Let’s begin with a warning.
I strive always to remind readers when I am not an expert in a given topic, and for today’s essay it is critical that we’re clear on this accord. I have no degree in psychology or social-work; I am not a neuroscientist or medical practitioner.
I am simply a humanist who has lived with suicidal ideation since they were eight.
At eight, I used to etch the words “I want to die” in the earth at recess. I was in grade four that year. A bit young? Yes. I’d skipped grade one, and when taking math classes with the grade sixes during grades two and three, I was bullied at recess by those same students. When I stopped going, to try to avoid the problem, I was put in detention for disrespecting the teacher. Grade four–my first year in full-day gifted–I was bullied, too. I was bullied on the bus, by grade sevens and eights who’d sometimes steal my lunchbox and toss parts out the window while a bizarre bus driver cheered on their brutality; and I was bullied by fellow gifted kids, who didn’t take a shining to the half-pint with a mop of uncombed hair who aced all the maths homework.
One day, the cruelty of this last group culminated in a mean prank. The kids in my class knew I had a crush, and they staged a situation in which the target of my crush would take me aside and say… nice things about me. That he liked me because of [X] positive attributes. And I walked away from that unexpected encounter as if on a cloud, at which point the girls of the class clamoured about, asking me to tell them what had just happened. And I did, haltingly but happily. I told them all the nice things he’d said about me, but while I did I didn’t realize that the crowd had suddenly gotten a whole lot bigger–the boys in the class, my crush among them, having joined the circle around me.
That’s when this boy laughed in my face and told me how pathetic I was to have believed him; to have believed any of those nice things were true. And the rest of my class laughed and laughed, too. I broke out of that circle in tears. I tore off to get away from them. I ran straight for a very steep forest hillside at the edge of recess grounds.
One of those classmates, contrite to see the consequences of her actions, called out and stopped me. We sat together, and she told me she was sorry. Then, after that lunch hour, she told a teacher that I’d tried to commit suicide. And then the teacher informed the principal, and the school nurse.
I didn’t know about this chain of events until I got home, though, and found out that this claim had been passed on in a phone call.
My parents… did not take that incident well. But this essay isn’t about their reactions, or struggles. It’s about that confusing line in the sand: suicidal thoughts versus actions.
Because I hadn’t been trying to kill myself that day. What a baffling thing, to think that one could kill oneself by tumbling down even a steep wooded hillside!
But I had wanted to die.
And, oh, how desperately I have often wanted to in low points ever since.
The Secular Story for Suicidal Ideation
I’m sharing that story because we tend to pay more attention to parts of the media sphere that resonate with us, personally–so of course as I grew up routinely wanting to die, I was acutely aware of secular storytelling around suicidal ideation. And what that secular storytelling tended to do was treat with equivalent alarm the fact of suicidal ideation.
“Well, yeah!” one might reason: “Because it’s important to catch suicidal ideation before it advances into something more serious!”
That’s the “gateway” theory, at least. Alternately–
“Well, yeah!” one might argue: “Because too many people think it’s not serious at all, just a ploy for attention!”
That’s the “de-stigmatize mental health issues!” school of thought.
But in practice, at least throughout my childhood, the extreme weight placed on suicidal ideation counterintuitively made it more difficult to solicit help. I mean, okay, I’d had a rather extreme early run-in with the punitive side of seeking help for mental-health issues… but it was also widely understood in my peer groups from adolescence through to early university that if you said you were having suicidal thoughts you’d give the doctor no choice but to take extreme action. I’d even hear parents threaten their anguished, articulating kids with the punitive likes of–“Oh, so you don’t want to live? Okay, then I guess I have to take you to the hospital where they’ll keep you for three days…”
All of which creates, of course, an extreme dichotomy: we end up heightening the stakes of suicidal ideation (including in the minds of suffering individuals), so as to avoid the charge of trying to diminish the value of mental-health advocacy.
Is that approach to mental health… constructive? Does it help?
Stats for Suicide Ideation and Deaths
World Health Organization figures from a 21-country survey (which I’m distilling from a compilation of studies here) suggest that some 800,000 people die annually from suicide (around 12 in 100,000), the significant majority of them men. Meanwhile, the rate of suicide attempts is much higher, at around 30 attempts for each ended life (especially drawing from US-specific data). And ideation? About 2% of the surveyed population in any given 12-month period reported suicidal ideation… but in the US, that incidence rate shot up to 4%, with only 50% of those folks reporting any receipt of mental-health care.
Suffice it to say, then, there is a significant need to talk about and de-stigmatize mental-health issues. Clearly, too many people are suffering without appropriate recourse–and since around 30% of suicidal ideators attempt suicide, there’s also good reason to see suicidal ideation as a potential risk factor for more extreme destructive behaviours.
And again–I’m not a medical expert. But I do want to share what personal experience has suggested might be another, less escalating approach to this serious mental state. I’m going to call it a “humanistic” approach to suicidal ideation, but I don’t want you thinking I’m just throwing that word around until it becomes functionally meaningless.
Rather, humanism is a human-centric existential outlook that prioritizes empathy and empirical data, and what I’d like to propose is entirely in line with that latter component: the idea that a pragmatic look even at something superficially scary, like intrusive thoughts of self-harm and suicide, is far superior to an approach based on panic.
(Or, you know, an approach based on either religious or secular shaming of people for being suicidal at all. Whether it’s “How selfish you are to want to end your life!” or “How dare you try to play God with your own life!”, those are awful, anti-humanist approaches to mental health, and they’re really not worth belabouring here.)
So, let’s be good humanists about this, shall we? Let’s say you’re having suicidal thoughts. Sure, hopefully you have the phone numbers and related contact information for professional supports in your community… but what else can you do, immediately, to take away the weight and power of suicidal ideation?
A More Humanistic Approach to Suicidal Ideation
Here’s the pitch, my lovelies:
When someone starts thinking about wanting to die, our culture tends to leap on the whole “dying” part.
But what if we paid attention to the part of suicidal ideation that’s struggling for agency instead? What if we saw those intrusive thoughts about ending our lives as our brains intelligently groping about in times of great sadness or stress for something it could do to change its circumstances?
Because that’s at the core of it all, isn’t it?
Whether we’ve been bullied mercilessly, or find ourselves facing an impossible debt scenario, or have just lost a loved one… all of those circumstances may feel entirely outside our control, but our desire for control hasn’t gone away. Quite the contrary!
Rather, the cry of “I just want to die,” or the mental image we play out over and over of our deaths, is at its heart an affirmation of how strong our individual will continues to be. It is, in an odd sort of way, almost comforting to remember that we at least retain one possible act of full human agency even in our bleakest hours.
And so rather than immediately panicking at one’s own suicidal ideation, or at the suicidal ideation of anyone you might know, what if we instead chose to focus on the incredible strength that the brain is manifesting? It’s a born problem-solver, after all–and now it’s trying valiantly to solve an extremely difficult and emotional quandary.
What it needs, of course, is more options, more variables, more reframing (the likes of which, as I mentioned in my last essay, CBT can help with immensely for those who have the patience for such homework)… but while we’re waiting on those other options to emerge, is it necessary to treat the brain itself as anything less than an incredible and persevering organism, for having started this troubleshooting process at all?
Agency: The Core of Human Dignity
Relentless suicidal ideation is painful. Even infrequent suicidal ideation can alarm us and feel like a betrayal of all the parts of ourselves and our lives we enjoy.
But all suicidal ideation needs to be is the first possible solution thrown out by a biological construct–by a central nervous system, that is, relentlessly making split-second suggestions about how to react to its immediate environment. And why is this system throwing out those extremes? Because it wants agency–it needs agency–and for the moment, at least, this is the only way it can think to reclaim its human dignity.
Maybe I should just leap off a bridge, your brain might suggest while you feel tired and hopeless at the end of the day.
And yes, that can be upsetting to hear–but it’s entirely possible that we might go further, as mental-health advocates for ourselves and our communities, if we stopped regarding such ideation as an automatic guarantee of either future suicidal attempts or actuation.
What if we saw it, instead, as the brain’s opening bid for how best to increase our sense of agency?
What if we pressed on in that negotiation process?
What other, far better solutions might our brilliant-even-when-overacting biological systems come up with next?
I’m thankful to all of you who have made the powerful choice to stick around and find out–and all of you, furthermore, who might have to make that choice again, and again, and again. The world is better for your participation in our collective struggles.