I wish I could give you a comprehensive checklist or even a flow chart on warning signs of suicide. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could easily make the next move based on what someone says, does, or even insinuates right there in print? I would even color code it for you too. But I can’t. My heart hurts that I can’t offer you any of that, and I am guessing if you’re reading this, your heart hurts too. But I can tell you what happened to us. I can be brutally honest and tell you where I missed it…the “it” that maybe would have kept him alive another day, year, or 50 years.
Losing Brian to suicide four years ago was my worst nightmare and still is.
I would desperately lay awake every night for years, trying to avoid the scenario of him taking his life. I would ask him directly and also in roundabout ways if he was going to do it. I reached out to family and close friends. I made all the doctor’s appointments and went with him. I was honest about how bad things were getting in the sense of the “lows” coming more and more often. I removed weapons from our home, searched our cars regularly, counted pills, and watched to make sure he was actually taking the medications (once we decided to go that route). During the first six to eight weeks of any medication, he was not left alone for a single second. My world revolved around him, his safety, his health, and our children.
August 16th, 2018
On August 16th, 2018, with our four children watching, Brian attempted to take his life and succumbed to his injuries a few days later. I was asked countless times “what happened” by hospital staff, interviewed by police, questioned by family, you name it. All of whom were hoping maybe I could trace back to what ultimately led us to his devastating death. The untraceable lines of mental illness and suicide are murky and blurred with my tears to this day.
So that’s where I will start. Mental illness is a tricky thing because you can’t actually see it. What makes it even more mortifying is there actually weren’t many concrete signs at all for us in the thick of it. Even as an RN, I was taught that people who are suicidal do have clear signs. Some of those include giving away items, making comments about death, fixating on dying, etc. It didn’t look like that at all for us, though. It was not a black-and-white illness for us but also what mental illness is?
So here is the hard truth…..I missed it
I admit it, and I have to live with it. I missed how much pain he was in. He didn’t speak of wanting to die constantly but more of the frustration of having to live. I didn’t see they were one of the same. He wasn’t sure why he had to have this disease when God could just take it away. He wasn’t sure why the 3rd and 4th medications he tried weren’t working. He wasn’t sure I would stick around to fight this with him. The lies crept in and because he appeared healthy and kept working…so many of us didn’t actually think it was that bad. I grew complacent in a way and was also starting to think this was how life would be from now on.
The hopelessness
I missed the hopelessness he felt daily and for years. I missed the exhausting tone in his voice throughout the day. I missed the emptiness in his eyes in family pictures. With me being so task-oriented, it meant we would keep moving forward. I would check search histories to make sure he wasn’t trying to look for ways to end his life. There were honestly only a few moments Brian expressed suicidal ideation, and each was met with a specialized doctor’s care. So on to the next doctor that was recommended to us. On to a less chaotic job and schedule. On to the next medication. On to the next bone-broth recipe. On to the next minute, hour, and day of keeping him safe. And it worked for a little bit…or at least I thought it did.
I remember the few specific times he spoke of wanting to die, and each time was how we (the kids and I) would be so much better off. I called him selfish. Ugh, I hate to admit that, but I did (crying as I write this). I asked how he could ever think of doing that to us. Just like that…I cut the only lifeline he felt he had in me. He wasn’t selfish. Not. One. Bit. I guilted him further and told him I would never get past him taking his life. I told him I would never recover. So he felt even more hopeless. Without knowing, I heaped on even more guilt and shame. He was hopeless, and I unknowingly confirmed it.
Self-sabotage
One other clear sign I missed was self-sabotage. I knew what suicidal ideation looked like, so if he wasn’t expressing it…we were in the clear. He was doing anything and everything he could to feel better. Some were great ideas, and others were not. I did not notice this was him grasping just to find something, anything at all, to alleviate the pain. I made the mistake of thinking he was trying to hurt me. But the opposite was true. He was doing whatever he could to make the pain stop, so my pain of watching him struggle would also stop.
In our last conversation, he told me he had tried everything. Before trying multiple medications, doctors, and psychiatrists, he even tried going vegan, healing his gut, working out, meditating, constantly praying, and seeing Christian counselors, you name it. Yet he said nothing was working. I didn’t recognize the hopelessness in his voice. I became frustrated because, of course, we hadn’t tried EVERYTHING. In my mind, it was time to call the doctor again and go back to the drawing board that day like we had so many times before.
Invisible suicidal signs and unspoken words
Obviously, I wish I could tell you I saw the invisible signs and heard the unspoken words, but I can’t. Some days the “what ifs” cloud my mind, and I dream of doing that day all over again. I hurt when insults are hurled like flaming arrows that if only I loved him harder, didn’t encourage medication, or had Baker Acted him; he would still be here. All that is left now is for me to tell you where I missed it…where I missed the hopelessness.
There is so much I can’t tell you about that day or Brian’s illness. But I can tell you there is always hope. I can tell you the thoughts that we would be better off without you are NOT true. I can tell you to please stay and fight another day. I can tell you that you matter. We are not better off without you in the world. We are better because you are in this world. Please stay, and I promise we will hear what you’re not saying.
Please, if you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or mental illness, call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988. You can also contact the Crisis Text Line (text HELLO to 741741).
Krista has written many articles for us on mental illness and suicide. If you would like to read more of her story, you can find it here. You can find Krista on social media as well, she is on Instagram and Facebook.
