The post hit me like a ton of bricks. I loved every word it said, but the tone of the tweet was all too familiar. A tone I wish I hadn't come to know-- but all the same, I knew it probably meant something bad happened.
It sounded like someone David loved had taken their life. But because I didn't think it was my place to ask, I just scrolled through my feed hoping I was wrong. I didn't see anything else that hinted another tragedy had occurred. So when a few hours went by, and nothing else popped up, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it had just been a regular post , I told myself. I shouldn't have assumed. It was nice to know people were reaching out to friends without a tragedy prompting it.
But my original fear had been right.
It was almost time for bed when I saw it. A woman on social media shared a picture with a young man, about my age, and with the confirmation he'd passed away. My heart sunk and my chest tightened. I texted my friend about it. "Get off Twitter for the next few days." They messaged back. "It would be a good idea."
Of course, I didn't listen to them.
Over the next 24 hours, my feed was flooded with people talking about the young man. They shared memories and photos. It was clear he'd been a kind and inspiring human. They talked about his cheery demeanor, his abilities as a journalist, and how much he would be missed.
I couldn't help but read it all. My heart broke for him. I'd only known of him, but with each shared memory that surfaced, the more I wished he could read it all. The fog I've come to know so well came rushing in. By the afternoon of the next day, I was shaking at my desk and trying everything within my power to not let the person beside me know I was having a panic attack.
Another person had left this earth by their own choice. I understood why he made that choice. I used to fight the urge for months on end. I would go for so long with suicidal ideation that I'd forget what it was like to want to be alive.
Each time a suicide happens, I am reminded that 15% of people with my mental illness will die by suicide. Out of 100 people, 15 will choose to end the darkness that surrounds them.
From everything I've read, it sounds like Meech Kean was a wonderful human with a bright and energetic light. He was strong and didn't give up. But last weekend, darkness crowded in too close. Nothing in me thinks he was weak when he made the choice to end his life.
Immediately my brain started to question. How am I supposed to keep going knowing that he was a much stronger person than I am? Sometimes the fight doesn't seem worth fighting. Over the last year I've read about others with that bright light, others with strength and so much to live for, who decided to leave this earth.
The reality of knowing someone much stronger than me took their own life triggers hopelessness. I don't have unending strength and humour.
A while ago, there were articles all over the news about a certain person taking their own life. When I heard it, I hid in a closet and cried. Once again I asked myself what the point was. The person had been fighting their darkness for years, but had rallied many times over. They were strong. They were wonderful.
The following month was spent trying to fight back against the worry I wouldn't be able to last if someone strong, like that person in the news, found the pain too much. One of the things that continued to set me off was the coverage. As each word was processed, I started to wonder if I was missing out. If I killed myself, would my brain I've been fighting so long finally have peace?
That time, I was so troubled by the coverage that I went so far as to plan what I would do. Writing down each way that would cause the least stress to first responders. Yes, I might choose to end the pain, but I didn't want to cause any to people who stayed on earth.
I didn't go ahead with it. I came out of the darkness. The colour came back to my life and once again I enjoyed being alive. That dark time taught me that reading about suicide was a massive trigger. The news coverage sometimes had a way of making it seem like a somewhat good ending.
It's such a fine line. We hope and pray that someone who passes away rests in peace. We hope they rest in power. I'm not saying either are untrue. But for the ones fighting the battle, they need to know why they should continue to fight back against the darkness.
As the tweets and facebook posts appeared about Meech, I became more and more scared. This was a journalist. There would be a lot of coverage about him. And I was right. VOCM. CBC. The Telegram. NTV. He deserved to be remember with so much love and I wanted that. But how would they present it to those fighting their mental illness?
But there was a difference this time. They treated the news with care. With each article posted, there was a link to a mental health crisis line and a plea to reach out for help if it was needed. On the online talk shows, they didn't hide that it was a suicide, but spoke with sensitivity and no judgement. Every single time, resources of how and where to get help were shared.
And I know I'm only one person, but I was really impressed. I think it shows that we are learning how to approach the conversation better. Death by suicide is often hidden, and we should respect people's privacy, but we also need to learn how to report about suicide if it’s out in the open.
Newfoundland and Labrador's media outlets did a really wonderful job this week. Yes, the news still triggered me. I came home from work the afternoon social media blew up and went straight to bed. I worked from home the next day. And I still had to fight the worry of giving in to being a stat.
But the media coverage reminded me there's hope. Reach out for help. Please know you're worth something. There are people who love you and want to be there for you. Those reminders were repeated just as much as remembering Meech.
Friends checked in on me. That's another thing people need to learn about more-- to reach out without someone telling you they need help. The posts go up saying that if someone ever needs to talk, they are there. But what needs to happen, just like the tweet posted by David said, is to stop on a random day, and text that person to check in on them. Your strongest friend. Your weakest friend. But it's not your fault if you don't reach out. An open and honest conversation about suicide is a recent thing. We're continuing to learn. It is someone's choice.
I hope that Meech Kean knows how much his death was handled with care by his colleagues. The media even talked about just how careful they need to be when news like this comes out. For the first time since I’ve been reading about suicides, I thought the the entire media offered more options.
That is a huge step. In fact, I think if the memory of someone who chooses to take their life can be honoured, but at the same time encourage others to get help, it could save lives.
Because for the ones who continue to struggle, we need to be reminded why we should continue to live.
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If you're someone who fights your brain. I'm begging of you not to take your life. I do not know who you are. I cannot say I love you. But I can say that I know you make this earth better. You are needed. It's worth fighting to live. I PROMISE someone cares. I know it's hard to ask for help, but text someone. Call your friend, even if you're scared they don't care. If there's no one you can contact-- there are places to call that will fight to get you help.
Please know you are wanted here.
