Suicide Prevention Day

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Today, September 10th, is Suicide Prevention Day, and it really hits home for me in a lot of ways. It's a reminder of how fragile life is and the heavy emotional battles many go through. This day is especially important to me because I've known several people who sadly ended their own lives, leaving behind so many questions and a lot of heartache. Each loss has deeply affected me and shaped how I view mental health, grief, and the need to reach out for help. I've also had my own struggles with suicidal thoughts and attempts, which have been both terrifying and eye-opening. As this day comes around, I find myself thinking about those experiences more.

When I was a teenager, I went through a whirlwind of emotions and challenges, but even at my lowest, I never thought about ending my life. Back then, the idea of death felt distant and not something I seriously considered. It was like I lived in a bubble, protected from the harsh realities others faced. As a kid, death seemed like something that happened to other people, not me or my loved ones. I heard stories of loss and grief, but without experiencing it myself, those stories didn't hit me hard.

Looking back, I did lose a few people when I was younger, but it didn't really change how I saw life. Instead, I was drawn to the mysteries of death. I loved ghost stories and tales about the supernatural, diving into stories about people who could talk to spirits or the afterlife. These stories sparked my imagination and let me explore death in a safe and interesting way, but they never made me think about my own mortality or that of those I cared about. It was a time of innocence and curiosity, where life and death were just themes in the books I read, not real-life issues I had to deal with. I often got lost in books about the supernatural, fascinated by the idea that death could be a gateway to another world rather than just an end. I enjoyed the thrill of ghost stories and the mysteries of the unknown, but the idea of experiencing loss myself felt far away, something I could set aside while I enjoyed growing up.

When I was a teenager, dealing with all sorts of emotional chaos, I turned to self-harm as a misguided way to handle my feelings. I'd hurt myself, hoping to ease the overwhelming emotions, and then go to great lengths to hide the marks from everyone. I remember once cutting my wrists, feeling the sting as a brief distraction from the emotional pain. To cover it up, I wore a sweatband, hoping it would keep people from asking questions I wasn't ready to answer. But my mom noticed. She looked at me, clearly upset, and said, “I know what you’re doing; if you want to go to a mental hospital, I’ll take you there.” Her words hurt, showing a surprising lack of care. She never asked why I was doing it or what I was feeling. My silent cries for help were ignored, and I really wished she’d ask why I was in pain, show she cared, and offer some support. I want to make it clear that I never wanted to die; that wasn’t my goal. I knew how to cause serious harm if that was what I intended. My actions were a cry for love and attention—a desperate plea for someone to notice my pain and reach out. I wished my mom would show she cared, sit with me, ask about my feelings, and try to understand why I was hurting myself. I wanted her to see it wasn’t just reckless behavior, but a sign of my internal struggle, a need for connection and healing. But her response was nothing like what I hoped for. Instead of the compassion and understanding I needed, I felt more isolated and alone. Not talking about my feelings just made things worse, trapping me in a cycle of self-harm and silence. I longed for a way to connect my inner world with the outside, but instead, I felt like I was sinking deeper into emotional isolation, with my cries for help going unnoticed.

As I got older and went through different life experiences, my views on death really changed. Facing challenges, celebrating wins, and having deep reflections made me rethink things. I even had the disturbing thought that maybe I'd be better off dead, thinking that my absence might ease the load on my loved ones. This complicated my relationship with my own life. These dark thoughts got worse after I became a parent. The hormonal rollercoaster from pregnancy and childbirth, plus the huge responsibility of raising a child, probably heightened my emotions. During this crazy time, I started doubting my worth and where I fit in the world. Feeling overwhelmed by not being good enough and fearing I couldn't give my kids the best, I spiraled into negative thinking. I often wondered if leaving might somehow be easier for my loved ones, mistakenly thinking they'd be better without me. But I want to stress that it's been years since I last had those dark thoughts. The journey to healing and self-acceptance has been life-changing. Through therapy, mindfulness, and changing my mindset, I started seeing the world and my own worth differently. I learned to enjoy life's little joys, see the value in what I do, and realize how important I am to my family and friends. This new perspective has been incredibly freeing. Those haunting thoughts are gone, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and connection to life. I've developed a deeper appreciation for the relationships I treasure and the joyful moments. With gratitude, I look back on my progress, understanding that going through darkness can lead to a profound appreciation of light. Now, I embrace life with hope and resilience, truly believing that my existence has value and meaning.

The only thing that really held me back during those tough times was the constant worry about my kids growing up without a mom. Just thinking about my daughters facing life’s ups and downs without me there to help them out was really hard to handle. I've always wanted to be there for them, offering support, wisdom, and love as they deal with everything adulthood throws their way. Plus, the idea of missing out on the mother/son dance at my boys' weddings really got to me. I imagined being there to see them take that big step, and not being part of it felt almost unbearable. I also often thought about never getting to hold my grandkids. The thought of them growing up without a grandma to turn to was heartbreaking. I had a special bond with my own grandmother; she might not have been the typical sweet grandma, but she was a huge part of my life. She was the one I could always count on for advice and support during my younger years. It's hard to believe she passed away nearly three years ago on her birthday, which makes December 13th a bittersweet day for me. It marks not only her birthday but also the day I lost one of the most important people in my life. Her laughter, stories, and the lessons she taught me still stay with me, even as time goes by. I can't believe it's been that long since she left us, and her absence is still felt deeply. The love and resilience she passed down continue to inspire me to be the kind of mom and grandma I want to be, making sure I'm there for my kids and future grandkids, just like she was for me.

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A picture of my beautiful Nana and me. She didn't pass away due to suicide; she passed away from dementia. She endured 3 difficult years with it.

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Even when things were really tough for me, I somehow managed to focus on my kids, even though I felt like I was totally letting them down. During those hard times, when my own problems felt overwhelming, I found a way to turn my attention to my children. I tried hard to be there for them, to be involved in their lives, and to show them they were my top priority. Still, deep down, I often wrestled with the nagging feeling that I was failing them, that I wasn't the parent they deserved. I think about the times with my oldest son and all the years I missed out on with him—years that could have been filled with laughter, bonding, and shared experiences. The memories we could have made are overshadowed by the regrets of lost moments, moments that slipped away because I didn't treat him well during important times in his life. There were times when my own frustrations and insecurities spilled over, affecting our relationship in ways I didn't really get at the time. I remember the look in his eyes, a mix of confusion and hurt, as he tried to understand why I couldn't give him the emotional support he really needed. He couldn't handle the pressure that came from my shortcomings, and in those moments, I painfully realized that my love, while genuine and deep, wasn't enough. I loved him, don't get me wrong; my heart was full of affection for him. But just like with my mom, I found myself unable to give him the deep, nurturing love he needed to thrive. My mom loves me, but not in the way I need from her. There's always been a gap between what I get and what I long for. Her love is there, steady and constant, but it lacks the depth of understanding and emotional connection that I crave. This realization has been a tough journey, as I think about how my own experiences with my mom's love have shaped my ability to connect with my son. I often wonder if I'm repeating patterns, if I'm passing down the same emotional distance I felt growing up. It's a cycle I desperately want to break, to make sure my kids feel valued and cherished in the way I sometimes struggled to feel. In trying to be a better parent, I hope to learn from my past mistakes and to build a relationship with my son that's full of empathy, warmth, and unconditional love.

Life is full of ups and downs, and every moment is just a small piece of the bigger picture. When you start looking at life from a wider angle, everything changes. You stop stressing over the small stuff and begin to appreciate the whole journey. Every moment, whether it's amazing or tough, has its place in your story. Even after the worst storms, there's always a rainbow and clear skies waiting. Life's storms can be crazy, but they often lead to calm and beautiful times that remind us of the good things that come from tough experiences. I just have to keep going, believing that better days are on the horizon. This isn't about just waiting around; it's about actively living life and pushing through with strength and hope. Looking back, I see how everything I've been through—good and bad—has shaped who I am today. Every experience, happy or painful, has helped me grow. I'm really proud of who I've become, not just because of what I've achieved, but because of the strength I've found in myself. During my darkest times, I never thought I'd feel proud of myself. I struggled with self-doubt and didn't accept who I was. I felt lost and unworthy. But now, I don't feel that way anymore. Through reflection and being kind to myself, I've embraced who I am and I'm happy about it. Sure, sometimes I wish I had other people's talents. There are times when I admire what others can do and wish I could do the same. But I've realized that I have my own special talents that make me unique, talents that others might not have. For instance, one of my favorite things about myself is my ability to be kind, even when others aren't. This kindness isn't a weakness; it's a real strength that helps me stay true to myself and care for others, even when things get tough. This unique talent makes my life richer and also touches the lives of those around me, reminding me that every moment, no matter how hard, is a chance to grow and connect.

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Those that Died from Suicide

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I've known a few people who've died by suicide. I remember hearing about a girl from another high school in my area who did the same. Some friends of mine knew her, but I didn't know her personally.

The first person I knew who took his own life was a friend of my cousin's. Back in high school, I lived in Florida, while my cousin and his friend were in Missouri. They came to visit us one summer for a week, and I really hit it off with him, much to my cousin's annoyance. Later, I visited them in Missouri for a week, and we still got along great, even though my cousin wasn't thrilled (he once threw a knife at me, actually). Years later, my cousin's friend got married and had kids (can't remember if it was two or three). One night, he and his wife had a huge fight, and she kicked him out. He tried calling people he usually leaned on, but no one picked up. Feeling totally alone, he ended his life that night. Things could've gotten better, but he didn't give them a chance. Now, his kids have to grow up without him.

When I was in the military, a colleague of mine died by suicide. We toured Germany together, which gave us a chance to bond and enjoy the scenery, including a trip to France. He was always cracking jokes and smiling. I knew he'd been through a divorce, but that was about it when it came to his personal life. I never thought he was struggling enough to take his own life, but he did. I have a photo of him from behind when we were in Germany on another blog. Like a ghost, he came and went.

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The man sitting in front of me (I’m the one with my tongue sticking out in the back) is the man that took his own life, he was my friend 💔😭 It’s easy to see the sadness on his face now.

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About a month later, another friend from the military went through the heartbreaking loss of her husband to suicide. He left behind his son, as his mom had already moved on to travel the world. So, my coworker stepped up and took care of her stepson on her own.

This website is a heartfelt place where you can check out photos and read personal stories from the friends and family of people who sadly took their own lives. Each story really shows how these losses deeply affect those left behind. By visiting, you get a glimpse into the emotional struggles these folks face, often haunted by the thought that their loved ones might have felt alone and unloved in their last moments. Every post is a powerful reminder of the devastating belief that can lead someone to think, "nobody loves me, I should end my life." The stories also dive into the mix of emotions surrounding these tragedies, showing not just the sadness and grief, but also the love and memories that live on. Families talk about dealing with guilt, confusion, and anger, as well as their journey toward healing and understanding. Through these touching accounts, you can see the gap between how lonely someone might have felt and the actual love and support that was there, often unnoticed. This site is not just a tribute to those who are gone but also a resource for learning about mental health and the importance of talking openly about suicide. The stories encourage us to think about our own relationships and spot signs that someone might need help. By sharing these experiences, the site aims to build a supportive community, reminding everyone that they’re not alone in their pain and that there’s always hope for healing and connection.