Cliché as it sounds, I remember it like it was yesterday. I was hungover, like usual. And I had missed a call from my younger brother, Kyle while trying to nurse my pounding headache. I was about to call my brother back when my mother called.

“Hey, mom, what’s up,” I said.

“It’s your brother Ashley. He tried to hang himself and the ambulance just took him away.”

My heart drops, how could this be? I was just there, with him two weeks ago. He had tried to hang himself then, and we held a family meeting with my siblings, parents and his girlfriend. We begged him to go to the hospital, a retreat, anything to get help, but he insisted he would just find a way to kill himself there, if we made him go. He ended up agreeing to go to therapy and possibly start medication to aid his suffering.

Feeling trapped, we agreed to the sliver of hope. But in that moment, I couldn’t help, but feel guilty. Should I have forced him to get help and call the authorities? Was there more I could have done? Of course there was, and now he had reached out and because I was asleep from a hangover, I missed his last call. I thought to myself, maybe if I had picked it up, I could have changed his mind? Maybe I could have saved him. Say something to be his saving grace, but now I will never know.

I knew he had been really struggling. A few weeks prior, Kyle was at a friend’s, they were just sitting around the table playing cards. There were a lot of questions brought up as to what happened that night. Rumors spread that drug dealing or fear of getting arrested was involved, but we don’t really know. I also heard they were playing Russian Roulette? All I know is his friend put the gun to his head and blew his brains out right in front of my brother and the friend’s girlfriend. It was awful. And whatever the reason, the end of the story is the same.

I had been struggling with my own issues and decided to fly home to be with my family. I went to the hospital with Kyle to visit his friend who I will call “Teddy” didn’t die right away, he lived for I believe it was a week or so, before the plug was pulled and he eventually passed on.

Kyle was never the same after that. All the life drained from his face and he was like a zombie. I could see the anguish in his deep, green eyes. And when it came time for me to fly back home, I couldn’t help but dread leaving him alone.

I held my brother in my arms, with tears streaming down both of our faces. “Don’t go Ash” Kyle cried.

“I have to. I must go back for my girls, you know that. But I love you, go to therapy, you can do this,” I say as I squeeze him tight….. That was the last time I saw my brother alive. And two weeks later he would send his last text. Telling me “I can’t get that night out of my mind Ash.” The flashing of the gun, Teddy’s limp body, the screams of his girlfriend, swarmed his mind, like angry bees to a hive.  And I didn’t know what to say to make it go away. I just told him everything was going to be alright and that I loved him. I hope those last words resonated and stayed with him, even in death.

Now all I know was he had hung himself again and that he left in the ambulance, with a faint heartbeat. The minutes passed like hours, until finally my mother called me back. I picked up the phone with velocity.

“Mom?” I cried.

But there was only silence, followed by the quiet whispers of my mother’s sobs.

“What? What’s going on? Is he ok?”

“He’s gone Ashley.” She gasps and sobs even louder into the phone.

“No, mom, he’s not,” I cried.

My heart sank into a deep dark hole and my knees gave out. I fell to the ground and burst into tears. Flowing, rushing wildly and never ending. My hands clutching into angry fists.

“You are lying, your fucking lying. Mom he can’t be dead.”

“I’m not lying, I’m sorry Ashley, they couldn’t bring him back,” my mother insists.

As intolerable as accusing my mother of lying was, I selfishly couldn’t accept his death, nor did I want too. I didn’t know how.

My heart broke that day. And a part of me died with him. So badly did I want to go back and just hold him. Take away his pain. Fix myself, so I could fix him. Be the big sister he needed. Instead of the mess of burning fire, that I was.

After that I struggled with suicide myself, I didn’t want to live anymore. I wanted to be with my brother, and I wanted the pain to end. It was like a beam of brilliant light devouring and smothering me in guilt, shame and anger. But what was worse was the sadness of depression. I couldn’t bare it. And I felt alone.  It was so unreal, to the point where I just couldn’t accept it. I survived several suicide attempts, and as the years go by, I wonder why I did, but my brother didn’t?

I felt guilty for missing his last call. I felt ashamed of the drunk I had become, leading into not being a good sister or example for him. I felt sad that we wouldn’t live the life we planned. He would miss his nieces (who adored him) life accomplishments. I missed his laugh and him making me laugh. I felt angry at him for giving up and breaking his promises. Then I felt guilty again for even feeling angry with him, because he was gone.

People kept telling me it would get better in time. That the pain would subside become easier. That one day I would understand. But I don’t agree with that. October 1, of 2024 it will be 10 years that have passed since my brother took his life. And like I said before the pain and memory is there just as if it was yesterday. Through those years I have learned better coping mechanisms to deal with that pain. I have tried dozens of remedies, new treatments and medications over the years and I’m finally getting to the point where I feel like I can breathe.

I started this blog, because I love to write, and I really enjoy helping people. It makes me feel like maybe there is still a worthy soul inside of me. I thought that if I shared some of my experiences with suicide and mental help that maybe I can help someone in similar shoes as mine. There is a stigma around mental health and considering we have come so far regarding treatment; it is really sad and frightening that still so many people are undiagnosed or not getting treatment. Society looks at mental illness as something we can just snap our fingers too and make it go away. That if we “tried,” we could uphold the “normal façade” that society portrays we lack.

But it isn’t just me and my family that have been affected. There are people all over the world that struggle with some form of mental illness and lack the information and resources they need. According to WHO (World Health Organization) there are 700,000 people who die from suicide every year. And there is an even larger number that is accounted for, with people who have attempted suicide. It is the fourth leading cause of death in people between the ages of 15-29 on a global scale.

     “Suicide prevention efforts require coordination and collaboration among multiple sectors of society, including the health sector and other sectors such as education, labor, agriculture, business, justice, law, defense, politics, and the media. These efforts must be comprehensive and integrated as no single approach alone can make an impact on an issue as complex as suicide.” (WHO, 2023)

But prevention can’t be properly addressed without adequate education about suicide and mental illness. And education can be hard to come by for some communities, when so many people look at the subject as a taboo. I personally have had people ask why it is I feel like I do sometimes and act annoyed when I can’t just fall into place among everyone else. It can be hard to understand for the people on the outside looking in. “Grow up, snap out of it, you can’t blame everything on your mental illness.” They would yell.

And perhaps part of that is true, I have blamed a lot on my disease. Its hard to tell when I’m manic or psychosis kicks in, what is my mental illness? or what is me just being an ass.? Regardless, there is still a world out there that doesn’t have access to the education, resources and support they need to tell what the difference is. There are ways we can prevent suicide, such as recognizing the warning signs, talking to a professional, seeking therapy and trying medications. Seek comfort in your loved ones or join a mental health community that can give you the support that is so needed in times like these.

Up until now, there are few countries that have suicide prevention as their health priorities. With only 38 countries that reported having a national suicide prevention strategy.

Statistics have surely shown us that suicide has certainly given us reason to be concerned. And that more education and resources need to be provided in hopes of shedding more light on the subject. Proper education at a younger age (some studies show frightening numbers of suicide in people as young as 10) would be more appropriate. When I was in grade school, nothing was ever taught to me about mental illness, and I didn’t learn about these diseases until I was locked in a facility and diagnosed with bipolar when I was fifteen. It shouldn’t have to come to that point. How many more people must die for society to take this seriously?

Even though I still feel the need to shade the acts and feelings of my mental illness sometime, I think it’s important to be heard. The more of us willing to share our story will hopefully build a better insight and knowledge to society. Fight the stigma. And rise above. In the content I have attached info on warning signs of suicide and provided some good sources to use. Just remember there is always hope.

RESOURCES:

World Health Organization. Suicide. 28, August. 2023. https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/suicide

Center for Disease Control and Prevention. CDC. Facts about suicide. April 23, 2024. https://www.cdc.gov/suicide/facts/index.html

National institute of Mental Health. Warning Signs of Suicide. Revised 2022. https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/warning-signs-of-suicide