There’s an important note about the experience I talk about in this post at the end. Trigger warning for discussion of suicide and self harm. September is Suicide Prevention Awareness month.
I have rarely felt so deeply, profoundly alone as a few weeks ago when a room absolutely full of people were applauding around me.
They were applauding a presentation by members of a local art-centered suicide prevention program.
An aside: I’m not criticizing the program. It seems like a perfectly fine program, the kind of thing you’d see featured as the last part of a newscast so you feel a little better about humanity.
Apropos to that kind of human-interest segment, their presentation focused a lot on talking to people, and very little time on the very real socioeconomic factors that influence suicide rates. You know the stories I mean: the ones that worry about "disturbing memes" and signs of mental distress rather than dealing with the reasons the mental distress is there.
But it was the end of their presentation that left me feeling isolated, despite their theme of trying to connect to those who were thinking of harming themselves.
I don’t know if I can properly explain why I reacted the way I did.
The words of their message — "destigmatize mental illness" — are good. I agree with them whole-heartedly. It’s the primary reason I keep talking about my own issues and history in public on the internet.
A large part of my reaction was the quick pivot from "destigmatization" to emphasizing how mental illness is a Very 👏 Important 👏 Issue 👏 that required a Lot 👏 Of 👏 Attention 👏.
Nothing like singling out something as a way to stigmatize it. To make someone other.
When I saw Kate Bornstein speak some years ago, she said, "I don’t want allies."
Those who label themselves "allies", she pointed out, by the meaning of the term, ensuring that everyone knows they are not part of that group.
An "ally" can choose to walk away. An "ally" is separate, different from them, those people over there.
I hoped the presenters would share just a line of their own story or struggles. After all, roughly one in five adults in the US has some kind of anxiety disorder — that’s more common than type 2 diabetes. Suicide attempts are common enough in the US that, statistically, I was far from the only person in the room to have made a gesture or attempt.
Instead, the closing line that got the standing ovation and thunderous applause was "So that we can help them."
And, although I was surrounded by people, that was the most alone I had felt in weeks.
That feeling of loneliness and isolation had nothing to do with how many people were physically around me.
I remembered a similar sense of isolation from a quarter-century earlier, from the mocking of fellow NCOs at a suicide prevention class where they didn’t know I’d made a suicidal gesture a few years before.
I remembered how hard it was to talk to people about feeling suicidal later on.
I remember that it is always carefully framed as being about them, someone else.
When really, it’s about us.
We talk about our physical health all the time. Even more as we get older (it’s not a stereotype, kids). It’s not a big deal. It’s not shameful or special or different, even if it’s a life-threatening illness.
It is important, but it is not exceptional. Physical health is something you have in common with everyone else with a meat body. The way we talk about our everyday health problems is almost always {1} inclusionary for that reason.
Normalize talking about mental health just like you would physical health.
My name is Steven Saus. I’ve made a suicidal gesture before, and a few episodes of suicidal ideation. I have to pay attention sometimes to how some situations and triggers (the rejection sensitivity dysphoria in particular) sometimes interacts with that. I also have type 2 diabetes. I have to pay attention sometimes to how some situations and foods (I have a horrible sweet tooth) sometimes interacts with that.
The national suicide hotline number is 988. Use it. Ask for help from your friends, acquaintances. Get different perspectives. Especially if you think everything sucks, there is no way out, and nobody can help.
I can’t guarantee you anything. Nobody can.
But you do not have to be alone.
I promise you, there are more people out there who have stood where you are now. Who know what it feels like. Who have managed to cope and find it worthwhile to keep going.
I am one of them.
You will be too.
The promised quick note: This is my perception of what happened and how it sounded. I’m quite aware that the emphasis on "them" I heard might have been entirely in my head. It may not have even been the last thing they said. I’m aware that one’s perceptions aren’t always the same as what others experience. What I can tell you is that it was the last thing that registered. I’m certain that my reaction is not what the presenters intended at all. There were also limits to the format that meant they were forced to be brief, and I’m sure there’s things they had to cut. This isn’t a castigation of that group or their efforts; they seem like they mean well and are doing good work despite how I reacted to their presentation, and that’s why I’ve not named them here.
{1} I am aware that is not the case for some health issues, particularly those who are invisibly disabled, and the same issue applies there. What I am referring to are things like a head cold, food poisoning, breaking a bone, cancer, etc.