One year ago at this time, little did I know, I was on the verge of a complete breakdown.  I was planning on going back to work the week after school started, but realized that was not going to happen.  I had a hard time to convince my body to get up every morning, let alone shower, get dressed and be productive a work.  Though I knew I would not be going back at that point, I would have never thought that a year and three months later, I have yet to return to work.  It never crossed my mind that a war was waiting for me just a couple months down the road.  It never occurred to me then that I would be fighting for my life.  

Today I heard the news of the passing of a Young Woman who worked with my colleagues before I was a part of the team.  Curious as to what had happened, I asked.  As I read the words on the screen of my phone, my breath did not want to come.  I found myself with tears rolling down my face and a lump in my throat so big that I could not say a word. She had died of suicide, her struggle unknown to most.

This could have been MY obituary.  This could have been ME.  The reality of my suicide attempts, the reality that I could have died knocked me down like an unsuspected wave coming up from behind while standing in the relatively calm water.  I could be dead.  My children could be without a mother, my husband without a wife.

For some reason, a piece of me broke at that moment.  As I read the word I felt the pain she must have been in.  I felt the hopelessness, the despair and the never ending feeling of being a burden to those we Love.  And then I cried for her children, her husband, her family and her friends, left behind to make sense of something that seems so nonsensical.  

I know this post will not make it to her husband or her children or her extended family.  I have no connection to them other than meeting their beloved mother and wife over lunch one sunny afternoon.  If they could see this post though, this is what I would want them to know.

She did not take her life because she did not love you or because you did not love her enough.  In fact the opposite is likely true.  Suicidal thoughts, or the act of suicide itself is often carried out to save the ones we love from our perceived sense of burden on our family and friends.  We love our family, we love our friends.  The game that our mind plays when we are depressed is one sided.  We battle with it, we try to hunt it down and kill it, but sometimes we lose the hunt.

Committing suicide is, in my opinion not any different than dying from cancer, or a heart attack, or any other disease. Mental illness is a disease.  This young woman battled it, probably for many years.  From my understanding she battled it relatively alone, with those only closes to her knowing about this awful disease that afflicted her.  She lost her battle to mental illness, just like one loses their battle with cancer. Her death should be treated no differently.  Her family should feel able to openly talk about her battle with this disease without feeling the judgement or stigma that surrounds taking one’s own life.

So, although I did not know her, nor her family, I sit here and think of them and I think of me.  If she could have gotten the help she needed, the right meds, the right counsellor, the right support, maybe next week, or next month, or next year, if she were still here, she’d be in my shoes.  Not fully recovered, still struggling, but healthy enough to be thankful to still be alive.  I know I am.