Answer Addiction

Tag: melissa blake

  • 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

  • Please Don’t Tell Me How to Grieve

    Please Don’t Tell Me How to Grieve

    We are not taught how to grieve. Acknowledging that death is inevitable means that we have to come face-to-face with our own mortality and the mortality of everyone we love in this world. It’s incredibly scary.

    “Get over it.”
    “I’ve moved on. You need to move on too.”
    “Don’t talk about that.”
    “What’s wrong with you?”

    When it comes to grief, everyone seems to be an expert. We may not have life or death figured out, but life after death? People know how to do that. Or at least they think they do. According to them, there’s only one right way to grieve:

    Their way.

    Grief is universal. The way we experience it and process it, however, is not. To approach grief as if curing it were as easy as taking a pill is both irresponsible and insensitive.

    And yet, there are still people who take it upon themselves to try and tell you how, where, and when you should grieve. Now, in the age of social media, the shoulds and should nots have only gotten stricter. Grieving online is perhaps the biggest no-no. Experts have even coined the term “grief police” to describe the trend of policing just how people grieve — telling them they’re grieving too much or not enough.

    And in the last six months, we’ve even seen this grief-shaming play out in the headlines. First, people criticized The View co-host Meghan McCain for talking too much about her late father Senator John McCain following his death. Then, following actor Luke Perry’s sudden death, online trolls criticized his daughter Sophie for seemingly doing too well and not grieving enough.

    We get it: No matter how we grieve, people will have opinions about it. But it’s important to remember there is no “right” way to grieve, says Lauren Consul, a California-based licensed marriage and family therapist specializing in grief. Grief can be difficult to navigate because it’s not something our society is open about.

    “We are not taught how to grieve. Acknowledging that death is inevitable means that we have to come face-to-face with our own mortality and the mortality of everyone we love in this world. It’s incredibly scary,” said Consul. “Seeing someone who is grieving is a stark reminder that one day that will be us too. It’s painful to think about, so people tend to avoid and downplay other people’s grief. It can give a sense of control; if they can manage that person’s grief, they don’t have to think about their own.”

    This grief policing is especially true when the death is unexpected, as was the case when my father died from suicide in 2003. I learned pretty quickly that talking about death on places like Facebook makes some people uncomfortable. We may be a society that lives our life online, but for all the sharing we do on social media, there’s still this stigma associated with posting about our grief and the loved ones we’ve lost. It feels like an unspoken rule of sorts: grieve in silence. Don’t talk about it. And, if you do talk about it, make sure you find just the right balance – not too much and not too little.

    But here’s the thing about grieving: You’re never going to please everyone. You’re never going to grieve the “right” way because there is no right way to grieve. That’s something that took me a while to learn and understand. At first, I was afraid of what people would think or how they would view my grieving process, which included writing about my father’s suicide regularly on my blog. I even began to feel as though I needed to hold myself back and not talk about it, but you know what? That wasn’t good for me. In fact, it stalled my grieving process, and that wasn’t healthy.

    Maybe that’s why I’m always thinking of what I’d like to say to the “grief police.” If I had the chance to sit down with them and have an honest conversation about the realities of figuring out your life after losing a loved one, here are four things I’d tell them:

    My grief is not your grief. And your grief is not my grief.

    Grief is perhaps one of the most intense and most confusing emotions we’ll ever feel. And even though a plethora of grief books line the self-help sections of bookstores and libraries, how we actually go through our grief is a very personal journey. The strategies and coping skills that work for some may not work for others. Grief is as individual as the person going through it. For every loss, there are a hundred more ways to grieve. There is no right way, no one size fits all. Grief is an individual journey and no one can tell us how to do it. We must find the way that works for us and not judge others because they may grieve differently.

    Grieving is a journey – not a destination.

    That sounds cliché, but it’s true. Grief has no timetable, no script, and definitely no shortcuts. It’s not as easy as getting from Point A to Point B because the grieving road is far from linear. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross may have outlined the five stages of grief, but it’s not uncommon to vacillate back and forth sometimes. Even 16 years after my father’s death, I find myself returning to emotions like anger every so often. It doesn’t mean that I’m still in the throes of deep grief, though; it just reminds me that the work of grief is never really done.

    Sometimes, we just want people to listen.

    Grief demands that we feel, think, process, reflect – over and over. And there are times that we need to give voice to those feelings as we process. To put words to our emotions. To try and make sense of everything that’s happened to us. Maybe that’s why my writing has been such a healing part of my grief. I’ve been able to put the unimaginable into words, even at times when those words were hard to come by.

    Being there for someone during this time is a powerful thing. You don’t necessarily have to say anything. Trust me, your presence means more than you’ll ever know.

    Not everyone wants to be “cured” from their grief.

    People might be surprised to learn that I don’t want to “get over” my grief. There’s this misconception that you can easily move on, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth. As painful as some of these emotions are (hi, regret), I need to feel them. So while it’s tempting to listen and then try and offer advice to help us move on, I ask that you just listen. In the end, there are no magic words that will make everything better. We need to feel what we feel when we feel it — and feel it without judgment.

    I’m always going to talk about my father, my grief and my journey. It’s all part of my life and my story. We each have to move through grief at our own pace and in a way that is comfortable for us. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t be there for each other — in a way that is comforting without being condescending, sensitive without shaming, and helpful without being harmful. That just might be the greatest gift we can ever give someone: a safe space to grieve and begin the healing process.

    View the original article at thefix.com