Talking with Josh Walfish

A year ago, Josh Walfish sat down and wrote a column for his student newspaper at Northwestern University about recent suicides on campus and his own experience with suicide attempts. We can have all the resources in the world, but we have to look out for each other and make sure the people around us will use them, he said.

Josh is passionate about making this a more open subject, but he drew a spirited line at the media’s interest in the details of suicide attempts. “Nobody is going to sit there and criticize a rape victim for not giving every single detail of the night they were raped,” he says. “So why do we criticize attempt survivors for not going into the most painful place of their lives? The fact is, there has to be some other reason you’re writing the story, and that should take precedence.”

Who are you? Please introduce yourself.

So, I’m Josh Walfish, a recent college graduate of Northwestern University. I am a sports journalist in North Carolina, living my dream, one word at a time. And I am … It’s funny, because having graduated college and trying to present yourself, it’s always been difficult for me: Do I bring up issues from my past? Do I not? Obviously for this it’s important, but it’s one of those things, I think, that over time I haven’t allowed my mental health issues to define me as much. So I’ll introduce myself: a Northwestern grad, a sports journalist living my dream, and I’m ready for what life brings me next.

A year and a half ago, I probably would have thrown in the fact that I’m someone who suffers from mental illness, but it’s not something that defines me in the present moment.

What changed? What inspired that?

It was a long process for me of just different therapies, talking with friends. What really changed was, I was accepted into the group therapy program at Northwestern, and that community really just changed my perspective. This blog does a great job highlighting that these mental health issues can happen to anybody, and that’s exactly what I saw in this group. A lot of very nice people from all sorts of backgrounds, and we all shared this same sort of bond, some sort of mental illness, bipolar, depression, whatever it may be. And you listen to these stories, “Ooh, I can connect to that,” whereas that person and I maybe have nothing else in common other than this battle. When I saw these people not let it define them in the public sphere, I made that my mission. Through a lot of help from friends and family, I progressed to where it’s not … It is a part of me, no doubt, but it’s no longer defining me.

A year ago, when you wrote your column, where were you in this transformation?

That was very early on in my transformation. The column I wrote last November for Northwestern’s newspaper, that came out of pure frustration. Unfortunately, Northwestern had gone through a period of great loss. In the previous 13 months, we had six students die – five of whom committed suicide, the sixth just disappeared and unfortunately was found in Lake Michigan a couple of weeks later. All I kept hearing on campus was “The administration’s not doing enough.” I’d go to these vigils on campus and hear “The administration needs to put more resources.” But at the same time, you hear friends saying, “I wish I could have done more, I wish I could have seen this person’s pain.” And in my mind I’m like, “But you did. Or you weren’t as good a friend with him/her as you thought.” That was the difficult thing. I wrote that it’s very simple. We can ask for all these resources, but if you can’t get that person who is struggling to use those resources, you can have all the resources and it’s not going to matter. It’s up to you as a friend to say, “Hey, I’m sensing you’re a little bit depressed, things aren’t OK, how are you feeling, what’s happening?”

And the response I got from that was remarkable. I was getting emails, people coming up saying, “It’s remarkable how much more I’m learning just by asking someone how they’re doing.” Mental health issues are very important, we need to put more resources, but by the same token, it comes down to the human element as well. The column was when I started bringing friends into the process. I got all the help I needed, now it was down to the personal side of things. I’d ask my friends, “How would you define me?” A lot brought up mental health issues, but it became clear to me that I’m more than the person who has attempted suicide twice. Is that me? Yes, but I’m more than that person. I’m the loyal friend. If you need $10 for cab fare, if I have it, I’ll give it to you. That’s the person I am. I’m a successful journalist. A college graduate. All those things are more important in terms of how I define myself; they’re just as much a part of me.

Was your change more external or internal?

Mostly my change was internal. I think most people didn’t automatically associate it with me: “Josh, whoa, this kind of came out of left field for me. I’ve known you for four years, and magically these issues appear.” And so, it was a lot more internal, a lot more me not defining myself by it, using it as a crutch. I don’t need to lean on the fact that I’m depressed to dictate what I do and don’t do. I started becoming a lot more social, saying, “You know what? Instead of going to bed at 11, I’ll act like a college student and if someone says come out, I’ll go.” I became much more active, and it did wonders for me. And it made me realize I am more than just my illness.

What were the other responses to your column?

I think the ones that really surprised me were casual acquaintances. I had people who would email me with their stories and ask for advice. I wrote in my column that if you feel you don’t have anyone close enough to you to share your pain, I’ll be that person. Did I expect people to take it up? Not in the slightest. But people did. I remember one kid from high school who emailed me saying he disagreed with me, he said, “Oh, I do such a great job of hiding my suffering that no one knows I’m in pain.” I said, “Go ask the three people closest to you and ask, ‘This is what I was feeling, did you see any signs?’ I guarantee at least two will say something.” He said he asked five and all five were not surprised by what he was telling them. That’s the beauty. At the end of the day, we recognize that our friends are not thriving and it’s up to us to intervene: “You haven’t been acting yourself lately, what’s going on?” When you do, it’s remarkable the reaction. When you show you’re interested in somebody, it makes a world of difference. It makes them feel heard, important. It lifts their self-confidence and, more important, it allows them to be more honest with themselves and seek treatment and the help they need.

Are you still in touch with those who reached out?

If Facebook counts as staying in touch, then yes. I’ll always have that bit of me making sure they’re OK. I try not to be overly involved in their life because at the end of the day I’m still working on myself, too. I’m still trying to check in with many friends in high school and college I now know on a deeper basis, to be there for them in ups and downs. I know that I can only help so much and they need someone who really knows them.

How old are you?

22. I’ll be 23 in two months.

What concerns did you consider about your future when your column came out?

Someone asked me the day after, “Were you concerned?” I said no. I emailed the editor in chief, “Listen, I want to write this.” It was right after we lost another student to suicide. She’s like, “Absolutely, we’d be honored.” I sat down and, like, 30 minutes later had, like, 1,300 words. I spent the next 15 minutes paring it down to about 1,000 and sent it in. Not once did I think about implications. And then afterward people asked, “Were you concerned?” I would be very disappointed if someone came up to me and said, “Listen, you’re extremely qualified and we’d love to hire you, but we think you need to be in a mental institution and not in the workplace.” That doesn’t define who I am. Am I still in therapy? Yes. It’s important for me. But to say I’m not fit to work because I deal with mental health issues and am public about my fight with mental illness doesn’t mean that I’m unfit to work. I wouldn’t want to work in an environment that would feel that way. Where I am, in North Carolina, you know, they’re very supportive of it. When I got my orientation, they had a whole pamphlet of services for grief and personal troubles, and that made me feel good. I can be open and honest if that time ever came. I don’t bring it up because it’s not relevant to my job. But if it’s relevant, I’d be happy to be honest about that, and I assume there would be no repercussions.

Do you see any differences on this issue between older and younger generations?

I don’t know if younger people are being more fearless or the older generation is being used to work and personal life being very separate, and a lot of inner demons, you didn’t want them to show because that’s weakness, and if you’re weak you’re not fit to work. It’s like people who struggled because of being LGBT. But you see people, my generation, being more open about sexuality, mental health, and we’ve lived in a more welcoming society than older generations. Us being bolder? I don’t know. It’s being in a society where being open and honest is OK, and if we find that a company is not willing to be as accepting, there will be 10 companies that will be accepting. We’re not as worried about those ramifications.

Quite frankly, it’s shown that it doesn’t matter whether you suffer from mental illness or LGBT, or woman or black, it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, if you can perform the tasks and can do it in an acceptable manner, what happens outside the workplace shouldn’t matter. I’m not breaking any laws by suffering from depression, so it doesn’t matter what’s going in my personal life.

How can we open up the topic more overall?

That’s an extremely, extremely tough question. I will say I think it will take a lot of people like me and you and these subjects who have talked to you being open, honest and putting stories out there and spreading the word and getting awareness out there. But it’s a topic in society where it’s still taboo. And LBGT issues are slowly becoming less taboo, but they’re still pretty taboo for most of society. So it’s just, it’s having blogs like this, having people like me being open and honest and hoping that the more people that are open and honest, the more people are going to realize how much their lives are affected by people who deal with mental illness. It’s the same thing we’re seeing where most of society is realizing they have friends who are LGBT or, you know, someone who died in combat or whatever it may be. When it becomes that common, “You know what, it’s this important to me because my best friend suffers from depression, or my best friend’s sister died by suicide …”

Mental health and suicide prevention groups, how can they step up?

They play a very important role. The services, resources they provide are invaluable to the community, to people like me. That being said, could they be doing more? No, because I think within the budget they have, the messages they provide, they’re doing an excellent job at doing what they can. Of course, I would love nothing more than to see mental health ads be as prevalent on TV as political ads. Living in North Carolina, I saw a U.S. Senate ad probably every other commercial. As much as those political ads annoyed me, I would love nothing more, and probably would watch TV more, if every other ad would be about mental health awareness. That said, these organizations don’t have the hundreds of millions of dollars to do that year-round. They’re doing great things with the limited resources they have. To ask them to do more is irresponsible if we as a society are not going to give them the capital to do more. That’s why I wrote that column. We can talk about adding resources, but unless we fit patients to the resources, unless we can get people to use them, it doesn’t matter.

Will this ever become as un-taboo as cancer is now?

I certainly hope so. I certainly hope in my lifetime it will become as taboo as cancer, which is to say, not at all. It goes back to the ALS ice bucket challenge. We had people who said, “We want to make a difference treating ALS and do this thing” and boom, funding goes up. We could find the next ice bucket challenge and make a difference. It’s just going to take time. Who am I to say that suicide prevention is more important than putting money to cure cancer or cure ALS or any of these diseases? That’s where it becomes tricky. How do we find subjects to boost the awareness and get suicide prevention on the level of cancer and AIDS and all these other horrific diseases? I think the government is very important, but at the end of the day, the government is a mess right now. So we can’t rely on the government. We have to rely on ourselves and what we can do. It’s difficult. If this can’t get into mainstream media, it will sit on the periphery. I don’t know any other way than to keep talking about it and hope it sticks eventually. It would be great if Hollywood comes out with a series of movies about people battling depression, suicidal thoughts and overcoming them and creating those feel-good stories.

How can we change the misguided perception that suicidal thinking is something we choose?

As you bring it up, I’m clapping with excitment. This is the most frustrating thing for me. Of course, I got plenty of emails: “Just perk up! Think happy thoughts!” You know what? I would love nothing more. If that was the solution, I would be one of the happiest people on the planet. But obviously, it’s not. How do we fix that misconception? A) education. And B) more important, letting the majority of people who are educated about the issue become spokespeople. We see this all the time. The people who are loudest are the people who are uninformed. You get these myths and everybody assumes they’re true. People who are uninformed have the megaphone. We can sit and try to counteract, but once they believe it, they’re not going to change their thinking. We have to get to my generation, the one after mine that’s slowly starting to enter, and say, “Listen, this isn’t a choice.” For the most part, these are biological issues brought on by certain situations. And educating them about what really goes into mental health issues. Even if depression or bipolar doesn’t lead to suicidal thoughts, it doesn’t change the fact that depression is a major disease inflicting us as a nation. We do need to be educated the same way we are about cancer, AIDS and now Ebola. I would love nothing more than have the CDC come out with a depression pamphlet.

What does your family think about all of this?

I don’t think it shocks either of my parents, that I’m being open and honest and tell people what I think, because that’s what I do. When I wrote the column, I gave them a bit of a heads-up. My mother read the column and, wonderful Jewish mother she is, she’s very supportive of me, asks me all the time how I’m doing. Any time I’m not doing great, she says, “Well you have your therapist’s number if you’re thinking of doing anything drastic.” I say, “Mom, we’re not anywhere close to that.” My father is silently supportive, I guess. He’s just a very odd fellow when it comes to his emotions. It’s something we don’t really talk about because I’m a bit nervous as to what he would say. I have two siblings, both of them know, but it’s one of those unspoken things like, “Yeah, we know it but it doesn’t affect us right now, so we’re not going to talk about it.”

What more would you like to do on this issue?

That’s tricky. I’m super willing to do more. I’m super willing to share my story, whether speaking or writing. So I was so excited to talk to you. I can be honest, spread awareness in more ways. But it comes down to, for me, not only finding avenues but finding people willing to listen. It’s about me finding them, connecting with them, finding ways to continue to share. I talk with friends a lot. It’s one of those things that’s just kind of become a cause I’m very passionate about, something I want to try to eradicate in our society. We talked about stigma before. Eradicate that, make sure people are educated, make sure they understand this is not a choice, that it has biological undertones. Anything I can do to help make society, one more person, educated, I’m totally on board. If anyone reads this and wants to talk to me, contact Cara.

How does the media do on this issue, portraying us?

It’s a mixed bag. I became very aware of this when I was at the student newspaper. It’s very important for me to realize how are we covering this, what’s the language we’re using. It’s like any obituary, we have to respect the person who’s deceased. More importantly, where I think the media gets a bit too carried away is, and we see this with Robin Williams, we get news reports about the method, how they did it. That has no place. Nobody’s sitting there writing a story about, you know, the fact that the heart slowly gave out as the blood was rushing out of his left leg … Nobody describes other deaths in that detail, so why is the manner of suicide so much more important than the way anyone else dies? You can say they committed suicide and that’s the end of it. The manner is not relevant. I was not appreciative at all of the way the media portrayed his death. They were so hell-bent on portraying how he did it. Anyone who says it does matter is, you’re invading that person’s privacy. That’s the last thing we as a society need to do. There are some things that need to be private, and this is one of them.

What about having it as a dramatic anecdote to start a story? I know of one case where the reporter told a central person in the story that maybe their part should be taken out if they didn’t talk about the details of their attempt.

That’s ridiculous. To think reporters are out there who think to threaten a source? You should be thankful they’re willing to speak with you! I think when we look at suicide attempts, you know, the survivors should be given the same respect as rape victims. People whose homes were burglarized, or people who were taken as hostages. For some people, there can be a whole mess of PTSD-related pain you could be inflicting by making them relive it. The fact that media members are going to say, “We’re not going to tell your story because you’re not willing to get into those deeply painful places with someone you met maybe 20 minutes ago,” it’s lunacy. That’s the only word I can think about. And now I’m getting very aggravated. If anyone came up to me and said, “We need to know exact details of what happened, I would say, “Here’s the door, you can leave.” There are certain things I can describe, whether in my writing, or in talks with people, and that’s fine, but there are things I keep to myself for a reason. I don’t want to go back to that sort of place.

So we’re against the all-or nothing approach.

Nobody is going to sit there and criticize a rape victim for not giving every single detail of the night they were raped. So why do we criticize attempt survivors for not going into the most painful place of their lives? The fact is, there has to be some other reason you’re writing the story, and that should take precedence. There are plenty of ways to get narrative into a story without saying, “He took the knife in his hand …” There are better ways to approach that story and, quite honestly, it’s lazy journalism. Now, yes, there are times you say, “That’s going to be my lede.” That’s fine. but to tell me you’re going into a story having pre-written it and hoping the source backs up what you wrote, that’s lazy journalism. I know plenty of people who force-feed anecdotes, make a cookie-cutter story. A good journalist takes evidence, crafts it into a story they want to tell while respecting their sources. If any journalist out there threatens to not include a source because they’re not willing to go into a painful experience, I question how much you really want to tell this story.

I came across an unusual question recently. A reporter asked an attempt survivor to show their medical records as proof of their attempt. How do you think that should be handled?

What happens if I don’t have the medical record to prove it? Right? I don’t have records to prove it. But guess what? I can refer you to other people who were there and witnessed it. … There are a lot of things in medical records you might forget and don’t want to make public. That’s a problem. And quite frankly, I applaud the fact these journalists want to make sure they’re reporting the facts, but there are other ways to do it than to request medical records. And honestly, you as a journalist should be able to trust your sources. For something like this, who out there would be so willing to get into a news story that they would fake attempting suicide? That goes far beyond anything I could ever comprehend. If you want to be sure, ask, “Is there anyone else I can talk to to confirm the facts?” That’s the way I would approach it.

There was big news recently with the young woman who moved to Oregon to take advantage of its assisted suicide law. Some people have strong opinions on this subject, and others see it as a different world altogether. What do you think?

I do think it is a completely different world. Assisted suicide/death with dignity is a decision made based on physical ailments, not psychological ones. That’s the biggest difference for me. I could not imagine having to watch your body deteriorate physically and realizing you can’t do anything about it. There are some physical conditions that are terminal, and if you don’t want to subject yourself to the pain and suffering of a long, gruesome death, I understand. That’s different from mental illness where the issues may never fully go away, but they are treatable and don’t need to be terminal.

Is there anything you’d like to add?

The one thing I want to add is that yes, a suicide attempt is an important part of someone’s life, a turning point in someone’s life, but it never should define them. There’s a lot more to people like me than the fact that I attempted suicide. I take great pride in the work I do, in being an excellent friend. And those are things I choose to define myself as. And I hope people define me that way as well. People are courageous enough to go public about their attempts; that shouldn’t cloud your judgment about who they are. They’re still that same person. You’re just getting a new wrinkle in their life. Don’t treat every new wrinkle as the most important thing that defines them. You’ll often find the most important things within the first 20 minutes of meeting them. If you don’t find that out in the first 20 minutes, obviously it’s not important enough to be an identifying factor.

That’s a good lead-in to the final question: Who else are you?

I’m a journalist that is very passionate about his work, about his family and about his friends. And I will do anything to ensure that none of my family or friends has to go through what I went through. And at the end of the day, I’m a journalist who is committed to his work, his family, his friends and is going to be loyal to the end. I’m somebody who takes great pride in who I am personally, and how I appear to other people. I work very hard at making sure at the end of the day you understand I would never hurt someone intentionally, I would never go out of my way to cause harm to somebody. And I’m as good of a friend as anybody could ever wish for. I’m as good of a son as anybody could ever wish for. As good of a brother as anybody could ever wish for. And hopefully in the next 10 years, I’ll be as good of a father as anyone could ever wish for. And those things are important to me.

Talking with Stacy Tirella

Stacy Tirella has one of those stories that staggers the mind. She was accidentally overdosed with lithium and sent to a psychiatric hospital because people thought the overdose was a suicide attempt. (She says she later successfully took legal action.) While in the hospital, she was told she would never do many essential things again, like work, travel and drive.

They were wrong. Now she runs her own business and is looking forward to the day when she _ and her family, and the local newspaper _ go visit that hospital again to say hello.

Who are you?

I’m Mary Stephanie Tirella, and I’m called Stacy. That’s who I am. How’s that for short? I was a tour director in Alaska when I graduated from college with a criminal justice degree, and I met somebody there who said that when I come back I should own my own business. I ran a cleaning business for about 16 to 18 years, and it was very successful, with over 50 employees. It was doing really well. At the end, I didn’t want to be at Servicemaster anymore. I ended up with a cease-and-desist order. It threw me for a loop. Then I had a downward spiral for a year, then I was in the state hospital for three months. I was told everything that I wouldn’t do again. And I’m absolutely doing everything. I have my own consulting business. I’m helping nonprofits type business plans, things of that nature.

When was the downward spiral?

It started in the beginning of 2010. And I actually ended up in a residential home. I checked in at 1 o’clock on, like, June 1, 2011, and the next morning they found me unconscious on the floor. I was on life support for five days because they had given me a bunch of lithium without orders. That’s why I got into the state hospital, because they thought I had a suicide attempt. It ended up that the state fined them, and I settled a lawsuit with them this year. The person had no orders to give me that and gave it to me all at once. The doctor never signed off.

And how about your return from that? How did it happen?

It would have been when I got out of the hospital, at the end of August. I checked out of the hospital, and they said I had to live in assisted living with my sister. As soon as I got home, I walked about a mile and got a job, and I started on that Friday. I worked there two years. So it started as soon as I got out.

What kind of job?

Basically, I would do, like, numbers, make sure we were in ratio, like the fill-in person for admin stuff. I could only work so many hours because I was on disability. And I did some volunteering at St. Anthony’s Hospital. And Special Olympics, I did some of that once I got out, to get out of my own sorrow.

Why did the people at the hospital tell you what you wouldn’t be able to do?

I guess when you’re in the hospital, they make judgements. They wondered what effect the lithium would have had on me. They gave me professional neurological testing for hours. They just said my memory was horrible. They said I’d never travel again. I travel internationally all over by myself or escorting my parents. They told me I wouldn’t be able to drive.

How much did you believe them?

I didn’t. My family did. It was frustrating for me. They had more meetings with my family than with me. I come from an Italian female-dominated family, and they had just seen my downward spiral, and they were judging me from when I was psychotic and everyone was scared for me. As soon as I got in, I knew I was not in the right place, but they had already certified me. Then I got out. The center that gave me my overdose, I asked them to cover my medical bills. They didn’t. So I rented a car, went downtown and learned how to sue them.

Have you challenged yourself in new ways since then?

I think one thing, it definitely got me interested in the challenges people have and trying to understand the lingo and understanding that they don’t listen. They make all these judgements. That’s what important to me now. My talk in Oregon (at a recent peer conference) was “Let it go.” I had to let go all the things they said I couldn’t do. If anything, it’s been to prove them wrong. I want to go back and say not only do I drive, I drove people to the conference. It seems basic to you, but when you’re told you can’t do anything …

Do you think you’ll ever see those people again?

Oh, I’m definitely going back. I think timing is everything. My family wants to go back with me, actually. And the Denver paper wants to, they contacted NAMI, and they want to do a hope and recovery story with pictures and stuff, and NAMI wants me to do that. That would be pretty impressive. Whatever a mentally challenged person looks like, I guess I don’t fit that mold.

How did you win over your family?

I think the fact that I went out and got a job, that I was able to figure out how to rent a car … I actually got a speeding ticket, so they knew I’d rented it. It’s quite ironic. They even called the place and said, “Oh my god, she got a job. She got out Wednesday and started work on Friday.” Now I’m doing my consulting stuff.

How did you learn about peer conferences like Alternatives?

I think just networking, knowing people, just being interested from the get-go, trying to understand what happened to me, that I had no voice in the hospital and the whole time thinking, “This isn’t right,” you know what I’m saying? If I can help someone in the hospital get a voice, to me that defines success. Because they didn’t listen to me.

How will you give people a voice?

I think there are a lot of things I can do. Number one, getting involved. When I was in the hospital, I talked to the advocate for us. I was talking to her every day and would tell her. The patient advocate. And peer support is how I made it, classes I took at the mental health agency, it was through peers listening and not judging and not jumping to conclusions. I got involved with classes with NAMI and the mental health center.

Was the patient advocate able to get anything done?

No. And I think that’s probably why I ended up in the hospital for as long as I did. I did speak up, and they probably thought I was aggressive because I don’t always have the sweetest tone, and when I see injustice, I make it known. It was a state hospital, and the employees had been there 20 to 30 years. They had issues. They were like, “Oh, she can’t have Diet Pepsi, can’t have M&Ms.” Very controlling.

I think Colorado is the 47th state in funding for mental challenges. They work there for years and years and get away with this. We used to be woken up by a guy kicking our beds. And I just couldn’t believe it. It was amazing. I told the advocate, so he didn’t kick my bed but kicked the other three. They just watch you there, you know what I’m saying?

What is your advice to others who want to speak up in the most effective way possible while they’re hospitalized?

Advocate. It is important for peers to go back and educate peers. There is so much that the hospital staff does not tell you. Educate anyone who has the interest and time to get involved.

How was the Peerpocalypse conference?

Freeing. Very freeing. It gave me a lot of confidence. People understood where I was coming from. Yeah, it was pretty phenomenal. I was able to fund-raise for them, $6,000, so people were able to go on scholarship. Peers could benefit as well as I could.

How did you decide to tell your story openly?

I think because I’ve accomplished everything the hospital said I’d never do. It’s a good opportunity for me. It’s about letting it go. I’ve done more than they could ever imagine.

How have responses been?

Very supportive. My family’s dying to go to the hospital. And the timing is key.

Do the suicidal thoughts ever come back, and if so, how do you deal with them?

I have thought a lot about suicide the past three years. However, it is really different thinking now. I try and enjoy every moment.

You mentioned reading the Way Forward report. Was there anything that stood out?

I really agree with the hope and recovery method. It’s more of a positive thing. I found it pretty fascinating, the stats on suicide. I never knew how many people thought about it, acted upon it.

Who else are you?

I’m a sister, I’m a daughter, I’m a cool aunt. I care. I’m resilient. I’m trying to get my knowledge and trying to get a voice for other peers, to help them do that.

Talking with Amelia Lehto

It’s always valuable to hear from someone who can see the suicide prevention world from both inside and out. Amelia Lehto is a crisis counselor who knows what suicidal thinking feels like.

Here, she explains why crisis counselors might be better trained to work with suicidal people than therapists, but she pushes back against the idea that clinicians don’t need those tools.

“It shouldn’t be absolute: ‘We don’t deal with that, send them to a crisis center,'” she says. “That’s not convenient or safe for anyone. People don’t want to be pushed off to the next guy.”

Who are you? Please introduce yourself.

My name is Amelia Lehto. I am a crisis line coordinator and specialist in suicide prevention at a crisis center in metro Detroit.

For how long?

This will be my fifth year as coordinator, but I’ve been with the agency for seven years. I started as a volunteer and worked my way into my current position.

When you joined, was your personal experience addressed?

Yes, in the screening process. For volunteers, they ask us our past history. Mine was brought up. I lost my best friend when I was 13 years old to suicide, something I’m always very open about. In that process of losing her, I had sought treatment because I was having suicidal thoughts myself dealing with the trauma of her loss, in addition to childhood sexual abuse that came up in that process of treatment and getting help and coming out with all the trauma I experienced at that young age.

How were the reactions to that?

I felt very safe in the process. I was very comfortable. I had a volunteer facilitator along with, I think, a staff member and then it was just a couple of people and myself. It came out conversationally. We were interviewing each other. It flowed very naturally out, and it didn’t seem to be a concern. I wasn’t questioned about my history because I already had been honest on my application. It’s always just been a part of who I am.

What were you doing before then?

I went to broadcasting school.

Did you pursue that?

I interned for a while locally but was a single mom at the time, and it was not financially feasible to continue. I went on to supervise at Starbucks full time, started volunteering and picked up a second job at the time.

What led you to volunteer in this area?

Six months before I started, I lost my mother to pancreatic cancer, and I was very deep in grief. I wasn’t leaving the house very often. I was not an attentive mother. My cousin who was working at a crisis center saw me over Easter holiday and told me more about her job and how it might interest me, so I pursued that into the screening process. I discovered a lot about myself in training because they asked a lot of personal history to practice, so it feels genuine when role-playing with another person. It’s a safe environment. It was really good and cathartic to put all my stuff out there to practice, with the loss of my mom, the abuse scenario. Really cathartic and healing, what I needed at the time. My mother had already encouraged me to pursue my passions, and it took her passing to find it.

What are some of the striking things you’ve learned on the job?

I was surprised. I picked a Friday night shift, and I had imagined that Friday night would be the night of crises. People were going to be overwhelmed, they were going to need help. It was the slowest shift. So my first couple of months there, I felt I had all this preparation and I was ready to take on this role. I had an amazing trainer, a former Marine, who drilled the empathy model into volunteers, really encouraged us to explore the situation and find the elephant in the room. I didn’t take on a full-on suicidal crisis call until five or six months in. A lot of calls were people who were in need of support but not in crisis, emotional support. It was incredibly valuable. I heard stories of people you don’t generally hear. It’s an honor to do that kind of work and give support. It really is incredible to have a genuine connection to another human being.

When I received that first true suicidal crisis, it was terrifying. You know, you have this sense of responsibility, and it’s ultimately not your responsibility, all you’re doing is being there for another human being. I was being a support to another person. It was a really challenging experience, and I had really great support from my supervisor. It was like a two-hour long call. They felt hopeless and helpless, but we were able to talk about what kind of plan was coming next. They ultimately decided to reach out to one of their family members. We role-played that situation and what they would say to ask for help. At the end of the two hours, they felt more comforted, and the crisis had passed. They felt more comfortable talking with their family, who was coming home shortly. You don’t usually see that 360, from crisis to resolution: “Oh, I can get through this.” They had reached out for mental health support in the past, and it had failed, but they were willing to try again. I can see myself sitting in that cubicle in that building that’s no longer there. It was a really good call.

Has it in certain ways gotten easier?

I have had the opportunity to go though multiple trainings, to connect with people like yourself, all these thought leaders in the field, taking their skills and experience and applying it to my work. My confidence has grown, but each call is its own. It’s not black and white, it’s one person in that moment, and it’s what’s gonna work for them. It’s always different, but I’m much more confident in my skills.

Are you allowed to bring up your own experience, or do you want to?

It’s not something we encourage on the job. We want to keep that kind of professional boundary, so we don’t put ourselves at risk in that moment. I think that’s something the warm line does because they have that ability, and I really appreciate that perspective, and it’s something to talk about in the future. But I think it would be uncomfortable initially. But I do have that ability in my personal life, and I do have people who have reached out to me, and I can really connect to them. So it’s different when on the job. I can see the value in both approaches. With warm lines, there is a more personal conversation. The peer on the other end may share their own experience and what their experience has been. While on the crisis lines the focus is on the caller and their experience, with the crisis worker reflecting the caller’s experience.

How do you take care of yourself in what can be quite stressful work, and what do you do if your suicidal thoughts come back?

I debrief, debrief and debrief on shifts and off of them if I had a really difficult call or experience in the community. The work by nature is stressful, demanding and so necessary that I really feel humbled doing it and honored by it. I am with people in what may be the worst moments of their lives, and I never take that for granted. It can certainly add up, though, over time. If I take on too many projects or had an especially stressful day, I can be hyper-vigilant when I leave the office. My husband can probably speak more to this than I can. My family is naturally affected by the stress that may build up, but they are also patient with me. Though they may not fully understand what my day was like, they know to love on me, and we do our best to leave it all at the door. For self-care I laugh, I love and I enjoy all the small things. I’ve been lucky enough to be able to travel, which I thoroughly enjoy. This past weekend I was at an event at a local metropark that is just beautiful, so I took the time afterwards to visit the hiking trails, enjoying my time alone.

There’s a lot of talk about the importance of peer support. How would you use that in your work, ideally?

At my center, we do have peer support on site. We’re a 24-hour crisis center. The peers are there with the person beginning to end to share their own experience. We definitely see the benefit on site. It’s something of interest for the phone side. We are interested in the warm line idea, and that’s something on the to-do list, the wish list of what we’d like to offer the community. There’s definitely a benefit there. I know many of our volunteers and staff have their own experience of one kind or another. The lived experience and attempt survivor movement led me to share more about it on a regular basis. It draws empathetic people. If not personal experience for themselves, then somebody in their lives. I would really like to see that happen for my crisis line, bringing peers to really connect with people on a personal level.

You must hear a range of voices. Do you think the lived experience movement is doing a good job of reflecting diversity, and what other problems need to be pointed out?

I think diversity is important, in general. Everybody, no matter their race, religious affiliation, their age, financial status, is immune to suicide, suicidal thoughts, critical situations, one way or another. It affects everyone. I hear from those that are well-to-do suburban white-collar settings, but I also hear from people who are from under-served areas. I don’t always know those specifics, but I have talked with a number of people who, the running theme is loss of one kind or another, whether it be financial, a relationship, their freedom, the loss or the threat of a loss. But we certainly are not an island unto ourselves, we have these shared losses, and I don’t think everyone fits in one category or another. Cultural diversity affects us all, and it is something that should be respected in regards to suicidality. We’re all in this together, we’re all human. The LGBT community, the black community, the Asian community, or elderly, you know, middle-aged men, across the board. It’s easier to break people down into groups, and that’s more easily digestible than to say everyone’s at risk, which puts fear into people.

With concerns out there about crisis lines calling the police or other emergency responders, what do you think is the best practice for keeping callers informed and putting them at ease?

Reaching out for help, no matter where to, takes an enormous amount of trust and an incredible amount of bravery. Often times, people are calling for the first time because they were recommended to call or had heard about it through the grapevine. This work isn’t black and white, there are shades of gray, and this interaction that a caller and a crisis worker enter into is intimate, but it is malleable by the caller. They are the driver in these interactions, while the crisis worker is the navigator. The caller has control and always should be treated as such. The difficulty lies with the negative interactions, those calls where the caller and the crisis worker weren’t on the same page, and the sometimes devastating effects that can have. The benefit of the crisis line is vast and diverse for each caller that reaches out. There are some great studies that have been conducted, namely by Madelyn Gould.

Too many times, we hear of the negative rather than the positive outcomes that happen. There is good work being done on crisis lines. There are staff and volunteers who are truly invested in the best outcome for the callers. For me, the most collaborative and least invasive responses work best for both parties, reducing the trauma and stress an active intervention _ police or other emergency responders called in _ can have. It takes three positive interactions for every one negative, but the failure here on the crisis line part is for that one negative; it’s unlikely a caller will reach back out for help or give feedback. It’s not one size fits all. If someone calls in and doesn’t connect with the crisis worker, I’d encourage the person to call back and speak with someone else. For those positive interactions, word of mouth is best practice. Share your experiences and encourage others to utilize crisis lines if necessary. They are safe, confidential and anonymous, and now there is crisis chat online. And for the negative interactions; please call back, give feedback. If we know better, we can do better.

Sometimes it seems people at crisis centers are better equipped to deal with suicidal people than clinicians are. Why is there still distrust around suicidal people, and how to break that down?

I’ve heard talk among clinicians who have fragilized people with suicidal thinking or people who have disclosed. And I think that those, in especially clinical roles, I don’t think they are as exposed to suicide in general on a one-to-one basis. They may have read about it, they may know how to treat some related symptoms, but suicide is not as comfortable a topic with them as with those at a crisis center because we’re trained to talk about suicide. In the heat of the moment, if you will. It’s a different skill set, a different training theory and background, and I think you hit it on the nose. The crisis centers, we talk to people in all sorts of states, and that’s to be expected. In a clinical setting, you’re treating long-term, ongoing mental health concerns or challenges in that person’s life. And people know if they call a crisis line, they can talk about suicide.

Do you think clinicians would benefit from the training you get?

We’ve had interns, volunteers, coming from varied educational backgrounds: psychology, psychiatry, you know, we had aspiring doctors volunteering with us this summer. We’ve had some GPs come and observe say, “I think we’d really benefit from this!” I don’t think that’s generally taught in the classrooms. I think all can benefit from the empathy model. We can all learn from each other, kumbaya.

Crisis centers appear to be taking on more and more of the work with suicidal clients from clinicians. Do you think that’s the right way to go?

I don’t. The training model I’m aware of in regards to suicide, the Air Force does a really great intervention and prevention program, and Henry Ford has a really cohesive and collaborative approach to suicide, and those networks always include the whole scope around the person, and everyone is included in the plan, and everyone is aware of what’s happening. We don’t know when we’re going to have a crisis. It can come on for whatever reason. Skills would be beneficial to all the people. They should have empathy model training and know how to truly listen to somebody instead of considering what they’re going to say next. Listening to others is really important. If they’re not comfortable with it, they can refer, but it shouldn’t be absolute: “We don’t deal with that, send them to a crisis center.” That’s not convenient or safe for anyone. People don’t want to be pushed off to the next guy. The basic skills can be had in the moment when the person needs it the most. It’s beneficial. And it’s much easier to build into the educational training that clinicians go through, to have on hand when needed. I think it would help them feel more confident in their skills.

How to address the liability question by clinicians?

I am an American Red Cross CPR trainer, and one of those first bits of information we share with people is the Good Samaritan law. If you’re intervening with someone having a heart attack, as long as you’re doing what you’re trained to do, what your skill set is at, you’re covered by the Good Samaritan law. I think that should be applied to somebody in a suicidal crisis. And you know, it is life and death in both cases. Again, the medical vs. the mental health model, the disparities between the two as if they’re different. The mind and body are the same. We have an organ in our head, and it runs down throughout our body. I think Good Samaritan law goes for bodies, and it should go for our brains.

How did you decide to be open about your personal experience?

Dese’Rae Stage and Leah Harris have been very vocal about their experiences. Along with my belief that human connection is really important, and sharing stories can be really valuable to others. I’m also an ASIST trainer. I learned the ASIST model, I went through the training for trainers a couple of years ago, and it reminded me how important our stories are and how important it is to be heard and have a genuine connection. It can be very helpful to share. So I’ve had the benefit of talking with different people over the years, to know how sharing my story has helped them. And hearing other people who’ve been through certain experiences has helped me. #SPSM chatting, seeing people connect on just a basic level. We all have skill sets, training, professional roles, but when you break it down, we’re all trying to live life the best we can. The best way is to be honest with each other.

I’ve definitely been apprehensive over the years. I’ve started blogs, deleted blogs for privacy reasons: “Who would want to read that?” But this past year, I’ve been much more involved. I auditioned for a show called “Listen To Your Mother,” and I shared a story about being a young mom, losing my mom, coming into that role now, and it was really incredible to come on stage and share my story with 400 to 500 people in that room, and it’s out there on YouTube. At least one of my stories is. And I have had encouraging feedback from it. And I’ve had a couple of blogs posted on Stigmama.com. I think storytelling is really beautiful and honest.

The big question: What can we really do to change the system?

I think getting the influential people, you know, those who have organizations, starting the conversation there is really important. The information trickles down, the conversation can start in those circles. The heads of organizations, the communications departments, those involved in social media, because social media is a powerful way to connect with people, and a personal way. Smartphones today, everyone has them in their face and accessible. I think starting those genuine conversations, sharing with networks. Sharing resources are so important. People are not always going to pick it up once it’s presented to them, but continue to reach out: “Hey, I’ve been thinking about you!” and explain why this is happening and what has happened so far.

It’s been really great, the network sharing and resource sharing, the movement, broadening the scope to all the people to so they know these things are accessible and OK to talk about. Because we’re social creatures, and we connect to others. And suicidal thinking, we self-isolate. Whether we’re in a room of people or not, we feel completely alone. And often, people don’t realize others have been through this and that it’s OK to talk about. It’s scary to talk about, but others have been through it. If you can’t talk to family or friends because of shame or embarrassment, you can talk to someone who’s been through it. The influential people, the ones with an ear, is a good place to start. Break it down into why this benefits them.

Is there another level we need to move to, to make our case?

I know people love their data and analytics. Unfortunately in the mental health and suicidology field, the funding and researchers are not able to keep current up-to-date stats. Our latest stats, because of the nature of our work, the most recent is 2011. We’re three years behind.

Do you mean nationally or at your center?

Nationally. The stats released this year through AAS were for 2011, and they’re usually two or three years behind. The researcher doing it is incredible, incredibly passionate and thoughtful, but you know, three years behind. We need more funding, we need more buy-in from our government and to have those funds allocated to the proper researching departments. Funding is so critical in this work, yet we are severely lacking.

Is there anything else you’re really passionate about that you want to see changed?

You talked about the difference between crisis centers and clinicians. Last week at #SPSM there was a roundtable, and JD Schramm, who did that awesome TED Talk, when he was asked about suicidal ideation and thoughts, he was like, “I’ve never really heard that terminology.” That really speaks to the general public, breaking down language barriers we might have in talking with people not familiar with mental health and really engaging those outside this community. So I think it’s breaking down barriers of language we use and making it understandable to those who aren’t clinicians and are not working directly with other peers and who maybe never sought mental health treatment before. The language we use is really important. One of my biggest soapboxes is how we say what we say matters. Those who are not as familiar with mental health or suicide are important, and it’s important to value what people are bringing to the table.

Who else are you?

I am nicknamed “the mother” on many of my crisis line shifts. I’m an eternal optimist, a mother, a wife, a lover, a friend. I love baby goats and sunshine and traveling and all sorts of things. I am more than one definition. I am 32 flavors and then some.

You cut it out! (To her 4-year-old)

Talking with Sarah Gordon

As a teenager, Sarah Gordon was told not to return to her studies and that she would never be able to live on her own. Now she has a PhD, a husband and two children.

The New Zealander is currently helping the police shift their thinking around people in crisis, and she dreams of a day when her university will have a school dedicated to lived experience-based research. But bringing other professionals “out,” researchers or otherwise, remains a challenge. “I think the fact that it is most difficult for mental health professionals to disclose is incredibly sad, because it reflects the stigma and discrimination that exists within the system,” Sarah says.

You can also read her guest post this week at sister site Attemptsurvivors.com.

Who are you? Please introduce yourself.

My name is Sarah Gordon. I have personal experience of mental distress. I was first
diagnosed when I was 17, and I was put in a mental health hospital at the time. I was there six months before I was discharged back into the care of my family, with the advice that a return to university would not be wise and that independent living would not be an option for me.

As it turned out, my parents were not compliant with that advice, and they facilitated and
paid for mental health support to enable me to go back to university. At the beginning, it was on a very part-time basis, so I did one paper per semester, and I required about 15 hours of mental health support per week to enable me to do it. As you can appreciate at that time, it was not the best cost-benefit investment.

But as it turned out, over a number of years I managed to complete a bachelor of science, which I majored in psychology, a law degree, which I majored in health law, a masters of bioethics and health law and a PhD in psychological medicine. But more important than any of that, I don’t live independently, I live with my husband and two children. And now I work for the department of psychological medicine, University of Otago in Wellington, New Zealand. My job is what I describe as a “service academic.” I use my personal experience of mental illness to inform all the research and teaching undertaken by our department.

How did you come to be talking with me?

For a number of years after I was diagnosed, I was very secretive about my experience and didn’t disclose very much at all. In 1998, I happened to get a job as a consumer adviser to a mental health service. It was very clear when I went for that job that my personal experience with mental illness was a qualification to do the job. And yet, I didn’t fully appreciate what that meant. Essentially, everyone I came in contact with knew that I had personal experience, purely as a result of my position title. At the beginning, I found that very difficult, because I felt that people responded to me in a way that was quite different to those situations where people didn’t know. But I came to see overcoming that stigma and discrimination as a real challenge and one that I actually ended up enjoying. And my work since then has always involved me using my experience in my work. And so that’s maybe how you became aware of me.

I heard of you during my interview with Louise Byrne.

Yes.

What is the lived experience community like there? Is there an attempt survivor community at all?

Since I’ve been involved, I’ve felt that New Zealand has always has quite a strong lived experience community. However, the extent of our influence and the opportunities for influence have varied since I’ve been involved. And I would say that in the last few years
there have been a number of changes in mental health policy at the national level that have
meant that we have less influence than we may have had some years ago.

How did that happen?

I think there were a couple of things. One is that the government dropped mental health as a health priority. And the second was that our mental health commission was dis-established.

That seems unusual. Was it a budget problem?

Well, that’s happened since the economic crisis, and it also coincided with a change of
government here in New Zealand. But it’s certainly unusual compared with a number of
countries in other parts of the world where mental health has become a priority and mental
health commissions have been established. I think New Zealand was seen as leading the way in many respects prior to this, and now I certainly wouldn’t consider us to be in that same position.

How have reactions to your experiences changed over the years?

Well, I find it quite interesting now that I don’t feel like I experience stigma and discrimination as a result of my experience. That might be partly due to the fact that even if I did, I wouldn’t take any notice of it. But what I find more is that people tend to respond to my experience by somehow feeling like they’re able to share with me on a different level. So a lot of people will speak to me, even if we don’t know each other that well, about their own difficulties and struggles in life. And I think somehow with me being so open about my
experience, people then feel safe to expose and share their difficulties and struggles, often, I believe, with a great sense of relief.

Do you like that? Or do you get too much of it?

No, I find it all right. I mean, in some situations it’s quite funny. The last one I had was just last week. I went to an appointment and he ended up telling me about lots of his family
history and how he had had a major operation last year and the struggles he’s dealing with as a result of that. After about half an hour, he sat back with a bemused look on his face and said, “I don’t know why I just shared all this information with you! Normally when patients come to see me, I don’t talk about myself the whole time!” You could see him trying to figure out what it was, my face, my qualifications, and I said, “No, it’s mental illness.”

Did he know what you were talking about?

No, he looked even more bemused.

Being so open and public, do you ever feel like you have to hide a bad day?

No. I never do.

What would you like to change about the mental health care system?

I think we focus too much on trying to using medications to cure people. And I think, you
know, we don’t necessarily have or take the time to support people as they need to be
supported. I think, if someone’s attempted suicide, then there’s an amount of emotional
distress there, and it takes support that involves a lot of time and effort for the person to get through that. And I think ultimately it needs to be focused on social roles and relationships. And we just don’t do that.

How are people treated now?

If a person is at risk to themselves, they will be physically protected until that’s no longer felt to be required. And I use “protected” very loosely because often that protection involves
compulsory treatment, seclusion, those sorts of things. And in most cases, medication will be the first and often the focus of the treatment.

What would the ideal treatment look like?

As I say, I think a person who’s suicidal or has attempted is suffering, to my mind, extreme
emotional distress and very often is very disconnected from most things in their life that are very important. And so our supports need to be focused around supporting the person until whatever is distressing them can be resolved. Support to reconnect is imperative, particularly in terms of those relationships that are important to the person.

What arguments have you had to make in your career to prove that you could do what you were pursuing?

I think relationships are an incredibly powerful thing. And I have found that generally in my
work, if people are opposed or hesitant about working with me for whatever reason, that if I
persevere and develop a relationship with the person, generally we get to a situation where
that person comes to appreciate and recognize the value lived experience can bring. And as a result, some people have been really quite staunch supporters of both my involvement and the involvement of others who come from a personal experience perspective.

How to make suicidal thinking a less scary topic overall?

I think it’s important that we talk about it more, particularly as we wish to support others in
distress. I think one of the reasons that talking about it is not common is because of the
perception that by doing so, it could lead to more tragedy. However, I think that if we’re
aware of how to do it in a way that does not increase risk, that ultimately is going to benefit
everyone.

Is this something the media should take on?

I think absolutely the media needs to be involved. Tell the stories that people can get through it and people can recover. Those are the most important stories that we need to get out there.

What are you working on now, and what would you most like to accomplish?

For the moment, the main thing I’m working on is the development of a training package for the police, specifically around how they respond to people who are experiencing mental
distress, and obviously that includes people who are suicidal. And the particular approach
we’re taking is that we’re moving away from their education being presented in a way that
pathologizes the distress and more toward supporting the police to learn about what might be going on for people when they’re experiencing this type of distress, and the approaches that can be most supportive in those situations. That’s exciting.

Going forward, my dream is for our university to have a school dedicated to lived experience-based research, where we can start building a really significant and substantial amount of knowledge that is informed by people’s own experiences of both distress and recovery.

In the police project, what have been some of the more striking questions or observations?

We’re very much at the beginning of this work. The police of New Zealand have set up and
invested in a major project to improve how they respond to people who experience mental
distress. I have to say that the people leading that project from the police have been incredibly receptive to what we are proposing from a service user perspective.

Can you tell me about the International Association of Service User Academia, and how and why it came about?

Very often, people who work from a personal experience base in academia are sole voices
within departments, schools, institutions, and it is vitally important that we have both
a professional and a personal support network. Hence, I established the International
Association, a Mendeley-based e-network, in 2012 to enable service user academics and their supporters to engage in topical discussion, share experiences, enhance collaboration, keep abreast of advancements and exchange information.

In general, how do we get others to disclose their experiences, since they’re all around us but silent?

I think the fact that it is most difficult for mental health professionals to disclose is incredibly sad, because it reflects the stigma and discrimination that exists within the system. I suppose the only thing that’s going to change that is more people disclosing, and actually requiring the system and attitudes and beliefs to change as a result of that.

Are you happy with where you’ve come to in life?

Yes, like anyone, I experience up and downs, but I’m quite comfortable with what I do and
how I do it and where I’m at.

What made your parents so stubborn and “not compliant” after hearing that you would have no more education or independence?

I’m not sure. Their belief in what I was, and capable of, never wavered. Even in my work
now, I spend a lot of time talking and writing about the concept of recovery, and when I look
at it now, the way my parents supported me was fully consistent with what a recovery
approach to mental illness is, without them even knowing it.

What does your family think about all of this?

I think they’re very proud of where I’ve got to. Obviously, they’re intimately aware of what I
needed to overcome to get to this place.

Finally, who else are you?

Well, a big part of my identity is as a mother of two boys. I have a 14-year-old son and a 10-year-old son. And so a significant part of my life involves being a mother to them. And
another significant part of my life is as a wife. I’m also heavily involved in our community in
a variety of different organizations and associations. So life is pretty full. And that’s good.

Talking with Rohan Kallicharan

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We couldn’t resist this photo of Rohan Kallicharan with an example of his starring role in a mental health campaign displayed in the London transit system. How many public awareness messages have you seen with a real person identifying as someone who tried to take their own life?

Intrigued by this relative openness in the UK and the engaging nature of the large mental health charities there, we checked in with Rohan, who spends his time working as a recruiter, taking seriously long-distance runs and enjoying football of all kinds, including the NFL.

Here, he talks about why social media is hardly the solution to messaging, how pitiful crisis care in the UK has become and why speaking out on mental health issues is essential. “It’s so simple,” he says. “We all have a right to live a happy life, a right to not be judged, to not be scared to speak out, to be healthy mentally and physically, and yet so many people are afraid to exercise that right for fear of being stigmatized. “

Who are you? Please introduce yourself.

My name is Rohan Kallicharan. I’m based in Birmingham in the UK. I turned 40 last month. Since I was in my late teens, I displayed symptoms of mental illness. I never got the diagnosis of bipolar until after I had taken two overdoses, the second of which was in 2006. So for a long time, I was mistreated, undiagnosed until I was 32. From there, it was a case of taking baby steps, rebuilding my life from scratch to where I’m now mentally and physically healthy, and very happy.

You’re now the face of a national campaign. How did you get into that?

As I said, I twice tried to take my own life. After my second attempt, there were two places I turned to for help. I was very lucky get some private counseling, one of my mum’s employee benefits, but the other very important source of help with was Mind, the mental health charity. It was their branch in Manchester who at the time gave me one-on-one and group support, which really allowed me to, for the first time in 15 years, realize I wasn’t a freak, this bad apple and really horrible person I had begun to believe that I was. I realized my only problem was that I had a really serious illness. I began through Mind to be able to speak to other people who had things in common. That was the biggest single step in my life in moving forward, accepting myself again. I had hated myself for so long. To find a group of people around whom I was accepted made me feel normal again, human. It was the most incredible thing. It gave me the strength to start rebuilding my life.

Mind played a huge part in rebuilding my life from where I was absolutely broken. Mind more than anyone helped me to rebuild. So when last year I’d become very overweight, about 19 stone (now I’m 12 stone, but that’s another story), I decided to start running so I could raise money for them. It’s all really gone from there. In the last 12 months, I’ve been involved in fundraising and, to this point, I’ve raised over five and a half thousand pounds, with another 3,000 guaranteed from the US-based chain of fitness clubs Anytime Fitness. I went from not being able to run a bath to running the London Marathon, which was the greatest experience and achievement in my life. Next step, New York … well, hopefully one day!

That’s how I got involved with Mind again, fundraising. However, because of things that I had written on my own blog, I also started doing some writing for Mind and Time to Change. Time to Change is a joint venture campaign aimed at reducing stigma. It’s National Lottery funded, run by Mind and Rethink, the two most significant mental health charities in the UK. Through that writing and fundraising, I applied to and was invited to take place in a photo shoot last October, through which I became a “Face of Mind.” It is an unbelievable honor. I was humbled by it.

When my face first appeared on a poster on the London Transport Network, friends kept on sending me pictures. I would receive photos saying, “I saw you this morning!” I was 100 miles away in Birmingham, but they were referring to the advertising poster for Mind. The first time I saw it, I was on a train in London. I was down there with work, and my friend tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Look up there.” I said, “Oh my God.”

It’s just really, really humbling to be able to give back to a charity responsible for me being alive today. I wouldn’t be here without them. After that second attempt, I remember lying there and I knew full well this couldn’t go on. I was playing Russian roulette with my life. If I wasn’t treated, there would have been a third or fourth attempt, but I had barely survived this one. Without Mind, I’m not alive today, it’s that simple. To be able to give back is just the most incredible thing, and I know they really appreciate it. However, they don’t realize the thanks are all from me. It’s a two-way thing, and it’s nothing to give back to the people who have given me my life.

How did you find them in the first place? What was your motivation to reach out?

It was actually my counselor. After I took that second overdose, for the first time I got a little bit of guidance from NHS. As you’re probably aware, there’s a lot of debate about crisis care in the UK at the moment, something being really highlighted by Mind’s manifesto. Crisis care is a real problem. After my first suicide attempt, I was released with no real aftercare, so it is no wonder I ended up back there again. After the second, I was really lucky that Manchester Royal Infirmary said, “You don’t leave here without going to a responsible adult.”

The only person was my mum, which meant that after being in denial for so long, I had no choice when I rang from the hospital and said, “Can you pick me up? I’m in the hospital, I took an overdose, I have a problem, I need help very badly.” It was the first time I had done that. I had been living with this since I was 17, I just thought I was a really bad piece of work, you know. I didn’t know it was a mental health problem.

By opening up, I was able to seek help. I had five sessions with a counselor, which were great. The first five were free. He then gave me a couple he didn’t charge for. After that, I remember turning around and saying, “How much does it cost to continue?” and he said, “You don’t need me anymore.” “How do you mean?” I responded. He said, “You’re working this all out, you don’t need me anymore.” I said, “Nah, no way.” He’d become my crutch. I think he sensed I’d done the hardest work already, getting in touch with my feelings, facing my demons in the eye, but he also knew I needed that something to lean on, so he signposted me to Mind.

Although Mind is a massive charity, mental health is something nobody wanted to talk about, so it still was not in my field of vision. I didn’t really know about them. Everybody knows Cancer Research, AIDS charities, Oxfam, the Red Cross, all  the big ones. But when it comes down to Mind and Rethink, you know they weren’t charities people spoke about, because they don’t talk about mental health. It was only through the counselor that I turned up at their door.

And they put you in a group with others?

Yes, and through that networking I suddenly realized I wasn’t alone. And you know what? When you live your whole adult life thinking you’re the only one doing these things, this is a massive relief. Bipolar is a horrible thing. You live life on a roller coaster, doing things out of fake confidence, feeling invincible, on this high wanting to party the whole time, then suddenly the things you do make you ashamed when you go down into the depressive period. It has an even higher rate of suicide than any other mental illness, and that’s because you cannot sustain this absolute roller coaster. I’d lived life from 17 to 32 being ashamed. There are no words that can describe how much I despised myself. I could see the hurt I was constantly causing others by my behavior. I just thought I was a really bad apple, that I was, excuse my French, messed up. I’d use slightly stronger language if I could, but I’m not going to.

You know, it was only after I realized, “Actually, no, I’ve got this serious illness, and there are other people with it as well,” that I had the peace of mind to know that I could overcome it, that I was gonna come through. From there, I got to that point at the beginning of last year where I was desperate to make a difference in the lives of others. I want to make a difference. I nearly lost my life because I sat in silence in a prison for 15 years of four walls and darkness. And because of that, I nearly lost my life. I don’t want anyone, ever, to feel scared of talking. I want to be a voice for those too scared to speak out.

What have been some of the more striking responses?

Ninety-nine point nine percent of people absolutely are totally supportive. If you read my Twitter feed, I sometimes have an aversion to what we call the I-word, “inspiration.” That’s one I’m constantly described as. However, I still look in the mirror and see what’s beneath, and I know I’m far from perfect. What stands out to me is knowing I have made even a small difference: Seeing a a couple of colleagues, friends, put their hands up and say, “I’ve got a problem.” It’s getting an email from a family friend a few weeks ago saying, “I had no idea, and I’m so proud of you.” It’s getting a message from a friend at university, our friendship had been destroyed by my behavior in the excesses of manic periods, saying, “I wish I had have known.” A complete stranger on Twitter saying, “You saved my life.” All of those things and more.

And you know, I’d love to lead a really private, quiet life. Because that’s who I am, quite shy, introverted, but the minute I chose to be a champion, I gave that right up because I’m committed to speaking, to putting myself out there, committed to ending stigma. Obviously, I’m not doing it alone. Look, the way I see it, we all have a sphere of influence as individuals, if we can all influence our networks, and then those of others around us as a knock-on effect, we can do this thing.

Mind saved my life, and I’m just committed to ensuring they continue to save others. It really is that simple. We live in such a cynical world that people are looking for an agenda, but there really is no agenda for me. It’s so simple. We all have a right to live a happy life, a right to not be judged, to not be scared to speak out, to be healthy mentally and physically, and yet so many people are afraid to exercise that right for fear of being stigmatized.

Have you ever felt pressured to censor yourself when talking about your attempts?

Very rarely. There are certain words that charities prefer you not to use. I don’t talk about “failed” suicide attempts and don’t perhaps go into detail about those attempts. You’ll notice I used the word “overdose,” and that’s as much as you need to know. I don’t talk in graphic detail, I think that’s the only thing for me.

Other than that, I feel I can be very open. But again, I’ve got a very thick skin. Look, at the end of the day, there’s posters on the London Overground saying I attempted suicide. I can’t hide from that. I was in a national paper in February telling people about my story, so there’s no hiding place for me. I have absolutely no fear in what I say. The charities are very good in terms of non-censorship, but they’re rightly very wary of the audience that reads them and absolutely avoid any triggering language. So obviously, I’m conscious of that, you don’t want to give ideas to someone suicidal about what they might do.

If/when suicidal thinking comes back, how do you deal with it? And as the “face” of a public campaign, do you feel any pressure to be “OK” all of the time?

I have not experienced suicidal thoughts for a long time, although I am still prone to severe depressive episodes. The difference is that where I once suffered in silence, I now tell people very openly that I am going through a difficult period. For so many people with mental illness and mood disorders, knowing that they can speak to someone makes the biggest difference. As a face of Mind, I am very open about when I am struggling. Mind and Time to Change are really trying to get the message across that it is OK not to feel OK, so I feel no pressure at all in that regard.

Is there any kind of suicide attempt survivor movement in the UK?

There are a lot of smaller groups. For example, Forward For Life, they’re based around suicide prevention training. So that’s huge. There’s also Dr. Alys Cole-King, doing a lot of work. A lot of what I see is on the social media sites, there’s a huge amount going on there. What we have to remember is that social media is the merest, smallest microcosm of life. It’s not useful in areas where people can’t get to the Internet. You have to make sure messages are getting out to people who really need them. That’s what I don’t know, I have to question whether we’re really doing that, although it’s not a question of lack of effort.

Take, for example, New York. I have family in Queens, where there’s a big Caribbean community. And in those Asian and black communities, there’s always been massive stigma around mental illness, and likewise here. In the States, there’s an even bigger melting pot when you consider Hispanic communities also. We’re talking about huge stigma. Time to Change is doing a lot of work around what we call BME, black and minority ethnic communities. It is a massive area we really need to engage.

How do you even start the conversation when some people would rather just walk away, avoid it?

You know what, sometimes you have to take a step back … I’m not being defeatist, but if someone is not ready to listen yet, there’s no point in forcing it, because it will push them further back. It’s all about being approachable and just planting the seed and saying, “OK, I understand you don’t want to talk, but if you want to at some point, this is where I am.” It’s about signposting and making them aware. They might not want to talk to you because you now know who they are, but they might want to speak to a stranger. Let them know that if they want to talk, there’s somewhere to go. I did a radio show in March for the BBC Asian Network. A lady phoned in, obviously in huge distress, very powerfully emotive. We didn’t want to let her off the line. In the end, the people in the studio were able to give her support numbers. To help someone, they have to want it. I always look back on my experiences. If you had tried to force help on me, I would have rejected it.

I had a really difficult week last week; one of my old friends from university, she suffered from depression for a long time, and I had lost contact with her for years before she found out what I was doing with Mind. She told me that when we were younger, she tried to take her own life. She got back in a difficult place last week, and even now she didn’t want to talk to anyone, just me. She trusted me. I spent two nights on the phone, being silent most of the time, just being on the other end so she wouldn’t do anything. And finally she said, “Thank you for listening, I’m going to go speak to someone.”

I found that a hugely traumatic and triggering experience. I can empathize, but actually my skills are in campaigning, fundraising, advocacy, not necessarily counseling, but I will always do my best for people. Does that make sense? … I was looking into training for the Samaritans, and a friend said, “It’s not for you.” After last week, I said, “My God, you’re so right.” Someone like you or me, we’re too tempted to draw on our own experience, but each person’s experience is totally different. We can empathize, but that’s actually as much as we can do. The key is knowing where and how to signpost. Every week without fail, I get calls and messages from friends saying, “I have a friend with a problem” … and I signpost them to relevant people. That’s the best advice I can give them.

What’s your take on peer support?

That’s a really tough question. I think peer support is massive, but shouldn’t ever be confused with crisis care. Peer support is listening, understanding, empathizing, but never crossing the line of trying to treat. That’s a skill in itself. It’s knowing, “Where do I stop?” So yeah, look, just as I was explaining, I’m constantly approached by people, which is why I’ve done what I have, to get people to speak up. It doesn’t make me happy when a friend calls to tell me about someone in severe crisis, but I’m relieved they approach me. It’s knowing where that place is to stop, and I’m getting pretty comfortable with that. The model Time to Change uses is the lived experience model. We’re using that in advocacy and championing, saying, “I’m an example that you can live through this.” Or, “I’m still here. I’m someone who really understands.” The same reality is however true even with that, it’s knowing where you stop and where someone who’s qualified to help takes over.

What is the Mind manifesto, for us outside the UK?

Next year is General Election in the UK, so Mind has produced a manifesto to lobby political parties. It’s on their website, saying, “Look, mental health has to be on the political agenda for these elections.” It has to be there. I’ve lobbied my own member of Parliament. Great. It’s not quite meeting with a senator for a coffee, but I’m meeting with an elected member of Parliament to talk about mental health. It is a small step in the bigger picture, but a massive one for me.

What would you most like to change?

Rip out the whole bloody lot and start again when it comes to crisis care. The system is just broken, Cara, I can’t begin to describe it. The system is failing people left, right and center. People are not getting admitted when they need crisis care. It starts with GPs who, unfortunately, cannot be expected to have specialist knowledge around mental health, they’re called General Practitioners for a reason, so all many of them want to do is prescribe everyone anti-depressants. That doesn’t work!

They’re reluctant to throw people into the crisis care system because it’s so understaffed, and even on occasions when they recommend people to counseling, there are waiting lists for forever and a day. It’s taking people to attempt suicide before they take notice, and even then they don’t take notice half of the time. The system is so broken. It’s absolutely scandalous. There aren’t enough beds or staff, not enough knowledge. People want a one-pill-fits-all solution. The system is a joke. And people are going to die if they don’t sort it out. And that’s why it’s got to come from the government. There’s got to be an edict on change. I’m sorry, I’ll get off my soapbox in a minute.

Look, I give the example. When I took my first overdose in 2003, I was kept in the hospital overnight for obvious reasons. They wouldn’t release me until I saw someone from the crisis team. But they were too busy. On the second day, they were still too busy. So I had a 10-minute meeting with a nurse. “Are you gonna do it again?'” “No.” “Off you go, then.” There are people being let back out who can be a danger not only to self but to others. And that’s where you get sensationalist headlines, and people get exactly the wrong idea of mental illness, and start stigmatizing. But the bottom line is, the system is failing people. We say it constantly, one in four people will live with mental illness at some point in life. If we as the National Health Service can’t deal with an illness that’s gonna effect one in four, we have a massive problem.

Where do you see hope?

I see hope because there are so many tragic stories, so for all the wrong reasons, in a way. However, I see that hope because people are beginning to understand how serious this thing is, because more and more are being affected, losing family members to suicide, seeing family members suffer from depression; that shouldn’t bring hope, it should bring despair, but it brings hope because people are standing up and saying this a real, real problem.

I see hope that a generation of teenagers in this country are now seeing friends suffer from self-harm and depression and see that nobody is listening, but these kids want a voice. They want to make a difference. If they can just be empowered to speak out, they will change future generations. I’m absolutely convinced of that. That’s why charities have got to engage with these youngsters who desperately want to speak out and want to be heard. They want people to know, “We’re struggling here, but because I’m a teen you think I don’t understand life. Well, I do. Listen to me.” They’re the ones who will create the future. They’re the ones who will eradicate stigma.

Any interest in running for office yourself?

Not for me. I’ll keep up my soapbox on the Internet and continue to campaign and fund-raise. Anything Mind asks of me, I will give them my life. They’ll never ask for my life, but I’ll give them every ounce of energy I have, because everything I have is because of them.

Is this work your career?

This is all in my spare time. I work very long hours every day as a recruiter. I work for a consultancy, so I place people into jobs mainly in procurement and purchasing.

Who else are you?

OK, I’m Rohan, a recruiter, Rohan, a massive NFL fan up all hours of the night and early morning despite the time difference in the States, a Redskins fan. A massive sports fan, which probably ties in with my running. I’m a season ticket holder at Liverpool Football Club (soccer to you guys!), and I’m a runner. And you know what? I’ve run out of hours of the day after that. I love my family and friends, I’m a devout Christian. As a Christian, I believe God gives us a calling. For me, my calling is speaking out about mental health. I’m very passionate about what I do.

Talking with Christa Scalies

Christa Scalies recently sent me a box of kazoos. After losing two good friends to suicide, she has embraced her project, Giggle On, which uses humor and yoga to loosen people up for talk about stress, mental health and suicide prevention. Aside from being a survivor of suicide loss, she spent time being suicidal herself as a young woman.

“When nothing else works, when life gets nasty bad, laughter is often all we’ve got to help us feel like we’re in control of an otherwise out-of-control situation,” she says during a lively conversation spiced with her Italian, Philly background. “What else are you gonna do?”

Here, she talks about everything from consulting a medium and a shaman, to Darth Vader breath and “laughter selfies,” to the need for suicide prevention people to break away from the echo chamber and engage the world at large.

Who are you? Please introduce yourself.

Oh, is it going to be like that, is it? (Laughs.) Well, my name is Christa, I was raised in the Philadelphia area, I’m one of five kids in a big Italian family. I’m pretty comfortable telling my story, but I’m concerned about getting into specifics or naming names within my own family. I want to be authentic while not making people uncomfortable. … I can safely say there’s a family history of mood disorders. … I currently live in Wilmington, Delaware. I’ve been here 14 years and am trying to escape. I tell people Delaware is like the mafia: “I keep trying to get out, but they pull me back in.” (Laughs.)

I’ve always been a serious person, so the fact that I have a website dedicated to laughter makes some people laugh. Without the laughter, my serious nature would take over completely, so I’m grateful for my ability to giggle. Ever since I was a little kid, I had imaginary friends, I read a lot, I was very “precocious,” as the adults would often say in my presence. Our family moved from the northern Philadelphia suburbs to the western Philadelphia suburbs when I was about 7 years old, and my life was turned upside down. In retrospect, the move, the change and the manifestations of issues at home started me on the road to being depressed as a young person, very young, but I didn’t realize it at the time.

I own another business that’s unrelated, receivables, and I used to be a chef in Philadelphia, so I can collect debt from people and make you an omelet. I found some old diaries yesterday, very interesting for me. I’ve blogged about my feelings and past, but I haven’t actually seen these diaries in years, and it was a little upsetting to read some of it. I spent a solid 20 years in and out of depression and contemplating ending my life. When I tell people that, they say to me, “I don’t understand how someone would want to take their life,” and I say I know what it feels like to not want to be on the planet, to melt away into nothingness. While looking at old journals last night, I was transported back in time, to over 10 years ago. It was hard seeing what I wrote. My level of pain was pretty off the charts. My entry about wanting to disappear brought up memories for sure. One entry from 12 or 13 years ago said something to the effect of wanting to hurt myself, just wanting to not be here anymore. This was a state of mind that was “normal” for me for a long time, and that’s very sad.

I often contemplated ways of how I could end it, and I abused drugs and alcohol as a way to escape reality. And I used to be a cutter. One thing I remember doing more than once was letting go of the steering wheel of my car while driving. I think the thing that stopped me from doing it and brought me back to my senses was the thought, “Don’t take anyone else out with you. Killing yourself is one thing, but don’t take another life, that’s REALLY a no-no.”

It was not until my friend Jim Thompson’s suicide in 2005 that I had a wake-up call. Three days prior to his suicide, I was looking at a building here: “If I jump, will I die on the way down? Do I die right away when I hit the ground? How does all this work?” I remember calling my psychiatrist at the time, and I said, “Doc, I’m thinking this is not the right train of thought.” I was on medication at the time, one or two anti-depressants, but I can’t even remember what they were now and stopped taking all medication that same year. Three days later, my friend died, shot himself in the head in the foyer of his Wilmington home. At that time, immediately after his suicide, my suicidal thinking got worse. The woulda-coulda-shoulda guilt complex took over. The guilt of his death and what I could have done to stop it paralyzed me. I remember having to call people in his black book and tell them he was dead, give away his possessions, meet his father, sister and speak at his funeral. This entire morbid process made me realize I couldn’t do this to my family. I didn’t have that insight right away, it took some time. I knew there was no way I could leave this hurt, this permanent emotional stain with my parents and brothers and sisters. Suicide is just the worst possible thing in the world. I’ve been to a lot of funerals, but losing someone to suicide is like no pain I’ve ever felt in my life. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. There was the pain of depression, and the pain of losing him to suicide on top of it. It is fair to say this was the worst period in my life.

So I lose my friend to suicide and go on a personal quest to figure out why I’m on the planet, what I’m supposed to do here. I spent a lot of time in self-reflection. I talked to mediums, went back to church, did yoga, self-help this, that and everything, trying to find answers. In the process, I realized there’s no one person who can give you the answer, the only person who can truly figure out you is you. That’s scary and empowering at the same time. So I can’t say I’ve figured it all out yet, but I have figured out I am supposed to help others on this path.

Despite being a suicide prevention advocate and someone who is very happy she didn’t take her own life, I have several belief systems about suicide, and they are contradictory. A human being has a life of their own. If they want to end it, for whatever reason, it is their choice. Who am I to project my desires or perceived outcome about the trajectory of their life on them? Isn’t that my ego talking? Conversely, how many people are in their “right mind” making a decision to die by suicide? Despite the facts presented by suicide experts, none of us will ever really know what goes on inside the mind of each person who takes their life. Sure, we can figure out if they were depressed, if they were addicts, had a life-traumatizing experience based on what we see and observe, but we can never really 100 percent know what’s going on. Let me also add as a person of faith, and a cradle Catholic, I believe it is not up to us to make life-and-death decisions about our own mortality. God brought us in and he should be the one who makes the call about our exit. It is because of my faith and belief that people who take their own lives are not in their right mind, I feel very strongly we, as a society, need to preserve and protect lives, lives of the young, middle-aged and old. Each life is a gift, and despite our perceived or real fault lines, we all have something positive we can offer to ourselves and the world.

I’ve lost two friends to suicide. My one friend, Jim Thompson, I met when I came to Wilmington in the late ’90s. We became friends right away. He had struggled with depression, addiction, had a great sense of humor, and we were thick as thieves, which was wonderful. A week or two prior to his death, I was in his house, helping him clean. He had all this crap in his room. I was putting things into the bedside stand and saw a gun. “What the fuck is this?” I said. “Dude, what’s up with the gun?” He said it was for protection. He also said he woke up every day with a gun to his head wondering whether or not this would be the day he’d end it all. When he told me that at the time, I was in the same state of mind. I thought the best way to respond was, “Dude, that’s fucked up.” I know now, after my ASIST suicide prevention training, that’s not the right answer.

So, flash forward, a week or two later, I was back at his house. He had trouble with trusting women, but I knew I was a woman he trusted. I was back in his house, I go to his bedside stand and see the gun again. I had to make a decision: Do I take it? Unload it? What do I do? My previous boyfriend accidentally shot himself in the hand, so I didn’t want to be anywhere near a handgun, since I saw firsthand the damage it can do. But I knew, looking at this gun, that was it. I knew this gun would be the end of him, but I was frozen. At that moment, I think, I saw his life flash before my eyes. So I shut the door of the drawer, and three days later, he was dead. I remember speaking to an officer outside his home while waiting for the crime scene cleaners to show up. I said to the cop, “It’s all my fault,” and he said, “He would have eventually found a way if he really wanted to do it.”

I don’t care what anybody says. I’ve spoken to quote-unquote “him” via mediums. If he could have a do-over, he’d be on the earth. I tell people thinking about suicide, “Listen, are you sure?” People send me emails, and I give them the caveat that I’m not a therapist or shrink and give them resources for mental health professionals … But as a human being, formerly depressed and suicidal, I will say, “Listen, you can make that decision, but if you have anything left on your bucket list, you won’t be able to do it.” Suicide may take away your physical pain or emotional pain, but it also erases the opportunity to ever do anything fun again. I also share my experiences with people and let them know I KNOW in my heart of hearts my friend Jim Thompson regrets what he’s done. He doesn’t want me to blame myself, but I will carry that burden to the day I die. I miss him terribly, but at the same time, had he not done what he had done, I probably would be dead as well. In his death, I found the gift of my own life. I know this may sound cheesy to some, but it’s my truth.

And one more point about the afterlife. It is my belief we take our emotional baggage with us to the next plane when we go. So, if you have emotional stuff to work out, do it on Earth, because you will take it with you to the other side. At some point you will have to face yourself, your soul, and do the healing work for yourself. Our thoughts are energy, and we’ve all been taught along the way energy cannot be created or destroyed. If these two things are true, then you can bet you’re taking your drama to heaven with you. Personally, I’d rather work out my crap while on Earth so when I get to heaven I can get my wings, chill out and catch up on a lifetime of reading. (Laughs.)

Several weeks after Jim Thompson died, I reached out to a friend in Wilmington who speaks to spirits, or so a mutual friend had claimed. I thought it was crazy nonsense talk, but I was desperate. I said, “Do me a favor. I need to come over and need your help but can’t tell you any details now.” So I went to her home, and she starts doing her thing with a pendulum. Within about a minute, she started to describe my friend physically, and the hair on my arm started to stand up. My friend came through and said to me, “You are fighting yourself, Christa. Don’t do it. It’s not a jail. Let it go. You are what you are, and it is OK. Don’t be afraid, just live, enjoy it for someone who can’t, I copped out.”

Had my friend not come through the medium and told me he made a mistake, I’d be dead. Those are my experiences, I don’t care what anybody tells me or if they believe me or not. That’s what happened in October 2005, and that “session” saved my life.

Flash forward. I went on a grief retreat in Arizona six months after he died and visited a shaman lady named Annie. The trip was transformative for me.

In my experience with grief and depression, I had what yogis call a “monkey mind.” I could not seem to get out of a negative train of thought. My brain was like a hamster stuck in a wheel. Everything was a churning black mess, and I was searching for glimmers of hope.

While at the retreat, Annie said, “I have homework for you, and I’ll be back in two hours.” She took a piece of paper and drew a big circle on it and told me to write down everything I wanted in my life inside the circle. “On the outside,” she said, “I want you to write everything you don’t want, things that no longer serve you.” I looked at her like she was out of her mind, and I am sure I rolled my eyes.

So I thought, “You paid this lady! Do the homework!” So time passes, and I had no idea what to put inside the circle and struggled with the question, “What do you want?” It was like no one ever asked me that question before. Writing down what I didn’t want was a lot easier. On the outside of the circle, I started to write: self-mutilation, depression, suicidal thoughts, sadness, lethargy, confusion, self-hate, extra weight, all these negative things. After I got that out of my system, I thought, “What the hell DO you want? Identify that.” Once everything inside the circle was written down, Annie the shaman and I did this little ceremony and burned the “negative stuff” to energetically release it to the universe. It seemed very weird to me at the time, but I played along thinking to myself, “Do what you need to do to move on.”

Annie’s little circle exercise, simple yet powerful, became the basis for what I call my Big Bold Beautiful life. When I came back to Wilmington, I made a few vision boards of all the positives inside the circle. I hung them in a prominent position in my home and bombarded myself with positive messages. I started looking for pictures of myself in happier times, framing them, to remind myself I did have the capacity to have fun, be happy and enjoy life. I had been giving myself shit talk for so long, what if I turned it on its head? Did the opposite? What if I played the “fake it until you make it” game? So I used myself as an experiment. I took the original circle exercise paper, placed it in a drawer and forgot about it. A year and a half later, I pulled out the paper, and I’m not bullshitting, everything in that circle had manifested. It wasn’t magic fairy dust, I didn’t click my heels together three times and make wishes. Once I figured out what I wanted, that gave me the opportunity to create a plan to get it. You want to be healthier? You don’t need a brain surgeon to help you. Eat well, sleep, exercise. I signed up for yoga training in my late 30s. I was in class with a bunch of thin and young bendy people and thought to myself, “What the hell am I doing here?” (Laughs.) But I did it, got my certification, started to teach. So basically, the circle exercise shaman helped me reframe things. It provided me an opportunity to create a more positive life for myself. Is everything lollipops and candy canes now? No. Do I still struggle? Yes, but things are a lot better than they were 10 years ago!

So, a year and a half after Jim Thompson’s suicide, I met another guy named Jim, Jim Sims to  be exact, and he was from Austin, Texas. We met over Myspace, remember Myspace? We start chatting, long-distance dating. I went back and forth to Austin, had fun, we connected a lot. On the phone one night long distance, he said, “I’m going out with buddies to get my giggle on.” I was like, “What are you talking about? No judgement, but I’m really confused.” He was like, “No, I’m not gay. That’s what we say in Texas when you go out with friends to have fun.” I’m like, “That’s awesome.” He called me his muse, encouraged me to be creative. I started Giggle On, blogging about my feelings, therapists, medication, losing Jim Thompson to suicide and how positivity, laughter, healthy practices and helping others actually helped me.

I know my site repulsed some people, especially my family. I think they weren’t thrilled that I was sharing personal details on a website. Every once in a while you wonder if you should do it anonymously, especially when you’re talking about intimate feelings, especially related to anything with the “S” word or depression. Do you want people to know you’re depressed, on drugs, that you spent a good portion of your life in a suicidal mindset? Because people won’t knock on your door to freaking hire you. But I did it. Do I sometimes regret opening up and outing myself? Yes, I do.

I dedicated my site to Jim Thompson. Giggle On gave me the opportunity to put together resources for survivors of suicide loss. I wanted people to know they’re not alone in this path of pain and healing is something they can do. I finished yoga teacher training, took a laughter yoga certification course while running another business and blogging. It was fun, yes, but I was juggling a lot, pushed myself hard. I eventually connected with the Mental Health Association of Delaware, I’ve been a supporter of theirs for years. In 2009, I organized a big team, and with the help of dozens of people we raised a lot of money for the E-Racing the Blues campaign. I was flying high as an advocate and felt like I was truly making a positive impact.

A couple days after the walk, I got a nine-page note suicide from Jim Sims’ email account. His sister was instructed to send it out after he had done it. He went by way of carbon monoxide poisoning in his garage and left a young son. And I’m still pissed. When I met the second Jim, he was also 35 years old and died in October. So I was thinking I was a suicide magnet for guys named Jim. Who wouldn’t? And now when I talk about them, it’s often as Jim #1 and Jim #2. How tragic and absurd?

So, as far as advocacy, I told Jim # 2 everything about losing my first friend, the ramifications of suicide, what happens to the family. When I found out he did it, I was furious, Italian furious, with enough cursing to make a dockworker blush. I remember standing in the living room, looking at ceiling: “You son of a bitch. I fucking told you. What have you done? You left friends asking, ‘What the hell just happened?'” He was extremely intelligent, creative, emotional to the point where, I don’t know a lot of guys with that level of emotional capacity. He also had a problem with alcohol. So now he’s dead. So here you are, thinking you’re doing great stuff in the world, and you’re not able to help this other guy. So let’s just say it was not a good time. It kind of set me off. I can’t say it made me suicidal, but it rocked me to my core, again, and sent me back packing into a depressed mindset.

Am I interested in getting into a relationship with a guy? I’m scared that if I do, they’ll kill themselves. The truth is. I’m still pissed. I’ve kind of forgiven Jim #1, but I’m still pissed at Jim #2. His nine-page suicide note was like some Hemingway poetic something or other. It was like he was trying to state the case why dying made sense, but it really didn’t. Suicide is stupid, and it sucks every which way from Wednesday. But yeah, Jim Sims is gone too, so now the site’s dedicated to two men, the two Jims. I set my site and mission aside after Jim #2 death. I thought to myself, “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard. Too painful. And let’s face it, what good am I really doing anyway?”

Something, whether it’s God or whatever, keeps bringing me back to this topic. I continue to beat the drum right now, to raise awareness. It is exhausting as a one-woman show sometimes, but I think I am finally starting to make real progress. Do I wake up in the morning singing, “I want to be a poster child for suicide prevention?” No, I don’t. The stigma about mental illness doesn’t make this topic tea-time worthy, but I think in time we can change that. Look how people can easily talk about cancer now, where 20-plus years ago it was only a whisper.

I incorporate the laughter stuff, call it laughter therapy, laughter yoga or what have you, to help people blow off steam and give them the OK to talk about their feelings, hurts and dreams. Laughter opens people up, so does humor if used correctly, and it gives people the permission to share themselves. I don’t use laughter to cover up the bad, I use it to help people, including myself, transcend it.

If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, great, but I don’t want to come back again. I want to do whatever God needs me to do while on this funky blue planet. Lead me, show me, I’ll do the work. I just hope by the time they put me in the ground or burn me to ashes I will have earned the right to sit on a cloud and drink beer for millennia. (Laughs.)

But it’s still a challenge, back and forth these last couple of years. I wonder, but I am continuing to trek along as best as I can. I’ve thought about getting additional education, perhaps a master’s or certification to help others, but I’m not sure I can be in a position where I’m listening to people unload the depths of their inner baggage eight to 10 hours a day. I think I’d either need to go back on meds to cope or get a permanent caffeine IV drip. Probably both. When someone tells me problems, I have the tendency to take them on. Sucks being an empathy sometimes. It can emotionally drain me if I am not careful. I am always looking for ways to safely help people without depleting myself and making a mess of my own life. I need to be able to get up in the morning, floss my teeth AND my brain and function as a human being in a busy and demanding world.

So that’s the shortest possible way I can explain myself to you. And sorry for talking so quickly, that’s the East Coast Italian in me.

How would you describe Giggle On in brief terms?

I use laughter as a wellness tool to help improve people’s mood.

What do you do offline with this?

One-on-one coaching occurs. I think because of my approach and my sense of humor, I’m the kind of person people tell stuff to. I can create a trusting bond pretty quickly. In a group situation, what happens is, I’ve learned it’s easier to talk stress and chronic stress instead of mental illness. Talking about suicide prevention makes people run away. I use stress, chronic stress as a segue. A couple years ago, I did an event for attorneys about stress. That opened up an area for me to talk about my story, and about mental health stuff. I said, “Listen, you guys are in a very high-risk category for depression and suicide.” Because I’m not a therapist, I have to be mindful of what I say, but I can be open about my story, give people facts and figures, and then use a yoga approach.

Breathing, all breathing. If you can get a person to oxygenate fully, you’re hitting a home run in the wellness category. Controlled deep breathing, mindfulness and the playfulness of laughter improve people’s moods and positively impact their physical body and spirit. We can down dog and warrior pose all day long, no offense to my yoga peeps, but … The beauty of laughter yoga is this. One, you don’t need to engage the cognitive mind. You don’t speak in laughter yoga, you follow the leader and fake it until you make it. What happens is, when you’re laughing, you’re turning off the stress response. You can’t be stressed and be in monkey mind if you’re laughing. So what I’m doing is helping them turn off left brain and go into creative brain, getting them to play. We’re “Ho-ho-hahaha!” So basically, we have all kinds of breath work we do, granola-head-yoga stuff, I like to say. I teach them three-part, seven-part breath, humming meditation, Darth Vader breath (which is also called Ujjai pranayama or Victorious breath in yoga), and the “Ho Ho Ha Ha Ha” part is essentially modified. Most people don’t give a crap about the Sanskrit names. People in the corporate world, homeless people or AIDS patients or parents of pediatric oncology patients are not concerned with the vocabulary of the breath work. They all want to feel better. That’s what they want. Bottom line is this: if I can get people to inhale deeply and exhale fully for about 20-30 minutes, they will reap benefits. I create a safe and fun environment where people are free to let go and play. Once I give them permission, they are off and running. Once the laughter component starts, the “Ho Ho Ha Ha Ha”s and the unconditional laughter exercises, the increase of endorphins to the brain begins. It’s like magic without the black capes or bunnies out of a hat.

Plus oxygen. Increasing oxygen rich-air not only helps the lungs and brain, but it benefits the heart and muscles. I tell people, “You can go weeks without food, quite a while without water, but not long without oxygen. Just try for a couple minutes and get back to me and let me know how you feel without it.” Most people do not breathe fully anyway. Normally, people are using 25 percent lung capacity, or we call them chest breathers. I work to get people to fill 100 percent of their lungs with oxygen. Your brain works a lot better if it has oxygen, right? That’s the kind of approach I take.

The other cool thing about laughter as an exercise is, anyone can do it. You don’t need special clothes, equipment or experience. All you need is the ability to breathe and a willingness to try to laugh. Granted, if you have stomach staples, a hernia or just had open-heart surgery, hearty belly laughter isn’t for you. Laughter yoga is cardiovascular exercise, and you will get your heart pumping, and many will work up a healthy sweat. It’s good stuff.

Listen, I could talk all day about what happens in a session, but you gotta just do it and see how it feels for you. During sessions I ask people, “Where are you in your life? What would you like to release?” Once they identify, I ask them to just set that baggage down, set down your problems and worries. You can pick it up later if you want. All I want people to do is create happy energy right now. Just play and stay with me.

All I need to do is give them permission and create space, and they’re good to go. It’s not difficult stuff, right? But it’s amazing how powerful it is for people. They have “aha” moments, get into play. By the end of the session, I ask people how they feel. Invariably I get, “That ache and pain is gone.” Problems are not as big. Laughter is a pain reliever. People say PMS or knee pain is gone. My message is, “Listen, I don’t care if you do this again. It won’t offend me personally, but the point is, or ‘point being,’ as Jim #1 used to say, you feel great because you were in play mode, your system is oxygenated, you released stress, set sail in uncharted waters, and look at how you feel.” I love seeing the “aha”s and helping them create positive energy to take away, take back home and hopefully take action to manifest whatever it is they identified on the inside of their circle. Like they tell you in AA, though I’ve never been, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one. Similarly, if you want a better life, you need to figure out what the hell you actually want. Some people think they know but aren’t really sure. Part of my job is to lovingly and playfully help them extract what they want for themselves. Imagine wanting to go on vacation but not knowing where. How will you get there if you don’t have a destination in mind? Do you want to go to the beach or do you want snow? Relax or have some high-energy activity? It doesn’t matter what it is as long as the person makes a choice and sets sail. We don’t grow or learn inside our comfort zones. We have to break out, try new things and risk failure in order to tap the happy.

I get them jacked out on endorphin juice and leave them relaxed and energized. And depending on the type of group, I’m able to interject or create exercises specifically to whatever problem is going on. Basically, the lesson for everyone is, you can’t change life’s circumstances. I can’t go back in time and make my friend not be dead. I can change how to go forward. You can change your reaction, coping mechanism. Laughter is one way to cope with stress and being overwhelmed. You don’t have to use any drugs, put anything into your body. Holistic. Just try it. It’s so simple, it works really well. I tell people if the pharma companies find out about me, they’ll put a hit out on me. (Laughs.)

I love when  people have “aha” moments and write to me, “That was great!” I tell them, I didn’t do this, YOU did it. You created how great you feel. I want them to leave empowered. As Einstein said, play is the highest form of research. Play and laughter are great releases and healthy activities for the brain. Don’t believe me? Visit my site and look under “resources,” or just do a simple Google search on the benefits of laughter and play. I want to encourage people to let the bad shit go. We’ve gotta set our crap down to allow the good stuff in.

I have two young ladies helping me in the office. I said, “Listen, I’ve been reading positive psychology for like 10 years now. My life experience and lessons are mine, and what I’ve done to help myself is not gonna work for everybody. However, if just 10 percent of people in sessions have an ‘aha’ moment to change their life, then it’s all worth it. If I have helped ONE person, or one person moved on to help someone else live and live a better life, it’s all worth it.”

When I did a stress reduction and laughter session with college kids at the University of Delaware in May, I gave them all the 800-273-TALK crisis line number. I said, “Listen, I’m here because I lost a couple friends to suicide, I was depressed, and I want you to be alive and healthy.” And I asked them to pull out their phones and put in 800-273-TALK right now. They did. They were having so much fun laughing and playing they were open to my suggestion. It was a powerful moment for me. I told them they might have roommates hurting themselves or talking about suicide, and they might not know what to do. You’re not a psychologist, but you can be a caring individual, and you can ask another human being if they are okay. You can listen. Making that step, a call or asking a question, can save someone’s life. I tell them they can be eyes and ears to help keep classmates alive. Then I have them do laughter selfies. (Laughs.) I want the students to remember how great they feel after laughing. No, no drugs, no alcohol, just holistic laughter. I want students to know they are not alone in this process called college. If you have a problem, it’s absolutely OK to ask for help.

I remember being at my 30th birthday party with my parents, crying. I never thought I would make it to 30! I was sure I would be dead. So the fact that I’m still here, I tell them, “Listen guys, I can tell you from my experience. I had my own zip code and lived in the land of ‘I suck.’ I was the Queen there. But you, you don’t have to go it alone.”

So much has changed since I was their age. They have their whole life ahead of them, you know? And they’re in a very high-risk category. It breaks my heart that suicide is the second-leading cause of death for college students. Obviously, a lot of people who attempt don’t succeed. Survivors. There’s a lot of people who attempt. Drugs, other behaviors putting in harm’s way. They think they’re worthless, it breaks my heart.

If the thoughts come back, what do you do?

I say one residual thing I still do, I don’t know why, I used to cut in high school, I don’t cut, but I still rip off my toenails until they bleed. And I tried to stop. I don’t know what it is. I don’t have feelings of I want to end my life anymore, thank God, but I do get feelings very much of being overwhelmed, and how to tackle this mountain of what I’m trying to accomplish on this planet? I’m not sure what to do next. So that makes it hard. It’s difficult for me to admit even now because I’ve come so far, but it’s true. Sometimes I say, “Christa, it’s been two days, you have to shower. You can’t single-handedly save the world.”

My best friend lives next to me. He’s good because he’s kind of like a good positive echo for me to have. That’s part of the reason he still lives next door. We used to be in a relationship. Basically, I live next door to my ex. People ask, “Why not move away?” I’m concerned because he’s my emotional rock. I’m concerned if I get overwhelmed and there’s no sounding board nearby. I’m not saying I would do anything, but it’s like not wanting to get rid of the emotional training wheels. I think that goes for a lot of other people. We need to be around people who are supporting, supporting to us. If not, life challenges are more difficult. I am much more resilient now than I used to be, but people like me need to be vigilant about our brain health. It is a constant effort but something worth doing, because my life is worth it.

That’s what I try to do with other people. I try in my own way to be there as a listener or support system, whether a text or Facebook or Twitter. There are many people I support worldwide, and I’ve never met them. I don’t want to go into detail for their privacy, but let’s just say I know now my life has value because I’ve helped them stay alive.

It’s great the world we live in, with all this communication. Here’s my personal opinion: A lot of people are way too medicated and need less drugs and more hugs. We need more quality human interaction, more face time. When I got depressed or get overwhelmed, I just withdraw. It’s easy to say, “Reach out.” Well, it’s not that easy to say, “I’m going to call some 800 number and talk to someone I don’t know. And who knows if they’ll send cops to my house.”

But at the same time, not doing anything, not providing that number, is not good. You have to do that. You have to do something, Take some positive action. I want people to know, listen, like, I was in a really bad way for decades. There’s a positive way, there’s light. I promise you there’s light. I promise you. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. And it’s very easy to say those words, and for people who haven’t gone through it, it’s easy to say, but.

You get it, I know you get it.

What can be done to make suicide more discuss-able?

Great question. When some of these groups bring me in, for stress stuff, it’s what they like. One wanted me to hit on mental health and suicide prevention, and I did. The girls were very receptive, and I was shocked. It’s very difficult to stand up in front of the room and tell your story, it’s not easy to do.

For example, I was recently in my hometown of Philadelphia for the I Will Listen event, sponsored by NAMI New York and others. It brought so many mental health professionals together. It was in a park, so it was great, all these tables set up, mental health tables, passers-by. And having real conversations with people about mental health and wellness was wonderful. I think it’s those kinds of events, it’s what we as advocates for life need to help educate and reduce stigma. And to be honest, not to toot my own horn, but to engage more people about this difficult topic, we need to create more open atmospheres for people of all walks of the suicidology spectrum to join the conversation, people like you, me, Des from Live Through This, you know, the people who don’t have the mental health degrees but people who have been in the trenches and know how it feels to be depressed for a long time, be suicidal and have attempted to take their own lives.

That said, no one wants to do things that are always depressing. They just don’t. The good thing about the laughter part is, it opens people up: “OK, let’s get real with each other.” I think the community would be well-served where there are more light-hearted events that help bring outsiders to meet insiders. To really reach out and get boots on the ground, get out to the people-people, meet the real people where they are at, outside the psychiatrist’s office and on the streets, so to speak. Everybody can be preaching to themselves all day long, the community can be like an echo chamber. I mean, how much more do you need to know about suicide prevention?

One lady came up to me at my table at I Will Listen, her name was Roslyn. She was shy, hanging out around us for a while, and I started chatting with her. I said, “How do you get your giggle on?” She said, “I’m not good at smiling.” Within two minutes, I had her smiling, playing the kazoo, posing for a photo, and we texted her the photo so she could remind herself that she can smile and looks damn awesome doing it! For me, connecting with a human being with a smile or eye contact or a laugh means this: I see you. I hear what you’re saying. I care about you. A lot of people don’t know this, but I’m basically praying for them when they’re in my presence, so maybe, just maybe, they’ll walk away maybe lighter somehow in their heart and leave feeling better. We need to create an environment where it’s not just, “Let’s talk about suicide and suicide prevention.” … It’s important, don’t get me wrong, but find ways to engage people and, dare I say, have some fun! You’re still giving the seriousness that the subject matter is due, I’m not saying make light of it. But we must try to get out into the public sphere more.

One thing that’s important to many, or at least garners a lot of attention with people, is Hollywood. I’m not a huge fan overall, since a lot of the stuff that comes from Tinseltown is violent and crappy. Hollywood has an enormous role and a lot of power. With that comes responsibility to provide information to the public and make the world a better place. I think there’s a way to get Hollywood types to start addressing this issue in particular. Yeah, bullying, we need to talk about it, but let’s move beyond that and go deeper. If we’re going to get our hands dirty, let’s go all the way! Twenty years ago, nobody talked about cancer. How do we get brain health, suicide, suicide attempt survivor stories and survivors of suicide loss stories into the conversation, on a sitcom, on a reality show? Right? I think, my personal opinion is, when Hollywood gets involved, people start taking notice and the culture shifts, either positively or negatively. Open up the conversation and try to get people thinking a little bit more and hopefully taking positive action. That’s my answer. I’d like to buy a vowel now. (Laughs.)

Who else are you?

Oh my God, with these questions! (Laughs.) I’m a 7-year-old boy trapped in a 45-year-old woman’s body. I went out bike riding today, like a Pee-Wee Herman bike, and I fell off the bike and laughed my ass off, so funny how I fell. I’m kind of a person trying to find the light in very uncomfortable situations. Life is funny, and it’s very serious. Like a bike ride, we all are best served to find a healthy balance of the light and dark.

I’d like to close by saying I’m single, here’s my phone number. If anyone’s interested, but your name can’t be Jim. Just sayin’… (Laughs.)  I’m a person doing this all for a higher power. Because there’s more to life and to me than just bones wrapped in a flesh suit. Who else am I? A very serious person, to be honest with you, trying to get people engaged through light-hearted laughter. But laughter is as important to them as it is to me because without it, I would not be here. I guarantee. When nothing else works, when life gets nasty bad, laughter is often all we’ve got to help us feel like we’re in control of an otherwise out-of-control situation. What else are you gonna do? That’s why I say, when stuff gets out of control, don’t give up, you get your giggle on.

Talking with Shane Niemeyer

“I wanted to change everything in my life, and I had the opportunity to do just that. And in prison, you have all the time in the world.”

Shane Niemeyer has publicity support from the well-known publisher of his new book, but this interview came from his own initiative. He went looking for ways to reach the people who understand where he’s been. He started by Googling “suicide blogs” and came up here.

Here, he talks about how he came, at what he thought was his last moment, to see how he and friends in high school had been “ignorant and callous little pricks” for thinking a young classmate who killed herself was weak. He also talks about how he reshaped his life after his attempt years later. As a top Ironman athlete, he has quite a bit to say about goals and determination.

Who are you? Please introduce yourself.

Who I am now is, I do a lot of coaching for people who are traveling, a lot of working professionals, so I will write their workouts. I coach athletes and currently triathletes as well. I spend a lot of time doing exercise-related activity and work.

And how did you come be talking to me?

I’ve been given this opportunity to write a book, and my story got some press. Where I came from, the reason why people are interested, is because I guess it appeals to people as it’s kind of a redemption story. There was a time in my life where I felt I was in a state of desperation. And I tried to, had been in and out of jail, in and out of institutions as an adolescent, psych units. I didn’t think I could pull myself together or regain control over the direction of my life. I was really hopeless and tried to hang myself in prison, and the cord snapped, and I broke at least one of my feet and separated a couple of vertebrae. I was put on suicide watch of the jail, in Idaho.

The reason why I reached out to you is because, when I go around speaking a lot, that moment in time, that crisis imprinted me in a way that every time I read a story of someone who commits suicide or attempts or is in a state of crisis, I strongly identify with that person to this day. It’s been 10 years. It’s such an emotional experience that I don’t know if I can do anything to help anyone, but I can try.

How did you start to get back on your feet?

I think certainly it was a very unique set of circumstances. There was, one, I am very, very fortunate and grateful I came through intact. It’s one a lot of people don’t come through. If people do come through that, it changes them somehow. It changed me in the most fundamental way. The kinds of moments turned into minutes, turned into hours, what before was a crisis situation where I didn’t see any other way, no way for me to regain control of life or be able to turn around, after I jumped and found myself still alive, feelings of despair slowly were replaced with feelings of gratitude and hope. I was in jail, the beginning of what was to be a 14-month prison sentence.

I think having gone through that, I was able to change my perspective and see there was only an upside. Having nothing and having no hope was a place to have only an upside and nothing to lose instead. It was a shift in perspective. I kind of had this sense, this desperation, I wanted to change everything in my life, and I had the opportunity to do just that. And in prison, you have all the time in the world.

I embarked on this process of changing myself, trying to heal myself emotionally. Part of that for me was to heal myself and build myself up physically as well. I would take care of my body much better than I had before. All of that emerged out of that crisis.

How did the people around you respond?

The act, it stigmatized me in the beginning. I think some people’s knee-jerk reaction is negative, right? And, by the way, I remember when I was in high school, and this story would embody the reaction I got from some inmates. When I was in high school, there was a student, Mary Beth, who hung herself. Me and my friends, we were ignorant and callous little pricks, really. We said things that were so ignorant. That she was weak and should have been stronger, that it was a form of natural selection and only the strong can hack it. I didn’t think about that incident until the moment before I jumped off that ledge, and I thought how wrong we were, that in fact she had a misplaced high degree of resolve, that she was sad like me and didn’t see a way out.

I think a lot of initial response from inmates was the response that I was weak. Or crazy. And so, over time I kind of, as days turned into weeks and I started implementing this process where I spent each day sitting on my bunk, journaling, and I read almost a book a day so I could add new ideas and thought into this closed system, to add to my frame of reference. I began to have quiet moments, meditating, but not overtly, right, in the lotus position. I just made sure I had quiet moments, paid attention to my emotional state.

One thing that definitely resonated with the inmates was that I worked out. As weeks turned into months, I was working out a few hours a day. Eventually, other inmates who wanted something different for themselves started to gravitate to me and start working out, picking up the books I read. Elaine Hatfield at the University of Hawaii talked about that, “emotional contagion.” In the beginning, people were skeptical, cynical of my suicide attempt. Later they would come around, ask what I was doing, why did I read so much, how do you work out, why I spent so much time journaling. This kind of shift over time, the way they viewed me, you know what I mean? Because prison is an environment that is negative, right, you’re surrounded by the highest density of societal rejects in one spot, and they’re often cynical and negative and often kind of victims. A lot of times they view themselves as victims of society and circumstance. So it’s kind of a tough environment to plot a course. It was an interesting time for sure, but for me at the time, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

How were you able to maintain that focus once you came out?

When I got released, I was terrified. I had been a failure for so long. Probably a lot of people who end up dying by suicide, a lot of them have substance abuse issues or what we term mental health issues. That’s all I had known the better part of my adult life, until I was almost 30. I was very scared I would fall back into these old patterns of behavior. Also, I took comfort in the fact I had spent 14 months cultivating these habits I could rely on. I was very fit, I had been journaling and reading every day for over a year. So I knew I would have a good chance if I could continue that process. Also, I was out on parole, and there was oversight. My time was occupied by meetings with the parole officer, AA and NA meetings, 90 in 90 days, something like that. I couldn’t drive legally, so I had to ride this bike everywhere.

And I had this plan, which took 14 months to develop. My plan was, I was going to be humble, I was going to do whatever it took to bootstrap myself. With a college degree, I began washing dishes, with three jobs, but I knew it was temporary. My old defense attorney, Brett Fox, let me sleep on his couch until I got back on my feet.

I knew I needed to be in an occupation where in some way I was in servitude for other people. I became a personal trainer, and now I’m a strength and conditioning coach. I washed dishes, then was waiting tables, and all the time I was harassing this gym I wanted to be part of. Eventually, since I was broke, they traded custodial work for a membership, Then I became a trainer, then the top-producing trainer in eight gyms in the area. I advanced my education and became an expert in the field of strength and conditioning.

I moved toward this sense of ideal for myself. Even talking about it now feels sort of surreal. It was about, for me, having humble beginnings and realistic expectations and also being very persistent toward a vision for myself. I was just very lucky. At one point of my life, I was just surrounded by junkies and rejects and people going nowhere. Then after prison, I was surrounded by people who were mentors, pillars of the community, and I received a leg up and helping hand almost at every turn. My experience is not what a lot of inmates had: “You’ll ever get a job, people will look down on you.” That was never my experience because it was never my attitude. But at the beginning, I was terrified.

How did the book, the national exposure, happen?

So part of my story was really wanting to swing the pendulum the other way. On the continuum of addiction and compulsiveness, I was at the extreme end. I was homeless, using needles multiple times a day, drinking a fifth of alcohol, smoking as many cigarettes as I could afford. I was a train wreck. It occurred to me that if I could kind of transform that energy or redirect it, I could swing the pendulum the other way.

I found this article about Ironman, an ultradistance triathlon. When I read it in prison, I was very impressionable in that medical unit. I embarked on this. Part of my process was, I wanted to achieve something great for myself. I began training for the Ironman. For me, the training kind of stuck. I ground it out, became a pretty good athlete.

One of my clients wrote a letter to NBC. I had qualified for the Ironman world championships; they took the top 2 percent. My first year out there, I got a call from NBC and did an interview, and it actually aired. And then AP followed with an article, then a few agents contacted me and asked me to write a book. And here I sit today, all these years later, in a very unique position. I’m very fortunate.

With that platform comes the responsibility to kind of, I don’t know, testify to the fact that life is what we make of it. It works both ways. It can be miserable. Largely my misery was of my own devising. I was also able to swing that the other way. And now I’m in a situation in my life where, in a very real and tangible way, I am very grateful. It’s hard for me to fathom that my life is almost exactly the way I would want it. So that’s kind of how my story gained some traction, this kind of coincidence. It kind of took a life of its own.

So, for other people, we live in a country where there’s a sea of discontent. There are millions on anti-depressants, and many are overweight or obese. Dozens of people a day commit suicide. And so there’s a lot of discontent out there. And I think probably from my observation, if I had to pull the lens back and examine, a lot of times we would find there’s a lack of sense of fulfillment. A lot of times, that lack can be the result of … At times, people are in a position where they don’t, can’t imagine, or don’t have a concept, they’re so focused on discontent instead of focusing on what an ideal, what a personal ideal would look life. In prison, for instance, it would be hard for me to get at a fellow inmate, to get them to articulate, “If you could do anything, if you could draw a line in the sand right now and, within reason, create a life you’d want, what would it look like?” And I think lot of people have a tough time answering that question. I believe we perform better when we have objectives.

There’s a gap between who I was and who I wanted to be. But seeing that for what it was gave me, there was ways I could close that gap and pay attention to my thoughts. Our thoughts manifest themselves as behavior. And there are patterns to our thoughts. The average human being has thousands of thoughts a day. What’s the quality of those thoughts? You can change them. I think reading a good book, or examining your own thoughts through journaling and seeing them for what they are, which allows you to mold or shape your thoughts, and paying attention to your emotional or spiritual side, whether seeing a therapist or medicating. Often this is really corrupted in people for whatever reason, whether they suffered from abuse or found themselves in circumstances that were not desirable.

For me particularly, who we are as thinking beings and feeling beings, we are embodied in this biological organism, right? A physical body. I really believe, and a lot of research proves it out, our mental state is parallel to our physical state. If you’re overweight, I believe, whether or not you’re aware of it, you can’t really be happy or can’t function at an optimal level unless you’re getting some movement.

For me, exercise became very important because it was a constructive outlet for all the anxiety, the shame, the guilt I had acquired over the years. It was a way to process them in a hands-on way. It became very therapeutic for me. The production of all these hormones, enzymes, you hear about dopamine, serotonin, all these agents that produce well-being. At the end of exercise, no matter what it is, at the beginning you didn’t have anything, but after those exercises you had something, And for me, that was critical in getting moving in the right direction in my life.

If you’re close with your family, what do they think of all this?

My family has supported me wholeheartedly since prison, and before, though they needed to cut me loose when things got really bad. The whole book thing created some turmoil in my family, but we will get past that. Obviously, they are relieved that I have arrived at this point in my life where I seem to be thriving.

How long has it been again?

I got out of prison in late 2004. And so it’s really been, I tried to commit suicide in late 2003, I suppose it was. It’s been a while now. And as time goes on, it seems so far away. But I will always be able to recall that event in a way that it still feels very close to me in some ways. You know what I mean?

Do the feelings ever come back, and what do you do?

My feelings, or urges, they’re only feelings I have come back when I speak about it or when I hear about it, right? I read the number of veterans who commit suicide each day, and it infuriates me, it makes me very sad. Because I can identify with how they are, how they feel. It makes me sad because I wasn’t there in some way. I couldn’t impart to them that if you can make it through these moments, things can be so great, life can be so great in a way they can’t imagine in that moment, right? I wish I had a stick that I could tap them on the shoulder, inject them with what I have now.

Certainly I don’t have urges because my life is fucking good right now, and it has been for a long time. But it’s not always that way. That’s how I feel, I guess, I just feel so bad when I hear about that because I can identify with that crisis in a real way.

The other side is, I wish I could have some impact somehow.

Don’t you, by telling your story?

I hope so, I hope so. I hope so. It’s my hope and now my responsibility. And I don’t know, maybe it sounds lame, it sounds lame coming out of my mouth. But yeah, it’s my responsibility. It has been my experience.

How do you change the general population’s thinking and conversation around this issue?

What needs to change, and I think it is changing, is … is the sense, obviously, of educating people. The easy, knee-jerk reaction, people who respond that way are ignorant, they truly are. There are, there just exists stupid assholes in the world. And then there are just people who are ignorant. For any variety of reasons, people place judgment on one another.

But I think with the kind of prevalence of depression in this country, which I equate to just kind of unhappiness. With Irving Kirsch’s research out of Harvard, where for mild to moderate cases of depression, a placebo was as effective as medication. Psych meds help people, right, certainly there’s a place for them, but a lot of times I think they’re overused.

There’s this discontent that probably lends itself to more people being empathetic. So many people are unhappy in this country, and they’re examining sources of that discontent, how people become so unhappy or desperate that they see no other option, they don’t think they can regain control over the course of their lives. I don’t know what the answer is. But I do think sometimes that a lot of people have experienced at least a severe bout of unhappiness or what we call depression, but there are a lot of ignorant people who will say callous or idiotic things because they don’t know or don’t have understanding. But I think that’s a small … My gut feeling is, that’s a pretty small percentage of people.

I think more and more people understand it, could at least see how someone could end up in such a bad spot, that it’s not too far a stretch from their own experiences. That’s my personal belief. And the rest is just lack of education and empathy. I guess that wasn’t a very useful comment.

The last question I like to ask is, who else are you?

I guess people should know that I’m a coach, an athlete, that I like to read, and that I really am surrounded by people that I adore in every way. That I have been a lucky person, become a very lucky person, but in a lot of ways created that luck. There’s times I had to step back and pat myself on the back. That life is good now, I suppose. That, yeah. I’m athlete. I’m a coach, a friend. Maybe in some ways I’ve been able to become a mentor to people in positions of influence themselves. Yeah, I’m a lot of things.

But mostly, yeah, I’m pretty happy with the way things have turned out. I guess I remain a dreamer, right, and remain a person always reaching for something. For me, that has been one of the most important things, reaching and developing and trying to evolve as a person, I guess.

What is the next something you’re reaching for?

Well, I guess a TED talk or a big talk would be one thing. And obviously, potentially one day, another book. And athletically, to crack the top 50 at the world championships would be a good goal. And eventually to become a good father and husband.