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“Three years ago I put a noose around my neck, hung it on my doorknob, and downed a full month's supply of sleeping pills with half a bottle of Johnny Blue (Hey, may as well go out in style). I don’t remember quite how long it took me to pass out, I don’t even remember why I did it, but I do remember those last moments of consciousness. My life was flashing before my eyes, and I started imagining my friends and family at my wake. What I saw wasn't encouraging, or wise, or life-affirming, so much as it was just logical and sad. Shame rushed through what part of my brain was still functioning and guilt over my abandonment of all duties necessary and proper to a human being. It was at that moment I realized that I wasn't ready to leave like this, that if I fell asleep, this will forever be the story of my sad and lonely life, and nothing more. I struggled to get the noose off, but by now I had lost fine motor control, and the knot that held it in place was taut and refused to budge. I tried to yell out, but all that came out was incomprehensible babble, slurred and weak. Then I lost consciousness. I woke up half a day later, hunched backward, with vomit all over me. It turns out I had gotten the knot loose enough so that I could slouch against the door without choking. How I didn't aspirate the booze is beyond me. When I regained composure, still dozing in and out of consciousness with the drugs still in my bloodstream, I felt euphoric. I felt bliss; for the first time in my life, I felt lucky to be alive. I'm not a religious man, but I do believe that night I was given a second chance. Since then I've endeavored to be the best human being I can be, despite whatever my bipolar disorder will throw my way.”

Stalag Nelson

Suicide is a scary word and if you work in the mental health field it is a word that conjures up panic in the hearts of dedicated professionals who are trying hard to support, enlighten, inform and protect individuals who might be tormented or tempted by the distorted lure of an end to their suffering. An end to suffering. It was what we work for, what our clients wish for and if we are not careful, it is what they die for. I think I can say with confidence that pregnant and postpartum women in despair do not want to die. They might, however, believe that their baby would be better off without them. They might misinterpret their hopelessness as a permanent state, rather than a symptom that can be treated. They might pay too much attention to the intrusive thoughts screaming in their head and think they cannot possibly be a good mother. They might, through the lens of depressive thinking, believe that they have no other option. In a recent piece written by Rich Larson, “It’s Not What You Think” , he poignantly and skillfully describes the misunderstood and unpredictable nature of depression and suicide after the death of an adored musical artist, Chris Cornell.

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In this piece, Larson writes:

…it’s really about depression and cynicism. Those two go hand-in-hand, along with their nasty little sister, anxiety. When the three of them get going, they just eat hope as quickly as it can be summoned. That leaves despair and despair is exhausting, not just for those who experience it, but for the people around it as well. So we keep it to ourselves because we don’t want to be a burden. And then it gets to be too much. Doesn’t matter if you’re a student, a mom, an accountant or a rock star. It doesn’t matter if you’ve written about it your entire life as a means of keeping it at bay. It doesn’t matter if the music you made about it brought in fame, respect and millions of dollars. It doesn’t matter if your entire generation has suffered from it. Depression makes you feel totally alone. You hit the breaking point, and then, like Chris Cornell, you die alone in the bathroom. This was a well-respected member of his community; a beloved musical hero who seemed to have it all together. This could have been any of us. And brothers and sisters, if it’s you, don’t mess around with it. Please find some help.

This scares us. As well it should. Which is why we teach novice therapists to take any mention of suicide very seriously. While that may seem too obvious to mention, we forget, sometimes, because postpartum women are so good at looking good, because we believe they don’t really want to die, because we believe that passive thoughts are transitory and less dangerous than active thoughts or plans. Still, some therapists wonder: When should we intervene? How bad does it have to get? What if we insult her by presuming the worst? What if we are wrong? What if we are overreacting? I say, overreact. Protect her. Prepare for the worst scenario because, well, severe symptoms of depression are unpredictable, they are volatile and they are seductive. They can convince the most loving and precious mother that the opportunity to disappear forever is the only and the best option. Passive thoughts of suicide should alert every therapist to the possibility that darkness is looming. She should not be expected to stay there too long without a lifeline. Get in there with her and sit with her suffering. No matter how good or healthy she looks, do not be tempted to let her sit there alone with these thoughts.

The Big question is: What actually is the root cause of suicide; Cowardice, Depression(emotional trauma), Financial distabilization, Spiritual factor, Mental instabilities or Combined Factors?

Say No to Suicide!

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