Yesterday, I joined with a handful of friends, along with thousands of other people I’ve never met before, to devote a day to raising awareness about suicide. Every year, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention hosts the Out of the Darkness walk at the White River State Park. The goal is bring attention to this topic, raise funds to help with education, support, and treatment programs, and band together as a community of people who have all been touched in some way by suicide.
For me, the walk this year was not just about supporting one of my best friends in remembering the loss of her father to suicide four years ago. It was also a time to remember and acknowledge the way suicide has impacted my life this past year, in three separate incidents that all hit close to home. They hit close to home because they affected people I love and care about. They hit close to home because one incident took place in my own community. They hit close to home because they reminded of how close I came over two years ago to taking my own life.
And the walk itself was an incredible challenge for me this year. The weather was hot, which instantly increases my anxiety by a factor of three. But I went prepared for that eventuality, a klonopin in my pocket, which I took just before the walk actually started. The crowds of people were also challenging, causing me to feel claustrophobic and closed in. And to top it all off, I’m overweight and out of shape, and physical activity is enough to tip off a panic attack.
But I walked anyway. Suicide and mental health is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, one in which I’m passionate about. Our little group chose to do the 5K walk (as opposed to the 3K), just as we did last year. And the longer I walked, the heavier my legs felt, the more my anxiety increased, even with the medication in my system, the more I had to focus on breathing so I wouldn’t pass out and embarrass or injure myself.
And as I walked, the more I began to compare the walk itself to my own personal journey with mental health over the last couple of years. Every step was hard to take, and there were many times I considered giving up and calling for one of the numerous golf carts roaming around to take me back to the finish line. More than once I thought I couldn’t do it, couldn’t finish, couldn’t make it. More than once I felt like I was dying. My legs got shaky, my mouth was dry as cotton, my heart was racing, my head pounding.
I didn’t give up, though. I kept walking, even as the rest of my group increased their distance from me. Soon enough I was walking alone — but not completely alone. I knew they were still up there, ahead of me somewhere, waiting for me. I knew they would come back for me if I just called and said I needed them.
I persevered. I focused on my breathing. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I prioritized not so much the end goal, even though that was important, but the process of actually getting there, difficult as it was.
And soon enough, I was done. The walk was over. I was one of the last handful to arrive back, but I had made it. I had walked, for myself, for the memory of my friend’s father, and for the others we’ve all lost or nearly lost to suicide. Living with mental health conditions is a journey, a process, and many of us don’t survive it. But I’m here to tell you that it is survivable. There are resources out there for anyone struggling. There are friends and family and even complete strangers who are willing to come alongside and support you and encourage you and help you along the way.
If you’re in crisis or having suicidal thoughts, there is help available. The Suicide Crisis Hotline is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You only need to call — 1-800-273-8255. Or reach out to me. I’m always happy to talk, whether I know you or not. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like. But know this one thing without a doubt:
You are not alone.
