In retrospect, I can see clearly now that there is a strong thread of mental illness running through my family. My father had a brother who spent a great deal of time institutionalized to deal with manic depression. A cousin of mine openly battled depression and substance abuse issues (a very common combination) for many years, before he lost his battle last year at the age of 46.
Mental illnesses are biologically based brain disorders. They cannot be overcome through "will power" and are not related to a person's "character" or intelligence.
After the end of a difficult relationship, the death of my mother, and the loss of a job, I myself ended up spending two years on anti-depressants back in the early '90s.
Even as I write those last words, I worry about revealing that information publicly. While my own battle with depression wasn't as intense as those waged by my friends and family members, I still felt ashamed that "I couldn't cope" on my own. It was only to my best friend Megan that I felt comfortable revealing my "secret". Little did I know, she was fighting her own battles. And even though we were "there for each other" as we struggled with our sadnesses throughout our 20s and 30s, I was never to know how she'd attempted to take her life on three separate occasions before she finally accomplished it at the age of 45.
For each completed suicide there are 100 attempts, and over 23,000 Canadians are hospitalized each year for a suicide attempt.
In her suicide note, my friend said "this was inevitable". How I wish I had her here with me now to argue that point...
next week: The silent conspiracy
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