Suicide Awareness Day

This afternoon, I attended the Adirondack Regional Chamber of Commerce’s Fifth Annual Veteran and First Responder Suicide Awareness and Prevention Walk. The title may be long-winded, but the cause is supremely important and personal. One week from today will be one year since my last suicide attempt and the voluntary admission to the Glens Falls Hospital.

Suicide does not discriminate based on age, race, class, or gender; it affects us all. And we all have a story to tell, especially veterans and first responders. As I listened to some stories at the event, the emotional toll endured by these men and women can become too much to handle. But the growing support, whether nonprofit organizations, peer support groups, and other resources, is having a huge impact, as I learned that the average veteran death is down from twenty-two to seventeen deaths per day.

It was incredibly uplifting to see so many organizations, politicians, and community members at this event. My eyes shed many tears, listening and walking. I felt a dichotomy of emotions between despair, hope, and resilience, as I processed the revelations of my own mental health journey over the past year.

Anxiety had been a part of my life for over twenty years. From late childhood until last year, I struggled to cope and understand how to manage my debilitating anxiety. Running was introduced into my life in childhood, and it was an amazing way to free myself of the anxious thoughts; all I had to do was move my legs and run. I was never the fastest on the field or track, but I felt alive. The ability to run allowed me to become a part of many local track and soccer teams in my childhood. But I never fully learned how to make friends, despite much guidance and push from my parents. 

I did have one friend when I was in elementary school, but it eventually delved into traumatic experiences with bullying and unpleasant situations. Today, therapy and meditation have finally healed those wounds. Though in high school and college, the traumatic experiences pushed me to be secluded and alone despite lots of opportunities to join with others. I do have regrets that I did not push past my insecurities and anxieties, but we can't change the past. We can only move forward.

Around 2015, I received a message from a guy named Michael, as I slowly opened up about my sexual identity. It was during an annual family trip to the beach. We met for the first time in New York City for a Broadway show. Since that first date until I decided to move into his apartment in 2017, we met at various places around New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. He is the kindest, most intelligent guy I have ever known. And he helped and continues to help make me the man I am today. Even introducing me to the lovely supportive LGBTQIA+ community around us. 

But through it all, my brain kept getting in the way with its anxious and depressive thoughts; something that I did not understand how to control. Until I walked into the Glens Falls Hospital in September after a suicide attempt. I thought asking for help was a sign of weakness. I tried to fix all my problems the best I could. But we don’t always have the answers, especially when we don’t know what to ask for. And I have certainly learned a lot. 

The nine-day hospital visit allowed me to begin a crash course in psychology. The benefits of different styles of relationship boundaries, from porous to rigid, is essential for keeping my sense of self, identity, and anxiety in balance. Learning meditation and appreciating stillness and silence taught me how to calm my stress response, distancing myself from reactions and emotions. Regaining the ability to write allowed my nearly constant stream of anxious and depressive thoughts to get out of my brain and onto paper, something that is very therapeutic and helpful when making decisions. 

It was not all sunshine and positivity in the hospital, though. The mental health crisis center was a scary experience, at times. Being cooped up in a small room, with only a bed and barely any privacy was not exactly fun. But the intense boredom and lack of freedom allowed my mind to learn how to heal. And learn how to become used to sobriety and not using substances to numb the anxious and depressive thoughts that had been a crutch in my 20's and accelerated in my 30's.

I was given anti-anxiety medication for the first time, something that terrified me for years. But it was a breath of fresh air. Once I got the help I needed, learned how to work through my heightened anxiety and debilitating depression, trained my mind to appreciate meditation, opened up about mental health struggles with friends and family, rebuilt my attention by limiting the endless-strolling social media feeds, and rediscovered my love of putting thoughts to paper (or keyboard), I can now say that my life has value, as it does for all of us.

We all need to talk about the mental pain that goes on behind the surface. The clouded darkness that makes us feel like we can never see the clear blue sky. Because there is always blue sky behind the dark clouds. All it takes is opening up, pushing past our anxieties and struggles. Suicidal ideation is one of the scariest and worst feelings any person can experience. But we are not alone. While it can be difficult, talk to others, step outside your comfort zone, and become a beacon of light for yourself and others.

Suicide is not the answer. It causes more harm and distress to others in the days afterward. As someone once told me, when someone commits suicide, their pain never goes away, it just gets transferred to everyone that cared above them. We are all human, trying to live our lives the best way we know how. It doesn't matter who we are, who we love, or what we believe in. You are not alone, you matter, and the world is better with you in it.