How Do We Prevent Suicide?
September is Suicide Prevention Month.
It seems so daunting to prevent such a nasty epidemic. One that prays on brains who need the right meds and the right messages, that feeds off the stigma that keeps so many from getting the help they need.
So what can we do?
We can turn the quiet whispers of shame into loud shouts of acceptance.
We can accept that this is a struggle for so many and accept that we need to be open in order to get the support we need.
We can change a disease that is full of shame to one that won’t make a space for shame.
And for those of use who live with the thoughts of ending our lives, we can continue to do our best to make it through each moment and take comfort in knowing we never have to do it alone.
We can know remaining in this world means we can be here for someone else living with this same struggle and acknowledge what a gift that is.
We can remind ourselves that preventing suicide is not our burden alone, but something all of us can and should play a part in.
7 minutes in heaven (aka a Subaru Forrester)
We have a rule. I’m not even sure it’s a rule, it’s a just is.
Rafi can use tech stuff on road trips to keep him entertained but can’t use them when we’re just driving around town.
I will be honest, if we had a tablet when he was two, I might have very well given it to him all the time but he is almost 9, and selfishly I want the talk time with him.
An almost 9 year old strapped in with no distractions is a gift of a talking partner.
Rafi said “Yay, you’re home! And Cincinnati sorta helped you?”
And once again talking to my child reminded me how to talk to others and how to talk to myself.
I didn’t want to rant about the negatives or sugarcoat the experience. I wanted to be both truthful and helpful. Why is that so easy to get when talking to him? I’m not sure but I’m so grateful for it.
So we talked about the importance of empathy and how awesome it feels when people get our feelings.
And we talked about how it is okay to not know something but how we are most helpful when we say “I don’t know AND I will help you find the answer.”
And it wasn’t a lecture. It was a discussion. And that was the best part. He got it and we talked about how if his dad doesn’t know how to help an animal he does his best to find someone who can help.
And this all happened in seven minutes.
And he went to bed and the darkness came and it was a struggle and I am back in Cleveland and I was trying to figure out my next move and in that moment my next move was treating myself with the gentleness, patience, love, and humor I treat my son with.
While also watching some Friends reruns for good measure.
Second City-ing It
I have convinced myself I look good in baseball shirts. The three-quarter sleeved ones that are two-tone. In my head when I wear ’em, I look like a slender tomboy actress who is trying to not look like she is trying.
In reality, I do not look like this.
In 2011 I took a class at Second City in Chicago. The training center there sold one of these shirts. It was grey with black 3/4 sleeves. I loved it. They offered a choice of medium or extra extra large. I intuited the medium would be too small, so I told myself I could wear the Double-x. I bought it and wore it often when I got back to Cleveland. Sure, it fit me like an over-sized nightshirt. Thankfully I promptly and conveniently forgot this fact every time I walked away from a mirror. I loved this shirt -for its memories and over-sized soft fabric – both of which felt comforting to be enveloped within.
I was wearing this shirt one day and a woman said “Second City, huh?”
I smiled and told her, “Yes, I studied there.”
The fact that I have any relationship with Second City is something I am very proud of. Second City made me an improviser. And being an improviser changed me for the better. Many times over. I started at Second City Cleveland thirteen years ago. When I went to Chicago to take a longform intensive there, I felt like I had come full circle.
I was proud to tell this woman I’d studied there.
She looked at me, smiled and said: “Oh, how wonderful!” in a very happy, yet somewhat exaggerated tone.
I was crestfallen.
You see what I should probably tell you is this conversation took place between me and a nurse.
A nurse at a psychiatric hospital.
A psychiatric hospital where I was a patient.
When I told the nurse that I’d studied at Second City and she responded in this extra chipper voice, I felt like the very real fact that I am an improviser was somehow now being taken away from me. It occurred to me that this nurse might not even believe me. After all, I was a resident (albeit a temporary one) in a place that felt I couldn’t even be trusted with a regular toilet paper dispenser.
The thing is, it is hard to hold on to your identity when you feel like a prisoner – not only within the walls of this space – but of the chemical imbalances in your brain. Although I was voluntarily there, I also was aware of being “locked up” without the basic freedoms my friends and family have.
Since this stay at a psych hospital, I have been healthy and unhealthy many times over and though I am currently struggling I am lucky because I am surrounded by people who support me as I battle mental illness and so many of those people are my fellow improvisers .
It’s interesting. A lot of what improvising is about is learning to be comfortable with uncertainty. This is a huge obstacle for improvisers – to just let the scene happen – and to not rely on taking it to the easy, familiar place. In many ways my training with improv is helping me to improv my way through this uncertain time in my life.
So thank you Second City. I will continue to wear my shirt proudly.
