So who were we hiding from, Megan and I? For starters, I hid from my father. I was damned if I was going to admit to him that I was having a hard time coping. I was certain he would sneer and tell me to "belt up". Of course, I was wrong -- he would have been supportive -- but I couldn't see that at the time.
Media reports covering teen -- or any -- suicides were extremely rare. It's only recently that I've discovered that there was an actual editorial policy on this. Reporters were told not to cover suicides, as it was thought media coverage would encourage copycat behaviour. The result, however, was to deepen our sense of isolation -- we continued to feel alone and ashamed.
Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in both men and women from adolescence to middle age.
If you can't tell a parent, who can you tell? When I had my "dark time" in the '90s, I was lucky enough to have an excellent family doctor. He recognized quickly what I was going through, and in addition to putting me on Prozac, he became my therapist. We set up a weekly appointment during which we would simply sit and talk for awhile. Slowly, I began to feel less isolated, and to regain some sense of control in my life. Prozac also helped me break the cycle of mood swings in which I had found myself drowning.
As I gained back some strength and confidence, I quietly re-entered my life. As a self-employed person at the time, I didn't have to face "re-entry" into the work force in the sense of having to step back into an office setting. But I did find it challenging to manage public gatherings, social events and the like in those first months back -- I was certain people could tell how alien I felt, and discover my secret.
next: kindred spirits
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