When Words Aren’t Necessary
I was both pleased and surprised when a coworker at my new job suggested creating a team for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) Out of the Darkness walk at Montrose Beach.
And by the time I got there, I absolutely couldn’t believe how many people were roaming through the maze of tents filled with helpful tips, inspiring messages, ways to remember lost loved ones, and merchandise to show support for the cause of preventing suicide and destigmatizing mental illness.
Never before have I seen so many people (over 5,000!) gathered to talk about what seems to me like the most stigmatized part of mental illness - and that’s saying something. Even though I feel like our society is coming along in terms of talking more openly about mental health, it’s still very taboo to talk about suicide. I’ve seen people leave conversations, events, and even friendships simply because of this - so seeing this many people bringing something that’s so stigmatized into the sunlight was refreshing and inspiring.
I took time to read messages at the “Why We Walk” wall filled with love for people who lost their battle against mental illness and people who are still fighting - and left some words of my own. I found and purchased a cozy pair of sweatpants that say “Be The Voice,” something I try to do through this blog and my daily life. And I picked up a variety of brochures about helping yourself and others with various types of negative thoughts.
For me, the most beautiful part of the experience was a table covered in plastic bead necklaces of all different colors. A placard at the table explained that every color was meant to show an individual’s connection to the cause, whether that meant losing a relative or friend, living with personal struggles of suicidal thoughts or attempts, honoring the LGBTQ community, and more.
I wound up with three necklaces - a dark blue one to support the cause in general, a teal one that I’m proud of a friend who is living with suicidal thoughts and self-harm, and a green one for a personal struggle.
It’s been nine years since I lived with a steady surge of daily suicidal thoughts, but I will never forget the way it made me feel. I was so terrified all the time and even just remembering some of the tougher days while working on the newest draft of my book made me anxious and uneasy. It’s hard to describe how pervasive and life-altering these thoughts can be and how I felt like I was clinging onto anyone who would support me - only for many of them to leave my life forever.
Writing that chapter reminded me how alone I felt when I struggled with suicidal thoughts and how many people completely abandoned me out of fear or shame. Being able to look across a crowd and see how many people had green necklaces - and how many people without green necklaces were supporting the people wearing them - filled me with so much hope.
Shortly before the walk itself started, I ran into an acquaintance who I knew from my frequent trips to game stores. He’s an employee at one that’s farther away from me, so I don’t go there often, but he’s always there with a smile and when his work is slow, he pauses to play Magic: The Gathering with me.
He introduced me to his family, who were wearing necklaces of various colors. I felt an immediate kinship with them and felt comfortable to do far less masking than usual, simply because I knew they understood and cared. When we walked the three miles together, that impression cemented itself as we got along instantly and had so many stories to share.
Most of what we talked about didn’t even have to do with mental health. It was just that the environment was so supportive that people were able to connect in a way that usually isn’t possible among so many unfamiliar faces.
The more I chatted with people, the more I thought about how some people withdrew from me back then because they didn’t know what to say. But this walk helped me realize that sometimes, when words are hard, we don’t even need words.
Just seeing everyone’s necklaces made me feel included and cared about even in a giant crowd of strangers - and that also applied to the supportive signs, high fives, and hugs that were rampant at the event.
I went into this expecting to support a cause I care deeply about, but I didn’t expect to feel such a powerful sense of belonging. I look forward to attending more events like this and showing support beyond what I can write at the keyboard.
Michelle Cohen, a writer in 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.