Suicidal Ideations... There's No Face

“There's no version of myself that makes sense for the world.” ~ Max Chapman – Amazon’s A League of Their Own

Though uttered during an episode of the 2022 reimagining of the 1992 film of the same name, these words have rung true for me over the past three decades. I have never truly known a space in this world where I fit and have felt safe enough to be my full, uninhibited self. There was always this cloud of instability hanging over my head telling me, “I need to do more. Be more. Work harder.” Telling me that nothing I did or was was enough. Now, to be clear, this cloud manifested in the voices of the people closest to me: family, friends, teachers, coaches, etc. There was always someone reminding me that I was okay, but not quite good enough just yet.

As always, I do not share this story for pity or even empathy; I share it because September is National Suicide Prevention Month. Though some of you may know my history of suicidal ideation and attempts, others of you might be new here; either way, I share to remind everyone reading that there is no “face” to suicide. It can impact anyone regardless of their race, socioeconomic status, career success, or level of education. Being a baby of the 80s and a child of the 90s, I believe there are many people reading this who will have similar experiences to mine, and if nothing else, I want those people to know they’re not alone.

I often tell people my first true heartbreak didn’t come from a romantic partner or childhood crush; it came from my family. Though unintentional in its impact, the very foundation of what I knew to be my home was fractured when I was 10 years old. The family unit I became accustomed to dispersed for various reasons and left me spinning on my axis. By 12 years old, the first thought of not being in this world any longer crossed my mind, and that’s when the self-harm began. Small cuts here and there that were easy to cover up, disordered eating, hoping to disappear altogether, and all-round self-destructive behavior as my mother coined it.  I made horrible choices in my friends, liked the wrong people romantically, and felt like a visitor in my own home.

As I journeyed through my teens, self-destruction rebranded itself as overachieving. President of multiple organizations both at school and citywide, captain of every sport I played (cross country, swimming, soccer, & track and field). I worked, I volunteered, I showed up for everyone who thought they needed me. However, this version of who I presented to the world wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. I was so detached from life and my emotions at this point that I don’t think I cried real tears for over a decade. I went numb, oscillating between cutting, sex, alcohol, drugs, and overachieving to remind myself I was still alive despite not actually wanting to be.

By the time college rolled around, my overachieving ass hightailed it out of Alabama and headed to Chicago. However, as many people have experienced, college only exacerbated my feelings of otherness. By my senior year, though a high achiever on a five-year Master's track amongst an array of other accomplishments, I had been placed on a 72-hour hold twice and warned that if I reported another instance of suicidal ideation, I wouldn’t be allowed to live on campus anymore, which by then didn’t faze me much. Some people who learned of my mental health struggles believed I only did certain things because I wanted attention, which, to be clear, I had more than enough of; others thought I was selfish because my life was so “good”.

Yet, the disconnect still lived in the in-between of reality. People who’ve never felt hopeless or as though death was the best solution to their problems will never understand how or why someone would think about and ultimately choose to end their own life. Life is hard, and I’m going to say the unpopular thing: it is indeed harder for some than others. Being alive and having to fight for every inch of what you have can be daunting in itself, but having to do that and feeling alone in the fight is a type of pain that I’d never wish on my worst enemy. Having to fight external battles while you’re simultaneously fighting an internal one that is life and death is not for the faint of heart, and many don’t survive the battle.

If this has been, or is still, your truth, I understand, and I see you. Even though my adolescence is far behind me, I still have thoughts of “I don’t have to be here” that creep in from time to time. Thoughts that I often have to fight off as I pivot through the various stages of my life. There is no shame in having to convince yourself that staying alive is the best option, and there’s also no shame in needing to reach out to someone else to help you along the way.

If you’re struggling with thoughts of suicide, please call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. It is free, confidential, and available 24/7.

I know you may feel alone and isolated, but you’re not. I see you and get it, and there are people in your life who love you and want to help you through the storm as well.