Showing posts with label survival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label survival. Show all posts

Surviving Suicide - Can Our Stories Help Others?

The worst part of being suicidal isn't that it can kill you. The worst part is that you likely suffer alone.

You don't talk about it with friends and loved ones because it hurts them. And they respond by saying hurtful things.

You don't talk about it with a professional because you fear being subjected to the trauma of forced treatment.

No, that's not right, not always right anyway. Sometimes loved ones know how to listen. Sometimes professionals know how to help.

But still. These skills seem to be rare. And it's all so scary.

Even after you're better, it's scary. Scary for you, scary for them. Especially scary if it got to the point of self-harm, a suicidal act. Upon release from the hospital, you are treated to silence. People want to "protect your privacy." They also want to protect their own peace of mind. NOBODY wants you to mention it again.

Live Through This

So an archive of 157 stories of people who tried to die at their own hand, and yet they survived, a place where you can find people who are willing to tell their stories, how they got to that scary place and how they moved beyond it, or how they didn't (the scary lingers), that place is -- transgressive.

Real Suicide Prevention or Self-Satisfied Nonsense?

It's Suicide Prevention Month/Week/Whatever again. Those of us who are or have been suicidal know suicide prevention as a year-round, full time job. Those of us who are or have been suicidal have a whole lot of experience at preventing suicide. Is anyone interested to hear from us? Some of the following came from an earlier post. It bears repeating, 'cuz evidently even some bright people have some strange ideas. Like:





Suicide is not a choice

The way people talk, you'd think we sit down and make a list, pros and cons of suicide. Then based on our calculations, we make some kind of decision. She chose to end her life. Or, How could he have been so selfish.

This is called the volitional theory of suicide, suicide as an act of will. The suicide prevention approach that addresses it is to weigh in on that list of pros and cons, like Jennifer Michael Hecht's book, Stay.

You know -- Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Or, Think of what you'll miss out on. Or, whatever. In other words, how dumb or short-sighted or irresponsible or selfish you must be to decide to kill yourself.

What Happened When Meghan Markle Asked for Help?


Ask for help. That is the suicide prevention message. When you are in trouble, ask for help.

And I am not going to suggest otherwise. That's about the only way you will get help. The pain that you are in, the scary thoughts that you are having, there is a way out that is a way through, that leaves you alive on the other side. The way begins when you tell somebody, when you ask for help.

That, alas, is not the end of the story. This week we watched as a princess, a celebrity, somebody who lived in a multimillion dollar house in a multibillionaire family told her story of what happened when she asked for help.

They told her, No.

Confessions of the Good Suicide Survivor Story

I was suicidal. I nearly killed myself. I am glad I didn't do it. Because I got better.

Moral of the story: You will, too.

That's it. That's the good survivor story. Hopeful. Virtuous. I have told that story, and when I do, I get all kinds of strokes, including publication of my writing on other websites.

Some of it is true. It did get better. For me. For now.

For now.

There is more to the story. When I tell the more, I do not get publication. I don't even get acknowledgement that my submitted piece was received. I guess I am submitting to the wrong websites, to places that have one story they want to tell, the good survivor story.

And like I said, it's true, some of it. According to David Conroy, there are 50 million people alive today who have struggled, are struggling, or will struggle with suicide. 45 million of them will die of... something else. That's success, right? 90% of us will find another way.

But that's not the same as the good survivor story. Because for the 45,000,000 of us who survive, we have all kinds of stories.

Bohemian Chanukah

A great miracle happened there.

 

Happy Hanukkah to all Prozac Monologues readers.
Let the light shine!

Physician-Assisted Suicide for Mental Illness - It's Complicated, or Not

Two years ago, Mark Komrad attended and presented at a symposium in Belgium on physician-assisted suicide for people with mental illness. Komrad is a clinical psychiatrist, ethicist, and faculty member at Johns Hopkins. He just finished a 6-year tenure on the APA Ethics Committee and helped craft the current APA position on Medical Euthanasia for non-terminally ill patients. [That position joins the AMA to say, in a word, Don't.]

Komrad reported back on his experiences to PsychiatricTimes.com. You can read or listen to the his entire report here. This post quotes the parts that particularly struck me from a suicide prevention perspective.

In 2002 Belgium legalized euthanasia by physician (typically by injection) at the request of patients, and removed any distinctions between terminal vs. nonterminal illness, and physical vs. psychological suffering. As long as the condition is deemed "untreatable" and "insufferable," a psychiatric patient can be potentially eligible for euthanasia. There is a consultative process that basically needs a minimum of two doctors to agree about the patient's eligibility. Also, the patient gets to weigh-in on whether their condition is "treatable." Since the patient has the option to refuse treatments, this refusal may create an "untreatable" situation.

The Blues Aren’t Blue For Me - For Suicide Prevention Awareness Month


For Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, guest Margalea Warner tells a story of healing after an attempt and what happened #AfterIDidntKillMyself.
************************

When I emerged from the gray cloud of near death, the color I woke to was blue. It was an artificial blue, kin to a chlorinated pool water or blue Jell-o or Smurfs. It was a long tube with ridges that seemed to be coming from my face. I couldn't use my mind well enough to know it was a respirator tube. I stared at this blue with bewildered wonder. 

I did not remember what caused the gray. I did not remember walking away from my job at ten in the morning without asking for time off. I did not remember going through my closet and throwing all my clothing in the dumpster until I had very little left to wear.

From deep inside my mind I did remember a room of flickering shadows where I was on trial for witchcraft or for being a bad daughter. I remembered the voices saying that I must be executed. I had to be my own executioner. I remember narrator voice saying, “The prisoner is walking into Reliable Drug.  She is walking through Health and Beauty. She is walking through First Aid.  She is picking up a bottle of rubbing alcohol.  She needs the Reliable Drug brand. It will be a reliable drug. She needs it now. No time to think about it.”


But what happened next? I couldn’t remember if I obeyed the voices. I wish I could remember if I challenged their distorted thinking. All this forgetting makes perfect sense when you consider the gray that followed it. Fortunately or unfortunately, my mind’s computer made a back up copy in the cloud and replayed it over and over years later.


Flip the Script on Suicide Prevention Week

National Suicide Prevention Week starts next week (September 8-14) and I am trying to gear up for it. I can’t remember which I am supposed to watch for, the risk factors or the warning signs. I guess somebody will tell me again.

Not to be snarky – I do appreciate this annual effort to get people to pay attention. You’d think so, given my personal stake in preventing suicide, as in, my own. But I have to confess, these campaigns leave me feeling a bit disconnected from myself. How ironic is that?

I figured it out. The problem is that I pay any attention at all to suicide prevention campaigns. But they are not addressed to me. They are addressed to professionals, friends, and loved ones. They are about me and others who are at risk.

But here’s the thing. Professionals, friends, and loved ones are bit players in the suicide prevention business. The ones who do the heavy lifting are the ones in danger ourselves. So we read the literature, always looking for another trick to try, only to discover that we are eavesdropping on somebody else’s conversation.

Honestly, we don’t need to know the warning signs. Honestly, when we are in late stages of planning, we read those lists to make sure we don’t slip up and give the game away.

The Heavy Lifters for Suicide Prevention

On Surviving - I Wish Robin Williams Had

Nearly a week's worth of reporting on Robin Williams' death, some of it heartfelt, some of it educational, some of it ignorant bloviating -- even if you have been living under a rock and not heard any coverage at all, you can name the bloviators, can't you.  By now, my readers surely wonder, What is the Prozac Monologues take on his untimely death?

I have written reams on suicide and suicide prevention.  Click on those two links and take your pick.  But skip the Suicide Monologue, at least for another week.  It is inappropriate for another week.  And if you do go there, then mind the humor alert.  I am serious -- about the humor alert, that is.  Some of you won't find it funny. It wasn't written for you.

But before we abandon the suicide conversation in favor of the next thing, let's expand the frame.  Here's the deal.  Of all the people alive on the planet today, 50,000,000 will, at some point in their lifetimes, struggle with suicide.

I can't say we will think about suicide.  Those of you who think about it in passing seem to think that the seriously suicidal think.  There is lots going on inside our burning brains.  But thinking doesn't really describe it.

Suicide Is Not a Choice

I peered over this very overpass on the Eisenhower Expressway. Years ago, there was no the fence along the top, just a rail. It was pie that brought me there. Yes, pie. It was Thanksgiving night, and the holiday was ending without pie.

Of course, it wasn't a reason to commit suicide. Of course, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Don't treat me like an idiot with your clever lines.

No, pie brought me there, but that was not why I would jump. Pie was a match, a tiny little three letter match. My problem was a brain filled with gasoline. And one tiny match, that I should have been able to snuff with my fingers, threatened to ignite it and send me over the edge. The shame of being powerless over one tiny match poured on more gasoline.

The Suicide Monologue

Suicide Humor

They asked for a trigger alert. This is a humor alert. Oh, well.

I realize some people do not find suicide humor humorous. I get that. I respect this opinion and honor the feelings and experiences behind it.

If you have not read Prozac Monologues before, you need to know that it has always aspired to a bent sort of humor. And in honor of the World Health Organization's World Suicide Prevention Day, today's post, a long time coming, is The Suicide Monologue. Watch me while I attempt humor. You don't have to read it. Just know, it is what it is.

More Guns = More Suicides


Compare states to states.  Compare regions to regions.  Compare states within regions to other states within the same region.  Compare people of the same age group, in any age group, men to men and women to women.  Compare unemployed people to unemployed people, working folk to working folk.  Compare city dwellers to city dwellers, country folk to country folk.

Compare people with depression to other people with depression; people who are suicidal to other people who are suicidal; people who have a plan to other people who have a plan; people who have a past suicidal attempt to other people who have a past suicidal attempt, for God's sake!

More Guns = More Suicides.

Get it?

Purple Heart for PTSD

I am pleased to have scooped NAMI and Fox News on this one by two years.

Some people say we have dumbed down PTSD, and that we dishonor the suffering of soldiers when we give the diagnosis of PTSD to people who have the same symptoms and same brain dysfunction of PTSD, but whose traumas were of a lesser severity.  In other medical departments, a broken leg is a broken leg, whether the person fell three feet or thirty.

Back in May, 2010 I proposed that the way to honor soldiers whose PTSD is the result of war injury is the way we honor any soldier wounded in war -- the Purple Heart.

Better yet, let's honor their sacrifice by preventing their trauma in the first place.  No more!

Meanwhile, check out Guitars for Vets.

Survival - Three Things Learned From Danny MacAskill

1.  To keep your audience, edit out most of the falls.

2.  To help your audience, keep some of the falls.

3.  Find the Iron Rule and do not break it.  In MacAskill's case -- the front wheel is for steering; you want to land on the back wheel.  In my case -- the frontal cortex is for steering; I will inevitably land on the amygdala.

A repeat from:

Thursday August 26, 2010

Tribute To Survival

This is dedicated to those who are surviving the Chemistry Experiment, and to those who hang in there with us.

Bring your courage and your hope, whatever you can manage.

And your helmet.




Thanks to Danny MacAskill and Band of Horses.

Recovery In Progress -- My First NAMI Convention

Dr. Ken Duckworth's job at the Ask A Doctor about PTSD session was to make some opening remarks and then let people ask their questions. He rattled off a list of treatments and said, The good news about PTSD is, we know what causes it -- trauma that was not able to be processed adequately. The bad news is, the treatments just don't work so well.

Short and to the point. Actually, I am not so negative (right this very minute, anyway) about treatment as Dr. Duckworth, because I am not looking for the magic med anymore. I know about recovery.

Recovery is about collecting tools and pulling them out when the occasion requires. I will illustrate. But first the setting...

Last week I attended my first NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) Convention in Chicago -- 2300+ people who have mental illnesses, family members, advocates, volunteers and caregivers, with a few scientists thrown in for good measure. As a friend said to prepare me, A NAMI Convention has a certain kind of energy. Yes, it does.

I have been to big conventions before, used to be a legislator (called Deputy) for the Episcopal Church, which gathers 8-10,000 or so Deputies, Bishops, exhibitors, visitors, volunteers and the like every three years. I stopped doing that when I figured out that every three years General Convention tripped my hypomania and was followed hard on by a depressive episode.

So this was my largest gathering in some time, with plenaries, workshops, symposia, networking and ask-a-doctor sessions, drumming, theater, yoga and talent show, internet cafe and peer counselors, exhibitors, book sales and an information booth which was the best hidden spot of the whole damn Chicago Hilton.

You can expect a number of blogposts out of this event, including dueling comments between me and fellow blogger John McManamy. Now that we have finally shared a beer, does that make us blogmates?  I began writing this piece in the hotel room, late after the last gasp, the rawest of my posts to come.

I knew it was a mistake to make Ask-The-Doctor-About-PTSD the last thing I attended. It's just, that was the schedule. Most helpful take-away: The brain is simply not designed to metabolize certain experiences. PTSD is the result of incompletely metabolized traumas. Bottom line, it is a normal response to an abnormal event or series of events.

The brain keeps trying to metabolize these unprocessed events/memories/emotions/bodily sensations. They lurk beneath the surface, waiting for the next opportunity to emerge, when triggered by some reminder.


Oh, I was triggered, alright. The last question of the day was about a particular symptom I don't talk about and religiously avoid. I left the room reliving it, dizzy and disconnected.

Walking out, I heard the voice of my therapist, who once ended a session saying, The things we have talked about today probably have triggered your past traumas, and you will be dealing with the effects after you leave. So how are you going to take care of yourself today?

Time to pull out that toolbox.

The Ask-A-Doctor doctor listed half a dozen treatment modalities for PTSD: meds, support groups, EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), sleep regulation and aerobic exercise. He mentioned Prazocin for nightmares.

First off, pop my anti-anxiety rescue med, put on my walking shoes and go get some aerobic exercise. Work off that negative energy.

Just outside the door was Grant Park. An art exhibit diverted me from my aerobics. But art is good, very good. Change the channel -- that's Cognitive Behavioral Therapy 101.


I stood still and drank in paintings inspired by water. Not this painting, actually, which is exhibited just down the street. But I thought of it.

Water is good. It evens out the emotional turmoil. -- So says my other therapist, the one who does eastern-based energy work. You see, when even the doctors acknowledge that western treatments (they don't call them western, because they don't speak of there being any other treatments) work poorly, I am not going to limit my tool box to only half the planet, especially not the more rigid half.

I spoke with the artist about perspective. He paints on a flat surface, so doesn't think it matters which side is up. I breathed into the here and now. Thich Nhat Hanh taught me here and now. But here and now is my worst subject. And somebody interrupted to talk about showings and art business. There were too many people -- had to reduce stimulation.


My energy therapist would recommend grounding. I headed back to the gardens, flowers, trees, dirt, all good, all grounding. Eating is good for grounding, too. Maybe I should eat something.

From Alcoholics Anonymous: HALT = pay attention to when you are Hungry/Anxious/Lonely/Tired. No, a martini is not in the recovery toolbox.

So I bought my inner child a strawberry ice cream -- a drippy cone instead of my usual adult cup. Sugar isn't really the best choice, but it was red and a gift to my inner child. Then I head off to find some meat. Meat feeds the first chakra. First chakra is about safety. PTSD is about the amygdala is about safety is about the first chakra.

Still I was struggling. I don't just have my own pain; I suck up the pain of every person with whom I have spent the last three days. All those stories -- how can there be such a world? How can I live in such a world?

I picked up my whole personal Book of Traumas, the traumas that never got resolved, that get retriggered today when I try to resolve them in therapy, the distrust I try to pretend does not exist toward the people who try to help me but they end up retriggering the traumas I can't resolve because they never seem to address that they are retriggering them and my retriggered shame prevents me from telling them and I truly believe the result will be retrauma anyway.

There are exceptions to that negative thought. List the exceptions -- Cognitive Behavioral Therapy 102. But how do I know who is for real...?

So I head back to the convention, walk over the train tracks. And there is another trigger, another overpass, another trip to Chicago, another episode, another long time ago. How quickly is that train traveling?  How far away?  How fast does a body fall that far?  How to time the collision of the two?  Velocity problems were the one thing that defeated me in high school math.

But I am not in the right spot anyway. Geometry I got. I need to be right -- there -- where -- a woman is pushing a baby stroller.

Oh. Okay. Not tonight. I have an Iron Rule. In a world filled with trauma, to the extent that it lies within my power, I will not cause trauma. A two-year-old is sitting where my demon would call me. The two-year-old wins.

God bless the internet that led me to David Conroy some years ago. The first sentence of his book Out of the Nightmare brought sense out of the chaos that compounded the pain of my suicidal symptoms. Suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.

Tonight my pain was painful. But I have survived worse, much worse. And tonight my resources are many. Tonight the thought was more than a mosquito, but it wasn't a tiger. I do not underestimate the lethality of this disease. One in five people with bipolar II do not survive it. Tonight, I am still of the four.

I know people freak out over the suicidal ideation part of mental illnesses. I apologize to my friends for causing them pain by bringing up the subject -- even though my need to protect you from this pain adds to my own. I try not to bring it up, except with people who know what I am talking about. But this is one of the tools in the Recovery Toolbox. Those who do know what I am talking about need this tool. And this post is for us.

Ironically, the state of the art treatment for people who have a lot of suicidal ideation and behavior, people with a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, is Dialactical Behavioral Therapy, radical acceptance. Starting, not ending, but starting with acceptance even of that symptom that freaks out so many of you.

Yes, sometimes I have those thoughts. They are well-worn grooves in my neurological pathways. Any number of things will trip the cascade that leads there, including things you might not imagine, a cold sunny day, my doctor suggesting a new medication, an overpass. These are not reasons. Suicide is not about reasons. These are triggers of neurological pathways that have a current of their own.

It is what it is. Those five words sum up Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, an offshoot of CBT. They were the chorus sung by one of the players in the lunchtime drama troupe. Saturday night, I repeated them to myself. Often when that thought appears, somewhere between a mosquito and a tiger, I say, There it is again. That's all. Mindfulness. The thought doesn't have to freak me out, doesn't have to freak you out. It is what it is. Move on.


As I crossed the overpass, I felt a draw, a pull toward the hotel. It was an energy, a spiritual energy on the side of life, two thousand people in that building, rooting for me, for my life, for one another, for you. One of them even blowing a didgeridoo, accompanied by a flute, to be followed later by another who whistled Somewhere Over The Rainbow, all spiritual energy on the side of life.

The wisdom is ancient. Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help. Again, if two lie together, they keep warm; but how can one keep warm alone?  nd though one might prevail against another, two will withstand one. A threefold cord is not quickly broken. [Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, New Revised Standard Version]

So that is my first report of my first NAMI Convention, the most confusing and most compassionate experience I have ever had with 2300 people.


(Find your local NAMI Chapter here.)

photo of toolbox by Per Erik Strandberg and used under the Creative CommonsAttribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
General Convention Seal for the Episcopal Church in public domain
Olaus Magnus's Sea Orm, 1555 in public domain
Water Lilies by Claude Monet, 1906, in public domain
photo of Grant Park in Chicago by Alan Scott Walker and used under the Creative CommonsAttribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
root chakra by Muladhara Chakra and used under the Creative CommonsAttribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
photo of Chicago Orange Line by Daniel Schwen and used under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
photo of Coal Creek Falls by Walter Siegmund and used under the Creative CommonsAttribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
fresco at the Karlskirche in Vienna by Johann Michael Rottmayr, in public domain
book covers by amazon.com

The Road Map For Loonie Liberation


First they ignore you.
Then they laugh at you.
Then they fight you.
Then you win.

This is a preview of next week.  Me -- taking a mental health break.


photo of Mahatma Gandhi in public domain

It Gets Better

I was going to get funny this week.  But this won't wait.

The message below took place at a city council meeting in the center of Iowa.  It means all the more to me, because I live in Iowa, and because I know this small city in a rural and conservative part of the middle of America -- a fly-over state.

Oops -- a reader corrected my confusion.  Joel Burns is a councilman in Fort Worth, Texas.  Maybe that makes the story even more significant.

Joel Burns, elected to that city council, has lived long enough for it to get better.



Educators who want to respond to his challenge can find resources at the Teaching Tolerance arm of the Southern Poverty Law Center.


Their new documentary and classroom resource, Bullied includes lesson plans and is available for free to any school that requests it.


I also want to plug their quarterly magazine, Teaching Tolerance.  It gives teachers specific ideas and lesson plans for K-12 on many diversity issues.  Subscriptions are available for free to any teacher who requests it, any donor, and also online.

Bullying Has To Become A Crime

I have never understood why schools are law-free zones, why students who beat up other students are not prosecuted for assault, why teachers and administrators who do nothing are not prosecuted for accessory after the fact.

It Is Time To Prevent Bullying

I also have never understood why society places the burden of violence on its victims.  We know the names of recent victims who could no longer bear that burden.  We develop therapies to repair damage that is done to other victims.  But as with PTSD, we treat after the fact.  We do not prevent.

All the bullied teenagers who died recently have been "outed."  But we do not know the names of the bullies.  We do not work on fixing them.

Children who are cruel grow up to be adults who are cruel and raise children who are cruel.  I repeat Joel Burns' challenge to stop the violence.  That is when we will stop the suicides.

We also do not know the names of the witnesses, those who remain silent.  All that it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing -- Edmund Burke.  These students, too, must find their voices.  We all must.

Meanwhile, If You Need Help Now:

In the U. S., call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Press 1 for English, 2 for Spanish.
Click here to find a hotline outside the United States.



Use of the SPLC and Teaching Tolerance logos does not imply
that they have endorsed the views expressed in this post. 

Mental Illness Awareness Week -- One Year Later

A year ago, Prozac Monologues was just crawling, six months old.  I was new to this disability experience.  And NAMI Johnson County was new to me.

I am not sure how Della McGrath decided I was literate.  Maybe I had given her my card, and she read some of the blog.  But she asked me to speak at a candlelight vigil, to remember those who have died from mental illness, give courage to those who hope to survive it, and support to those whose loved ones did not.

The great thing about NAMI -- if able is always part of the contract.  So I could say yes, even when we were using sedation in place of hospitalization.  And hope for the best.

As it turns out, God gave me a window, and I was able to say what is written below.  It is reposted from October 3, 2009.  It is a bit out of date.  Once I was on disability, I could explore and admit to a better diagnosis, bipolar II, in place of major depressive disorder.  Bipolar is a disease with more stigma than vanilla depression.  And hardly anybody has ever heard about bipolar II, so they think the worst.  But now that I wasn't working, stigma didn't matter so much.  And I could let myself take the best bipolar II medication.  I knew its side effects would make my job impossible.  But that didn't matter anymore, either.

The year since has not been an easy one.  But I am still here.  And so, amazingly enough, is Prozac Monologues.  You, dear readers, give me a life that begins to replace the life I lost to this illness. 

Tribute to Survival

This is dedicated to those who are surviving the Chemistry Experiment, and to those who hang in there with us.

Bring your courage and your hope, whatever you can manage.

And your helmet.



Thanks to Danny MacAskill and Band of Horses.

OMG!!!That'sWhatTheySaid -- Failed Method/Successful Attempt

OMG!  it has been four months since I last gave an OMG! Award.  It's not that I don't keep finding excellent candidates.  It's just that I have been covering other major topics.  Plus, life just...

I am amazed and disappointed to give this month's award to HealthCentral.com for their July 22nd news release, Failed Suicide Method May Predict Likelihood of Successful Attempt.

First, let me introduce HealthCentral.com.  From their website:

Health Central's mission is to empower millions of people to improve and take control of their health and well-being.
  • Our 35+ sites provide clinical resources and real-life support to those with life-changing conditions.
  • Our wellness resources and tools help people to live healthier, more fulfilled lives.
  • We are honored to serve over 12 million visitors each month.

Health Central addresses lots of different health issues, including mental health.  Often their information is excellent.  This time they missed the boat with this OMG Award-winning title to one of their featured articles.  They don't get points for originality.  They have repeated a much too popular -- what shall I call it?

Let me put it this way:

A twenty-seven year old woman is diagnosed with breast cancer.  Young women with breast cancer generally have a poor prognosis.  So she receives the most aggressive treatment available, including procedures that damage her body in ways that can be mended and other ways that cannot.  She undergoes intense pharmacological treatment using harsh chemicals that leave her sick, debilitated and at risk for other health complications.  Willing to try anything, she joins a support group, does mindfulness and visualization and changes her diet.

These measures eventually do work.  Her cancer goes into remission.  Her health is monitored carefully for a long time.  Just when she and her family begin to breathe again, she relapses.  Again, she opts for aggressive treatment, tries new drugs prescribed in off-label use, and again is left too weak to care for her children or leave the house.

This time, everybody's best efforts do not work.  She dies.

Does her doctor call that a success?  Does the preacher say she fought a long hard battle and finally succeeded?

Let me put it another way.

A middle-aged man has heart disease.  He gets regular medical attention, takes all his meds, monitors everything he is supposed to monitor, changes his lifestyle, even his job to reduce stress.

Nevertheless, he has a heart attack, in fact, several heart attacks.  Each time he is rushed to the hospital, where emergency personnel work their butts off to save him.  He is transferred to ICU, then to a regular bed, then to rehab.  His family posts frequent status reports on facebook, and his church prays for him every week.

Does anybody say he failed?  That he wasn't serious about these heart attacks of his?  When he returns to church or the golf course, do they turn their faces, afraid they might say the wrong thing and provoke another attack?  One that might be successful?

Mental illness is physical illness.  It has a mortality rate, just like cancer and heart disease.  We struggle desperately for years and undergo every treatment we can find and tolerate, trying to survive our illnesses.  Death by mental illness is not a success.  It is a tragedy.  Survival is not a failure.  When somebody has to be rushed to the hospital and manages to fight his or her way back to life, it is a hard won victory celebrated in heaven.  It ought to be celebrated on earth.  This person deserves a party.  With balloons.  And a cake.

Now let me pause to discuss the content of the article with this outrageous title, because the article does give important information.

The article reports research into the prognosis of suicidal individuals according to the method of self-harm they originally use.  The numbers are astounding.

Those whose initial act of self-harm takes the form of hanging, suffocation or strangulation have the poorest prognosis.  Of those who survive, 85% of them die at their own hand within a year.  They do not get it out of their system.  They die.  Within the year.  85% of them.

Those who jump, or use a firearm or drowning are at a moderately lower risk of subsequent death (69-78%, as reported in the original research.)  Those who use poisoning, overdose or cutting have the lowest risk of completed suicide with in year (25-36%.)

These figures hold true when controlling for diagnosis and for sociological factors.

That said, the single greatest risk factor for death by suicide is a previously survived episode.  Nobody gets it out of their system.

These findings have implications for aftercare.  Just as the most aggressive treatment is warranted for younger women with breast cancer and out of shape persons with heart disease, those whose original method of self-harm is hanging, strangulation or suffocation need the most intensive follow-up, monitoring and treatment.

Again that said, one potentially harmful consequence of this report is that those who use less lethal means, such as cutting or poison, may be dismissed as not serious, as engaging in attention-seeking behavior.

Yes, cutting and overdose are attention-seeking behaviors.  They are the serious attempts of seriously ill people to get serious attention for their serious condition.

Cutting and overdose have serious health consequences.  They are the methods used most often by Latina and African-American girls, who have less access to health care and mental health care anyway.  The consequences of not receiving the attention that these girls plead for are first, brain and liver damage, and then further deterioration of their lives, including dropping out of school, substance abuse, being continued victims of violence at their own hand or that of family and acquaintances, continued poor health choices and early death on account of all of the above.

If you turn your face from anybody who commits a potentially fatal act of self-harm by any means, you become the Scribe who turned his face from the man who was mugged, beaten and left for dead on the road to Jericho, because you count your agenda more important than that person's life.

As I said, this would be an unintended consequence of this article, and one that the author seek to avoid: However, "although use of more lethal methods of self-harm is an important index of suicide risk, it should not obscure the fact that self-harm in general is a key indicator of an increased risk of suicide," Hawton wrote.

Back to the OMG! Award.  I am on a Mission from God.  It is my mission, in whatever years I have remaining of my own life, permanently to eradicate the use of the word successful in the same sentence as the word suicide, and to eliminate the scandalous naming of survival as failure.

So I plead for your help.  I plead, when you hear a grieving friend or family member say that their loved one who died of mental illness was successful in the attempt, I plead that you tell that person, kindly and gently, Suicide is not a choice; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.  I am so sorry for your loss, and so sorry that your loved one has lost the battle.

I plead that you, whenever you hear health care professionals refer to a failed attempt, that you feel and that you express your shock and horror at the words.  I plead that you confront them, and urge then to examine the hostility toward their patients and clients that lie beneath their words.

I don't usually inform people that they are winners of the OMG!!That'sWhatTheySaid Award.  Following what I have urged you to do, I will inform Health Central of their award.  Right now. 

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