The topic of suicide is incredibly intense, and this piece may not be for everyone, please take care of yourself.
I didn’t think that I would be approaching the topic of suicide yet on here, but after a recent suicide of someone I knew, it was on my mind and the words needed to come out. I needed to make sense of something that just happened.
I work as an educator, and in my room, adults filter in and out working with students all day. They are a blessing. As a teacher, I can’t hold all the hats, despite the state, the district, and people’s general perception that teachers can do everything.
One adult in particular worked with one of my students for mental health. Ian was a social worker and had recently begun working at our school. He was not someone I knew particularly well, but saw him each week as he came into my classroom.
Ian died by suicide at the end of April 2024. He was 28 years old.
The moment our principal told us, I was in a state of sheer shock. The amount of questions I had could fill many pages; some that I would get no answers to, some that were inappropriate to the situation, and some that I knew would have horrific answers.
How did he do it? Did he leave a note? What drove him to suicide? Did he receive any therapy himself? He was a social worker, how could this happen?! Why did he have to die? What ailed him? Did he seek help?
So many questions, with so few answers, or at least answers I would never seek to find, or never be privy to. One of the worst questions that came to my mind is: What could I have done to help him?
The harsh and brutal answer is nothing. Absolutely nothing. I did not know this man very well. I had maybe a total of ~10 interactions with him at school, including the time I saw him once at my gym. The one time I tried to make small talk with him, the conversation died flat. So I left those conversations alone, and simply was cordial when I saw him.
As a chronic people pleaser, and someone who fears that I must make sure everyone is okay, the thought of someone choosing suicide is so incomprehensible, I surrounded myself with the idea that there must have been SOMETHING I could have done that would have made his life better. Maybe I could have smiled more, or said something more, and that would have prevented this tragedy, but I could not.
I did not know him.
I did not know him.
Many, when they hear that someone chose suicide, ask the same question of what could have been done, or they realize that person was hurting for far longer than anyone knew.
Yes, there are warning signs for suicide on the horizon, but for some, it can be planned in total secrecy. Regardless, when it happens, it truly is a shock, because we think “I didn’t realize their life was THAT bad.” Or worse, “their life couldn’t have been THAT bad.”
We never know what anyone is going through unless those people share their experiences. Even though I didn’t know him, it hurts for many reasons, but one is because I recognize the position he was in. I could not tell you at all what was going on in his life that made him see suicide as the only option to escape.
But I can tell you from my own experience, why suicide has an allure.
The reality is, I have thought about it.
Many times.
It snakes it’s way in to your mind, first as something absolutely unimaginable, then it settles in, and starts to feel like maybe—just a sliver—of an idea.
It would free you of everything. Nothing would be a problem anymore. Everything would simply stop. Sure, you would create a host of problems for others and induce death-related trauma for them; but at least you would be free.
In my own life, I have been on so many anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications, I have lost track. I am currently taking Adderall in hopes of help. I am still in therapy weekly working through YEARS of life, and trying to find a semblance of hope and anything to cling on to.
Some days I feel that I haven’t made any progress at all.
When you try to find “the next cure” and see no results, it is exhausting and repetitive. To be let down and feel there is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Each day can truly be incredibly difficult to see. Some days I veg out completely because the thought of going somewhere, or doing anything is so exhausting.
Suicide tempts me by telling me that I can solve all these problems by just ceasing to exist. If I don’t exist, my problems don’t either. They all go away. All the things I had to endure in life, the horrible memories and experiences will stop. They will never haunt me again.
So what is stopping me? To be honest, I think it is a mix of a few things. My faith and prayers to God are a huge part. Another is truly being a chronic people pleaser, I could not imagine the problems and trauma it would cause for my friends and family.
But I also know this to be true: I know that suicide won’t solve my problems. I can’t give up on myself and the progress I have made in light of EVERYTHING I have gone through, and continue to go through. I am proving to myself now and forever that I can take more control over my own life, and I am not going to succumb to an action that will permanently change the future. I refuse to let suicide find a way to make me feel like I don’t belong. I have felt that way for a long time, and I know I will for the time being, but it won’t be like that forever. I have more control than I used to, and I am taking on that charge for myself.
It is still SO HARD. Countless meds, at least four different therapists, and days of just sheer exhaustion.
I wish he could have seen that for himself, I really do, and I have cried immensely for him this past week, and I know that the hurt will continue for a while; but I will also not carry the phantom burden of thinking I could have done something for him.
What I will allow myself to carry is the burden that I will do something for myself. I will allow myself to live as me. I will continue to heal the pieces of me that have been crying out in pain for a long time. I will continue to find treatment, therapy, and friends to rely on. I will not hide any of my pain in secret. It is an act of resistance to live, to wake up each day and see the sun or clouds through the window and know that I have made it another day; because there are many days when it is tormentous to leave the bed and slog through another day of existence. Even then, I will carry myself every day knowing I am worthy of being alive, being here, and simply being.
I am ending this piece of writing with a benediction for Ian:
Ian, it has been a very hard week since your passing. I will always appreciate the kindness and generosity you showed our students, and particularly my student. I did not know the severity of what you were dealing with, in any capacity. I imagine you did everything to heal that you were capable of doing, before settling on a decision that you felt was best. I can’t imagine turning a plan into reality. I do not know if you had any point-of-no-return and if you felt pain. I pray that when it happened, it was swift. I hope that the burdens you were dealing with are now gone. I hope that your family will find comfort and solace and know that the pain you were going through is gone. I pray that your soul is resting. May you finally know peace.