Suicide Talk

As I said in the previous blog, no one talked about my cousin's suicide. It was hush, hush.

The things that I did hear about suicide, were awful.

"People who kill themselves are going to hell."

Like in the movie, "The Kingdom of Heaven." Where the woman who died by suicide's head was cut off, because she would not need her eyes in hell.

"People who kill themselves are weak."

"They took the cowards way out."

"They 'committed' suicide." As if it is a criminal offense.

Hurtful words, probably from people who either:

1. Don't understand what is going through the mind of the suicidal person.

or

2. Trying to scare people not to off themselves.

What I say next is going to be controversial to a lot of people.

I believe that God understands what people are going through when they decide to end their lives. And I don't believe, that the loving God I know, would send people to a place where they felt they belonged in on earth. Earth, to some people, is hell.

People who take their lives are not weak or a coward, it takes courage and guts to end your life on earth. It's not a decision that comes lightly to those who want to leave this earth.

People die, by suicide. They don't "commit" anything. They are not criminals. And I'm so glad that the language being used in this day and age is being changed.

The people who are left behind, are sad, and angry at the loss of their loved ones. I can understand this. I can also, very much understand, that I would want people to be happy for me.

I would be at peace.

No longer suffering.

And I would hope that is what people could be able to see, and feel, and know.

I would also hope, that they talk about it. And don't become silent from it.

Because talking, provides healing. And that's what people need after a suicide.

April 19th One Brave Night

After my first suicide attempt, I ran away from home and lived on the streets off and on. Unable toaw control my emotions, or understand them, I just did not deal with them, and ran.

My darling parents, were at a loss as well. They loved me, accepted me, but I think, did not know how to deal with me and my emotional behavior.

When I was 18 I returned home. After dealing with yet another suicide attempt, although it was more of a cry for help this time. I took pills once again, the only way I knew how to get away from the controlling boyfriend I had at the time.

I had gone back to school while living with him. He despised this idea, and burnt all of my hard work. This school gave me hope, that I might be smarter than I actually felt, receiving 80's for the first time in my life. But my boyfriend scared me, so I took the pills in the hopes that the doctor's at the hospital would see that I was in danger, and get me the help that I needed.

They did not recognize my fear for him though, so I had to leave on my own, and went back to live with my parents.

It was April 19th, 1993. The day that changed family dynamics forever.

My mother and I were on the couch in the basement. We had just finished watching the Waco Texas massacre on CTV News, and had moved on to the weather, when the phone rang.

You can tell something is wrong with someone's tone of voice. I heard my mother's voice change on the phone.

When she had finished talking to my Aunt, she turned to me and told me what she had just discussed on the phone.

My cousin was dead.

She died by suicide.

It would be a few days before we learned the details of what happened. My dear cousin had taken a shotgun under a bridge, and pulled the trigger, leaving a husband, and three teenage children behind.

I wish I had recognized the signs of her suicide the last time we had seen her. Noticed something that was different about her that would have helped me reach our to her. But, alas, that was not the case.

Most importantly, her death, and her life, was hushed and silenced. No one spoke about her, or the incident.

This is what kills me the most about her death.

That no one speaks of it.

That day,

On April 19th.

One Brave Night

On April 6th, is a day that I have joined the challenge to raise much more than money for the Canadian Mental Health Association, but awareness, of how devastating mental illness effects people.

What is One Brave Night? And where does this money go?

In its first three years, CAMH One Brave Night for Mental Health™ has has rallied over 3,000 brave participants and more than 11,000 donors, raising more than $2 million. The efforts of participants and donors have helped:

• Create three new youth clinics to help address the gap in mental health treatment.
• Inspire hope through discovery by testing new treatment options for people with severe and treatment-resistant depression.
• Publish over 500 journal articles, sharing the incredible discoveries made at CAMH.
• Continue to redevelop CAMH facilities to build treatment, education and research spaces that reflect respect for patients and hope for recovery.
• Expand effective and timely access to mental health services in remote and underserved communities around the country through technology and access to telepsychiatry.

So, this is the beginning, of my very long journey, with an illness that infects my brain.

Much like, an illness, of the body, effects the body.

I was in Grade 7. When I first started my self-harm behavior. In Industrial Arts class. The challenge then was to take sandpaper to your wrist, and see how far you can go before you yelled out "SISSY".

I went deep. I never realized it then, what I was doing. I thought I was just playing a game.

It was when I was 15, I took 150 pills into my Junior High School bathroom.

I took pills in the basement during morning class, first the pills, then drink the water. Pills, and more water.

After, I continued to class. Higher than a kite. In very slow motion. I sat in class, pills infecting my body, preparing it to die.

Why did I do this? I know I hated my life. No one understood me, and I did not understand myself.

It was not until late that evening, my best friend noticed that something was wrong.

I confessed to her what I had done.

We went to the walk-in clinic. The doctor phoned my parents. From there they picked me up and took me to the Foothill's hospital.

I stayed for 7 days. Hooked up to an Intravenous. Made to drink charcoal. Only to throw it up, and have to drink more.

When I was released, no diagnosis was given, just to see a psychologist.

When what I had done was brought to the attention of my school counselor, his response was:
"This is a phase, she will grow out of it. She was seeking attention."

Damaging words from a professional.

You see, all the professionals. Knew what was going on with me. But sadly, there was no treatment for people like me at this time.

We were the un-treatable. Professionals refused to touch us. We were the throw aways.

This was the beginning.

You can follow my journey at #OneBraveNight