Please Stay

September is Suicide Awareness Month, and today, September 10, is World Suicide Awareness Day.

If you follow me on social media, you know that I've been reposting a lot of suicide awareness posts, as well as "Please Stay" posts. 

This is personal for me.

I also went back to my last post in June--also about suicide, and at the end, I begged you to stay. I'm going to link that one here because I included a wealth of information with crisis lines and help websites.

https://lifeasiknowit-sofar.blogspot.com/2025/06/mental-illness-is-cold-hearted-bitch.html

In fairness, I don't believe I can ask you to stay if you don't know my story--well, at least as much of it as I can fit here. I don't want you think I'm one of those "think happy thoughts" people, or "just smile more" advice-givers.  I'm not, nor have I ever been, described as "happy go lucky." I've fought, struggled, lost ground, and won every right to be where I am today, even though I still fall under the diagnosis of "intractable depression." 

The one thing I'm not going to do is give advice. That's not fair to you, nor is it proper of me. I don't even know what worked for me. And just because it worked for me, or anyone else, doesn't make it a guarantee for the next person. Depression, and treatment for it, really is a crap shoot.

Actually, depression is a pit. A deep one. A deep, dark, dank pit. 

Every so often--several times a week--I let out some giddiness about my upcoming 50th birthday. It's another year away, but I started celebrating last year. Honestly? Never thought I'd be here. I didn't think I'd make it to 30. There were times I didn't want to make it to 20. I struggled a lot with body image, Major Depressive Disorder, self harm, anger, massive anxiety, perfectionism, poor self esteem, and not only suicidal thoughts, but suicide attempts. I pushed the limits of some of my medications, just to see. I tried a few other things. I was hospitalized once. There's a possibility I should have been hospitalized again another time or two, but my husband and I also knew the chance it would make things worse was a bigger danger. I wrestled with this throughout my 20s, leaving my husband fearing he would be a single father to our son. 

The pain was the worst. The physical pain, the emotional pain. Things I couldn't talk about, things I didn't want to talk about. Things I still don't talk about. I didn't want the pain anymore. I slept a lot--if I was sleeping, I wasn't in pain. I didn't really have anyone tell me to stay, ask me to stay (aside from Shawn, later), or even give me reasons to stay. Instead, I was reminded of my lack of worth--and what I needed to do to regain, and keep that worth. I was reminded that I was sick, I was a burden, a horrible daughter, a worthless mother. Love was conditional. Their words had long been my own internal voice. It was overwhelming. My own internal voice became so loud, I wanted it to stop. I needed it to stop, and I didn't care how.

I wish I could tell you exactly what brought me out of it all. I don't know that I have a clear answer to that. Sure would make things neat and tidy, wouldn't it? 

The truth is, I'm still not entirely out of it. Not all of it, but my days are better. I know it was a lot of work--not even therapy work (which I should have had, and still need, buttttt... It's a work in progress, right?), just work. It meant walking away from certain family members and situations, teaching myself to no longer care about some situations that I allowed to constantly haunt me, and putting my mind in a better place. I still take meds, but they can't fix the thoughts. That part is up to me. 

I knew I needed to do the work, for myself, my husband, and especially our son. My outlook on life and the way I was choosing to live were deeply affecting our son the most, and he deserved better. I wanted to stay for him. I needed to make up my mind, and he needed to know that he deserved a healthy mom with a healthy (-ish) brain who was making him her priority. 

And now--approaching 50 (FIFTY!!)--looking at my life in review, there is so much I would have missed, and I can't believe I almost did. It's such a damn cliche, but I'm relieved now that I didn't make such a permanent, drastic decision, or I suppose I should say I'm relieved I never succeeded.  My heart attack and my first major seizure later really scared us. They gave me a lot to think about, and I realized I absolutely do not want to die. I have way too many people still to meet, and substantially too many things to do. I look around now and I smile to myself--the people I have, the things I have, I remember the days I prayed for all of them. I remember the days my friends prayed for them with me--and prayed for me. I am absolutely not shaming anyone here. I know prayer isn't for everyone, nor is Jesus, and that's okay. I'll never be able to explain why some prayers seem to be answered while others twist in the wind. I don't have answers, and I'm sorry. Honestly, it frustrates me. I wish I did have answers.

I like myself more--there are things I still struggle with and against, but I am more accepting of myself  now. I *think* I know how to have fun (you'd have to ask my kids...)--I know I like to have fun now. I'd rather have fun and like myself than rue over things I don't like about life. There are things that will always, quite frankly, suck. Unfortunately, I think I will always have regrets. I think that's just how life is. When I first started taking antidepressants, I thought I'd know they were working because I'd feel, and be, happy. It's taken me a long time to realize that's not how they work, and some of that happiness has to come from within myself. I've also learned that it's not a life requirement to always be happy. We're allowed to be sad, angry, weary, scared--as human beings, we are naturally emotional creatures. We feel things, sometimes deeply. There's nothing wrong with that. I know that now, and I think that makes me a better person. I'm more passionate about life, things I love and the people I love. I'd rather encourage a complete stranger, share my true personality and send someone home with a story to tell, than for anyone to feel alone in this world. 

I do have a lot of guilt over it still (one of my incredibly amazing kids has told me I need to let it go). I don't know if it's anything I'll ever be able to thoroughly absolve myself from. 

I don't want you to think that I believe every day is now sunshine and rainbows. I'm not a walking Hallmark card. Ha. I still take meds every day. I continue to collect autoimmune diseases. Sometimes life scares me. Sometimes I have regrets (at least four times a week). The past seven years in particular have been difficult with what feels like constant sadness. The grief is a kind of pain I can't describe, a kind of pain I wouldn't wish on anyone--but it is the result of my deep love for friends, for beloved pets, for loved ones from my past. 

I said I wouldn't give advice, and I'm not going to promise you anything, either. I can't do that. I also can't give you reasons to stay. I wish I could give you all of these things--it would certainly make things easier, wouldn't it? 

You are the one who has to do the work, so the advice is to yourself, as are the promises, and your reasons. 

I will tell you this--there is nothing about you that is worthless. You deserve to take up as much space as everyone else on this planet. You deserve unconditional love, and you deserve to be seen and heard. I know if I were talking to one of my children right now--I wouldn't let go. I would tell them these same things, and I wouldn't let go. My kids mean everything to me, and I would be devastated. You deserve the same. 

I'm telling you my story because I want you to know you aren't alone. And, in case no one else has said it to you, I want to make sure you hear it here, from me--please stay. Please. 

Mental Illness is a Cold Hearted Bitch

Here's the thing--mental illness is not a weakness. It's the result of misfires in your brain, and imbalances of the chemicals your body and brain are supposed to produce, but much like diabetes, thyroid diseases and menopause--your body and brain malfunction. They don't produce enough, they produce too much, they don't produce any at all. Those brain chemicals? Just as important as insulin, various hormones, and many other naturally occurring chemicals and elements. Mental illness is a disease, just like cancer, untreated diabetes, heart and lung diseases. And just like these diseases and many others, when left untreated, treated improperly, or even when treated successfully--it kills. 

Mental illness is a cold hearted bitch.

Mental illness and suicide are not weaknesses or personal faults. They are not signs of a flawed person or a weak generation. A person with mental illness is not one who is not aligned with Jesus, or selfish; on the contrary, many of them are deeply dedicated Believers, and very few of them are selfish. Mental illness is, once again, a disease. And sadly, it often kills. 

The rescue community took a hit again last week when another dedicated rescuer/rehabber took her own life. I've been wrestling with it; I did not know Mickayla personally, but she was a beautiful soul and her death has deeply affected me. I'm sad, I'm angry. I've cried. I'm still crying when I overthink--or think at all. I'm still raging about it. I'm downright enraged by the comments, the people who dare to call her selfish and weak, many of them throwing in the tired claims of, "This generation will never be able to do anything, they're just too weak! This is what happens when everyone gets a trophy!" The people who, I'm sure go to church on Sunday, telling the world they're good Christian folks, lying to themselves, accusing this poor dead woman of not loving her husband, her precious daughter, or her rescue enough to stick around for them. I wonder how many of them have diseases that require daily medication, different sorts of therapies, and regular check ins with numerous medical professions. I wonder how many of them have needed to change medications, therapies and physicians because the first several didn't work. How many had to see a merry go round of specialists and endure umpteen tests before finally receiving a diagnosis. But here they are, standing in judgment of this woman, because her illness was in her head, not in her body. It's gross. It's disgusting. It just baffles me how these people in the comments cannot see, they cannot fathom, they cannot connect their own behaviors to those same types of people and comments that wore Mickayla down. A woman is tragically dead. Her family and loved ones have suffered a massive trauma. Grow. Up. Shut. Up. Just shut up.

Much like someone dying of cancer, Mickayla suffered greatly. Just because her suffering wasn't visible, just because it was different than what most people consider terminal, does not in any way make her suffering less than.

Rescue is hard work. It's hard on the heart. It's hard on the body. I am only tangentially involved--I'm on the outskirts of it--and my heart grieves every day. I don't know how so many people get up and get their hearts broken every single day, often multiple times every day. The suicide rate is high. Those who may seem numb are merely doing what they need to in order to protect themselves and survive. They aren't detached or cold hearted or putting up walls, they are grieving heavily behind closed doors. If you think the comments about mental illness and suicide are bad, check out the judgment in the comment section of a rescue organization. There are always people who think they could do it better, they think they know everything about rescue--even though they've never even so much as donated a dime--they want to know why the rescue is begging for money *again*--"Can't you budget better and spend wisely?" They question and judge every little thing, and when a rescuer is already beaten down and spread thin--shit can go sideways. It's not because they're weak. It's not because they don't have Jesus. It's because they're tired. They're exhausted in more ways than most people, myself included, could possibly ever understand. These rescues? Each and every one of them have hearts of gold that beat for the animals they rescue and rehab, foster and adopt out. They feel every single loss in every fiber of their beings. 

The best explanation I've ever received about suicide came from my mentor years ago. I worked for her in the grief center she'd opened, after years of working as a hospice chaplain. Earlier that week, a single mom in our church had lost her son to suicide. It was absolutely heartbreaking. What was downright maddening though, were the "well meaning friends" who offered her comfort, asking her how she was doing, knowing she'd never see her son again. After all, he'd committed suicide, so of course he was in hell, right? No. As my mentor explained it, we cannot possibly know what is that person's heart in those last few seconds. There's no way to know. How DARE they take away any semblance of hope and peace she might have been clinging to. How dare they pass that judgment. How dare they tsk tsk in the hallway, heads together, whispering to each other, but pretending to care in her presence.

It mirrors Mickayla's death. This whispering. The finger pointing. The side eyes and heads together, tsk tsk-ing, but not in the hallway, or a corner--no, this is all done right there in public in every single comment section of every single social media post and news article. None of us know what Mickayla was wrestling with. We cannot possibly know the demons she fought. Her husband spoke of her autism and mental illnesses (Let's clear this up quickly: autism is not a mental illness, it is a neurological disability, a disorder, a condition. Do mental illnesses often fall under the umbrella of autism? Yes. But in and of itself, autism is not a mental illness. Let's also clear this up while I'm at it: Everyone has mental health, but not everyone has mental illness. Declaring that a person needs mental health, or has mental health, as opposed to needing help or having an illness, is just plain uneducated and ignorant. Stop it.), and the challenges they presented, the bullying--most of it from other rescues--she faced online daily, as well as her deep love for the foxes she rescued, and the fears she encountered for the ones she couldn't save. Mickayla was not weak. Her illness wasn't because she received a trophy for everything as a child. There is no proof she was selfish, or didn't love her daughter or her husband--quite the opposite, in fact. Simply? Or perhaps, not so simply, as there are so many intricacies of what Mickayla endured, many of which we'll never know, Mickayla's illness won. It killed her. 

I will end with these two final thoughts: 

1. If you cannot leave a kind, encouraging comment, if you cannot listen with sincere love, if you cannot say anything without being a judgmental prick--shut your mouth, close your computer, turn off your phone. If you have nothing helpful to add, just don't add anything at all, not even your "good christian" thoughts and prayers. And here's this thought, also--if you've read this far, and you are part of the problem--seek therapy. Seriously. Seek therapy, and shut up. If you have nothing positive to say, nothing helpful to add, nothing educated to discuss--then keep scrolling. That's literally all you have to do. You are not obligated to say anything. You are not obligated to be a dick. You can literally just ignore it and keep scrolling. You can even block the page/person if it upsets or offends you that much. Just keep moving along!

2. If you have found yourself in the same ocean as Mickayla, I'm begging you, PLEASE, talk to someone. PLEASE know you are loved, needed and wanted--and so unconditionally worthy and deserving of that love--without having to earn it or justify it. PLEASE STAY. Please stay, just one more minute, one more hour, one more day. Take it in the time increments you can handle. If you want to know how and why I speak out so much about these topics, why I want you to stay, it's because I've been there--because I'm still here. I still struggle with depression every day. I fight it every day, determined to never let it win. If you ever want to hear my story, please just ask. No skeletons, no closets here, just honesty.

I've included several hotlines and helplines below. 

*The National Mental Health Hotline, https://mentalhealthhotline.org/ , has 24/7 hotlines for anxiety, PTSD, Schizophrenia, depression, Bipolar and panic attacks. You can reach all of these through their website, as well as their phone number, 866-903-3787. This hotline is available for those in crisis, as well as those who may *only* need some questions answered, such as finding local mental healthcare. All conversations are confidential and free of charge. 

*The 988 Lifeline, https://988lifeline.org/ , is also 24/7. You can dial, text, chat or use their deaf/HoH services, by using your chosen method to dial 988 (I recently learned they've cut their LGBTQ-specific line). This number can be used for those in crisis, those who are struggling but may not consider themselves in crisis, and those who are concerned for their loved ones. Lifeline's services are confidential and free of charge.

*The Trevor Project, https://www.thetrevorproject.org , specifically for LGBTQ+ is 24/7, free and confidential. You can reach them by texting 'START' to 678-678, calling them directly at 1-866-488-7386, or starting a chat with them through their website. 

*Trans Lifeline, https://translifeline.org/ , specifically offers trans peer support. Their services are free and confidential, but unfortunately their availability appears to be limited to Monday-Friday, 10 AM – 6 PM Pacific, 11 AM – 7 PM Mountain, 12 PM – 8 PM Central and 1 PM – 9 PM Eastern. They can be called or texted at 877-565-8860. They encourage you to continue trying to call or text if are unable to reach someone the first time.

*The Autistic Self Advocacy Network, https://autisticadvocacy.org/ , offers resources (for example, legal, education, professional) and support for autistics, from fellow autistics. You can reach them through a contact link on their website. Side note: I've seen this website also listed as "the-asan.org"--this is in correct. The link highlighted above is correct.

*The Crisis Text Line, https://www.crisistextline.org/ , offers help for many difficult things we face in today's world from anxiety and depression, to bullying and grief, to self harm and suicide. For a more comprehensive list, you can visit their website. If you need their help, please text "HOME" to 741741. You can also chat with them through their website and WhatsApp. 

*Last, if you feel you are absolutely out of options, feel unsafe, you know you are in absolute danger of harming yourself or others, you are out of your meds and unable to reach your provider, or for any other reason, 911 and your local emergency room are also options. This also applies if you are concerned for a loved one and feel out of options, you have proof (or think or know you do) your loved one has a suicide plan, or is otherwise in danger of hurting him/herself or others. I know many of us feel this not last option, but absolutely not an option at all, for many good reasons. It is up to you to carefully weigh the pros and cons. 

I said those would be my final thoughts, but you know I'm seldom short for words, and my final thoughts often lead to my actual FINAL, final thoughts. I just want to say this--if we are friends on social media (even if we've not met), if you are someone I talk with on a regular basis in a store, on the street or anywhere else--you matter to me. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, your pets, your kids, your lives with me. I look forward to hearing from you, seeing your photos, and catching updates. I worry when you've been gone for a bit, and I check in on you because I care (seriously, don't make me stalk come looking for you!). I love seeing you happy, I love the way you laugh. I want to hear your dad jokes. I want to see your deep thought reposts, the memes, the reels--all the things that make your brain tick, that we all end up spreading like wildfire because so many of us are dealing with the same things and have the same sense of humor. So many of us stand for, believe in and are passionate about the same things. It's who we are. We're friends, and you matter very much to me.

I will say this one last time, because I truly, really want you to hear this--Please, PLEASE STAY. I know your brain is telling you so many things right now. It's yelling and screaming at you. Can I please tell you something about those things? They're all lies. Please find someone who will walk with you, someone you can talk to. You are needed here on this earth. You deserve to know this, to believe this about yourself. There are people here who would deeply grieve your sudden, tragic absence. There are people who would never get over losing you. I know your brain is screaming otherwise at you, but please believe me when I tell your brain is a liar. When I talk to my children about suicide, I tell them there is nothing so awful we can't figure out together--yeah, it might require jail time--but please don't make a permanent decision over a temporary situation.

 I know it sounds cliche, but I'm telling you the same thing: Please don't make a permanent decision over a temporary situation. I know you're battle weary and worn, but please, please--STAY.