suicide prevention month | Jill Prouty

Tag: suicide prevention month
- Stigma caused by archaic bunk
  
  Posted at 3:37 pm by jillprouty7, on September 26, 2016
  
  bunk:
  
  noun, informal
  1) Humbug; nonsense.
  
  Synonyms: Baloney, hogwash, bull, hooey.
  
  My kids and I love to read together at bedtime. It’s fun and it often sparks meaningful conversation. Right now we’re reading The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain. In it, Twain’s characters relate stories of people being burned at the stake for witchcraft. One story was of a woman who was accused of poisoning a man who died shortly after she visited him. (He was deathly ill already.) I pointed out to my kids that the conclusion drawn from the man’s death was pure 16th century “bunk.”
  
  Most historians agree that witchcraft, demonology, and possessions survived as an explanation for the unexplained, including mental illness, right up until the 18th century; however, you might be surprised to learn that even in today’s 21st century world, some still attribute mental illness, especially depression, to being under the influence of Satan. That’s right, pure archaic bunk.
  
  As I’ve said again and again (and again, and again, and again…), depression is an illness. Satan has no more influence over someone who has depression than someone who has cancer. Bringing Satan, demon possession, moral weakness, or lack of faith into the conversation about depression, or any other mental illness, further stigmatizes sufferers and their families.
  
  Three or four years ago I heard Rosalynn Carter speak at the Carter Center about her work on behalf of the mentally ill. She said that much had changed in the 40+ years she’d spent as an advocate, especially in the area of treatment. The one thing that hadn’t changed? The stigma.
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged depression, major depression, mental illness, rosalynn carter, stigma, suicide prevention month
- Can suicide be prevented?
  
  Posted at 4:22 pm by jillprouty7, on September 19, 2016
  
  Butterfly release at SPAN-GA Walk in Newnan, 9/10/16. Photo by Maggie Barrett.
  
  It always disturbs me when I see well-meaning suicide prevention advocates make statements such as, “Suicide is 100% preventable.” Why? Because it simply isn’t true.
  
  I get it. I used to be one of those people too. When I’d read of someone who had killed themselves I’d say things like, “Why didn’t they get the help they needed? Where were their families?”
  
  Here is the truth: Many suicides are preventable. There is no doubt about that. However, sometimes a person can have all the best treatments: the latest and greatest meds; in-patient and/or out-patient treatment (or a combination thereof); electroconvulsive therapy; as well as a great support team at home. And it can still happen.
  
  Up to 10% of major depression sufferers do not respond to treatment. That isn’t to say that we should give up on them. We need to be ever-vigilant with those at risk. But we also need to be careful not to assign blame to anybody when suicide does happen.
  
  Making unqualified statements is a disservice to survivors of suicide. Grieving the suicide of a loved one is like walking through a land mine – the second guessing, the regrets. I’ve been there. In the months following my mother’s suicide, I followed every alternate path trying to come up with a different ending, but I kept coming back to this: Unless you put someone in a straight jacket, lock them up, and force feed them intravenously, there are no guarantees.
  
  To survivors of suicide – I think I have a somewhat unique perspective as my mother was conscious for almost 24 hours after she fatally injured herself and was able to share a few things, most importantly this: It isn’t your fault.
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 6 Comments | Tagged depression, grief, mental illness, suicide, suicide prevention month, survivors of suicide
- On motherhood, mental illness, and the importance of memory
  
  Posted at 8:11 pm by jillprouty7, on August 16, 2016
  
  I’ve spent the last week or so creating this new website of mine. When at last I thought I was satisfied with the overall look of it, I realized it was time to put pen to paper – or fingers to keyboard, in this case. What do I say? Where did it all begin? I could say it began in 1993-94 when my mother floated the idea of she and I co-writing a book about her experiences with major depression. She had nearly died in the Spring of 1992 after an intentional overdose. In fact, the doctors said she should have been dead, but she woke up after three days in a coma – and had a story to tell.
  
  We talked in vague terms about the book. She thought I had a knack for writing. I demurred feeling that my writing skills were mediocre at best, but we kept the dialogue open. Maybe someday.
  
  Fast forward ten years. Mom’s depression comes back, and with a vengeance. We thought we had seen the worst in 1992, but it turns out we had not. This time she does not survive. I was five months pregnant at the time with her first grandchild. I remember talking to a well-meaning friend over the phone a week or so after I had returned to work and I’ll never forget what she said to me.
  
  “The baby never has to know about Grandma.”
  
  I was stunned. Of course I would want my child to know his grandmother. Not only was mental illness a part of who my mother was, it was – and still is – an important part of our family’s medical history.
  
  I kept a notebook on my bedside table those first few months after her death. My writing was raw and painful, full of rage at times, but getting it out just before bedtime helped clear my head for sleep. The process would start over again every morning – realizing that what happened really did happen and wasn’t a bad dream. I never thought I’d see the other side. But as the months wore on and I became a mother myself, the intensity of my grief faded and a new normal began.
  
  Then one day, when my oldest was four, he padded out to the kitchen where I was loading the dishwasher and asked, “Do I have a grandma?”
  
  That’s when I knew it was time to tell my mother’s story for her.
  
  Mom – Summer 2002 in Maine, the year before her death.
  
  Posted in Uncategorized | 6 Comments | Tagged depressed mothers, depression, major depression, memoir, memory, mental illness, mother's depression, mothers and daughters, suicide, suicide prevention month
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