Content Warning: This issue discusses suicidality, in recognition of Suicide Prevention Month. I have done my best to address both loved ones and those who experience suicidality in a loving and safe way—and still, I believe that you know whether reading a piece like this is best for you right now.
First, I want to say: I am glad you are here.
Not specifically here, reading this newsletter, but as broadly as “here” can be defined. I am glad you are here in the universe.
I am glad you are here.
From my experience—both as someone who has experienced suicidality and as someone who loves humans who have—these are the most loving, potent words that can be said to someone who (sometimes!) thinks death might be the only way to end their pain.
Because, “I love you so much” is too much pressure. “I need you here,” is too much pressure. It makes me think, “I can’t believe I have fooled you into thinking I am worthy of this life. I can't hold this burden of suffering for you.” Yes, it’s dark. And no, it’s not what I believe with the whole of my being. It is, in that moment of suffering, the loudest voice I can hear inside myself.
But this brings me to something else. A person dying by suicide is no one person’s fault. It’s not something they did to themselves. It is not something that any one individual who loves them did or did not do.
Suicidality is a social disease. We suffer from it because our culture has become so individualistic. We suffer from it because we have come to believe—incorrectly—that our worth comes from our productivity.
This is one reason why the phrases “experiencing suicidality” and “died by suicide” have been replacing “is suicidal” and “committed suicide.” The language we use shapes the understanding we have. By using these new phrases, we honor that no one chooses suicidality.
Something that helped me understand and feel less panicked by suicidality in myself and others has been to learn that there are different types of it. This diagram by Alyse Ruriani, an art therapist and Licensed Professional Counselor, explains the concept and types so clearly.
Knowing these nuances can help place the thoughts we or our loved ones have in context. Thinking about dying isn’t a reason to panic—it’s a reason to come together in love and understanding. And, as every therapist and good friend I’ve talked to about this has said, talking about suicidality means that the person doesn’t want to die.
Poet Andrea Gibson has been a balm for me. In a poem of theirs, they say,
The psychology manuals say no one really wants
to die. They want relief. They believe that they will never
find it in this world. That belief could be right.
Or wrong.
One would have to stay to find out.
Friend, if you stay, at least we will be
together, and I have an extra straw.
When I am feeling low, sometimes I watch Gibson’s performance of this poem, and I feel less alone. To get the straw imagery, you’ll have to listen to the whole poem, which I highly recommend, whether you love someone, are suffering yourself, or both. It’s one step in understanding this social plague.
The way we get through suicidality is through many small actions, together. We can’t do it alone. And friend, you are not alone. I am glad you are here.
Mentioned in this issue: Alyse Ruriani and their excellent visualization of sucidality types; Andrea Gibson and their poem, “Every time I ever said I wanted to die,” which is also collected in their book, You’d Better Be Lightning.