kids committing suicide: what can we do?

Kids Committing Suicide: What Can We Do?

I learned this week that a young man committed suicide, and I crumbled.

Suicide committed by anyone gets to me, but when it’s a young person, with his or her life in front of them, I lose it.

I remember my mother saying when I would say I was tired that that couldn’t be true – that all I did was go to school. Her saying that always made me feel kind of bad but regardless of that, I still felt genuine fatigue.

She also told me that being depressed was selfish. When you’re depressed, she explained, all you think about is yourself, and that’s selfish.

I didn’t know what to do with that, because I was honestly depressed. I was an outlier in my family, and I felt that, but it wasn’t new. I had lived in foster care for some years as a toddler, up to the age of 4, and was always reminded that I didn’t belong. I don’t know why I was in foster care or why it was necessary, except that my mother was away for long stretches of time, and I only got to spend spates of time with her.

I learned how to be alone with myself. It felt safer than trying to fit in with the new family or be accepted and coddled by my mother.

After she got married, she spent much of her time trying to be accepted by the new family, which didn’t like her. I don’t know why they didn’t like her, but I remember saying that they all had college degrees and she hadn’t graduated from high school. That made her “less than” in their eyes – or so she believed – so she worked hard to fit into the family. She worked full-time but eventually decided to get her GED and apply to college. She was accepted to college and was an all-A student, but the year after she began college she died.

I was depressed all through middle and high school, but I didn’t say anything about it except that one time when I shared I was depressed with my mother, who told me that being depressed was selfish. So, I carried my scarred soul quietly, saying nothing to anyone. I was an emotional wreck and actually tried to commit suicide once by taking too many aspirin, but one of my sisters saw me and my mother got me to vomit them up.

I remember those days. My depression ebbed and flowed; sometimes it was worse than at other times, but it was always there. The worst part of it was feeling like I couldn’t talk to anyone. I remember truly wanting to die, but I didn’t go through with it. I know the pain, though, and when young people commit suicide, their agony crawls into my soul.

I think I know why I was depressed, but I wonder the reasons why kids are depressed to the point of suicide now. Is it because of the rancid political climate? Is it because they do not feel safe going to school and are reminded of their fears every time a crazed shooter bursts into a space that is supposed to be safe and fun and mows their friends down like they are inanimate objects, not worth thinking about or protecting?

Is it because so many kids struggle with their sexuality and have parents who would kick them out of the house if they knew? Is it because they feel like they are not enough – just as they are? Their thoughts of suicide exist in spite of them going to church. Are they drawn to suicide because they cannot find peace or honesty or love or compassion anywhere – not even in the church – but instead find an ethos of domination and authoritarianism that is killing their spirits?

When two young social justice activists committed suicide here in Columbus some years ago, I ached. I felt that familiar pain and wondered why they felt so bad, so hopeless, that they took their own lives. I wondered if we who worked with them had missed signs that they gave out, albeit subtly. I wondered if we should have had sessions after fighting over some issue to debrief, reassess, recommit, and refuel. These two young people (their suicides were about a year and a half apart) were shining stars. They looked like they had it all together, but they did not. More recently, a young man, a brilliant scholar, killed himself. He was always quiet and stayed to himself; he struggled because he was gay and his parents could not and would not accept him. But he wouldn’t talk about it, except in small tidbits.

We are living in such a volatile environment. The guardrails to protect us and what we have always believed have all but disappeared. The things we used to be able to believe in – democracy, civility, and the desire of elected officials to protect us, we can no longer trust. When I was little, I never worried about the country falling apart. There was the Cuban missile crisis, but it wasn’t an ongoing issue, spewed out over the airwaves day after day. I never worried about people with guns coming into my school or anyone else’s school for that matter and killing my friends. We had air raids (the result of bombs dropped in other countries during the country’s two world wars), where we were made to go into the hallway and stand close to the lockers for a set amount of time, and we had fire drills, which I loved because we got to go outside – still in lines – so we would know what to do if the school were ever on fire.

But those drills were fun, perfunctory. Nobody was really scared, not like kids and young people are today.

There were social problems, yes, but for some reason, they seemed workable. It didn’t feel like everything was falling apart at the same time. When I was growing up, neither political party wanted to be “friends” with countries that meant us no good. When I was growing up I believed that though lower courts could not or would not listen to the cries of the people, there was the US Supreme Court and I believed that it was truly “supreme.” I believed that our systems demanded truth in journalism and that there were penalties for spewing lies.

And I believed in God, not “a” god that supported hatred and bigotry, but a God who demanded that we treat each other as human beings worthy of respect.

So much of that has eroded in recent years, and I wonder how the youth and the children are dealing with it, and how the adults are supposed to help them – or if they can.

Anyone committing suicide should bother us, but young people committing suicide should give us pause and force us to rethink what we are and are not doing. It seems that we have displaced God in preference for power and money. Some want this country to be run by Christians. What is a Christian in this day and time? And there’s this: a theocracy is not going to stem the tide of distressed and depressed children and youth. It is not going to stop the hatred, bigotry, and greed for power and money that we are experiencing now.

I hope we realize that before too many young people give up trying to live. If being depressed is selfish, I would bet that there are a lot of selfish people walking around but not talking about their pain. I would bet that there are a lot more people on the brink of suicide, or who are drowning in addictions to try to feel better. That possible reality should bother everyone.

A candid observation …

When Despair Wins

There is a community of young, black activists in Columbus, Ohio, which is mourning today.

They are mourning and they are in shock because one of their foot-soldiers, MarShawn McCarrel, apparently killed himself yesterday. The report say that he killed himself on the steps of the Ohio State House, a location from which many marches have begun.

MarShawn was a poet and an activist, who was fierce about fighting for the dignity of black people. Up close, he was shy and unassuming, polite and well-mannered. To think that he is gone is almost too much to bear.

As I listen to GOP politicians talk about Americans being angry, I am angered because in their dialogues about anger, they do not consider the anger and frustration and sense of despair of black people. Many older black people have learned to manage their hopelessness, but the young people, those in the streets and in the malls and in the courthouses demanding dignity and justice…have not.

Not a single GOP candidate has bothered to mention that the despair of black people is valid. It is a despair with which we have lived for generations. Not Trump, not Rubio, not Cruz, not Christie…none of them seem to give a horse’s ass about what black people go through because of white supremacy.

Not a one of them (of the ones I mentioned) have voiced concern and/or outrage over the lead-filled water given to people in Flint, Michigan, but I would bet that all of them will, in the future, be on some bandwagon to do something with black kids who have behavior problems – forgetting that lead affects people in horrific ways for years. Lead poisoning affects everything from IQ to the ability to have a healthy body. Not a one of these candidates, and too many white people – care about that. They say that they are pro-life, but they only want life for unborn fetuses and for white people.

They want their country back, a country marked by racism, sexism, homophobia and an economy which puts way too many people on the bottom, without thought of what poverty does to people.

They don’t think about what black and brown kids feel when they go into schools that are shoddy and broken, where heat doesn’t work in the winter and air conditioning doesn’t work in the summer. They don’t think about or care about what it must feel like for little black children to see their white counterparts with fine, fancy schools and they are given the worst facilities imaginable.

They don’t care that in many urban schools, the toilets don’t work, the windows are broken, and the books are old. They don’t think that these little children have feelings, and grow up believing they are inferior because they are treated as though they are inferior, like they do not matter.

The kids, the young people, who have taken to the streets, are tired and angry. They are tired of being ignored. Tired of being marginalized. Tired of being shot down or shot at. Tired of being labeled. Tired of getting second best. But none of the GOP candidates talk about that anger. It is only the anger of white people who feel like perhaps they are losing control of their grip on America that seems to matter.

My heart is breaking today because this young man is said to have committed suicide. He fought until he couldn’t fight any longer. His anger turned inward, where it morphed into depression and finally into despair. He went to the place where unjust laws are made, and he killed himself.

Those running for president should care about the despair about all people, not just their base. White anger is no more sacred than is black anger. And black anger in America has a history grounded in the policies and practices meted out because of white supremacy.

In the Bible it says that God will turn our mourning into dancing. I guess God didn’t get to MarShawn soon enough.

A candid observation…

On the Suicide of a Preacher’s Son

By now we have all heard the news of the tragic suicide of the youngest son of Pastor Rick Warren, Matthew. He was just 27 years old. (http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2013/04/06/son-of-pastor-rick-warren-commits-suicide/?hpt=hp_t2)

Suicide committed by anyone is tragic and sad …and unbelievably painful…but I imagine that when it’s the preacher’s kid, the pain for the family is even greater. People have expectations of preachers and their families that are too often unrealistic. The kids are under tremendous pressure, and their lives are often more scrutinized, with more criticism leveled at them with less empathy, sympathy and/or understanding that one might expect religious people to dole out.

It is a fact that preachers’ kids often feel more isolated, more alone …and many times, more angry than other kids. They are held to a higher standard, and they grow sensitive to what “the saints” say about them, to them, or say around them. They often, but by no means always, grow up with a bitter taste in their mouths about “church folk” and organized religion. Families of the preacher often tread in deep water with swift and unrelenting undercurrents …and nobody seems to care. One of the most powerful moments for me came several years ago when a member said to me that she wanted to embrace my children, that they had “lent” me out to people for years and nobody had really embraced them. That was the first and only time anyone had said anything like that to me. I appreciated it, and so did my children.

But that kind of sensitivity to preachers, their families and their children is only too rare. We can only imagine the pain of Rick and Kay Warren. Unfortunately, however, there are sure to be people who are whispering about the Warren family and their troubled son. Some will say that while Pastor Rick was ministering to people all over the world, he “couldn’t even” deal with his own son. That is the reality, too often, of church culture.

What people do not realize, or care to realize, is that the preacher is a human being, as are his/her children. The expectations on both are unrealistic, and people who are “with you” on one day are “against you” on yet another. There are only a very few who embrace the preacher and his/her family sincerely, with no agenda.

The attitude of people toward mental illness is poor in general; nobody wants to identify or share that he or she is mentally ill – and yet, so many of us are! Ironically, the church, where it should be “safe” to talk about and share one’s struggles, including debilitating depression, multiple personalities, bi-polar disease, schizophrenia – has no monopoly for doling out kindness and/or legitimate help and compassion.

And if the one with the mental illness is the preacher’s son or daughter, chances are the compassion is even less.

Of course, I am not saying that that is or was the case with Matthew. Perhaps Saddleback Church was very compassionate and helpful and supportive, but churches in general are not known to be that way. Unfortunately, too many churches are known to be unkind, exclusive and judgmental, and the children of the preachers know that very well.

Add to the already painful situation that many individuals consider suicide to be cowardly. I had only one person in my congregation commit suicide while I was pastor, and I tried my best to draw the attention of people to her gifts, and to an acknowledgement of her pain. I suggested that she, who was one to express her love for God in praise and movement, was dancing in heaven, comforted by God. While some in attendance at her funeral received what I said, others were so angry that when I reached out to them to hug them, they turned away. People in general are not so forgiving and understanding when it comes to suicide.

I am praying that at Saddleback, the love will outweigh any criticism or judgment that may be there. I am praying that the suicide of the preacher’s son will be an opportunity for people to show the love of God for that family and for the young man who was so unhappy that he chose to be with God on his time, not God’s. I am sure God understands, but I’m not sure about the people.

A candid observation …