Response to Colbert King's Washington Post Article

Almost everyone carries some connection to suicide. A friend, a relative, a coworker, someone we only heard about. The loss touches us in ways we don't always talk about. My own first encounter came in third grade, when my basketball coach hanged himself from a tree at the neighborhood preschool. The second was a family friend who jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge.

And then there's me. I know those days when suicidal thoughts creep back in, and part of me will always brace for them. The difference now is that I know I'm stronger than they are. Like a lot of people who've lived with a mental health condition, I recognize the pull toward self destruction. I'm grateful to still be here. Life looks beautiful to me in a way it didn't before, because I found enough strength to keep going and to remind others that giving up isn't the only option when everything feels impossible.

If any of us drove past a scene like the one described in the article I linked, we'd feel that loss too. At our lowest, dying can seem like the only exit from a life that feels unbearable. It's a permanent answer to something that, as enormous as it feels, is temporary. People who've been there understand the strange sense of validation that comes with voicing those thoughts to someone else. But every new day is also a chance to let tomorrow surprise us, to give the world room to show its better side.

We have to reach a person before they make that choice. Some people argue that we can't actually save anyone. I disagree. The opportunity exists if we change the way we respond, not just noticing that people are dying or considering it, but sitting with someone in that moment and telling them, 'I love you, we can get through this together.' Families, friends, and children are losing people they love to a condition only a small part of the world understands. I don't think we appreciate how lucky we are when we're surrounded by people who love us as we are, flaws included.

What is it like to carry something that traumatizing alone? It's a prison called life. You're breathing, you're seeing everything around you, and still it feels like you're staring at cold stone walls.

Writing the way Colbert King does carries real weight. We're fortunate that someone like him is out there, writing for the Washington Post. People will tell you they don't enjoy reading or writing, but when you're at your breaking point, reading can reach you. A good writer can locate one experience, one memory, one feeling that makes you believe the world is on your side.

Could I have stopped myself? I can't say for certain whether I could have spared myself the countless depressive episodes I've been through. What I do know is that we have a choice in how we face the stigma around mental illness. There are more Colbert Kings out there than I ever believed, something I only came to see after giving myself the time to become the kind of person who goes looking. I stumbled onto his piece while reading a separate Washington Post article about bipolar disorder one morning.

Those of us who've lived through suicidal depression, or are living through it right now, should take what we've felt and recognize that our intense emotions carry the power to change things. My hope is that King's article moves you enough to talk about suicide and how common it really is. No one has to face suicidal thoughts, tendencies, or depression by themselves. Passing an article along can matter more than you'd guess.

We should all care that we keep losing people who most likely never truly wanted to leave the way they did. Depression isn't always inherited. It can grow out of a thousand different circumstances, which means any of us can end up there. It's frightening, yes, but not as frightening as we tend to make it. I've lived with depression since I was twelve, and for nine of those years it was severe and suicidal. I survived. I know others can too. Compassion and love travel further than we think, and the things that terrify us most are sometimes the ones that turn out to be remarkable once they're given the support and guidance they needed all along.

A passage from the Washington Post article: 'A life gone just like that. Of course the adult woman's life was more than that leap to her death. A lifetime went with her. So many days and years of living, of talking and being talked to, and touching and learning and feeling. All of it had to have added up to something, at least enough to want to keep on living. That it apparently did not is what brings on the sadness and sense of loss, even though she was someone I didn't know. Our only encounter was in those moments when I drove past where she was lying. I knew nothing about the soul beneath the sheet. What mattered is that she was one of us. I wished I had known her, at least long enough to have had a chance to try to do something: hear her out, help her out. To try to undo whatever damage had been done, to dispel the desperation that drove her to that bridge.' - Susan Page