Answer Addiction

Tag: father suicide

  • Let’s Talk About Suicide

    Let’s Talk About Suicide

    Changing misconceptions and long-held stereotypes won’t happen overnight, but making the conscious decision to talk openly and honestly about suicide is a strong start.

    Suicide is everywhere. We hear about it on the news, we see the headlines, we read the sad statistics. But here’s the thing: We don’t talk about suicide. We’re not having the kind of open, honest conversations that will start breaking down harmful prejudice and stigma – about people who die from suicide and also the people left behind.

    We know the facts and figures, but that’s only part of the story. We don’t know how to actually communicate about suicide to learn what’s behind the statistics. We can’t fill in the blanks because we’re afraid: We worry that we’ll say the wrong thing, or unintentionally offend someone. So instead we say nothing at all. But staying silent is far more damaging; it further stigmatizes suicide, which is already misunderstood and has so much judgment attached to it in the first place.

    Start a Conversation

    September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month – a time the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) describes as a time to share stories and resources in an effort to start meaningful conversations on the taboo of suicide.

    “We use this month to reach out to those affected by suicide, raise awareness and connect individuals with suicidal ideation to treatment services,” reads NAMI’s website. “It is also important to ensure that individuals, friends and families have access to the resources they need to discuss suicide prevention.”

    Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States overall, but it’s the second leading cause of death in people ages 10-34. In 2017, there were twice as many suicides (47,173) in the U.S. as there were homicides (19,510).

    How Can We Help Prevent a Leading Cause of Death if We Can’t Talk About It?

    There’s a catch-22 when it comes to suicide: People are reluctant to talk about it because it’s a sensitive and deeply personal topic, but it remains a sensitive topic because people don’t talk about it. So we find ourselves tip-toeing around suicide altogether, which doesn’t help anyone. For years, I’d find myself at a loss for words whenever someone would mention suicide, so I’ve been there.

    And yet, I also found myself desperate to talk about it after my father died from suicide in 2003. In the months and years following his death, I began to see up close just how much people are unwilling to talk about suicide. I never realized just how uncomfortable the topic makes people, whether they’d personally lost someone to suicide or they’d seen one of the many headlines about celebrities who die by suicide. It really is a taboo topic. 

    How can we help prevent a leading cause of death if we can’t even talk about it? And how can we help people who have been left behind if we can’t acknowledge the cause of their pain?

    That’s why I’ve been trying to change suicide’s shameful stigma. For the last 16 years, I’ve been vocal, unafraid to talk about the very things people don’t want to talk about. In the beginning, I talked about my father as a way to process my grief. I saw it as a way to keep my father’s memory alive, but as the years went on, I began to realize that my talking about his suicide wasn’t just for me. Sure, it may have started out that way, but the more statistics I read and the more stories I heard, the more I learned how many people are affected by suicide. I began to feel a responsibility to share my story.

    I Want People to Know They’re Not Alone

    Today, I talk about suicide because I want people to know they’re not alone. I talk about suicide because I want people who have lost a loved one and people who suffer from suicidal ideation to know that they shouldn’t feel ashamed or like there’s something wrong with them. And not talking about it? That silence only reinforces harmful stigmas and can even be a significant barrier to someone seeking help.

    Instead of silence, we need to start regularly engaging in an open and honest dialogue, including debunking common myths associated with suicide. For example, misconceptions like the belief that most suicides happen without warning, and that people who die from suicide are selfish and “taking the easy way out” are false and incredibly damaging.

    So where do we go from here? Perhaps the best place to start is to realize that we all have a responsibility to create a safe space, says Forbes contributor Margie Warrell, who lost her brother to suicide.

    “While we may not all suffer from mental illness, we each have a role to play in ensuring that those who do suffer feel less afraid to reach out and get the support they need in the moments when they need it most,” she wrote in 2018. “If people felt as comfortable talking about their PTSD, bipolar or anxiety as they did talking about their eczema or tennis elbow, it would markedly reduce the suffering of those with mental illness and the ability of those around them to support them.”

    The stigma of suicide is far too strong, and any chance you get to talk about it is another opportunity to break down those walls of stereotypes. Don’t say the word suicide in a hushed tone, as if you’re talking about something you shouldn’t; the statistics show that most people have been impacted by suicide in some way. And try not to lie about how your loved one died because you think it will be easier than dealing with the looks and questions from people. When you lie, you’re sending the message that what your loved one did was shameful, and that further contributes to the misconceptions and prejudice people have about suicide. It might be difficult to be open about this, but it’s also freeing (and it gets easier each time you do it). 

    Mental Illness Is Physical Illness

    I’ll never understand why people don’t treat mental health the same as physical health. Why is someone “heroic” for battling cancer, but “weak” for dying from suicide? At its core, mental illness is a physical illness, so we can’t separate the two. The more we start talking about mental illness in the same way we talk about physical illnesses like cancer or diabetes, the more we lessen the stigma surrounding suicide. Changing misconceptions and long-held stereotypes won’t happen overnight, but making the conscious decision to talk openly and honestly about suicide is a strong starting point. 

    If you are in crisis or are experiencing difficult or suicidal thoughts, call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273 TALK (8255).

    If you’re uncomfortable talking on the phone, you can also text NAMI to 741-741 to be connected to a free, trained crisis counselor on the Crisis Text Line.

    For more information about suicide prevention, or to get involved and learn how to help someone in crisis, visit #BeThe1To.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Music and Emotion: How Songs Help Us Grieve and Heal

    Music and Emotion: How Songs Help Us Grieve and Heal

    Music can express how we feel when our grief renders us speechless.

    After my father’s death from suicide 16 years ago, I was always looking for signs—the flickering of a lightbulb, a bird flying overhead, anything that would let me know he was still with me. But in all those years, there was just an empty feeling, a giant black hole where those signs should be. 

    Then, a couple years ago, on the way home from lunch on my birthday, I heard Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” on the radio, and I knew. I just knew it. That was the message from my father.

    Before and After

    Like many people who have lost loved ones to suicide, I tend to view my life in terms of Before and After; there was my life before he died and then there was my life after he died. I also tend to categorize music in much the same way. There are the songs that evoke the memories of my childhood, like the oldies from the ‘60s and ‘70s that we listened to on family car trips. I can’t listen to Simon & Garfunkel or Gordon Lightfoot without memories flooding back –like when my father introduced my sister and me to his record collection. We played those records for hours until we had all the words memorized.

    Then there are also the songs that remind me of the dark days and months just after he died. A month before his death, I bought Norah Jones’ debut album on a whim and it sort of became the soundtrack of his death. My mother and I listened to it constantly, so every time I hear “Come Away with Me” I’m immediately transported back to that time. Suddenly I’m that scared, confused 21-year-old who can’t believe she’ll never see her father again.

    These songs make me so sad, and yet I can’t stop listening. It’s almost like I’m drawn to the pain that those songs evoke, as if listening to them will somehow help me continue to process my grief.

    How Music and Grief Are Processed in the Brain

    As it turns out, there’s some validity in my yearning to listen to these songs. Listening to music actually lights up the brain’s visual cortex, which processes visual information and stores important memories.

    “Music has been found to have a nostalgic effect, allowing individuals to recall memories, feelings and emotions from the past, so as an individual listens to music, they will start associating it with memories and feelings,” says Aaron Sternlicht, a New York-based psychotherapist. “Musical nostalgia can be helpful in the grieving process to help resolve emotions that a grieving individual may have previously been suppressing.”

    After that birthday message, I started listening to “Forever Young” on repeat. I listened to it when I was writing. I listened to it when I was responding to email. I even listened to it when I was just surfing the web on a random Sunday afternoon. And then I heard it again one morning in March as I was browsing the aisles of Walgreens. At first, it felt completely random and I didn’t think much of it. Then I started putting the pieces together: Shopping together was one of our favorite things to do together, and it was March, the month in which my father died. The coincidences seemed too serendipitous, albeit bittersweet, and the words of the song just cut me like a knife.

    It felt like a message from him, filled with all the things he wanted to tell me. I was relatively young when he died, and there is so much we missed, so many conversations we never got to have, so much life advice he never got to give me. 

    For so long, I’d thought about all the things I’d say to him if I had the chance, but I never gave much thought to all the things he might want to tell me. There’s just so much I want to chat with him about — so many questions about life and what to do and hoping he’d be proud of me. Hearing the lyrics, I pictured my father giving me all sorts of advice, just like he used to. He was always fond of telling stories and imparting wisdom, and I miss his presence so much, looking over my shoulder and encouraging me onward. He was the ultimate cheerleader.

    It’s Not Just Me

    The more I thought about the powerful connection between music and grief, the more I wondered if others felt the same way I did. Did music also make them feel close to their loved ones? Did it help them in their own grieving process? And what is it about certain songs, albums, and artists that connect us to loved ones we’ve lost?

    To get some answers, I opened up the conversation on Twitter and Facebook. Before long, the stories started pouring in, full of love and memories. People were incredibly open and willing to share their stories as a way to honor their loved ones while at the same time acknowledging their grief. Here’s a sampling of some of the powerful experiences they shared with me:

    When I was in high school, my best friend and I made the world’s stupidest music video (with my parent’s massive camcorder) to Avril Lavigne’s “Complicated.” She tragically died of a bad reaction to pain killers/anti-depressants (we never quite got a clear explanation) about eight years ago. Every time I hear that song, I laugh thinking of that ridiculous day, but also want to cry. —Catherine Smith, Philadelphia

    My grandpa was a Johnny Cash lookalike. He would even be hired to do impersonations at conferences! Cash is one of my favorite artists because he reminds me of my grandpa (whose name was actually JC, haha!) Last year I went to the Johnny Cash Museum for the first time and cried when I walked in—it was like seeing his face everywhere. —Syd Wachs, New Zealand

    Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” reminds me of my dad, who passed away in September. That was his favorite song. The song has definitely taken on new meaning since his death. —Melissa Cronin, Vermont

    When my grandfather died (quite a bit ago), I listened only to country music for about a month straight during my grieving period, as country was his favorite genre. I never listened to country before then, and I can only think of him now when I listen. —Isabelle Lichtenstein, Boston

    When I was 16, my beloved Cairn terrier was attacked and killed by another dog. I can’t stop crying whenever I hear “Somewhere over the Rainbow” because Toto in the Wizard of Oz is played by a Cairn. —Julia Métraux, New York

    My grandparents, especially my grandmother, loved Elvis, so I walked down the aisle to an Elvis song and it really helped me feel like they were there. —​​​​​​​Abbie Mood, Colorado

    [My mom] died three days before my 32nd birthday. I’d always wanted to take her to Hawaii because she’d always wanted to go and she’d never been anywhere. During my second trip traveling alone in 2012, I was standing in a McDonald’s restroom and heard “I Hope You Dance.” I’d never listened to the lyrics before, but I felt she’d sent me a long-distance dedication, Casey Kasem-style. I started bawling. —​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Miranda Miller, Cleveland

    My Dad’s Message to Me

    Just like Miller, I like to think that the words in “Forever Young” are a message from my father. My favorite line is: 

    But whatever road you choose, I’m right behind you win or lose.

    What a comforting, gentle reminder from him. Just hearing those words makes me feel like I’m still close to him, as if there’s part of him still here with me, right behind me, always, just like the song says.

    Music can be a comfort when everything around us is confusing. Music has the power to begin to heal our soul, even if only a little bit at a time. And, music can express how we feel when our grief renders us speechless, says psychotherapist Ana Jovanovic.

    “It can help us cry, verbalize our feelings and also, feel connected to others,” she says. “When you’re listening to music, you may be able to better recall some of the most significant moments in the life you’ve shared. It’s a piece of experience that helps us stay connected to a memory of a person, even when they’re gone.”

    What songs are meaningful to you and why? Let us know in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com