Earlier this month my journalism teacher gave us the assignment to write both a personal and public editorial. The minute she gave us that assignment, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about, something I am passionate about, suicide prevention. Writing this piece was hard and it wasn't something I wanted to share with my teacher but I knew I needed to. I learned more about myself than I would have ever imagined writing this piece and I am grateful I took on the task.
My personal editorial:
When I was thirteen years old, my mother took her own life. I had just gotten home from school when an unfamiliar note was placed perfectly in the center of the empty brown desk in my sisters room. The words on the page brought me to tears, I had no words left. I was in complete shock and terror. Now, only to find myself today in the same place my mother was three years ago. For me, it was the day my childhood ended and I learned more about life in a matter of minutes then I would have in a lifetime.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her or that day, but particularly when I hear of someone struggling with suicidal thoughts or there is another tragedy. Those times remind me of the stigma surrounding mental illness and just how closed minded we as a society truly are. To me, from what I have experienced, I don’t see any reason for why someone should shame another person for an illness they have no control over.
The details leading up to this event and that day, only matter to prove a point.
From an outside perspective, my life seemed normal and happy and for the most part it was. Both my mom and dad were hit by a drunk driver on their way home from celebrating the success of her restaurant Mama Tequilas, a Mexican style Cantina located in downtown Columbia. My father, Jerry, sustained multiple internal injuries while my mom, Susan, suffered a traumatic brain injury and broken bones including, L-radius, ulna, femur, femoral neck, R-ulna, femur, tibia, fibula, knee cap 2/3 missing, multiple fractures of pelvis, collapsed right lung, right optic nerve damage. She had a 50 percent chance of survival and it took numerous surgeries to correct injuries, but that wouldn’t be the end of it. A few years later in 2003, my mom began to have seizures. When I was younger, I didn’t understand all that was going on and never truly accepted the reality of the situation.
In the years following, my mom was in and out of the hospital and traveling around to find new treatments. In 2010, she made the decision to have surgery in hopes the seizures would stop or at least slow down but it proved to be ineffective. Over the course of the next three years my mom wasn’t the same person I had known before. She would get angry easily, find excuses as to why she shouldn’t leave the house, and slept a little later each morning. In her eyes, she had this blank stare that couldn’t be shaken, one that clouded the joy she once felt and knocked her down. The blank stare was depression, the dark cloud which followed her around even in the happiest of times. The smile that once lit up a whole crowd of people was gone, rarely did I hear her laugh or smile the way she used to, a laugh that warmed your heart and filled you with joy.
I didn’t understand what my mother was going through, I would get angry at times because I didn’t understand why she didn’t want to get out of the house or do something with me and I regret all of the opportunities I turned down to be with her because I was angry and confused. It is weird how much clearer things look in hindsight. Everyone in my family walked on eggshells around one another, unsure of what to say or do at any moment.
Later in the week there was a band concert, which meant Monday was after school rehearsal. Around 4:30 pm I got off the bus and walked up the two short steps leading to the front door, knock but received no reply. In my mind, I thought about all of the possible places my mom frequently went and thought nothing of it at the time as she often went on walks or bike rides. I opened the garage door, walked inside and placed my backpack on the thin glass kitchen table. As I walked down the hallway, passed our bedrooms to the bathroom, I stumbled upon a white sheet of paper, with a yellow strip at the top and writing below. It was placed in the center of my sister’s desk, with nothing else in sight. As I creeped into her room I quickly picked up the note and began to read. “I am sorry for being a burden.” “Enjoy your life without me.” “I am sorry I wasn’t able to be a better mother to you.” Those words jumped off the page and beat me till I could no longer breathe, I stood there trying to process what I had just read and witnessed. My mind couldn’t accept that my mom, the one who was always by my side was now gone. My thoughts were racing, “Could she still be alive?” “Where did she go?” “Why is this happening?” “How am I going to tell them what I just read?” Out of fear, I ran and poked my head into my mom and dad’s room and then quickly picked up my phone and called my sister. All I can remember from the phone call was a whole lot of crying and screaming. After hours of crying on my neighbor's couch, I went to the bathroom and stood there looking in the mirror, I remember telling myself, “Kayla. You can’t be like this forever.” as I continued to cry and the thought of never being able to see or spend time with my mother wouldn’t leave my mind.
We live in a world where, at some point in our lives, we will feel hopeless, lost and out of our own control. Sometimes it feels like society says you should be always happy, and that showing your sadness is a sign of weakness. This is far from true – if you were to hold in all your sadness or anger you would explode. We all have good and bad days. No one can be perfectly happy all of the time, that is not human. One day you feel on top of the world, the next you are down. While I am still trying to accept this myself, I know it is part of life and whether or not others choose to show it, it still happens. Each year 42,773 Americans die by suicide and for every one suicide, 25 people attempt to take their own lives according to the American Foundation For Suicide Prevention. For those who are struggling and feel trapped suicide can feel like the only way out and a major reason for feeling hopeless is not being able to seek help.
Discussing how you feel as well as what is going on can be difficult for many. But there are people who care and want to help you. I encourage anyone who is struggling to reach out. It does get better, I promise.
