988

 

Before I jump into what I want to say here, let me assure certain family members and friends—you know who you are, the three of you who check on me after I talk about this sort of thing—that I am feeling fine and on the bright side of the rainbow today.

Some weeks ago, I called the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. I didn’t call because I was in crisis, so I wasn’t on the phone very long. I just wanted to see how the system worked and how long it took to actually speak with a caring person on the other end. Turns out, not long. In less than a minute, I connected with a gentle-voiced woman who asked, “How are you feeling today?” I told her that I was feeling fine, that I only wanted to try the system so that I could write about it. I thanked her for her time, and we ended the call quickly so that she could help others who were actually in need.

It’s been a long time coming, and I’m glad the number is now available. Three digits. 988. Easy to remember in a crisis.

It was decades ago that I wrote my first article on suicide prevention. At the time, I was living in Rancho Cucamonga, and I wrote occasional columns for the Daily Bulletin newspaper. Days after that first piece was published, a gentleman called my home, apologized for having obtained my number from information, and went on to thank me for writing the article. He’d lost his fifteen-year-old son to suicide the year before. We talked for an hour. The man was broken, and he said what I’ve heard repeated so many times since then: “We just didn’t see it coming.”

This is what I know about those who are serious about ending their lives: They try very, very hard not to let anyone know. So, my “I’m feeling fine” at the top of this post would be something I would definitely say if I were definitely not feeling fine. It’s a conundrum, I know.

What is critical, if we are to help those we love who consider taking their own lives, is paying attention, and paying attention long before plans are made. If someone talks about feeling hopeless, or giving up, or having no purpose, or of experiencing unbearable pain, that’s when we need to listen. To care. To reach out nonjudgmentally.

A trained therapist can help, but unless you are one, please don’t offer advice to someone who is hopelessly sad. Offer a hug. Offer unconditional love. Offer time—to listen or just be with that person.

And, bear with me; it’s not my intention to preach or instruct, but if I could just make a suggestion from personal experience about taking the time to be with a person who is feeling hopeless or sad or depressed. Listening is key, if your sorrowful friend or family member feels like talking. But it’s not necessary to draw them out about what is troubling them. If you ask, “What’s bothering you?” you’re apt to receive a nonspecific answer like “Everything.” Let them talk if they feel like talking. Be silent, if that’s what they prefer. Or talk about the mundane aspects of your life, what you saw when you walked your dog or how you need to get the oil changed in the car. What’s not helpful is trying to “joke” a person out of their sadness. Please, I beg of you, don’t ever say, “Ah, come on. Cheer up!” Understand that it is beyond the realm of possibility for someone in this state to switch on the happiness chandelier.

You may have heard that this time of year, the holiday season, is the most critical time of year for depressed individuals, that the suicide rate increases around Christmas. In fact, it does not. Statistically, the most suicides of the year occur in April. Yep. Right when spring is springing, and everything seems new and fresh. I would speculate, however, that those feelings of loneliness and isolation that often lead to a suicide attempt begin months earlier and simply reach their peak by springtime.

We have this time, however, during the holidays, to check in with our friends and family members who lean toward melancholy. And for my friends—you know who you are—who find your loneliness deepening through these winter months, I’m here for you. Reach out, however you care to, by text or phone or email or whatever. I’ll listen. Or just sit with you. Or tell you what I saw when I walked Thomas or Maya. Or, if you’re willing, call 988. You don’t have to wait until you’re in crisis to call. There are kind people waiting to listen anonymously to anything you have to say. And don’t forget that I love you… just as you are.