May 2009
Not too many months ago I watched my then 10-year-old son double-loop a rope around his neck, pull with both hands and scream that he wanted to die.
That scene is just like you might imagine. It was loud and emotional and there were a lot of tears. There was a lot of fast motion, restraining. How I felt during that one episode and many others has never left me. It wasn’t long after this day, I found myself signing over my son to a psychiatric hospital for treatment. He’d been spiraling downward for months and even though we pushed and pushed, the treatment he was getting was inappropriate.
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. It would have been hard to pass the day and not acknowledge that suicide was and is still a part of my conscious thinking as I move through life raising Gage, now twelve. It’d be impossible not to acknowledge how bad things were for Gage and for our family; today in particular.
Especially today.
For eighteen months, maybe more, Gage could not be lifted, pulled or bribed out of despair. He came to wanting to die with little reserve. In the prior year, he’d survived failing kidneys, dialysis, a kidney transplant and a PTSD-inducing surgery because he was awake.
Yes, you read that right.
He was awake during a surgery and couldn’t speak or move. There was no way to tell the people in the room he could hear them and smell and feel what they were doing. We didn’t know at the time his memory held this terrible secret. I won’t go as far to say this was the only reason for his emotional breakdown, but it certainly played a big part. Before we had him committed, each day was a daily battle for him to live.
What did that look like?
It looked like that picture above. His body language said he wanted to die. His face says “I want to be anywhere but where you can see me. I want to be anywhere I don’t have to feel, to talk, to think. I want to be dead.”
He never smiled.
Sit with that a second. Our child never felt joy. Nothing made him happy. He was as unconnected as he could be and very little brought him out of that dark place. His friend Laura, and our dog, Lucy, sometimes, maybe.
He quit doing everything that he previously enjoyed. He quit soccer and karate and piano. He stopped making friends and having play dates. He quit climbing trees. In fact, he’d stopped going outside altogether.
It was just too much trouble to go outside to play.
We used every ounce of support we could find to help Gage get through a typical day. We worked with his educators to lower the demand on him, including additional modification on his work, a reduction in his schedule including removal entirely from music and the option for him to sit out of other non-required school activities. We quit going out as a family and he quit going anywhere that wasn’t required. Grocery stores? No. Restaurants? No. Run an errand with him? Absolutely no. He stayed unengaged with those around him. Always avoiding connection at all costs.
He was living a bare minimum life.
Plus, he wanted to die. He wanted us to kill him and told us several times a week. During one particularly horrendous outburst he ran into our kitchen, grabbed a knife out of the block sitting on the counter and while sobbing a low, painful cry, asked for us to stab him in the stomach and to end his life already. His horrible life.
“I hate this life and I hate me, and I know you hate me too! I just want to die and get it over with! Kill me, please, please just kill me! Do it now!”
I wish I could tell you each and every time something like this happened I reacted properly, but as his parent I was scared out of my mind and many times the tears could not be stopped from running down my face with pleas for him to let me help him. The team of mental health professionals we worked with at the time told us, “Keep calm. Don’t react with too much fear and panic in your voice and expression.”
Professionals were telling me not to react to my 10-year-old putting ropes around his neck and pulling. They were telling me to calmly take away a knife from the same 10-year-old and simply tell him we loved him. “Don’t make a big deal out of it to him in case he’s trying to get attention!” They said.
He was trying to get attention. He was telling us he felt so bad inside about himself and his life that he wanted to leave us. He was telling us that no amount of love could make him want to hold on. He was telling us every single day that his depression was consuming his light. His spirit. He had nothing left inside himself for anything remotely resembling a life.
Waking up took energy he didn’t have. School and interactions he had to have with people took energy he couldn’t find. He hated everything about himself; from his body to his voice. He hated how he learned, what he attempted to do. He hated himself for how he wrote, how he thought. He was stupid. He would never learn, or be a better person, he reasoned calmly one day, “so why not end it now?”
Many days he would barricade himself under beds, inside sink cabinets, behind chairs and under sofa cushions. He was trying to float away from us. He didn’t have the skills to develop a plan to kill himself but that only heightened our fears that he could stumble upon a way to do it; because of his outbursts and impulsiveness.
Luckily for us, medication helped his depression, anxiety and finally months later, his suicidal thoughts and actions have all but disappeared. He laughs again. He’s engaged. We’ve been able to have Gage come back to us but we never forget the families that don’t have the chance we do. Their loved ones pull away and never come back, even though, like us, they fought like hell to hang on to them.
If you are thinking suicide is an option for you, please reach out. And if someone misses your cry for help, reach out again. Whatever you do, call a suicide hotline. And I will tell you what we told Gage for months:
Suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary situation.
If you need help for yourself, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and they can offer support. Their phone number is 1-800-273-TALK (8255). What you are feeling isn’t permanent and there is a way out. There are people who care about you and want you to live. I care and I want you to live.
If you think someone you know is at risk for killing themselves, here is a warning sign list. Out of 11 items on the list, I saw 9 of them in my 10 year old. If you are worried about someone, you can call the crisis line too. This is from their site:
Looking out for friends and loved ones is an important part of preventing suicide. You can call the Lifeline to speak with a crisis worker on behalf of someone you are concerned about. The crisis workers have access to local resources, and can help you identify ways to get help to your loved ones. So call 1-800-273-TALK today to help save a life.
What does life look like now? It looks pretty typical; he smiles and plays. He’s engaged in activities again and wants to see friends and make friends. He wants to do well in school and he wants to learn.
His desire to kill himself and act out on it was temporary. I know this, yet, I can’t forget how it felt to know that he was immersed in a pain so great he saw no day light and no way out except to die. To leave this life.
By sharing his story I want to tell you that I see him. I want to say, even though he’s challenged with a heap of issues, he deserves to be happy and fulfilled. He deserves for us to fight for him when he cannot. He deserves respect, not pity, he deserves consideration, not shunning. His life has value. Sometimes even he and others may not see the value in his life, but I do.
Until we publicly share our connections to suicide we won’t be able to tell people to hang on because they won’t see themselves in anyone. They won’t see themselves in Gage and know that he’s survived and they can too. By sharing our stories, we’re really saying “you don’t want to die, not really…there is a way out, don’t leave us, we love you.”
Gage will likely always be a person at risk of killing himself but hopefully we all gain more skills at dealing with it over time and reduce his risk. World Suicide Prevention Day makes me want to go hug him tightly, kiss the top of his head through his unruly curls and I want to tell him…
“Gage, there might be days when you want die but there will always, always be a way out. There might be times when you feel alone, we know that. Just know we will always fight for you. Please don’t leave us. Live. We love you.“
July 2011
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Oh, Julia. My heart aches for 10 year old Gage and for you. I pray for his happiness and health and healing. I’m speechless and emotional after reading this and only want to wrap you in hugs and let you know we all love you.
Thank you for this comment and for sharing my post with others. I so appreciate the support, you have no idea.
Having known those feelings, I can’t imagine going through it at such a young age.
I imagine it’s the same for any age person (the desperation) except for kids they can’t process any of it without a lot of assistance and it’s hard to know what way to help them.
You are brave and honest and beautiful. So is Gage. ((hugs))
I was just winging it, not brave at all. But Gage? He’s amazing. Thank you.
Wow, Julia. I can’t even begin to fathom. I’m glad there was a happy ending to your story. Thank you so much for sharing your powerful story.
Thank you so much. We hope, as he gets older, we’re able to keep him happy and safe.
I had no idea about the “awake” surgery! My mom had the same experience and is still horrified. Glad you’ve learned this and can continue to work to help him with what he saw and heard and smelled and sensed. This was an amazing post! Your family blows me away with your strength!
You know how it is, you just have to keep moving forward trying and trying. Hopefully you find something to help. That’s what we did. Luckily for us, it worked, but getting through it was hell.
Thank you for sharing this and I love to see the smiling Gage at the end of the post.
On really hard days, I think about and look at a picture of that smile. It helps, for sure.
You paint such a vivid picture and yet I still can’t imagine how this must have been. I’m so thankful this is a story of survival.
Thank you so much…we are too! He’s the most resilient kid I am lucky enough to know!
Wow, we went through a rough patch with my oldest but no where near what you went through. Thank you for sharing it and I am so glad there was a happy ending.
Thanks Kirstin. Any situation that involves a kid (especially) and their emotional and mental health is hard to go through. Degree doesn’t matter.
Suicide is every parent’s nightmare. I’m glad Gage is smiling again and more engaged. Nerves of steel….hang in there.
I’m so sorry for what Gage and your family have had to endure. I can’t imagine seeing my child so depressed that he or she no longer wanted to live. That would be like a knife in my heart every second of every day. Thank God he was able to be helped and thank you for sharing this story. It may save a life.
Thanks so much. I hope so. The reason we tell our (and his) story is to remove stigma and help someone else. I hope it reaches someone who needs it some day.
Oh my heart. I’m so glad your boy has been lifted out of all of that. I hope & pray that he continues to thrive. And that you keep on pouring out all that strength & love wherever you go. You are a light to so many because of this, you know. You’re able to do that for others because you’ve been there. You understand deep pain & deep joy. I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me & thank you for everything that you do online & in person for everyone you come in contact with. It does not go unnoticed. You are touching people’s lives.
Tearing up reading your comment again…thank you so much. You are a bright spot in my life and if I have ever helped you it is because your light glows…draws people in.
My Gage, his light is bright too.
I’m glad your son is better and the medicine worked for him. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you to see your child like that and for him, especially to have those feelings at such a young age. But I had to comment because you said the thing I was afraid you were going to-the thing people always eventually say when they speak about suicide. The “it’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem” cliche. My problems are absolutely permanent (they have lasted 31 years-my entire lifetime), don’t respond to medication and professionals don’t seem to understand anyone who doesn’t fit into their textbook case studies. I’m sure I’m not the only one with permanent problems. The thing is sometimes you can learn to live with it and find something in life that’s worthwhile anyway.
Kristen,
Thank you so much for your comment. You brought up something I’ve never thought about before and I’m glad you share with me.
This question isn’t out of disrespect at all, but I am curious (feel free to ignore), if you are living with it, doesn’t that mean the crisis of suicide is at bay? So that temporary problem is gone? Again, I respectfully ask because I want to understand (and don’t want to say anything stupid).
Amazing story. I’m so glad you shared it with us. And Kristen, I’m glad I got to read your comment, too.
Thank you so much. I’m glad I read Kristen’s comment too and I hope I hear from her again! Wonderful insight.
My sister-in-law committed suicide at the age of 41. We gave her all the support that we could and she was on medication but it just wasn’t enough. Her death shattered all of our hearts and the repercussions are still being felt today (including the contribution to the breakup of my marriage). I can’t imagine going through this with one of my children as you have. I am so glad that you had the strength and ability to get him through that horribly dark period. Those with family members going through what Gage and my SIL did, please hold them close, tell them how much you love and need them and PLEASE get them the help they need.
Kat, I’m so sorry for your loss. I am sure it was as hard for your family as our, there is no degree of sadness when you realize a loved one wants to die. I’m so sorry she couldn’t find another way out, even through your love for her.
Prayers for you and your family. Glad he’s doing well and has great parents.
Thank you so much. We take all the prayers, love, thoughts and healing wishes always.
Two things I don’t know that I’ve told you before:
1 – I too woke up during a surgery, and know the pain of not being able to talk or move or tell them “I AM AWAKE OVER HERE!” Thankfully it was dental surgery (I was getting implants, so when I woke up, there was a sheet over my eyes “protecting” my face. I opened my eyes but they couldn’t see that. It was painful, but it was short and I was an adult, so better able to process). Not sure why I never told you that before, but if Gage ever wants someone who’s “been there” I’d be happy to talk to him.
2 – I remember watching the life leave my husbands eyes as he too wanted to die, to the point that he was sitting on the couch next to me, and had lost the will to live so much that he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. I stood outside the bathroom door listening as he packed his hospital bag (I was worried that he would take pills while he was in there alone). I drove him to the ER, told the admitting nurse that my husband wanted to kill himself, and then broke down in the parking lot as I walked out of that hospital alone, leaving my husband behind. It was the hardest, and the best thing I’ve ever done. I not only got to experience the pain of watching him want to die, I got to experience the joy days later, watching him want to live again.
Thank you for sharing this, thank you for making it ok to talk about this (I very rarely talk about this on-line, I’m always worried it is his story not mine), but the more you talk about it, the more I feel ok talking about it to. Thank you.
Jackie, Thank you so much for your comment. I will tell Gage about you. He doesn’t know anyone else.
And with your husband, I’m so sorry you both went through that and I’m so happy that you were able to help him get help. The help has helped, obviously. I hope more of us do talk about it because then maybe more people will find a way out.
Love and hugs,
I have never seen a child as sad as Gage was the weekend in Nashville (1st photo). Heart Breaking sadness. I’m thankful that Gage is on the Other Side.
Pat,
It WAS horrible. I won’t soon (maybe never) forget what it felt like to watch him that weekend. I’m glad you got to see him rebound. Love you.
As a bipolar person who was hospitalized while suicidal, and who has a recent diagnostic note of “chronic passive suicidality,” I feel in my gut concern for your compromising your son’s confidentiality and the possible effects (however remote) of such upon him, now & in the future. Even if he gave you his preteen consent, is it your story to tell? Does the help your writings provide others take precedence over this privacy, especially when patient privacy & confidentiality are paramount in psychiatry?
I am so sorry that you have mental health issues. I commend you for dealing with them (being hospitalized) and I hope that you are able to cope, heal and that you find wonderful support from friends, family and strangers.
Thank you for being concerned about his confidentiality, but we’re good for now. We (yes, even Gage) like that we’re helping other people understand that people with mental health issues deserve to be heard. The more we talk about it, and yes, put a real life family out there, the more walls we can break down.
This post makes my heart sad. I am so sorry for the pain that Gage, you, and the rest of your family have gone through. Thank you for sharing your stories though: both you for writing and Gage for allowing you to do so. As you said, we have to tell our stories in order to help people realize they aren’t alone, but also to break down the stigma surrounding mental illness. Wednesday marked 5 years since my dad lost his life to suicide.
I’m so sorry you lost your dad to suicide. I’ve never seen up close the desperation that comes with depression until Gage went through it and I have never felt so helpless — that is saying a lot having just watched my two kids fight kidney failure, dialysis and kidney transplants.
Thank you for sharing your story and connection to mental health issues…it is the only way to truly help the big picture.
My heart is full of empathy for your son Gage and for you and your family. I’m so happy to hear that he is doing better right now. I will keep him in my thoughts and prayers. I have a 12 year old son also. I love your statement that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. You have helped me just by saying that. Thank you Gage for letting your mom share your story. I think EVERYONE has value and worth. I have had 4 c-sections and could feel everything that was going on really well on the first, I just didn’t have much pain from it. I can only imagine what a nightmare that must have been. May God bless you Gage with health and courage.
Caren,
Thank you so much for stopping by to read about Gage. Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate anyone’s experience where they have suffered with pain of surgeries and I’m so sorry for your pain. I really appreciate you saying this post helped you because it was heart wrenching to write but I did it in hopes that it would help someone. Thanks for telling me that.
Oh my. Words can not even begin to tell how your post affects me. I feel such sorrow for the 10 year old boy who went through all that. I feel so much hope for the 12 year old picking up the pieces and moving along in life. My thoughts and prayers are with him and your entire family.
I’m way behind because well, you know. My own bipolar has been kicking my butt. Which makes it hard to focus and hard to be glad for prevention when I wanted to never wake up again.
I just wanted to say one more time how well you understand things that most people just can’t. That makes you the perfect mom for Gage and hopefully as he goes through life he’ll always know to come to you (or someone) for help if he needs it. You certainly taught him that you cared and were not going to let him harm himself, no matter what it took, right up to going to the hospital.
I also wanted tell you what I learned this week: every hospital experience is different. As much as I hated my first round, while there were frustrations, this time went well for the most part and I left better equipped to handle things and more aware of why Dr. Mind has brought up certain things over the years. There were even times that I had fun. So if things ever reach the worst point in the world again, know that it can go so much more easily than last time’s traumatic admission.
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I remember feeling that way when I was Gage’s age. All through my childhood, in fact. I tried and then saved myself at the last minute, realizing in what I thought were my final moments that I just wanted someone to know I was a good person, and that I already knew that somehow. I wasn’t like Gage. I didn’t have a parent or anyone on my side pulling me back, but it can be done. Honestly, in my heart of hearts, it still crosses my mind, but I have lots of friends who love me and I’m lucky enough to feel that I am contributing in some way, even when life gets tough.
Seeing you all tonight was such a joy. Gage is luminous. His smile lights up the world and warms my heart; Quinn’s creativity and attention to every detail, from what Gage might light to eat to buying a pen for a friend who didn’t get to visit New York says the world about her. You and Julian are inspiring in your everyday-ness, the way that love and honesty are at the core of your lives.
I’m lucky and grateful and blessed to know all of you.
Much love always,
Lori