thing.  We need to find each other and tell our stories out loud. We all need to ask why suicide rates for children, especially African American children, are going up.  Parents are looking for answers. That’s what we do.

 

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Ramblings within a month-long depressive episode

July 4th, 2017

I’ve been wondering recently what it’d feel like to work in one of those call offices for suicide hotlines. I know the pay is crap and that shouldn’t matter but you must be pretty strong to help someone after they shatter.  The thing I love though is that the people who actually call those are trying to put their life back together.

I’ve been on and off suicidal for as long as I can remember. I’ve never attempted. I smile. I laugh. I lend every helping hand I have. My depression is caused by demons of my past that I almost got away from but they’ve caught back up to my present. I look to my past and see nothing but haunted houses and ghosts. I look to my future and see a vast, empty desert with no road. I am lost and I am scared. Imagine looking to your future and seeing nothing. Nothing but a death trap. I live in a house I fear I will never escape and the worst part is…it’s not actually that bad.

I learned how to be independent at a young age. With a father who was busy working so the family could have money, a mother who was all talk and no action and an older sister who never felt or acted older. I had no choice. I don’t remember when I first started questioning who would miss me. I knew my dad would be devastated and my mom would blame herself. My sister might try to follow me as well because I’ve always set an example. My best friend would feel like she lost everything and as much as we jokingly say we want to die to each other, I think she’d be upset she didn’t take me seriously.

I got a new therapist recently. She’s nice but when we talk I discover walls I never realized I built and don’t have the strength to knock down. I haven’t figured out how to vocalize my feelings yet and it’s much easier to write this thinking no one will be reading it. But people have to read it. I want people to know that it’s a good thing I’m scared to kill myself. I’d much rather a car hit me or a shooter shoot me. Although in some sense it’d be pointless because I believe in reincarnation.

I’ve been on medication since I was 8 and it really messed with my hormones and nervous system. People have suggested I look back into them but they honestly scare me. They messed me up so bad. They messed me up because my depression was situational. My depression isn’t caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain. It’s caused by me living in a city, a state, a place I hate. The real question is, though, Where do I like?

I have spent my entire life living because other people seem to think I should. I live to stop my family and friends from crying. I live because what if I actually am supposed to marry the kpop star Choi Minho in the future, I can’t leave him alone. What about the kids I haven’t adopted? What about the cats I haven’t pet? I live for all these reasons but none of them are actually for me. If you asked me what I want to be when I grow up I’ll probably lie. My real answer would be dead…or somewhere I feel alive.

The author would like to remain anonymous, but has been a long-time member of Youth MOVE Massachusetts and offers their support to other peers who may also be struggling.

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My dear friend: my experience with grief

October 24th, 2016

angel-and-griefI’m not a religious person. I don’t attend church, and I don’t pray before bed. Even though I am not religious, I do believe there is life beyond death. I believe there is a place where our loved ones can connect and watch us from above. If there is such a place, I know they gained an angel when my friend passed on.

One of my great friends passed away in April of 2015. The day I found out was the worst day of my life. I went on social media, and it was flooded with posts about her. She had committed suicide at the age of 17. I couldn’t believe the things I read. I cried all night long and school the next day was spent with counselors. I had never experienced the loss of a friend, and it tore me to pieces.

I attended her calling hours shortly after that. I cried with her mother, who gave me a huge hug. I cannot imagine the pain her mother was and is feeling. Losing someone is never easy, especially someone so young. Grief has stricken me ever since. I’ve spent the last year spending most of my days at home, crying because I miss her so much.

She was a remarkable person. She cared so much for others, but tended to neglect herself. Her smile was contagious and she always had something nice to say. I don’t think there was a mean bone in her body. That’s what made her such a good friend.

I’ve gone through all the “what if’s”. What if I could’ve done something? What if I had listened more? Even with those questions, I knew in the back of my head it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. However in the sad moments, your mind thinks of all these sorts of things.

Grief is always a difficult thing to cope with. More than a year later I still am trying to handle these feelings. I wish I could say I have come to terms with losing her, but every time someone brings her up, or when I bring her up, I feel an emptiness in my heart. I feel like a part of me is missing.

What I have learned is, it is totally normal to grieve for a long time. I like to take comfort in my belief that somehow, my dear friend is in a better, less depressing place. She deserves that much after what she went through.

For all of you who have lost a loved one, no matter the circumstances, remember you deserve to continue on. Try to make the world a better place, and never forget your loved ones.

Rachel LaBrie is our guest blogger.  Rachel is a young adult who strives to someday become an author. She also loves spending time with her 5 four legged friends.

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My Anger, No Longer My Danger

December 22nd, 2014

angrysadgirl4I have been angry for a long time, and I have let that anger overpower me without actually thinking about it. All I knew was that as awful as I felt, it still felt good to have something other than myself be in control, and I held on to it like a lifesaver while I tried to keep from drowning in the sea of heartache, loss and betrayal that became my life. Although I looked to the anger to save me, and even grew to kind of love it in a weird way, it didn’t come without a price.

With that anger came long and severe bouts of depression. Some days I was so desperate to stay home that I deluded myself into believing that I was physically ill, giving me the perfect excuse to cancel whatever plans I had for the day, or the entire week. I cried often, too; at home, in the car, in the grocery store, in my sleep. Everywhere. I knew I was angry and I knew I was in pain, but I didn’t know what I needed to do in order to make it stop, nor was I sure I wanted it to stop. I was comfortable in my misery. Of course, people were concerned and I got the attention I wanted and needed by outwardly expressing my anger. Other times, I was less dramatic, even secretive, and relied on my self-mutilation to communicate to those around me that I was in pain.

Very recently, a family friend took their life, and it was devastating and a real shock. I know what you’re thinking- this was my turn around. This was that life changing moment that made me realize that I didn’t want to be angry and depressed anymore, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Their death, their choice to take their own life made me think that if it was so easy for them to just end it, then why couldn’t it be just as easy for me?

I started obsessing about the idea of suicide. I didn’t exactly have a well thought out plan, but I thought that if I could just do it, get it over with, everything would be better. So I spent hours on the internet researching everything I could about suicide- the history, famous people who’d done it, different methods. To be honest, I was completely frightened by the fact that I was actually considering suicide, but I was also being extremely willful. I felt like this might be the best option. It was either that or live in pain and perpetual confusion about how I was feeling for the rest of my life.

So I started a Pro and Con list to see whether the pros or the cons about suicide would outweigh the other. Some of the cons: I would never see my family again, never see my boyfriend, my rabbits or my friends. I’d miss the trees, the stars, the moon and Harry Potter. And the pros: no more depression, no more crying, no more hurting my loved ones, no more hurting myself, and best of all, I’d get to see my father. And that’s when it hit me. The reason I’d been so angry everyday for what seems like an eternity was because I was holding on to the day my father died, every day after that and all of the events that transpired due to his death. I was angry at him for leaving me, I was angry because it was, and still is, unfair that I’ll never be able to see him again and I was angry because life was hard without him. So I held on to that anger because it was like holding on to him, and if I let go of that anger, well then I was letting go of him, too. I thought that if I didn’t get upset while thinking about him, if I didn’t cry, then I didn’t care about him, and that somehow made me a horrible daughter.

After a lot of reflection and a lot of talking and exposure, I think I’m starting to see that I can live my life while missing my dad. I still have days that I can’t seem to shake this insurmountable grief that I have, but I’m finding that I am enjoying things that I haven’t been able to in a long time. I’ve ceased my research on suicide and instead replaced it with research on holistic living, something my father also cherished. I wouldn’t say that I’m happy now, that my anger is completely gone, but I’m getting there, and I can’t help but hope that my father would be proud.

Chandra Watts is our guest blogger. She is a young adult who draws on her own life to change how the world sees mental illness. She is one of the founding members of Youth MOVE Massachusetts.

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Remembering Yolanda

May 11th, 2012

For countless reasons, May has been and still is my favorite month of the year. It’s filled with dance recitals, school plays, field trips, field days, lilacs, graduations, May day walks and Maypoles. With longer, warmer days we also enjoy baseball games, ice cream trucks, bikes, pogo sticks, swingsets,  hopscotch and marching in or watching memorial day parades.  They are all great things that speak of May to me.

School is coming to an end and then there are the “firsts” of the year. First communions, first trips to the beach, first swim, picnic and cookout.  They all happen in May and remind me of new beginnings, happiness, pleasures and the hope that there is so much more to come.

My May memories are filled with commencements, summer jobs, weddings, vacations and my youngest daughter’s birthday on May 12. Often it would fall on the same day as Mother’s Day. This youngest of my three girls, from her first recognized day, celebrated in a very BIG way. There was her third birthday when everyone gave her the LARGE bag of Lays potato chips because it was the only thing she asked for, and made her the “happiest girl in the world.” Then there was the third grade birthday party where, despite the fact that we wrote out invitations for her entire class, she extended verbal invitations to the entire school (kindergarten to fifth grade) and many of these invitees showed up as well. I also remember her sweet sixteen pool party where all the boys brought her roses.  There were so many that the last boys to arrive gave them to me!  My May baby added to my list of all the reasons I love this month.

As the years went on, our family also celebrated Children’s Mental Health Month in many different ways. We did NAMI Walks together, attended legislative breakfasts, went on advocacy trips to the State House. 

My May baby, along with her two sisters, sometimes suffered from mental health demons.  However, she always had a special empathy for others with struggles like her own.  As I worked as a family supporter, even before her diagnosis, she would often ask me to speak to a schoolmate’s parent because, as she said, “They don’t know how to do it.”  The “it” usually meant to advocate at the school level.

This May we will celebrate our daughter’s 21st birthday.  It seems impossible but she will not be here to celebrate with us.  My baby, the child of so many talents and strengths, with physical and spiritual beauty and emotional challenges that sometimes tore at my heart (and other times frustrated me more than I imagined any child could) took her life four years ago.  It was just months before her 17th birthday.

I wanted to write this blog for several reasons.  The first and most primary is to honor Yolanda.  As her parents, we think about her, laugh at fond remembrances and painfully miss her every day.  I don’t think that will ever change.  But we have faced the unimaginable and learned much.  I know my daughter would want me to speak to others in her name.

In many ways, we have come so far in the past 20 years in children’s mental health.  Early diagnosis, treatment, appropriate interventions and a growing recognition by schools of mental health challenges have all improved.  Yet, not all children and families benefit from these improvements and many children are still “pushed through” from  grade to grade.  While some people are leading the charge in their part of the system, there are still children and families who do not get what they need and are not treated with understanding and respect. Through the CBHI initiative, the state has put in place pioneering efforts to try to rectify some of these problems.  In many cases, some things are improved and children and families are doing better.  But, despite all these efforts, other kids are “still stuck.”

We have come so far, yet there is still so much more to do!  I ask you today, for all of us and our children, to continue to challenge the barriers and work to take them down.  In whatever way you can, be aware of how much impact your voice and presence make.  A little righteous indignation can go a long way and can bring about improvement and change. It may well be the most exhausting work you will do or have ever done.  It is not often applauded.  We don’t get the big bucks, accolades or the recognition of a job well done.

We are fueled by passion and hope that tomorrow can be better for our own children and the others that follow.  With HOPE that they can attend school in an environment where they feel safe and happy.  With HOPE that they can have friends, enjoy play and be respected.  With HOPE that they can do the best they are able to do and get the help they need to do it.  And with HOPE that not one more child has a week, a day or a minute where they cannot imagine living another moment.

I HOPE for many merry, merry months of May for us all.

Mary Ann Tufts is our guest blogger.  She is a fierce advocate, a wonderful mother and a strong voice for children’s mental health.  The Children’s Mental Health Law was named after her daughter Yolanda.

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