GUEST BLOGGER....Don't Understand Suicide? Then Learn About It.

September 6 to the 12th, 2020 was National Suicide Prevention Week. Raising awareness for this other pandemic that pre-dates COVID-19 cannot be overdone.

132 people in the U.S. died by suicide daily in 2018, and those numbers are rising during Coronavirus. Lost among the daily reported COVID cases and death count is the collateral damage.

In August, Forbes cited a report from the United Nations and World Health Organization:

“Suicide is likely to become a more pressing concern, as the pandemic spreads and has longer-term effects on the general population, the economy and vulnerable groups.”

But we’re also seeing the short-term impact, as the same article notes:

“The CDC conducted a survey of 5,412 people between June 24 and 30 and the collected data on suicides is alarming. Roughly 25% percent of young adults between the ages of 18 and 24 say they've considered suicide because of the pandemic. About 30.9% of the respondents said that they ‘had symptoms of anxiety or depression’ and about 26.3% reported trauma and stress-related disorders caused by the outbreak. Over 13% said that they have used alcohol, prescription and/or illegal drugs to deal with their pandemic-induced stress and anxiety.”

Relegating one week to Suicide Prevention has never sat well with me because the case couldn’t be stronger now to focus every day on the matter.

I wrote the following article in June of 2018, and I’m re-publishing it past September 12th because I didn’t feel the need to crowbar it into such a short window for an issue that deserves more attention than one week.

_____________________________

Last weekend, I was out to dinner with my boy, and two parents with their college-aged son sat at the table next to us. Anthony Bourdain died by suicidetwo days earlier, and the father shared his thoughts.

“I don’t understand how someone could kill himself,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s gotta be the most selfish thing you can do.”

His son spoke up. “Dad, it’s a clinical problem.”

“I still don’t get it,” Dad said.

“Often, when people die by suicide, it’s because they are struggling with a mental illness,” his son answered.

Dad shook his head.

“It’s comments like that, Dad, that make it so much harder.”

It wasn’t my business, but I addressed them. “By the way,” I said and pointed to the son, "He’s right."

It’s been eight days since Anthony Bourdain took his life, and during that time 984 more Americans have done the same. In the wake of Bourdain’s suicide and Kate Spade’s before him, the Centers for Disease Control heartbreakingly reported that since 1999, the suicide rate has increased by 30%.

Saying you don’t understand suicide is as tired a response as “thoughts and prayers” following a mass shooting. It’s not the responsibility of anyone, particularly those who are suicidal, to explain it to you.

But I’ll do you that favor because I’m worked up enough.

The short answer if you don’t understand something is to learn about it. Before becoming a home inspector, you trained and earned your American Home Inspection Society certification. Prior to trying your first case, you studied law, prepared for and passed the Bar exam.

If you don’t understand suicide, then learn about it.

The information is at your fingertips, and it’s free. (The same can’t be said for the high cost of law school tuition or the price tag on the drone for aerial condo inspections.)

Fire up Google, search “suicide causes”, and you’ll find helpful information from resources like Healthline, Psychology Today, and The National Institute of Mental Health.

If you don’t understand suicide, then learn about it.

But since I can’t get the image of that dad shaking his head out of my mind, I’ll provide you with the key messages from this excellent Healthline piece. Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in the United States, taking the lives of about 43,000 Americans each year. Roughly 50 percent of people who die by suicide have a mental illness at the time of their death.

Other risk factors include:

• previous suicide attempts

• substance abuse

• incarceration

• family history of suicide

• poor job security or low levels of job satisfaction

• history of being abused or witnessing continuous abuse

• being diagnosed with a serious medical condition

• being socially isolated or a victim of bullying

• being exposed to suicidal behavior
  
  The demographic for those most at risk for suicide are:
  

• men

• people over the age of 45

• Caucasians, American Indians, or Alaskan Natives
  
  

Warning signs to look out for include feelings of hopelessness, avoiding social interactions, substance abuse, and expressing rage or intentions to seek revenge.

Now you know that people die by suicide for many reasons, including mental illness, pain, loneliness, isolation, and not to mention, our broken media culture.

If you don’t understand suicide, then learn about it.

Both are choices: understanding and learning. If you can still do neither--if you continue to keep your head in the sand--then you are actively choosing to not feel empathy or compassion.

And I can’t help you with that.

If you or someone you know needs help, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

About the Author, David Telisman

David is the founder of David Telisman Communications. He's a Writer and Content Creator with a passion for mental health awareness and advocacy. He has written extensively on the subject, in addition to serving clients in other verticals. David understand that you deserve to feel proud of how your content marketing looks and what it says, and he delivers by providing expert copywriting and digital marketing solutions. Contact David at david@davidtelisman.com and davidtelisman.com

THE DEEPEST APPRECIATION

The Deepest Appreciation

This week, I’ve had the privilege to dive into one of my favorite movies in an obsessive way - but instead of the negative, cyclical way that brings me down, my dedication to this movie has made me feel amazing.

Every night after my parents go to bed, I take my laptop into the room with the family computer and set myself up: laptop on my lap as I sit in Dad’s office chair, one foot on the ground, the other on the keyboard of the family computer. I start playing “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey” and about two seconds later, I tap the space bar with my big toe, turn to my laptop, and write down everything I’ve seen and heard.

When I started last week, it took me an hour to get through eight minutes. Now, I can do over ten minutes in an hour, as I’ve settled into a comfortable rhythm after 94 pages of writing. I am writing this project for a movie script project many of my friends are involved in, but it’s also giving me a chance to examine a movie I love frame by frame and draw smiles out of tiny moments I may not have noticed before.

I’ve gotten some reactions of confusion, especially since there are some partially-completed scripts online, but none of the extended edition (what can I say, I’m a purist), and I found errors in the ones I located online. I also couldn’t find one that included background information like scenery, what the characters looked like, or what actions they were taking during the complex battle scenes.

Even though some people are confused, I love doing a deep dive like this. I love taking a movie that many people I know consider inferior to the three “Lord of the Rings” movies and giving it time to shine, finding the humor and the little moments that made me feel like I was in Middle-Earth with my favorite characters. I still remember crying my way through the White Council scene the first time I saw it, and feeling that same way last night as I stayed up extra-late to not miss a moment.

I’ve never dived so deep into a positive obsession before, and while some people question my patience to pause a movie every couple of seconds and write everything, I am truly enjoying it. If there’s a way to embrace the way my head works without hurting anyone including myself, I see it as pure positivity. It’s far better to be thinking about this than COVID or the things I’m missing that I can’t do.

Watching the movie in such detail has made me think about the Tolkien universe cosplays I’ve done. They reminded me of how amazing I felt walking through crowded halls to meet movie stars (including Dean O’Gorman and Graham McTavish, both of whom are in this exact movie) and dancing at the elf party until I’m too exhausted to move.

The best part is, I’ve found people who I can share these memories with, about both the movie and the conventions I hope to attend again one day. I am at the point where I can share a steady stream of memes, jokes, silly lines, and observations as I watch “An Unexpected Journey,” and I know who to send it to who won’t get bothered, overwhelmed, or annoyed. Even though I’m sitting alone in the room when I watch, I feel like I’m part of a community of people who know that I’m thinking obsessively about something, but are encouraging and kind instead of judgmental.

I never considered doing a project like this before, but watching a movie I love in such little bits and pieces instead of watching it all in one setting has inspired me to look deeper at some of the other things I’m passionate about. It can sometimes feel boring to be stuck at home during the pandemic, and when I’m bored, my thoughts tend to wander, sometimes in unsavory directions. But if I’m focusing on something like this, something productive and enjoyable and allowing me to bond more closely with my friends, I think it’s a wonderful way to spend the waning pandemic time.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

BLUE TOENAILS

Blue Toenails

TW: Medical imagery

This weekend, I did something I haven’t done in many years - I painted my toenails blue.

This probably seems more like an afterthought than a big moment, but it’s been years since I was able to take a bottle of blue nail polish and apply the bright color to my feet instead of my hands. It’s all thanks to a strange phenomenon that emerged from my compulsions after they started to have far less sway on my life.

It started in college - during my freshman year, I slammed a closet door on my hip in my dorm room that was so small I could reach my desk from my bed and my head nearly hit the ceiling. In the shower, later, I realized that my hip had a large purple bruise that was far bigger than the area I hit. It looked like some kind of horrible injury.

Seeing the bruise - bigger than any other bruise I’ve ever had - spooked me. So, when I returned to my room, I decided I would prove to myself that I was okay by painting my toenails. I even went for my favorite nail art color - blue - which I started liking when I was a little girl and marveled that one of my dad’s coworkers in a high-up position could wear blue nail polish at work and still get taken seriously.

I remember leaning back in my chair until I was half on the bed, bringing in my right leg first to do the nail polish. I chose my favorite shade of blue, one that I still love wearing today - but only on my hands. I painted the nails on my right foot and then tried to bend my left leg, only to feel a strange yet extreme pain coming from the area around the bruise.

I gritted my teeth, told myself to stop being such a baby, and bent my leg enough to be able to reach my toes. It was incredibly painful, but somehow, I thought that if I could bend my leg, that meant everything was okay.

The next morning, the bruise was twice as big and my leg could barely move. It was eggplant-purple and even though I managed to hobble to class, I was quickly ushered to the emergency room afterwards by a professor who I had a meeting with. I learned that day what a blood clot was, and by the time I was put in the hospital room for the longest night of my life, a nurse took my socks and shoes off to try to find a pulse in my left foot.

She couldn’t, with the first machine, and I sat there, leaning over the edge of the bed, staring at a potentially-dead foot with bright blue nail polish, waiting for the second, stronger machine to tell if I would need an amputation.

Thankfully, after what felt like an eternity of silence, the second machine picked up a pulse. I even got a laugh out of one of the nurses from my choice of nail polish color. The polish I’d put on my hands was long gone thanks to the need to put on an oxygen reader, but the blue polish stayed on my toes and also stayed in my mind as a reminder of that horrible night.

The next time I was able to paint my toenails - at least a month post-op - I remembered the blue polish and shuddered. I couldn’t even think of putting blue polish on my toes since it seemed like bad luck. It’s not that I thought, in a typical OCD fashion, that putting blue polish on my toes was going to make me have another blood clot. But it was a strong enough feeling, regardless, that I never tried it again.

This is far from the only time I’ve either done something or refused to do something because the last time I did it was a horrible time. Even though I know for a fact that putting blue nail polish on my toenails had nothing to do with the blood clot that was growing in my leg at that time, it still felt like something I couldn’t do again, just in case.

Unlike typical compulsions, which I had a lot of in my youth, this was not a visible behavior that other people knew about. It only really came up a couple of times over the nearly-9 years since then, and it was easy enough to explain away as a simple preference.

Mom, however, knew better. I’ve been living at home almost the entire pandemic, and even though I have worn my favorite shade of blue on my fingernails many times, I haven’t worn it on my toes at all. Eventually, she asked, and I told her, knowing that I’ve said much more embarrassing things about my mental health to her over the years.

She brought up the obvious - correlation does not equal causation. Wearing blue nail polish on my toes again would not make me have the same physical condition I had at that time. At worst, it would bring back unpleasant memories, which is something I try to avoid, but force myself to face sometimes in an attempt to make myself stronger.

I didn’t make the decision to try blue nail polish on my toes until my family had a discussion about getting the vaccine with a pre-existing condition. I have done my best to ignore the way COVID could affect my life ever since I first heard of the virus, but in that discussion, I could see plainly what I was afraid of:

I could see myself in a hospital bed, alone, fighting my worst demons while already knowing how terrible they are and how much worse I am at fighting them solo. I saw myself in more painful surgeries, whether in the legs or the lungs. And, almost anticlimactically, I saw myself fine one moment and dead the next from a pulmonary embolism, with no warning or control.

It hit me that the reason I was so afraid to put blue nail polish on my toes was that I felt like, if one of the things that happened then didn’t happen now, that somehow gave me more control over a situation I can never have control over. All of my childhood obsessions and compulsions were about trying to control what would happen to me, yet none of the unrelated thoughts or actions could actually make something good happen or prevent something bad.

That night, I turned on one of my favorite comedy shows on TV and painted my toenails blue. It felt very strange, but in a way, it felt liberating. I was not dooming myself to a horrible fate by painting my toenails blue, nor could I prevent COVID by painting them a different color. Instead, all I needed to do was follow the CDC’s guidelines and stay as safe as possible until I am able to get a vaccine.

 It might seem like a small, simple thing to be able to use a nail polish color I’d basically outlawed for myself for nearly a decade. But to me, this shows that with enough hard work and determination, I can push past the things holding me back and try to look forward to a brighter future - while wearing a snazzy coat of toenail polish.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

I'VE LEARNED

I’ve Learned

A few months ago, I participated in a social experiment: I showed up on a Zoom call with no idea of what was going to happen, along with a stranger who was also given no explanation. We talked to each other for fifteen minutes before a jaunty tune played and we were told to leave the call.

Back then, I was offered the opportunity to have the person behind this experiment - who runs many such programs and who introduced me to improv - dissect the 15-minute clip to see how my conversation partner and I act in social situations and offer potential feedback.

I was nervous to say yes to this, but according to my improv “yes and” mentality, I decided to go for it. After all, there are few things I haven’t heard about my conversation skills (or lack thereof) throughout my life.

When I was a kid, I used to talk all the time to the point that I almost never came up for air. I talked over everyone, whether about the things I was worried about or my favorite new hobby. My brain moved so fast that it was hard for me to slow my mouth down, and I remember feeling like everything I had to say was so urgent that it simply couldn’t wait.

I was taught in therapy how to recognize that if people were backing away or offering excuses, that meant they weren’t interested in listening to me anymore. I also had to let other people talk instead of monopolizing every conversation, and listen when other people wanted to share about their hobbies, likes, and worries.

Ever since I started learning these things, I’ve been very conscious of how I interact socially, both online and in person. I’ve tried to get to the point where, unless I’m extremely excited about something, I don’t let myself go off the rails and dominate a conversation. I do my best to provide a listening ear to my friends and family, but I am still aware of the fact that I bring a lot of energy and chattiness to conversations and keep an eye on that in case it goes awry.

That being said, I was nervous to see the footage from the social experiment. The person giving feedback, Holly (name changed for privacy), was doing so over a recording of the conversation, so I would have to listen to myself in a conversation with a stranger. It’s something that I could definitely see being valuable for someone like me as a younger person, but when I went to listen to the recording, I was instantly nervous.

What if all of my efforts that I thought I was so good at were all in vain, and I dominated the conversation? What if I rambled on and on without listening? What if I got too personal or too loud or too hyper (a word often used about me in social situations when I was a child, that I still hate being described with today)?

I decided to just bite the bullet and listen to the conversation. During the video, which I barely remember filming last October, I am speaking to James (name changed for privacy), a fellow improv performer and pet lover.

I was afraid when Holly paused the video for the first time, but she was just saying that she was glad I, as a woman, felt comfortable promoting my improv show, as many women keep quiet about their accomplishments. She said I gave off a friendly vibe and both of us were listening to each other and building a good rapport.

At one point, I started to cringe as my past self enthusiastically described the adorable puppy I would be picking up in two weeks. I noticed that, while I did start to take over the conversation a little bit, that moment was brief and Holly noted that I was giving James a gift: the opportunity to learn more about me from specific details and ask questions.

I’ve never heard my tendency to do this as giving a gift to someone before - usually, I’ve heard it as taking away my conversation partner’s agency and enjoyment. But this time, it was brief and I was asking questions too, and even though Holly noted that my energy was higher than James’, I never overwhelmed the conversation or stopped him from contributing.

In the end, Holly’s only feedback to me was to angle my camera differently. Nothing about what I said or how I said it was wrong in her eyes, and even though I know she’s not the be-all-and-end-all of judging conversations, it still felt good for an objective voice to not find any problems with how I interacted with a new person. As a kid who was always told to be quiet, I never could have imagined getting such a good review on a conversation - and I was especially proud of one thing:

The most consistent thing I noticed in the conversation, even though Holly didn’t note this, was that I was happy to be meeting someone new. There was a smile on my face the whole time. I laughed freely, brought positive energy to the room, and apparently incorporated the conversation skills I learned in therapy well enough that I could behave correctly while still enjoying myself.

I was honestly very proud when the 27-minute video finished and Holly didn’t say I was being a bad conversation partner, rambling, or dominating. It was great to see that after so many years of work to keep both the positive and negative aspects of what’s going on in my head to myself, I can do it without having to concentrate so hard that I lose the flow of conversation.

Now, this doesn’t mean that I’m not sharing a steady flow of nerdy memes, silly moments from improv practice, and cute dog pictures to my close friends. But I have gotten to the point where I know what my friends like and want, and I’ve controlled the spiraling thoughts in my head enough to make those friends in the first place.

The recorded proof of my self-control - and the fact that I have friends who I can lose that control with - is a refreshing reminder of how far I’ve come on my OCD journey, and has inspired me to look at my life now for more of these moments I never thought I could have.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.

I HUGGED MY NANA TODAY

I Hugged My Nana Today

I’ve been waiting almost 15 months to run into my Nana’s apartment and wrap my arms around her without thinking about germs - and it finally happened. It’s been two weeks since her second dose of the Moderna vaccine, which my mom got for her out of pure dumb luck thanks to our state’s first-come-first-serve system.

I was so concerned with her being immune that, on the way out the door, Mom reminded me that I would need to wear a mask during our much-anticipated hug. I asked why, only to be reminded that I am unvaccinated. It struck me that I hadn’t thought about my own medical needs this whole time.

Sure, there are times when I worry about getting COVID, especially due to my history of blood clots and horrible fear of having a recurrence. But I hadn’t even considered my own safety - only my fear that my very occasional grocery store trips or dog walks would mean that I would breathe a germ onto Nana - who is 92 years old and my “blood thinners buddy” thanks to a heart condition - that would kill her.

It struck me, as I hugged Nana close, that this is one of my very rare obsessions where I worried about someone else’s medical safety above my own.

When I was little, I thought I’d broken my mom’s back by stepping on a sidewalk crack, not realizing that she had hurt her back long before I could walk. But even when, when I assiduously avoided stepping on more cracks, part of me knew that was just an obsession and I couldn’t really hurt my mom. My therapist said it, and even Mom said it - but in the case of COVID, there was an actual, legitimate way that I could do something careless, carry the virus back to Nana in a state where resources are spread thin especially in the case of the elderly, and actually kill her.

And so, I was meticulous. Even though I wanted to “cheat” since day one, when I phoned her from her lawn instead of going into her apartment, I didn’t hug Nana. I came close a few times, but never gave in to the temptation of a big hug that I’ve wanted (and sometimes needed) since the pandemic started.

When I came home last March, terrified of both the virus and germaphobic thought patterns I hadn’t had in a long time, I didn’t hug her even though it was something I always did when I was in trouble. When I gave back my puppy and sobbed my heart out to Nana over the phone, and then from across her apartment after I came home and quarantined, I wanted to hug her more than anything, but I was too afraid of hurting her.

It’s strange because, looking back, my germaphobic obsessions were always extremely self-centered. I didn’t care if kids in my class threw up as long as they did it far away from me. When I heard anyone was sick, whether it was something little or catastrophic, the first thing I thought about was when I’d last seen them, whether they had something contagious, and what the signs of their illness were so I could monitor myself for symptoms.

It all seems incredibly selfish when I think about it now, but I’ve always experienced OCD like a vortex - it’s not just that my thoughts cycle, but they can also pull me into an increasingly narrow focus until I’m only thinking about myself and my own medical needs - even if I am feeling completely fine.

This pandemic has been the first time I can remember someone having to remind me to look after my own safety in a medical situation. It’s the first time my obsession haven’t led me down into a whirlpool, but instead, compelled me to look after someone else. I bought masks with extra layers, was extra conscious of social distancing, and spent 8 months living 15 minutes away from Nana without hugging her because of her safety, not mine.

When Nana got her vaccine doses, I couldn’t wait to be able to give her one of our great big bear hugs that I’ve loved my whole life. After all, she was the first person to hold me when I was born - and we basically haven’t stopped hugging ever since. When I feel down, it helps me to think of some of our most memorable hugs, like the bear hug I got after every graduation ceremony, the ones when I flopped onto her like I had no bones when things weren’t going well, or the marathon hug I timed after I got out of the hospital (15 minutes, if you’re curious).

Today’s hug was another memorable one - I felt like I was learning how to hug her all over again, remembering our height difference, the smell of her shampoo, the way we cling onto each other and it somehow makes everything better on both ends of the hug. Even with a mask, it felt natural and special, and I couldn’t imagine worrying about catching COVID from this encounter. In that moment, no thoughts or fears could stop me from technically taking a risk for my health that was so overshadowed by joy that I barely even noticed it.

I hugged my Nana today just like I’ve wanted to since the moment I said goodbye to her at the end of a family vacation in December 2019, the last time we saw each other before the pandemic. As I drove back to my parents’ house, I thought of the days when I could never imagine putting someone else’s medical needs above my own or taking a risk for any reason. It reminded me of how far I’ve come and how far I’ll be able to go - thanks in no small part to Nana.

Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.