Suicide is not a bad word.

and in order to stop it, we must start using it.

Oct 03, 2024

Hello Beautiful human,

Fall has officially arrived here in Vermont. The colors are changing into their spectacular hues of scarlet, apricot and gold. And as they do, I, myself, am changing too. I feel it in my thoughts and moods, my rythms and proclivities. Most of all, I feel it in my body — in my longing for more time earthside — more time connected to this place — more time connected to my people. Yes, I feel it in my body as I long deeply for less time lost to the vast emptiness of dissociative fugue.

This week, as I continued to de-hoard my garage and list everything on facebook marketplace, I learned about the the loss of a peer who I spent some time with in a psychiatric unit. We weren’t close. We really only shared a few meals but even though I never knew them beyond the bounds of that ward, they were my people. They were my brethren. They were my community. So today, instead of sharing scribbles of pain and rage that have yet to make sense, I am honoring my body and choosing to regulate it instead of push for perfection. Thus, I am re-sharing a piece that I wrote earlier this year. It expresses everything I am feeling yet again.

HUMAN WARNING: The following piece discusses suicide. If this could in any way harm you, please don’t read it. Tomorrow needs you. and I need you too.

We are not unmentionable

I am writing to you from a place of deep sorrow and rage. We lost a beautiful member of this community this week and upon learning of their death, part of me shattered.

Last night, as I wept into a container of chocolate frosting and buried myself in blankets and deep pressure therapy, I thought a lot about the weight I carry each day — the good I try to do — and how futile it often feels in moments like these.

This morning, hungover from my sugar binge and exhausted from hours of crying, I set out to find someone to be with me in it — to join me in this dark place, if only for a minute or two.

Knowing exactly who to call, a blessing I do not take lightly since it is a privilege that I rarely had in my younger years, I called my best friend who is currently living abroad in Italy. I proceeded to scream for the next half an hour with only her kind ear and ever-accepting love as witnesses:

I screamed about big tech and its greedy commodification of human beings.

I screamed about broken political systems and how destructive the Electoral College is.

I screamed about being a woman and feeling as if it is mandatory to be liked by others in order to survive in this world.

And most of all… most of all, I screamed about how we are living through a suicide epidemic, one in which a person dies from suicide every forty seconds, but we still cannot even write those words in our memorials about them. We still can’t even acknowledge the bravery of these individuals who fought their minds tirelessly and lost their lives to these cunning and deadly disorders while living in a world that never evolves to alleviate their consequences.

I got off the phone to revise an op-ed with my new boss at Harvard. It felt good to write with purpose – to write with an intention to change the broken social media ecosystem and harness it for public mental health.

As we finished our call, she kindly asked me if I meant to include “suicide survivor” in my amended bio or if that was solely to be included in the pitch. She was right to ask. The words “suicide survivor” have immeasurable consequences professionally.

But today, I stop hiding from those repercussions. Today, bravely or perhaps naively, I include them proudly. Yes. I include them and I say this:

Suicide is not a bad word. Nor is mental illness.

We must stop using “died suddenly” and other euphemisms in place of “suicide” and “mental illness” if we ever want to change the trajectory of the suicide epidemic.

Now, please do not misconstrue my commitment to using honest words as a denial of the tragedy and sorrow they hold. I am not saying that at all.

What I am saying is this —

The world needs to catch up and realize that to live with a serious mental illness is nothing short of being completely badass.

Yes — to live with a mind hell-bent on ending itself and make it through the day in a society whose broken systems punish it instead of alleviate it – that is pure warriorhood.

The work we have to do to tackle the suicide epidemic and change society’s perception of mental illness is mighty and I don’t have all the answers. Today, in fact, all I have are these words and my sorrow and rage.

But they will fuel me forward. They will help me ride the wave of stigma and denial that our world spews at us continually. They will ignite my passion as I cry from my couch and scream this oh-so-needed and under-respected truth from the rooftops:

There is no shame in mental illness.

There is only shame in stigmatizing it.

And until we, as a society, use the very words suicide and mental illness, we are part of the problem.

Yes, we are part of the problem for we are perpetuating the fallacy that serious mental illness and suicide are unmentionable.

And serious mental illness and suicide are not unmentionable.

The people who live with serious mental illness and die by suicide are not unmentionable.

And until we make this truth abundantly clear, the tragedy of this epidemic will continue.

Yes, until this society wakes up and uses the honest words of our brave fight for the heroism of our existence, nothing will change.

But as we, my beloved community, fight for that change, I promise that I will be here using them loudly. I will be here, showing up, using them proudly.

I will say — bravely or perhaps naively — for all of us:

I am a suicide survivor. I am not ashamed. And your discomfort upon hearing that, society, is not my work.

It is yours.

We — those of us in the trenches of mental illness,

We live with minds hellbent on ending us.

We live in a world with systems structured to break us.

And every single day, we survive.

Every single day, we survive.

We breathe and we fight our way forward and it is your work, society, to realize that that is heroic, even if our memorials dare not yet proclaim such irrevocable truth.

If you’re struggling right now

I don’t presume to get it. I don’t presume to get it at all. I have, however, been in my own seasons of struggle before AND more than anything, even though your mind will tell you otherwise, I want you here with me.

I also want you to know that it’s okay to share your feelings — how much pain you’re in, how hard it feels, how hopeless it seems — and that sharing your feelings is nothing short of true bravery. Sharing feelings also often alleviates them, at least just a bit so if you are able, I’d love for you to try it right now. If you don’t know where to start, feel free to copy one of these pre-written messages and send it to a trusted friend or contact.

When you get a chance can you contact me? I feel really alone and suicidal, and could use some support.
I don’t want to die, but I don't know how to live. Talking with you may help me feel safe. Are you free to talk?
This is really hard for me to say but I’m having painful thoughts and it might help to talk. Are you free?
I’m struggling right now and just need to talk to someone — can we chat?

And if that feels too vulnerable or you don’t feel that you have a trusted contact — a very hard and heartbreaking truth I lived for quite some time — I want you to know that you do have me. You do have me.

So please text or dial 988. Tomorrow needs you. And I need you too.

If you are in New York City

I will be speaking next Thursday, October 10, at 1pm EDT at the Project Healthy Minds World Mental Health Day Festival. The talk is about my current work in Public Health at Harvard. If you’d like to join, it is free to do so and I would love to meet you in person afterwards.

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Thursday, October 10, at 1pm EDT, Hudson Yards

That’s it from us this week. Off to go figure out what the heck to wear in New York next week because sport shorts and my busyhead project sweatshirt probably won’t cut it and I haven’t really explored my closet in a good six months.

Hope you tread lightly on yourself for the remainder of your day and never lose sight of how brave it is that you are still here.

I love you.

Wishing you a day.

Kindly,

Kate