This Saturday is International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. To find an event in your area, click here.
I am a suicide survivor.
Survivor. It sounds like something to be proud of, but I didn’t ask to be one. I became one eight years ago on a day that is seared in my mind forever: the day my 18-year-old daughter took her life.
But what does suicide survivor really mean? That I chose to stay alive after her death shattered my life? Is that supposed to be a badge of courage? Of honor? I didn’t know what it meant at first. I just know that, after Sadie died, I decided I could go down one of three paths:
I could take my own life because I couldn’t live without her.
I could crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and disengage from life.
Or I could focus on simple things. I could put one foot in front of the other. I could breathe in. I could breathe out. I could do that every day, one day at a time.
That last option was the choice Sadie would have wanted me to make. It was what made me a survivor. So yes, I am a suicide survivor. I chose to survive.
It is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I know how much my daughter suffered from her mood disorder. Some of her attempts to cope were heartbreaking: self-injury, binge eating, running away, and living on the streets with people who didn’t judge her. But she also tried valiantly to find positive coping strategies. She rowed with an 8-person crew, wrote, and helped others who were struggling. But the pain she felt inside overwhelmed her. She didn’t let others in, others who deeply cared for her. She believed that she was alone, that she didn’t have friends or family who loved her, that there was no such thing as hope.
She was wrong. She was wrong about all of those things.
Suicide should never be an option. It’s a dead-end road. It doesn’t allow you to find out that a newly developed drug or treatment works for you. It doesn’t allow you to see a beautiful rainbow or feel the warm sun on your face. It means you don’t get to find out where your story takes you.
Eventually I realized I had to do more than survive. I had to make something positive out of Sadie’s death because she was such an amazing person, such a beautiful person. She mattered. She left us, but she also left writing that described how she felt on the inside struggling with depression all those years.
She left her story.
The blog posts that people share on this website would have helped my daughter. They would have given her a sense of community; they would have helped her feel less alone. While these posts can no longer help Sadie, they can help others who are struggling, who feel alone and in pain. They can help survivors of suicide loss, those of us who have lost someone to suicide. These stories helped me understand. They helped me answer some of my many questions. They helped me put myself in Sadie’s shoes and understand the pain and hopelessness that many of you feel.
I believe in the power of stories, which is why I wrote a book to share Sadie’s and mine. By sharing our stories, you and I are helping the world understand that depression and other mental disorders are real, that they are prevalent and devastating.
I want the world to take note that we cannot afford to lose people like Sadie. I want society to stand up and say, “This is unacceptable.” As NAMI states, “Stigma erodes confidence that mental disorders are real, treatable health conditions. We have allowed stigma and an unwarranted sense of hopelessness to erect attitudinal, structural, and financial barriers to effective treatment and recovery. It is time to take these barriers down.”
We can do this together. Sharing our stories is a good start.
…
Note from the author: The research I did while working on the book helped me realize there are more resources available to help people like Sadie than I thought. I learned that science and the medical industry are coming up with new treatments and approaches every day. I believe one of those resources or new developments that I share in the book would have helped Sadie and may help you. You can order my book here.
Tina
Thank you for sharing about your daughter and yourself… it has made a difference xxx
bellla
Thank you for sharing your daughter’s story, and your own.
Sending love and prayers
God bless
Sofia DeGruccio
Wish I had the money for the book 🙁 I could use some peace from reading words from someone living with this same struggle.
bellla
If you see this, and are comfortable leaving your details, I’ll get in touch and send you a copy. God bless x
Sofia DeGruccio
I never saw this but if you still would be willing to I would love that!
Karen Meadows
Sofia – if you still would like a copy of my book, send me your contact info via the contact page on my author website: http://www.karenmeadowsauthor.com/
Best
Karen
bellla
Bless you Karen. I’m still happy to help out though! Just let me know.
Sending you and Sofia love!
God bless
b.e. noll
Thank you for this. It wasn’t till my sister-in-law came over to show me pictures from her dark day. [loosing twins at 18 weeks] that I came to grips with the aftermath of suicide. I had thought I was alone, too. She showed me pictures, recounting the day. She never finished. Midway through, she collapsed into my arms & cried for a deep place inside. As I held her, comforting her with words I’ve heard my Mother say…..
I was suddenly struck by the knowledge that if I had killed myself, I would have put my Mother [not to mention others] through this same horrible pain. I had to choose to live. I didn’t have to be the world’s biggest fan of living, mind you, but I cannot do this to my Mom. The only things that have changed over the years are:
How long the list of people I can’t quit on are.
And I’m not going to simply “stay alive”. If I’m going to be here…I need it to count for something. I’m beginning to learn what that might mean. [which makes me extremely nervous]
As for sharing our stories… it’s easier said than done. Yet in recent days I have begun to let a few new people know the…”origin story of me”.
Thanks again. For sharing this. For staying alive. For not giving up.
Bella Mahaya Carter
Thank you for your courage, Karen. I’ve ordered your book.
James S. Franchek
My daughter died on September 12, 2016 from an overdose and sadness. I am determined to help overcome the stigma often presented by both depression and addiction. I have learned that I must breathe through every day that my Emma is no longer alive. I wish I had seen this site before this morning but I am still glad that it is there. I am doubtful that the storm that is my life will pass, but I do seem to be able to breathe sometimes and, on a good night, see the stars. Peace.
Karen at karenmeadowsauthor.com
James: I am so sorry to hear of your loss. Breathing in and breathing out some days were all that I could manage after my daughter’s death. Give yourself time to grieve. I hope you eventually find a way to cope, to remember the good times, and figure out a way, in honor of Emma, to help break the stigma. Emma will always be in your heart.
Mary Buzzell
Karen, my friend, this is beautifully written as is your book. I am so blessed that you stayed to make a difference. You are making a difference. Your intelligence and calm persistence are immeasurably needed.
Karen at karenmeadowsauthor.com
Thank you all for your kind and thoughtful comments. I wish you all peace and hope.
Debanhi
I cannot even begin to explain how much this means to me. I’m 15 years old, I live in mexico and i want nothing more than to die. Today you stopped me… thank you.
TWLOHA
Thank you for commenting and reaching out. It was incredibly brave of you to share not only how the post made you feel, but how you have been feeling. We are so glad you decided to stay. Please continue to stay. We need you here. These thoughts and emotions are a lot to handle on your own, but know that you never have to do any of it alone. You can seek help. Whether that is texting TWLOHA to 741-741 (Crisis Text Line) to communicate with a trained counselor or finding resources in your local area, we hope you do! Sending you love and hope from the U.S. to Mexico.