I remember twice in my lifetime that I seriously considered killing myself. I'm not talking about those fleeting moments of frustration when the words "I wish I were dead" float through your mind. I'm talking about seriously thinking about suicide. The kind of thought that involves having a plan...how, when, where, etc. Twice, I remember having those thoughts. Luckily, in the end, I had the strength to pull through those thoughts and continue plugging along. These two occasions of deepest, darkest hopelessness occurred during my relative youth. Now that I'm older, I still have dark moments, but I would never think about taking my own life. Now that I'm older, I have the experience to have developed skills for coping with this darkness.
As a teacher of teenagers, I often have the opportunity to experience young angst. Almost daily, I see young people weighted down by the feeling that hope no longer exists in their shadowed reality. Teenagers frequently provide a fascinating juxtaposition of light and dark. My days are filled with silly laughter seated just next to heavy tears welling under the surface. Extreme light. Extreme dark.
As any adult who works with young people will know, part of our responsibility is to help shed light on the darkness. To help these inexperienced broken hearts see the hope. In my career, I've dealt with many suicide threats and a number of suicide attempts. In most cases, the signs are seen, intervention is implemented, and a life is saved. As was the case with me, most young people that slide into a dark hole, find their way out before it is too late. Unfortunately, there are the few that, for various reasons, never return from that dark hole. As of this week, I experienced the second of those for me personally. The second child in my life lost to hopelessness.
Over the holiday break, one of my students made the decision that he couldn't continue, and he took his own life. When the school counselor, who is also a personal friend, summoned me to her office to let me know personally before a general announcement was made, the emotions that I experienced were inexplicable. Right as she said the words, "He killed himself" my hands flew to my mouth. I believed that I was actually holding my insides back. Keeping the entirety of myself from flowing out on a current of disbelief and heartbreak.
I thought about the plan he and I had just agreed upon to save him from failing my class. I thought about his tendency to wear a cocked beanie and a jacket, despite the 90 degree temperatures. I remembered him sitting beside me on a cold, hard aluminum bench as I tried to get him to explain to me what was going on. I thought about him. I thought about how close he had been not so long ago, and how far away he was now. Irreversibly far.
This morning, as I took attendance in the class he had formerly been a part of, I paused at the empty spot he had occupied. Furthest row to the right, second to the front. Not so long ago, his down-turned head was filling that spot.
The only thing left in the place of that precious head is my own concern. Did I say enough? Did I do enough? How did such a young spirit lose sight of the endless possibilities that were stretched ahead of him? What can I do to keep it from ever happening to another? What can we all do?
As a teacher of teenagers, I often have the opportunity to experience young angst. Almost daily, I see young people weighted down by the feeling that hope no longer exists in their shadowed reality. Teenagers frequently provide a fascinating juxtaposition of light and dark. My days are filled with silly laughter seated just next to heavy tears welling under the surface. Extreme light. Extreme dark.
As any adult who works with young people will know, part of our responsibility is to help shed light on the darkness. To help these inexperienced broken hearts see the hope. In my career, I've dealt with many suicide threats and a number of suicide attempts. In most cases, the signs are seen, intervention is implemented, and a life is saved. As was the case with me, most young people that slide into a dark hole, find their way out before it is too late. Unfortunately, there are the few that, for various reasons, never return from that dark hole. As of this week, I experienced the second of those for me personally. The second child in my life lost to hopelessness.
Over the holiday break, one of my students made the decision that he couldn't continue, and he took his own life. When the school counselor, who is also a personal friend, summoned me to her office to let me know personally before a general announcement was made, the emotions that I experienced were inexplicable. Right as she said the words, "He killed himself" my hands flew to my mouth. I believed that I was actually holding my insides back. Keeping the entirety of myself from flowing out on a current of disbelief and heartbreak.
I thought about the plan he and I had just agreed upon to save him from failing my class. I thought about his tendency to wear a cocked beanie and a jacket, despite the 90 degree temperatures. I remembered him sitting beside me on a cold, hard aluminum bench as I tried to get him to explain to me what was going on. I thought about him. I thought about how close he had been not so long ago, and how far away he was now. Irreversibly far.
This morning, as I took attendance in the class he had formerly been a part of, I paused at the empty spot he had occupied. Furthest row to the right, second to the front. Not so long ago, his down-turned head was filling that spot.
The only thing left in the place of that precious head is my own concern. Did I say enough? Did I do enough? How did such a young spirit lose sight of the endless possibilities that were stretched ahead of him? What can I do to keep it from ever happening to another? What can we all do?