Topic: suicide prevention
The conversations surrounding mental health in the Black community tend to get drummed down into a whisper; it becomes the uncomfortable silence at the dinner table when the name of a loved one too far gone to be brought back home comes up in a way that stirs the air.
For every person on this planet, there's a special day where we pause to honor our existence and our stories that are still being written.
We can fight hard for others, but we cannot fight their battles. We are enough. They are enough. But what we do for them, sometimes, is not enough to save them.
Just like you, I still get stuck in moments. There are days I wake to that can seem overwhelming. Mostly, however, I find today—the present—to be a gift.
By telling our stories, we allow them to find the light, to find other people and other storytellers. Suicide took the power of storytelling from my brother.
After my sister died, I did a lot of walking. I’d walk loops in woods behind my house; two, three, four times on the same trail.
I sat in an office all day telling clients all of the reasons to live, all of the ways to get out of depression, all of the things that made them important and why the world needed them. And I felt like a hypocrite each day, never believing a word I said when it came to myself.
When I used to feel suicidal, I felt so detached and numb. But having people vocalize their support—friends, family and therapists—made such a lasting impact, even though I didn’t realize it at the time.
Hilary’s death was a turning point in my life. I had struggled with depression, OCD, and anxiety for most of my existence, but I was afraid to tell anyone, except my mom, about it. I worried what other people might think of me. But when Hilary died by suicide, I realized I had to push past that worry and speak up.
This was the kind of depression that made me feel lonely when I was being hugged.
Tomorrow and the tomorrows that follow will need you. We will need you here, joining us in this ongoing fight.
Within a span of two years I’ve been hospitalized four times and made three attempts. This summer I spent 30 days in two psychiatric hospitals. Less than one week after leaving one hospital, I made another attempt.
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