If you don't think your anxiety, depression, sadness and stress impact your physical health, think again. All of these emotions trigger chemical reactions in your body, which can lead to inflammation and a weakened immune system. Learn how to cope, sweet friend. There will always be dark days. -Kris Carr, New York Times Best selling author
Last week, I was honored to speak at a community forum about suicide and mental health. Our community has experienced a rash of suicides, including two students, and close to 2,000 people attended. After the forum, I spoke with some of those that attended and told me their stories very similar to mine. They had lost a child, or had one battling mental illness. I wasn't able to talk with everyone, and handed out my card to others asking them to call or email me.
One of the emails I received was from John* asking me to call him to speak about his daughter. Because it was Mother's Day weekend, I had to put it off a few days when I did get a hold of him, he was most anxious to talk. It seems young daughter Nancy* began to deal with the symptoms of depression and anxiety during the fall of her freshman year of high school. By January, Nancy, a child that had just been moved up to the varsity swim team, was barely able to leave her room.
Her father was near tears as he told me this. It has to be hard, as a parent, to see your once vibrant child reduced to a shadow of their former self.
As we continued to talk, he made a comment that struck home. He asked why a school will have three athletic trainers to fix an athlete's body to get them back on the field, but no one to fix their mind to get them back in the classroom. He made a good point. Many of the larger schools in Texas have athletic trainers on the staff. They treat athletic, (as well as band, drill team, and cheer leading injuries), and are a blessing, especially at lower income schools where many student athletes don't have access to sports medicine. Don't get me wrong, as a coach, I am grateful for the training staff at our school. They do an incredible job, and treat all athletes, regardless of sport, equally, and because of them, our student athletes are able to compete at a high level.
But what about the students that are injured mentally? What is being done for them? I know schools have guidance counselors on campus, but how many are sufficiently trained to handle students with severe mental health issues, and just like any other profession from teaching, to chefs, to knife throwers, there are those that are good, and those, eh, not so much.
When I look at the faculty roster for a random high school, there are three people listed as Diagnostician/Psychological Assoc., but after further research, that means they hold the title Licensed Specialist in School Psychology (LSSP) An LSSP will evaluate kids for Special Education (SPED) using testing materials much like a psychologist, but they are generally not a school psychologist, as that requires a Doctorate according to Texas state law. An LSSP is trained to evaluation children and adolescents’ behavioral, emotional, and social functioning in order to help them succeed academically. An LSSP can provide direct services such as behavioral interventions; therapy; consultation with teachers, parents and other professionals; and make recommendations for whether or not a child might qualify for special education services. In addition, the LSSP may only provide services in a school and not outside. According to the job description I found on several district websites, the majority of LSSp's are generally in special education, and do not counsel most students. Once again, I am not trying to diminish the work of an LSSP. Theirs is a nonstop job of meetings, consultations, evaluations, and the reams of paper work that the state and districts require.
I went to several district websites and accessed the student/parent handbook. This used to go home every year, but is now available on line for easy access provided you have internet access. Of the ones that mentioned suicide, they all had, word for word, the same statement:
Suicide Awareness: The district is committed to partnering with parents to support the healthy
mental, emotional, and behavioral development of its students. If you are concerned about your
child, please access http://www.texassuicideprevention.org or contact the school counselor for
more information related to suicide prevention services available in your area.
It is though they have a one size fits all approach to the issue, if they even approach the topic.
Unfortunately, there were several multi-school 6A districts that made no mention of suicide in their handbook.
Take some time to look over the staff roster for your child's district. You will see teachers listed as the Intervention Specialist, the Response to Intervention Support Teacher, the Student Success Teacher, Psychological Associates, Counselors, LSSP's, and Professional Athletic Trainers. All are there for your kids. All have their best interests at heart, but how many are there when your child has issues beyond grades, standardized tests, or sprained ankles? Isn't it time school districts devoted time and money to mental, as well as physical health? As a tax payer, you have a say in how things are done in your district. Attend board meetings, rally other parents, talk to the board members you elected. If they are going to spend money to treat an athlete's body, then they can spend the money to treat your child's mind
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Speech at Community Forum: Taming the Beast
On May 4, 2016, I presented to a community forum in The Woodlands, Texas to address the growing suicide problem in the Woodlands and surrounding community. This is the speech I gave.
Good evening and thank you for coming tonight. My name is David James. I'm a teacher and coach at College Park High School, the founder of #Products4Peyton, and an advocate for the #PeytonHeartProject, but most important, I am the father of my forever 13 year old son Peyton James. I truly wish that none of us were here, but unfortunately, that's not the case.
On October 8, 2014, I received the phone call every parent dreads. I was sitting in my truck about to leave work when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Jacki, Peyton's mother and my ex-wife. I thought about ignoring the call and letting it go to voice mail. I had already had a bad day, it was late, and I didn't want to deal with any more drama at that moment, but something made me answer.
All she said was, "David, you need to speak to this police officer," In the second it took for her to hand the phone over, my mind raced through several scenarios from "there has been an accident" to "Peyton's temper has finally gotten the best of him."
The officer took the phone "Sir, this is Officer So and So (I remember so many details of that day, but names still elude me) of the Georgetown Police Department. Peyton James has hung himself." With those five words, my world turned upside down forever.
I sat in my truck, in that empty parking lot, momentarily stunned, listening to the rain pound on the roof before I completely lost it. I screamed, yelled, beat on the steering wheel and the roof of the cab with all my might. I bargained with God and offered my life for Peyton's, but to no avail. I managed to compose myself long enough to call my wife to come and get me, but after that, I lost all control until she arrived and was able to console me.
That night, my wife Lisa, daughter Emmalee, and I traveled through the rain, traffic, and darkness to Dell Children's Medical Center in Austin to be by Peyton's bedside, but despite the heroic efforts of everyone from first responders to the incredible doctors, nurses and staff at the hospital, Peyton's injuries proved too severe. He was declared brain dead at 12:02 AM on October 13, 2014, and was laid to rest six days later.
Like many survivors of suicide, I wanted to know why my son would take his own life. At first I looked to bullying. Peyton had reported another student at his school for harassment the day before, and it had been a constant in Peyton's since elementary school. His red hair, freckles, glasses and small stature made him an easy target, and more than once it took the threat of legal action to get his schools to take action. While it may have been a reason, it wasn't the cause.
Because Peyton's death was a suicide, an autopsy was required. When we received the results from the Travis County Medical Examiner it listed suicide as the cause, but I wasn't satisfied. I wanted to know why my son would choose to end his life. It was then that I began to do my own research. Like many in today's society, I typed "causes of suicide" into Google. I read, and I read, and I read. What I discovered is that 90% of the people that complete suicide are dealing with some kind of mental illness, many times undiagnosed and untreated. I learned that the most common mental illness, depression is the cause of over two-thirds of the reported suicides in the U.S. each year. I also learned that untreated depression is the number one risk for suicide among youth, it is the third leading cause of death in 15 to 24 year olds, and the fourth leading cause of death in 10 to 14 year olds. In Peyton's case, it was depression and anxiety. Once you add in severe ADHD and the bullying, you have a perfect storm in the head of a person without the coping skills to deal with it. The crippling emotional pain he lived with, that allowed him to believe that death was the answer and that his family would be better off without him, had all became too much for him to deal with on that October afternoon.
When Peyton was 10 or 11, he began telling us that he "wished he were dead" or he "should just kill himself", and at first we thought it was just a was to deflect the trouble he was in or a way to seek attention. He continued with the threats until one night his mother called him on it and took him to the emergency room. He wasn't admitted that night, but through his pediatrician, and a psychiatrist, was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at the age of 12. He started taking medication and attending counseling, and seemed to be improving until that fateful day.
As parents, his mother and I did everything we could, but it wasn't enough. That's the thing with mental illness, you never know what the breaking point will be. It's like an empty glass. When the glass is empty, things are fine, but when you add in other stressors: grades but I studied so hard, bullying you're a little pussy, pressure to succeed how will you get into a good college with grades like this, divorce Daddy is going to go live some where else, death Papa went to be with God this morning, siblings I'm telling Mommy, parents I said turn off the damn TV and do your homework, the glass gets fuller and fuller to the point that all it takes is one or two drops to over flow.
Unfortunately, I know quite a bit about depression. I have battled the Beast since I was a teenager. I had always known that there was something wrong with me emotionally, but I never knew what. It wasn't until my late 30's that I finally addressed the issue. There were many reasons I waited that long. I grew up in an age where it was "just a phase", and there was so little known about mental illness that information was not readily available. I thought it was something that I could deal with on my own,or that it would go away eventually, but most of all was that I feared coming forward and admitting there was a problem. The stigma of mental illness was, and still is, a hard one to over come. Once I sought treatment, I learned how to tame the Beast and keep it under control. That was until Peyton's suicide, and now we do battle daily.
So what is it like to battle the Beast? The biggest challenge I face every day is getting out of bed. When the alarm goes off in the morning (although I am usually awake and full of dread long before that), I have to decide if I am going to face my demons, or give in and call in sick. I take my medication that is supposed to help, and I have no doubt that it does help, because the Beast hasn't taken over yet. I go through my morning routine, pour my coffee, and get in my truck for the drive to work. Some days I hope that some one will rear end me or t-bone me and put me in the hospital for a few days. Others I wish my daughter was sick. Any legitimate excuse to stay home because I refuse to let the Beast win and make me stay home. I will not give in to it, and I will let it dictate my life.
At work, the same student behavior that I used to find humorous or just ignore, now pisses me off. "This is stupid" or "I don't want to do this," hit me like hot needles under my nails. I want to scream "You have opportunities my son never will! Shut up and take advantage of those chances instead of bitching about it," but instead, I just a take a deep breath, look at the clock, bite my tongue, and count the minutes left.
I hear snippets of conversations in the halls about parties, drugs, and alcohol, and wonder, "Are they trying to tame the Beast?" If they are, they're going about it the wrong way, as so many of their generation does, but because the Beast has become "He who shall not be named," in the "not my child" era they use what is available instead of what is proper.
When I'm at home, there are times I'll binge watch Netflix, play XBox, or lose myself in a book rather than face life because all around me are reminders of Peyton, who he was, and who he never will be. I want to hold my daughter close and never let go, but she is too much like her brother, and can't sit still. At bed time, I rely on Ambien to sleep, otherwise the anxiety of what has or might happen keeps poking at my brain until the wee hours of the morning.
Depression has many symptoms:
If any of these symptoms apply to you or some one you know, and last more than two weeks, I beg of you, please seek help. If you were had the flu, or a constant, nagging headache, or trouble breathing, you would seek medical help. The same goes for your emotions. Begin with your family doctor and go from there. They can refer you to the appropriate mental health professionals if necessary. Depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder are all illnesses just like cancer and diabetes, and should be treated as such.
You also need to follow the course of treatment that is recommended. Up to 80% of those treated for depression show an improvement in their symptoms generally within four to six weeks of beginning medication, psychotherapy, attending support groups or a combination of these treatments. If that means medication, then take the medication. If it means counseling, then go to counseling. There is no shame in either. If the first medication doesn't work, try another. If you don't click with your first therapist, find another. Just like any other illness, there is no "one size fits all" approach. What ever you do, don't give up or give in to the Beast.
If you needed chemotherapy or dialysis, would you refuse to go because you are worried about what the neighbors or your family might say? Hell no, you would attack the illness head one, get a hold of it, fight it, and do what ever is necessary to defeat it. Just like any other illness, it will take time, there will be missteps, back slides, good days, bad days, and worse days. You will want to give up. You will want to give in, but don't. As the Scottish poet Dylan Thomas powerfully states, and I have tattooed on my arm to remember:
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Fight it like your life depends on it, because in the end, it very well might.
Good night Boo. Daddy loves you very much.
Thank you.
Good evening and thank you for coming tonight. My name is David James. I'm a teacher and coach at College Park High School, the founder of #Products4Peyton, and an advocate for the #PeytonHeartProject, but most important, I am the father of my forever 13 year old son Peyton James. I truly wish that none of us were here, but unfortunately, that's not the case.
On October 8, 2014, I received the phone call every parent dreads. I was sitting in my truck about to leave work when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Jacki, Peyton's mother and my ex-wife. I thought about ignoring the call and letting it go to voice mail. I had already had a bad day, it was late, and I didn't want to deal with any more drama at that moment, but something made me answer.
All she said was, "David, you need to speak to this police officer," In the second it took for her to hand the phone over, my mind raced through several scenarios from "there has been an accident" to "Peyton's temper has finally gotten the best of him."
The officer took the phone "Sir, this is Officer So and So (I remember so many details of that day, but names still elude me) of the Georgetown Police Department. Peyton James has hung himself." With those five words, my world turned upside down forever.
I sat in my truck, in that empty parking lot, momentarily stunned, listening to the rain pound on the roof before I completely lost it. I screamed, yelled, beat on the steering wheel and the roof of the cab with all my might. I bargained with God and offered my life for Peyton's, but to no avail. I managed to compose myself long enough to call my wife to come and get me, but after that, I lost all control until she arrived and was able to console me.
That night, my wife Lisa, daughter Emmalee, and I traveled through the rain, traffic, and darkness to Dell Children's Medical Center in Austin to be by Peyton's bedside, but despite the heroic efforts of everyone from first responders to the incredible doctors, nurses and staff at the hospital, Peyton's injuries proved too severe. He was declared brain dead at 12:02 AM on October 13, 2014, and was laid to rest six days later.
Like many survivors of suicide, I wanted to know why my son would take his own life. At first I looked to bullying. Peyton had reported another student at his school for harassment the day before, and it had been a constant in Peyton's since elementary school. His red hair, freckles, glasses and small stature made him an easy target, and more than once it took the threat of legal action to get his schools to take action. While it may have been a reason, it wasn't the cause.
Because Peyton's death was a suicide, an autopsy was required. When we received the results from the Travis County Medical Examiner it listed suicide as the cause, but I wasn't satisfied. I wanted to know why my son would choose to end his life. It was then that I began to do my own research. Like many in today's society, I typed "causes of suicide" into Google. I read, and I read, and I read. What I discovered is that 90% of the people that complete suicide are dealing with some kind of mental illness, many times undiagnosed and untreated. I learned that the most common mental illness, depression is the cause of over two-thirds of the reported suicides in the U.S. each year. I also learned that untreated depression is the number one risk for suicide among youth, it is the third leading cause of death in 15 to 24 year olds, and the fourth leading cause of death in 10 to 14 year olds. In Peyton's case, it was depression and anxiety. Once you add in severe ADHD and the bullying, you have a perfect storm in the head of a person without the coping skills to deal with it. The crippling emotional pain he lived with, that allowed him to believe that death was the answer and that his family would be better off without him, had all became too much for him to deal with on that October afternoon.
When Peyton was 10 or 11, he began telling us that he "wished he were dead" or he "should just kill himself", and at first we thought it was just a was to deflect the trouble he was in or a way to seek attention. He continued with the threats until one night his mother called him on it and took him to the emergency room. He wasn't admitted that night, but through his pediatrician, and a psychiatrist, was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at the age of 12. He started taking medication and attending counseling, and seemed to be improving until that fateful day.
As parents, his mother and I did everything we could, but it wasn't enough. That's the thing with mental illness, you never know what the breaking point will be. It's like an empty glass. When the glass is empty, things are fine, but when you add in other stressors: grades but I studied so hard, bullying you're a little pussy, pressure to succeed how will you get into a good college with grades like this, divorce Daddy is going to go live some where else, death Papa went to be with God this morning, siblings I'm telling Mommy, parents I said turn off the damn TV and do your homework, the glass gets fuller and fuller to the point that all it takes is one or two drops to over flow.
Unfortunately, I know quite a bit about depression. I have battled the Beast since I was a teenager. I had always known that there was something wrong with me emotionally, but I never knew what. It wasn't until my late 30's that I finally addressed the issue. There were many reasons I waited that long. I grew up in an age where it was "just a phase", and there was so little known about mental illness that information was not readily available. I thought it was something that I could deal with on my own,or that it would go away eventually, but most of all was that I feared coming forward and admitting there was a problem. The stigma of mental illness was, and still is, a hard one to over come. Once I sought treatment, I learned how to tame the Beast and keep it under control. That was until Peyton's suicide, and now we do battle daily.
So what is it like to battle the Beast? The biggest challenge I face every day is getting out of bed. When the alarm goes off in the morning (although I am usually awake and full of dread long before that), I have to decide if I am going to face my demons, or give in and call in sick. I take my medication that is supposed to help, and I have no doubt that it does help, because the Beast hasn't taken over yet. I go through my morning routine, pour my coffee, and get in my truck for the drive to work. Some days I hope that some one will rear end me or t-bone me and put me in the hospital for a few days. Others I wish my daughter was sick. Any legitimate excuse to stay home because I refuse to let the Beast win and make me stay home. I will not give in to it, and I will let it dictate my life.
At work, the same student behavior that I used to find humorous or just ignore, now pisses me off. "This is stupid" or "I don't want to do this," hit me like hot needles under my nails. I want to scream "You have opportunities my son never will! Shut up and take advantage of those chances instead of bitching about it," but instead, I just a take a deep breath, look at the clock, bite my tongue, and count the minutes left.
I hear snippets of conversations in the halls about parties, drugs, and alcohol, and wonder, "Are they trying to tame the Beast?" If they are, they're going about it the wrong way, as so many of their generation does, but because the Beast has become "He who shall not be named," in the "not my child" era they use what is available instead of what is proper.
When I'm at home, there are times I'll binge watch Netflix, play XBox, or lose myself in a book rather than face life because all around me are reminders of Peyton, who he was, and who he never will be. I want to hold my daughter close and never let go, but she is too much like her brother, and can't sit still. At bed time, I rely on Ambien to sleep, otherwise the anxiety of what has or might happen keeps poking at my brain until the wee hours of the morning.
Depression has many symptoms:
- Feeling lethargic -- having no energy
- The inability to concentrate
- Sleeping too much or too little
- Eating too much or too little
- Feeling worthless, hopeless, helpless, negative or pessimistic
- Losing interest in activities that you previously enjoyed
- Crying frequently
- Withdrawing from others
- Neglecting personal appearance
- Feeling angry or guilty
- Unable to think clearly or make decisions
If any of these symptoms apply to you or some one you know, and last more than two weeks, I beg of you, please seek help. If you were had the flu, or a constant, nagging headache, or trouble breathing, you would seek medical help. The same goes for your emotions. Begin with your family doctor and go from there. They can refer you to the appropriate mental health professionals if necessary. Depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder are all illnesses just like cancer and diabetes, and should be treated as such.
You also need to follow the course of treatment that is recommended. Up to 80% of those treated for depression show an improvement in their symptoms generally within four to six weeks of beginning medication, psychotherapy, attending support groups or a combination of these treatments. If that means medication, then take the medication. If it means counseling, then go to counseling. There is no shame in either. If the first medication doesn't work, try another. If you don't click with your first therapist, find another. Just like any other illness, there is no "one size fits all" approach. What ever you do, don't give up or give in to the Beast.
If you needed chemotherapy or dialysis, would you refuse to go because you are worried about what the neighbors or your family might say? Hell no, you would attack the illness head one, get a hold of it, fight it, and do what ever is necessary to defeat it. Just like any other illness, it will take time, there will be missteps, back slides, good days, bad days, and worse days. You will want to give up. You will want to give in, but don't. As the Scottish poet Dylan Thomas powerfully states, and I have tattooed on my arm to remember:
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Fight it like your life depends on it, because in the end, it very well might.
Good night Boo. Daddy loves you very much.
Thank you.
Saturday, April 23, 2016
Standardized Testing Matters...Kid's Lives, Not So Much
We are raising today's children in sterile, risk-averse and highly structured environments. In so doing, we are failing to cultivate artists, pioneers and entrepreneurs, and instead cultivating a generation of children who can follow the rules in organized sports games, sit for hours in front of screens and mark bubbles on standardized tests. Darell Hammond, CEO KaBoom
In June of 2015, Texas Governor Greg Abbott signed HB2186, The Jason Flatt Act in Memory of Johnathan Childers, into law. The law requires that all Texas schools train their teachers, counselors, and administrators on suicide recognition and prevention. I helped lobby for HB2186. I wrote numerous emails, made dozens of posts to social media, and met face to face with lawmakers and their staffs. The bill passed both the House and Senate of the Texas legislature almost unanimously, and because of that, went into effect immediately after being signed.
Before this law went into effect, Texas had no mandatory training, and the only time I can remember having any training in my 25 years as a teacher was after a student suicide. Because of my involvement, I anxiously anticipated what my school would come up with. In addition to my son Peyton (not a student at our school), we lost a young lady to suicide the previous school year. I was expecting this training to be in depth and informative. What we received, could have been taken off the home page from any of a dozen suicide prevention web sites.
It began with the introduction of our "...exciting suicide training," followed by our lead counselor stating "I know we did this last year, but now state law says we have to do it again." After this statement many of those in attendance turned to look at me and gauge my reaction. I tried to look impassive, but inside I was seething. I wanted to walk out while shouting, "Are you f-ing kidding me?" Not only appalled by the casual manner that this matter was treated with, but also with the incorrect information that was presented (i.e. cutters aren't suicidal), and the fact that a presentation designed to help save lives too less than 15 minutes to complete. I left as quickly as I could and went upstairs to my classroom. I was fuming, but what could I do. If the topic had mattered, then more time would have been given to it.
Fast forward eight months. So far this year, our district has endured two student suicides, two suicides by 2015 graduates, and a teacher suicide ( see #PrayForTheVictims). I am able to count on less than one hand the number of times that the district has addressed this topic.After each death, they had the prerequisite counselors on campus, but let's face it, these are high school guidance counselors, not crisis counselors. It would not surprise me if each one had a laminated sheet covered with cliches to say.
Yesterday I attended STAAR training. For those of you, STAAR is the State of Texas Assessments of Academic Readiness. It is our state mandated test that our entire school year revolves around. Everything we do in core subjects is some how related to STAAR. Even if your students have passed all five STAAR tests, you are still judged based upon their results of STAAR based common assessments provided by the district (which are STAAR tests that have been released by the state). However, if you have a student in a core class that is not tested, but failed STAAR in a class related to your class (i.e. if the student failed the Algebra I test and you teach Geometry), you are required to come up with a plan to help that student pass when they retake the test.
Like Suicide Awareness and Prevention training, STAAR training is mandated by the state. All teachers involved with the STAAR are required to attend this training. There are multiple training sessions where you must sign in, sit through the training conducted by the campus testing specialist, go over, in detail, the procedures for the day, possible testing irregularities, setting up the testing environment, starting times, ending times, the role of each tester, the handling of materials, and of course, the litany of circumstances that could cause a teacher to lose their certification. At the end, all teachers are required to initial, sign, and date an oath stating that we have been trained, and will do anything and everything to All in all, this training takes about 30, or twice that of Suicide and Prevention training.
At my school if a student fails STAAR, they are provided with a Bootcamp in the summer where they are given intense tutoring and lessons designed to help on the summer retake. During the school year, those students are pulled out of class for one on one instruction, a full blitz day with teachers the day before the retake. We even have a one semester elective class for kids that failed the English I or English II STAAR test.
On the other hand, if a student says that they want to harm themselves, they are kept under observation by the counselor or administrator until a parent comes to pick them up. After that, they may check on them from time to time, but that is about it. There are no special classes for them, no summer programs, nothing.
Now don't get me wrong, no student should graduate high school without the basic skills necessary to function in society. But as I stated in my earlier entry Dead Kids Don't Take Tests, you can't test a dead student. Living is also a requirement for graduation. It is even a generally accepted fact that living people are more productive than those that are not.
I realize that schools are under tremendous pressure to have high test scores. There are district and state rankings to think about, and during the course of the year, more kids will fail the Algebra I section of the test than take their own lives, but for the love of all that is holy, something must be done. I know I am not in the minority of educators when I say I didn't get into education to teach a test. I got in because of my love of literature and writing, and because I give a damn about the whole student. I coach not only because of my love of sports, but because it allows me to see kids in a different light, in an environment where they not only want to be, but they can also measure their improvement in relation to their effort.
I know high stakes testing is not going away any time soon, but if public education going to continue to throw money and manpower into preparing students, and put so much emphasis on the outcome, then shouldn't they make an effort to assure that the students are there to take it.
In June of 2015, Texas Governor Greg Abbott signed HB2186, The Jason Flatt Act in Memory of Johnathan Childers, into law. The law requires that all Texas schools train their teachers, counselors, and administrators on suicide recognition and prevention. I helped lobby for HB2186. I wrote numerous emails, made dozens of posts to social media, and met face to face with lawmakers and their staffs. The bill passed both the House and Senate of the Texas legislature almost unanimously, and because of that, went into effect immediately after being signed.
Before this law went into effect, Texas had no mandatory training, and the only time I can remember having any training in my 25 years as a teacher was after a student suicide. Because of my involvement, I anxiously anticipated what my school would come up with. In addition to my son Peyton (not a student at our school), we lost a young lady to suicide the previous school year. I was expecting this training to be in depth and informative. What we received, could have been taken off the home page from any of a dozen suicide prevention web sites.
It began with the introduction of our "...exciting suicide training," followed by our lead counselor stating "I know we did this last year, but now state law says we have to do it again." After this statement many of those in attendance turned to look at me and gauge my reaction. I tried to look impassive, but inside I was seething. I wanted to walk out while shouting, "Are you f-ing kidding me?" Not only appalled by the casual manner that this matter was treated with, but also with the incorrect information that was presented (i.e. cutters aren't suicidal), and the fact that a presentation designed to help save lives too less than 15 minutes to complete. I left as quickly as I could and went upstairs to my classroom. I was fuming, but what could I do. If the topic had mattered, then more time would have been given to it.
Fast forward eight months. So far this year, our district has endured two student suicides, two suicides by 2015 graduates, and a teacher suicide ( see #PrayForTheVictims). I am able to count on less than one hand the number of times that the district has addressed this topic.After each death, they had the prerequisite counselors on campus, but let's face it, these are high school guidance counselors, not crisis counselors. It would not surprise me if each one had a laminated sheet covered with cliches to say.
Yesterday I attended STAAR training. For those of you, STAAR is the State of Texas Assessments of Academic Readiness. It is our state mandated test that our entire school year revolves around. Everything we do in core subjects is some how related to STAAR. Even if your students have passed all five STAAR tests, you are still judged based upon their results of STAAR based common assessments provided by the district (which are STAAR tests that have been released by the state). However, if you have a student in a core class that is not tested, but failed STAAR in a class related to your class (i.e. if the student failed the Algebra I test and you teach Geometry), you are required to come up with a plan to help that student pass when they retake the test.
Like Suicide Awareness and Prevention training, STAAR training is mandated by the state. All teachers involved with the STAAR are required to attend this training. There are multiple training sessions where you must sign in, sit through the training conducted by the campus testing specialist, go over, in detail, the procedures for the day, possible testing irregularities, setting up the testing environment, starting times, ending times, the role of each tester, the handling of materials, and of course, the litany of circumstances that could cause a teacher to lose their certification. At the end, all teachers are required to initial, sign, and date an oath stating that we have been trained, and will do anything and everything to All in all, this training takes about 30, or twice that of Suicide and Prevention training.
At my school if a student fails STAAR, they are provided with a Bootcamp in the summer where they are given intense tutoring and lessons designed to help on the summer retake. During the school year, those students are pulled out of class for one on one instruction, a full blitz day with teachers the day before the retake. We even have a one semester elective class for kids that failed the English I or English II STAAR test.
On the other hand, if a student says that they want to harm themselves, they are kept under observation by the counselor or administrator until a parent comes to pick them up. After that, they may check on them from time to time, but that is about it. There are no special classes for them, no summer programs, nothing.
Now don't get me wrong, no student should graduate high school without the basic skills necessary to function in society. But as I stated in my earlier entry Dead Kids Don't Take Tests, you can't test a dead student. Living is also a requirement for graduation. It is even a generally accepted fact that living people are more productive than those that are not.
I realize that schools are under tremendous pressure to have high test scores. There are district and state rankings to think about, and during the course of the year, more kids will fail the Algebra I section of the test than take their own lives, but for the love of all that is holy, something must be done. I know I am not in the minority of educators when I say I didn't get into education to teach a test. I got in because of my love of literature and writing, and because I give a damn about the whole student. I coach not only because of my love of sports, but because it allows me to see kids in a different light, in an environment where they not only want to be, but they can also measure their improvement in relation to their effort.
I know high stakes testing is not going away any time soon, but if public education going to continue to throw money and manpower into preparing students, and put so much emphasis on the outcome, then shouldn't they make an effort to assure that the students are there to take it.
Monday, April 18, 2016
#PrayForTheVictims
Thursday night, as we were heading home from our track meet, one of the other coaches exclaimed, "Holy Shit!!!" as he was looking at the phone. He then showed us a news report that the head softball coach at another high school in our district had been charged with sexual assault of a child after accusations of an improper relationship with a player on his team. He then stated that the coach was on the run, a warrant had been issued, and police were seeking the public's help in locating him.
It was shocking, and the rest of us started to look at our phones as well hoping for any kind of information. There really was nothing other than what we had already seen. Even this morning when I looked, more news sources had run the story, but there was nothing that hadn't already been said.
About ten minutes before the end of my conference period, one of the other coaches came into my room. He told me that they had found the coach, and that he had taken his own life. I was asked not to say anything until the district had released a statement.
When I looked at the article in the Houston Chronicle, the comments were scathing. People had already tried and convicted the man in the court of public opinion. Some going so far as to say it was "the only right decision" he made. Maybe he was guilty, and if so, he should have had to face justice, but then again, he wouldn't be the first teacher to have his career ruined by false accusations. Regardless of the truth, today we have to #PrayForTheVictims.
Who are the victims here? Unfortunately, there are many. Let's start with the obvious, the 16 year old girl at the heart of accusation that may have led to the coach's suicide. Regardless of whatever physical attributes this girl posses, she is still just a girl. Despite the fact that most 16 year old kids think they know all there is to know, the reality is that they know very little. Maybe she the victim of a predator, a man that abused his position of authority to take advantage of her, or perhaps she had made advances and been rejected or had her playing time reduced and thought that making accusations would be a good way to get him back. Sadly for her, there are many in the comments section of the paper that are more than ready to blame the victim and think she should be held accountable as well. Regardless of the case, she is going to need support, support and more support.
The teachers, administrators he encountered every day are victims. Many will be angry and feel betrayed. They will wonder how they were "fooled" by this man. Will they begin to doubt themselves, will they go back in their minds and replay every conversation they ever had, will they over analyze every clue they will think they missed? It will be hard for all. Some will be dragged in for repeated questioning, placed under undue stress, and have their professionalism called into question, and once they think it is over, have it happen all over again when the inevitable civil trials begin. Others will look for some one to blame, as it makes most feel better when there is concrete blame assigned. They will say they knew something was amiss, but no one would listen. They will blame the culture of athletics and how people were more concerned with trophies and victories than academics and the students.
Speaking of students and athletes, imagine coming to school Friday morning with everyone abuzz about the accusations against the coach, only to find out that he was now dead by his own hand. There is a different bond between students/athletes and teachers than there is among colleagues. For many, a male teacher/coach is more than just a teacher. They can serve as a father figure, a role model, and an inspiration. The kind of anger and betrayal they experience will be different from that of the adults. They may turn away from the adults, after all they were taught to trust them. They may find different ways to act out in rebellion and will need ongoing support.
The most prominent victims are his wife and three kids. First and foremost, they lost a husband and father respectively. As if the shock of losing a loved one to suicide was not enough, now throw in the accusations and charges. How can a family recover from such a thing? The rumors and speculation are already overwhelming, how will they feel as the investigation continues and this man is dragged through the court of public opinion?
In the not so distant future, the investigation will conclude, the findings made public, the civil suits will be settled, the classes will graduate, a new coach will be hired, the team will take the field, the whole ugly incident will be talked about less and less, and life for many will go on. unfortunately, life for the victims will change for ever. There will be no forgetting, moving on, or getting over. That is why I ask you one more time, #PrayForTheVictims.
Author's Note: The above is my opinion, and my opinion only. It is based on my experiences survivor of suicide, and a teacher/coach for 25 years.
It was shocking, and the rest of us started to look at our phones as well hoping for any kind of information. There really was nothing other than what we had already seen. Even this morning when I looked, more news sources had run the story, but there was nothing that hadn't already been said.
About ten minutes before the end of my conference period, one of the other coaches came into my room. He told me that they had found the coach, and that he had taken his own life. I was asked not to say anything until the district had released a statement.
When I looked at the article in the Houston Chronicle, the comments were scathing. People had already tried and convicted the man in the court of public opinion. Some going so far as to say it was "the only right decision" he made. Maybe he was guilty, and if so, he should have had to face justice, but then again, he wouldn't be the first teacher to have his career ruined by false accusations. Regardless of the truth, today we have to #PrayForTheVictims.
Who are the victims here? Unfortunately, there are many. Let's start with the obvious, the 16 year old girl at the heart of accusation that may have led to the coach's suicide. Regardless of whatever physical attributes this girl posses, she is still just a girl. Despite the fact that most 16 year old kids think they know all there is to know, the reality is that they know very little. Maybe she the victim of a predator, a man that abused his position of authority to take advantage of her, or perhaps she had made advances and been rejected or had her playing time reduced and thought that making accusations would be a good way to get him back. Sadly for her, there are many in the comments section of the paper that are more than ready to blame the victim and think she should be held accountable as well. Regardless of the case, she is going to need support, support and more support.
The teachers, administrators he encountered every day are victims. Many will be angry and feel betrayed. They will wonder how they were "fooled" by this man. Will they begin to doubt themselves, will they go back in their minds and replay every conversation they ever had, will they over analyze every clue they will think they missed? It will be hard for all. Some will be dragged in for repeated questioning, placed under undue stress, and have their professionalism called into question, and once they think it is over, have it happen all over again when the inevitable civil trials begin. Others will look for some one to blame, as it makes most feel better when there is concrete blame assigned. They will say they knew something was amiss, but no one would listen. They will blame the culture of athletics and how people were more concerned with trophies and victories than academics and the students.
Speaking of students and athletes, imagine coming to school Friday morning with everyone abuzz about the accusations against the coach, only to find out that he was now dead by his own hand. There is a different bond between students/athletes and teachers than there is among colleagues. For many, a male teacher/coach is more than just a teacher. They can serve as a father figure, a role model, and an inspiration. The kind of anger and betrayal they experience will be different from that of the adults. They may turn away from the adults, after all they were taught to trust them. They may find different ways to act out in rebellion and will need ongoing support.
The most prominent victims are his wife and three kids. First and foremost, they lost a husband and father respectively. As if the shock of losing a loved one to suicide was not enough, now throw in the accusations and charges. How can a family recover from such a thing? The rumors and speculation are already overwhelming, how will they feel as the investigation continues and this man is dragged through the court of public opinion?
In the not so distant future, the investigation will conclude, the findings made public, the civil suits will be settled, the classes will graduate, a new coach will be hired, the team will take the field, the whole ugly incident will be talked about less and less, and life for many will go on. unfortunately, life for the victims will change for ever. There will be no forgetting, moving on, or getting over. That is why I ask you one more time, #PrayForTheVictims.
Author's Note: The above is my opinion, and my opinion only. It is based on my experiences survivor of suicide, and a teacher/coach for 25 years.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Peyton's Heart Is Out There...Literally
I think you should automatically donate your organs because that would turn the balance of organ donation in a huge way. I would donate whatever anybody would take, and I'd probably do the cremation bit. -George Clooney
The other day, I was talking to another coach about the #PeytonHeartProject. I hadn't seen him in a while and had given him a heart from the ever present bag I carry with me. He thanked me for the heart and said that it was a good thing that Peyton's heart was out there, to which I replied, "literally." I then explained how we had donated Peyton's heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, pancreas, and corneas, so not only are there figurative hearts out there, his literal one is as well.
It was at that point that I began to think about not only the young man that received Peyton's heart, but those that received his other organs. I know of two out there in the world. The first one to contact me was Leslie Moya from Edinburgh, Texas. Her daughter Carmel was the recipient of one of Peyton's corneas. I wrote about this experience in my post Peyton Gave Us Hope. The other is Brenda Gonzales of Kingsville, Texas. Her father David received one of Peyton's kidneys. I have talked to her on several occasions and plan on meeting her and her family in June on a quick vacation to Corpus Christi.
That leaves the others that I want to know about. How is the woman that received Peyton's other kidney and pancreas? Does she find herself watching old episodes of Dr. Who? What about the two people that were given part of Peyton's liver? Do they make Nutella sandwiches and crunchy Cheetos for lunch for an entire week straight? Does the woman that received both of his lungs enjoy talking at length about about nothing in particular? What about the boy that got Peyton's heart? Did it skip a beat when you first saw the beautiful girl in science?
Thanks to TOSA, the Texas Organ Sharing Alliance, I know they are doing well, and for that I am grateful. I take solace in knowing that losing Peyton allowed others to live, nor do I harbor any remorse about the decision to give the gift of life. It was the first positive thing to come out of Peyton's suicide, and is something that gave me hope.
Now here we are almost 18 months after Peyton's death and his recipient's second life. I have my good days and bad. I get through some days with no problem at all, and others where the pain is overwhelming and the tears flow freely. It is on those days that I take comfort knowing a part of Peyton is still alive out there bringing sight and life, and that most of all, I take comfort knowing his heart is out there...literally.
*If you are interested in giving the gift of life, please check out organdonor.gov for information about organ donation.
The other day, I was talking to another coach about the #PeytonHeartProject. I hadn't seen him in a while and had given him a heart from the ever present bag I carry with me. He thanked me for the heart and said that it was a good thing that Peyton's heart was out there, to which I replied, "literally." I then explained how we had donated Peyton's heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, pancreas, and corneas, so not only are there figurative hearts out there, his literal one is as well.
It was at that point that I began to think about not only the young man that received Peyton's heart, but those that received his other organs. I know of two out there in the world. The first one to contact me was Leslie Moya from Edinburgh, Texas. Her daughter Carmel was the recipient of one of Peyton's corneas. I wrote about this experience in my post Peyton Gave Us Hope. The other is Brenda Gonzales of Kingsville, Texas. Her father David received one of Peyton's kidneys. I have talked to her on several occasions and plan on meeting her and her family in June on a quick vacation to Corpus Christi.
That leaves the others that I want to know about. How is the woman that received Peyton's other kidney and pancreas? Does she find herself watching old episodes of Dr. Who? What about the two people that were given part of Peyton's liver? Do they make Nutella sandwiches and crunchy Cheetos for lunch for an entire week straight? Does the woman that received both of his lungs enjoy talking at length about about nothing in particular? What about the boy that got Peyton's heart? Did it skip a beat when you first saw the beautiful girl in science?
Thanks to TOSA, the Texas Organ Sharing Alliance, I know they are doing well, and for that I am grateful. I take solace in knowing that losing Peyton allowed others to live, nor do I harbor any remorse about the decision to give the gift of life. It was the first positive thing to come out of Peyton's suicide, and is something that gave me hope.
Now here we are almost 18 months after Peyton's death and his recipient's second life. I have my good days and bad. I get through some days with no problem at all, and others where the pain is overwhelming and the tears flow freely. It is on those days that I take comfort knowing a part of Peyton is still alive out there bringing sight and life, and that most of all, I take comfort knowing his heart is out there...literally.
*If you are interested in giving the gift of life, please check out organdonor.gov for information about organ donation.
Monday, March 21, 2016
Are You One Of The 25 People To Survive Your Suicide Attempt?
According to the American Association of Suicidology (based on a SAMHSA study)1, there are 25 attempts at suicide for every one success.
That really is a terrifying fact. If you consider that there 41,149 reported suicides in the United States in the United States in 2013, according to the CDC, that means that there were over one million attempts that same year. That is 2800 per day, 117 every hour, and 2.5 attempts every minute.
In October of 2014, my 13 year old son Peyton became one of the 41,000 or so Americans to take their life that year. That means when Peyton took his life, approximately 25 other people attempted to take their lives, but they were not successful. I began to think about those other people, and wanted to ask them some questions.
If you are one of those 25, are you still with us? I know on that day in October, things may have looked bleak, and at that point, it may have seemed like your only option was to take your life, but I am hoping by now you realize that you were wrong, and praying that you got the help you need in order to deal with your pain. If you are not with us, I hope you have found the peace you have been seeking and been released from your pain.
If you are one of those 25, what drove you to even attempt? I really want to understand. Peyton left no note, never told any one, and left us all shocked. I have talked to others who have lost loved ones to suicide, and surprisingly, some weren't surprised that their loved one took their own lives. That doesn't mean that it was any less heartbreaking for them, but previous attempts. long histories of mental illness, substance abuse, and other issues led them to see what was coming. On the other hand, there are those, like me, who never saw it coming. In hindsight, we saw what we now realize were the warning signs, but they only make sense now that we have educated ourselves. So what was it that finally pushed you to the breaking point? Was it one particular issue? Was it a culmination of things? How bad was the pain that drove you? Help me understand.
If you are one of those 25, what was your reaction when you woke up alive? Were you glad that you lived? Did you regret your failure? How did your family react? Are you even able to answer this question? I wonder what would have become of Peyton had he survived. We were told by doctors that he would have suffered extensive brain damage due to the lack of oxygen,, that he would need long term care, but doctors can be wrong. Would there be more attempts until he succeeded? Would he have be grateful for a second chance at life? Would he embrace this second chance and make the most of it?
Unfortunately, I will never know the answer to any of these questions, but I am interested in knowing. When I talk to other people about suicide, I can talk about the aftermath and effects Peyton's suicide had on me and my family. I can talk about how my life was before and after. I can even make suppositions about how my life would have changed had Peyton lived, but unfortunately, Peyton was one of the 113 that defied the odds that day and passed.
That really is a terrifying fact. If you consider that there 41,149 reported suicides in the United States in the United States in 2013, according to the CDC, that means that there were over one million attempts that same year. That is 2800 per day, 117 every hour, and 2.5 attempts every minute.
In October of 2014, my 13 year old son Peyton became one of the 41,000 or so Americans to take their life that year. That means when Peyton took his life, approximately 25 other people attempted to take their lives, but they were not successful. I began to think about those other people, and wanted to ask them some questions.
If you are one of those 25, are you still with us? I know on that day in October, things may have looked bleak, and at that point, it may have seemed like your only option was to take your life, but I am hoping by now you realize that you were wrong, and praying that you got the help you need in order to deal with your pain. If you are not with us, I hope you have found the peace you have been seeking and been released from your pain.
If you are one of those 25, what drove you to even attempt? I really want to understand. Peyton left no note, never told any one, and left us all shocked. I have talked to others who have lost loved ones to suicide, and surprisingly, some weren't surprised that their loved one took their own lives. That doesn't mean that it was any less heartbreaking for them, but previous attempts. long histories of mental illness, substance abuse, and other issues led them to see what was coming. On the other hand, there are those, like me, who never saw it coming. In hindsight, we saw what we now realize were the warning signs, but they only make sense now that we have educated ourselves. So what was it that finally pushed you to the breaking point? Was it one particular issue? Was it a culmination of things? How bad was the pain that drove you? Help me understand.
If you are one of those 25, what was your reaction when you woke up alive? Were you glad that you lived? Did you regret your failure? How did your family react? Are you even able to answer this question? I wonder what would have become of Peyton had he survived. We were told by doctors that he would have suffered extensive brain damage due to the lack of oxygen,, that he would need long term care, but doctors can be wrong. Would there be more attempts until he succeeded? Would he have be grateful for a second chance at life? Would he embrace this second chance and make the most of it?
Unfortunately, I will never know the answer to any of these questions, but I am interested in knowing. When I talk to other people about suicide, I can talk about the aftermath and effects Peyton's suicide had on me and my family. I can talk about how my life was before and after. I can even make suppositions about how my life would have changed had Peyton lived, but unfortunately, Peyton was one of the 113 that defied the odds that day and passed.
Friday, February 19, 2016
Dead Kids Don't Take Tests
If you are one of my regular readers, please excuse this post. It is not intended for you, chances are, the people that it is intended for will never read it, but I have to unburden myself. Now people that know me well know I can be a snarky a-hole. My ability to piss off and offend people is pretty damn good, I usually take that approach when I am frustrated with something or some one. This is one of those times.
A while back I wrote a blog entry entitled An Open Letter to School Boards Everywhere. I wrote it in reaction to two suicides locally. I presented a reasonable, logical argument as to why suicide recognition and prevention training, as well as mental health awareness training, would be a good thing. I even presented data (modern education lives and breathes data) for their perusal. It performed better than any of my other posts. It was even published in a newspaper and an enews letter. I was actually pretty darn proud of myself. Silly me actually hoped that our local school board would change their long time stance of saying nothing, pretending nothing happened, and hope it goes away quietly. But alas, nothing has changed. I figured that I would keep plugging away.
Then about two weeks ago, two students at Plano East High School completed suicide on the same night. For those that are not familiar with Plano, it is a suburb of Dallas, and Plano East has a student population of over 5,000 students. Now East went through the standard protocol of bringing in counselors for the students, saying and doing all the right things. However, East went a step beyond and reached out to the community and held an open forum at the school. According to Susan Modisette, an assistant superintendent for the Plano school district. “We wanted to equip our campus administrators, teachers, families and students as best we could and give them the opportunity to share their experiences and listen to experts who could help them heal in a way that works best for them.”
What a remarkable concept!!! A school actually educating and helping the community in the wake of a devastating tragedy!!! Who knew???
That brings me to the snarky, a-hole part of this entry. To all the other districts out there that have experienced similar tragedies, but have done nothing, I ask you, Why the Hell Not!?!?!?! What are you waiting for!?!?!? When are you going to realize that this problem will not go away on its own no matter how much you ignore it!?!?!?!? How many more young people have to die by their own hand before you actually quit worrying about test scores and the status quo and do something!?!?!?! I know that there are districts that wish this problem would go away, but as the old saying goes, "Wish in one hand and sh*t in the other and sees which one fills up faster. " The lives of the children that you are elected to represent are far more important than any test score.
I know some of you are reluctant to act because you are afraid of offending you broad base of voters, or you don't want to make them uncomfortable with such a taboo topic. I'll let you in on a little secret, talking about suicide is a hell of a lot easier than dealing with it, and trust me, you don't want to try it out just to make sure. In my humble opinion, it is better to have a few pissed off parents than one dead kid. I know this is a moral decision, as pissed off parents vote, and kids, dead or not, don't, but hey, you go with your gut. If your gut tells you that one or two dead kids is acceptable, then go with it. If not, then do something about it. While it is true that you might lose your job as a school board member, but at least your conscience will be clean.
I find it funny that there are so many people within school districts that are dedicated to improving test scores, but so few dedicated to keep those students alive long enough to take those tests. But I can see the dilemma here. After all, school districts are judged by how well they do on those state mandated tests, but what if some of those kids that could really help the over all average aren't around come test time? How wold that reflect on your scores. After all, dead kids don't take tests.
A while back I wrote a blog entry entitled An Open Letter to School Boards Everywhere. I wrote it in reaction to two suicides locally. I presented a reasonable, logical argument as to why suicide recognition and prevention training, as well as mental health awareness training, would be a good thing. I even presented data (modern education lives and breathes data) for their perusal. It performed better than any of my other posts. It was even published in a newspaper and an enews letter. I was actually pretty darn proud of myself. Silly me actually hoped that our local school board would change their long time stance of saying nothing, pretending nothing happened, and hope it goes away quietly. But alas, nothing has changed. I figured that I would keep plugging away.
Then about two weeks ago, two students at Plano East High School completed suicide on the same night. For those that are not familiar with Plano, it is a suburb of Dallas, and Plano East has a student population of over 5,000 students. Now East went through the standard protocol of bringing in counselors for the students, saying and doing all the right things. However, East went a step beyond and reached out to the community and held an open forum at the school. According to Susan Modisette, an assistant superintendent for the Plano school district. “We wanted to equip our campus administrators, teachers, families and students as best we could and give them the opportunity to share their experiences and listen to experts who could help them heal in a way that works best for them.”
What a remarkable concept!!! A school actually educating and helping the community in the wake of a devastating tragedy!!! Who knew???
That brings me to the snarky, a-hole part of this entry. To all the other districts out there that have experienced similar tragedies, but have done nothing, I ask you, Why the Hell Not!?!?!?! What are you waiting for!?!?!? When are you going to realize that this problem will not go away on its own no matter how much you ignore it!?!?!?!? How many more young people have to die by their own hand before you actually quit worrying about test scores and the status quo and do something!?!?!?! I know that there are districts that wish this problem would go away, but as the old saying goes, "Wish in one hand and sh*t in the other and sees which one fills up faster. " The lives of the children that you are elected to represent are far more important than any test score.
I know some of you are reluctant to act because you are afraid of offending you broad base of voters, or you don't want to make them uncomfortable with such a taboo topic. I'll let you in on a little secret, talking about suicide is a hell of a lot easier than dealing with it, and trust me, you don't want to try it out just to make sure. In my humble opinion, it is better to have a few pissed off parents than one dead kid. I know this is a moral decision, as pissed off parents vote, and kids, dead or not, don't, but hey, you go with your gut. If your gut tells you that one or two dead kids is acceptable, then go with it. If not, then do something about it. While it is true that you might lose your job as a school board member, but at least your conscience will be clean.
I find it funny that there are so many people within school districts that are dedicated to improving test scores, but so few dedicated to keep those students alive long enough to take those tests. But I can see the dilemma here. After all, school districts are judged by how well they do on those state mandated tests, but what if some of those kids that could really help the over all average aren't around come test time? How wold that reflect on your scores. After all, dead kids don't take tests.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
About Your Brother
One Friday, our family had piled into the SUV and was heading out to a family dinner. Ian was prattling on from the back seat about something that only a 13 year old boy would find funny or interesting. Emmy was in a good mood and laughing at her brother. Suddenly out of nowhere, Emmy blurted out "Peyton is in Heaven with God." The car got very quiet before I responded by agreeing, "yes, he is". We had followed advice after Peyton's death, and told her the truth. Even though she was only two at the time, she seemed to understand. What happened next left us all speechless. She told us that she, "Played with Peyton every night in her imagination."
It took all my will to focus on the road in front of me. Although I have grown used to Emmy making random statements, after all, she is three and a half, and randomness is part of her personality, but this one hit me like a hammer. I have been struggling lately. In my blog entry Onward Through The Fog , I talked about the struggles of the second year as the reality of Peyton's suicide have really began to sink in. As we drove on, I began to think about she would remember her brother as she gets older. I decided to tell her all I could about their relationship so that she would never forget.
Dear Emmy,
I want you to know about Peyton. First of all, know that he loved you. He wasn't able to be there when you were born, but thanks to the marvels of technology and wifi, he was able to see you shortly after you entered the world. I'll never forget the smile on his face as he looked down at his little sister. I knew then and there that you would hold a special place in his heart. He met you for the first time four days later. At the time, he was living in Round Rock with his mother. He only came to see us twice a month, but this visit was special. He was coming to see and hold you for the first time. He was so scared the first time he help you. Unlike Ian, who had two younger sisters at his dad's house, Peyton had never been around a baby before. The first time he held you, he was nervous. If I had to guess, he was afraid he might break you. Every time you moved or made a sound, he stiffened as though he had commit a flagrant sin. He eventually learned that it was alright for him to hold you and play with you.
Peyton loved to make you laugh, Emmy. Once he discovered he had the gift of entertaining you, it was a task he cherished. He would get on the floor with you and make your toys come to life. He possessed a gift for making your animals and dolls talk, and both of you loved it.
That's not to say all was sunshine and puppy dogs. Peyton wasn't always thrilled to have a little sister. Your presence meant that he no longer had Daddy all to himself. Not only that, but we were no longer able to get up and go on a whim. A baby meant a level of planning equal to the D-Day invasion, and spontaneous adventures were a thing of the past. However, when we did go out, he enjoyed being the big brother and pushing you in your stroller while making the obligatory engine noises.
Perhaps Peyton's favorite thing to do was take you on the carousel at the mall. He would volunteer his own money to take you on, walk you around to find your favorite animal, put you up, and buckle you in. I loved watching the two of you go round and round. Your face was flush with excitement, and Peyton's filled with pride for being such a good big brother and seeing the joy and excitement in your eyes.
I still remember that fateful October day. Your mommy and I picked you up from school and began the long journey to Austin to say good bye. It was hard for you to stay in the hospital with us, and there were times that we took you outside to run and play, but for a two year old, you did an impressive job. You would sit in my lap next to Peyton's bed, talk to him, and hold his hand. You were by Peyton's side when he left us. You were able to hold his hand, kiss him on the forehead and tell him goodbye.
We took you to the funeral home to see Peyton one last time before the funeral. You seemed a bit confused because we had told you Peyton had gone to heaven to be with God, but there he was. It is hard to explain the concept of a soul to a child, but you seemed to grasp it. You were so well behaved at the funeral. You sat quietly and listened to the service. Afterwards, you let people hug you and tell you how special your brother was.
Since Peyton's funeral, I have done everything I could to keep him alive for you. I have all the cards people sent us, newspaper articles, news stories, and of course, my collection of writings for you.
You have been a part of Peyton's memory too, Emmy. You helped deliver boxes to the Ronald McDonald House, you walked in the rain to help raise awareness of suicide, and you cuddled tightly with me on those days where I am just a bit overwhelmed. You and mommy and Ian have helped me through those dark days where I am overwhelmed.
This past Sunday, we had your 4th birthday party at ASI Gymnastics. You were so excited and reminded my so much of Peyton at that age. You ran around non-stop the entire time, going from one area to another, bouncing, swinging climbing, and sliding. How I wished that Peyton could have been there with you, playing alongside. I just hope that as you swung off the rope into the foam pit, that Peyton was there with you in your imagination.
It took all my will to focus on the road in front of me. Although I have grown used to Emmy making random statements, after all, she is three and a half, and randomness is part of her personality, but this one hit me like a hammer. I have been struggling lately. In my blog entry Onward Through The Fog , I talked about the struggles of the second year as the reality of Peyton's suicide have really began to sink in. As we drove on, I began to think about she would remember her brother as she gets older. I decided to tell her all I could about their relationship so that she would never forget.
Dear Emmy,
I want you to know about Peyton. First of all, know that he loved you. He wasn't able to be there when you were born, but thanks to the marvels of technology and wifi, he was able to see you shortly after you entered the world. I'll never forget the smile on his face as he looked down at his little sister. I knew then and there that you would hold a special place in his heart. He met you for the first time four days later. At the time, he was living in Round Rock with his mother. He only came to see us twice a month, but this visit was special. He was coming to see and hold you for the first time. He was so scared the first time he help you. Unlike Ian, who had two younger sisters at his dad's house, Peyton had never been around a baby before. The first time he held you, he was nervous. If I had to guess, he was afraid he might break you. Every time you moved or made a sound, he stiffened as though he had commit a flagrant sin. He eventually learned that it was alright for him to hold you and play with you.
Peyton loved to make you laugh, Emmy. Once he discovered he had the gift of entertaining you, it was a task he cherished. He would get on the floor with you and make your toys come to life. He possessed a gift for making your animals and dolls talk, and both of you loved it.
That's not to say all was sunshine and puppy dogs. Peyton wasn't always thrilled to have a little sister. Your presence meant that he no longer had Daddy all to himself. Not only that, but we were no longer able to get up and go on a whim. A baby meant a level of planning equal to the D-Day invasion, and spontaneous adventures were a thing of the past. However, when we did go out, he enjoyed being the big brother and pushing you in your stroller while making the obligatory engine noises.
Perhaps Peyton's favorite thing to do was take you on the carousel at the mall. He would volunteer his own money to take you on, walk you around to find your favorite animal, put you up, and buckle you in. I loved watching the two of you go round and round. Your face was flush with excitement, and Peyton's filled with pride for being such a good big brother and seeing the joy and excitement in your eyes.
I still remember that fateful October day. Your mommy and I picked you up from school and began the long journey to Austin to say good bye. It was hard for you to stay in the hospital with us, and there were times that we took you outside to run and play, but for a two year old, you did an impressive job. You would sit in my lap next to Peyton's bed, talk to him, and hold his hand. You were by Peyton's side when he left us. You were able to hold his hand, kiss him on the forehead and tell him goodbye.
We took you to the funeral home to see Peyton one last time before the funeral. You seemed a bit confused because we had told you Peyton had gone to heaven to be with God, but there he was. It is hard to explain the concept of a soul to a child, but you seemed to grasp it. You were so well behaved at the funeral. You sat quietly and listened to the service. Afterwards, you let people hug you and tell you how special your brother was.
Since Peyton's funeral, I have done everything I could to keep him alive for you. I have all the cards people sent us, newspaper articles, news stories, and of course, my collection of writings for you.
You have been a part of Peyton's memory too, Emmy. You helped deliver boxes to the Ronald McDonald House, you walked in the rain to help raise awareness of suicide, and you cuddled tightly with me on those days where I am just a bit overwhelmed. You and mommy and Ian have helped me through those dark days where I am overwhelmed.
This past Sunday, we had your 4th birthday party at ASI Gymnastics. You were so excited and reminded my so much of Peyton at that age. You ran around non-stop the entire time, going from one area to another, bouncing, swinging climbing, and sliding. How I wished that Peyton could have been there with you, playing alongside. I just hope that as you swung off the rope into the foam pit, that Peyton was there with you in your imagination.
Friday, January 15, 2016
I Am Not Ashamed of My Mental Illness
I spoke so much about being a manic-depressive. I want to bring everyone back to my earliest memories of this companion of mine. Some people call this companion I have an ailment, or worse a terrible nightmare from which some people cannot awaken. I know that I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have nothing that should garner a stigma.~ Richard Dreyfuss, Academy Award Winning Actor
Earlier today, my Twitter friend Linda Diaz of Lauryn's Law tagged me in a post for an article from Washington Post about Rachel Griffin. Rachel is a singer/songwriter in New York, as well as a grad student at NYU. Most importantly, Rachel suffers from Mental Illness. Rachel recently put out the call on Twitter with the hashtag #iamnotashamed in order for people to openly disclose their mental illness. The comments and Tweets have been overwhelmingly positive.
Now for many when they read the previous paragraph, they may have thought, "How can she do anything if she has mental illness?" or "Why would she admit to this?" The answer is easy. Because by creating awareness, she is creating understanding.
The problem is the stigma and stereotype that exists in the world about mental illness. Far too many tend to see the stereotype rather than the reality. They picture people with mental illness as extras from One Few Over the Cuckoo's Nest, walking around institutions in bathrobes, drooling on themselves; or as maniacal characters such as the Joker from The Dark Knight; or the depressed, black clad Emo such The Cure's Robert Smith . Sufferers of mental illness are all of the above and none of the above.
Yes, there are the tragedies of such famous people who dealt with mental illness such as Vincent Van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Cobain, and Heath Ledger. All were brilliantly creative people that battled their demons, but in the end, lost. These are the stories that we are all familiar with because of the tragic end. But there are people who have triumphed as well. Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, John Nash of A Beautiful Mind fame, Charles Dickens, former Today host Jane Pauley, 60 Minutes reporter Mike Wallace, NFL Hall of Famer Charles Haley, Princess Diana, and Star Wars star Carrie Fisher. That is not to say their lives were not without incident, but they were able to persevere.
I admire these people as well as feel their pain. See, I too suffer from clinical depression, and have for many years. When I was young, I knew there was something different about me. I would go through long spells where I felt off, knowing that something was wrong, but not knowing what. I would sit in class and think that I was the only one that felt that way. As I got older, I would begin to feel desperate, to fear the future, to worry about little things, to blow things out of proportion, to lose sleep over things I had no control of, to feel lonely and sad, and to feel so down, it seemed that there was no way up. I took comfort in beer, and would drink enough to help me calm down and sleep. I would often drink to excess with my friends on weekends. I thought it was part of having a good time, of being in my 20's and fitting in, I was smart enough to know alcohol was a depressant, but I didn't care. Looking back I realize it was because I felt so low that I would use it as an excuse to numb myself to the perceived reality around me.
Finally in my 30's, as my first marriage was falling apart, in large part due to self destructive behavior, I finally reached out for help. I spoke to my doctor and was prescribed Zoloft. After a while, it began to work. The feelings of despair began to dissipate, and the anxiety that had helped provoke my fears was lessened. For the first time in years, I felt somewhat normal, and began to work on putting my marriage back together. Unfortunately, I made the mistake that many do, declared myself cured and stopped taking the medication. Things quickly fell apart again, and because of that, so did my marriage. I was soon divorced, living in a small apartment and seeing my son Peyton every other weekend. I went back to not only beer, but vodka as well. I would come home and mix a strong drink to help me calm my nerves and relax, blot out my feelings and get me to sleep.
I never considered myself an alcoholic, I never turned to the "hair of the dog" in the morning, never missed work or even drank at work, but I could see myself becoming overly dependent on it. My lowest point came after a minor outpatient procedure. The procedure was on a Friday morning, and I spent the afternoon and evening in an anesthesia induced haze. The next morning, as the last of the anesthesia wore off, and my mind raced, I felt the most incredible psychological pain imaginable. I wept, cried and at my lowest thought about how easy it would be to stop the pain by taking all of the Ambien in my medicine cabinet. Then I thought about my son, my recently widowed father, and other family members, and knew I couldn't. I made an appointment that Monday and renewed my prescription for Zoloft. This time, it didn't work like before, and my doctor changed me to Cymbalta which did the job. I knew this time that depression was not temporary, but my permanent companion. Once I had my mind back in order, I got my life in order. I soon met the love of my life, Lisa, who became my wife. We had a beautiful daughter, Emmalee, bought a new house, and all seemed well. I was living the American Dream.
That all came crashing down on October 8, 2014. I received the call that Peyton, just 13, had hung himself, and he passed away five days later on the 13th. This threatened to plunge me into a darkness from which there would be no return, but this time I was ready. I had my meds adjusted, got into counseling and support, and made a conscious about not letting myself find comfort or escape in anything, be it food or alcohol, and except for a slip on the first New Year's Eve without Peyton, I have done well, and continue to do so.
Now here I am talking openly about my mental illness and encouraging others to do the same. Every day is a challenge. The fog has lifted from Peyton's death, and I never know what will trigger the tears, sadness, or anxiety. I take my medication, talk openly about my struggles and try to help others. I keep hoping that one day, the stigma of mental illness will be lifted, and the people suffering will be treated with the same dignity and respect that other illnesses receive. Until then, I will continue to talk and proudly proclaim "I am not ashamed of my mental illness!"
Author's Note: the first time I posted on Twitter, I received a tweet from some one under the handle of @jailina_ telling me that because medical science hadn't conclusively proven mental illness, then there really wasn't anything wrong with me, and that it was all in my head. If you deal with mental illness, and some one tells you this, ignore them. Studies of the human brain are still going on, yet the human mind is still a mystery. Stay strong, ignore the naysayers and tell them #Iamnotashamed.
Earlier today, my Twitter friend Linda Diaz of Lauryn's Law tagged me in a post for an article from Washington Post about Rachel Griffin. Rachel is a singer/songwriter in New York, as well as a grad student at NYU. Most importantly, Rachel suffers from Mental Illness. Rachel recently put out the call on Twitter with the hashtag #iamnotashamed in order for people to openly disclose their mental illness. The comments and Tweets have been overwhelmingly positive.
Now for many when they read the previous paragraph, they may have thought, "How can she do anything if she has mental illness?" or "Why would she admit to this?" The answer is easy. Because by creating awareness, she is creating understanding.
The problem is the stigma and stereotype that exists in the world about mental illness. Far too many tend to see the stereotype rather than the reality. They picture people with mental illness as extras from One Few Over the Cuckoo's Nest, walking around institutions in bathrobes, drooling on themselves; or as maniacal characters such as the Joker from The Dark Knight; or the depressed, black clad Emo such The Cure's Robert Smith . Sufferers of mental illness are all of the above and none of the above.
Yes, there are the tragedies of such famous people who dealt with mental illness such as Vincent Van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Cobain, and Heath Ledger. All were brilliantly creative people that battled their demons, but in the end, lost. These are the stories that we are all familiar with because of the tragic end. But there are people who have triumphed as well. Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, John Nash of A Beautiful Mind fame, Charles Dickens, former Today host Jane Pauley, 60 Minutes reporter Mike Wallace, NFL Hall of Famer Charles Haley, Princess Diana, and Star Wars star Carrie Fisher. That is not to say their lives were not without incident, but they were able to persevere.
I admire these people as well as feel their pain. See, I too suffer from clinical depression, and have for many years. When I was young, I knew there was something different about me. I would go through long spells where I felt off, knowing that something was wrong, but not knowing what. I would sit in class and think that I was the only one that felt that way. As I got older, I would begin to feel desperate, to fear the future, to worry about little things, to blow things out of proportion, to lose sleep over things I had no control of, to feel lonely and sad, and to feel so down, it seemed that there was no way up. I took comfort in beer, and would drink enough to help me calm down and sleep. I would often drink to excess with my friends on weekends. I thought it was part of having a good time, of being in my 20's and fitting in, I was smart enough to know alcohol was a depressant, but I didn't care. Looking back I realize it was because I felt so low that I would use it as an excuse to numb myself to the perceived reality around me.
Finally in my 30's, as my first marriage was falling apart, in large part due to self destructive behavior, I finally reached out for help. I spoke to my doctor and was prescribed Zoloft. After a while, it began to work. The feelings of despair began to dissipate, and the anxiety that had helped provoke my fears was lessened. For the first time in years, I felt somewhat normal, and began to work on putting my marriage back together. Unfortunately, I made the mistake that many do, declared myself cured and stopped taking the medication. Things quickly fell apart again, and because of that, so did my marriage. I was soon divorced, living in a small apartment and seeing my son Peyton every other weekend. I went back to not only beer, but vodka as well. I would come home and mix a strong drink to help me calm my nerves and relax, blot out my feelings and get me to sleep.
I never considered myself an alcoholic, I never turned to the "hair of the dog" in the morning, never missed work or even drank at work, but I could see myself becoming overly dependent on it. My lowest point came after a minor outpatient procedure. The procedure was on a Friday morning, and I spent the afternoon and evening in an anesthesia induced haze. The next morning, as the last of the anesthesia wore off, and my mind raced, I felt the most incredible psychological pain imaginable. I wept, cried and at my lowest thought about how easy it would be to stop the pain by taking all of the Ambien in my medicine cabinet. Then I thought about my son, my recently widowed father, and other family members, and knew I couldn't. I made an appointment that Monday and renewed my prescription for Zoloft. This time, it didn't work like before, and my doctor changed me to Cymbalta which did the job. I knew this time that depression was not temporary, but my permanent companion. Once I had my mind back in order, I got my life in order. I soon met the love of my life, Lisa, who became my wife. We had a beautiful daughter, Emmalee, bought a new house, and all seemed well. I was living the American Dream.
That all came crashing down on October 8, 2014. I received the call that Peyton, just 13, had hung himself, and he passed away five days later on the 13th. This threatened to plunge me into a darkness from which there would be no return, but this time I was ready. I had my meds adjusted, got into counseling and support, and made a conscious about not letting myself find comfort or escape in anything, be it food or alcohol, and except for a slip on the first New Year's Eve without Peyton, I have done well, and continue to do so.
Now here I am talking openly about my mental illness and encouraging others to do the same. Every day is a challenge. The fog has lifted from Peyton's death, and I never know what will trigger the tears, sadness, or anxiety. I take my medication, talk openly about my struggles and try to help others. I keep hoping that one day, the stigma of mental illness will be lifted, and the people suffering will be treated with the same dignity and respect that other illnesses receive. Until then, I will continue to talk and proudly proclaim "I am not ashamed of my mental illness!"
Author's Note: the first time I posted on Twitter, I received a tweet from some one under the handle of @jailina_ telling me that because medical science hadn't conclusively proven mental illness, then there really wasn't anything wrong with me, and that it was all in my head. If you deal with mental illness, and some one tells you this, ignore them. Studies of the human brain are still going on, yet the human mind is still a mystery. Stay strong, ignore the naysayers and tell them #Iamnotashamed.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Suicide Is Not Funny
Earlier this week, I saw a post on Twitter about Maggie Harder, a young lady from Canada that was upset by suicide themed t-shirts that are being sold on Amazon (in their humor section). The various shirts have sayings such as "Got Suicide?" or "Suicide Watch" which also has an image of one person on a chair with a noose around their neck while another person sits, watches, and eats popcorn.
First of all, I applaud Maggie for seeing a problem and taking a stand Not only are these shirts insensitive to those who have lost loved ones to suicide, but they also poke fun at one of the most crippling diseases in society, mental illness. as a person that has struggled with depression for years, and lost my son to suicide, I really don't see the humor, or any kind of rational logic, in these shirts.
The shirts boast such sayings as "Suicide makes our lives so much easier" and "Stressed, depressed but well dressed." Really? My life has been a living hell since the death of my son. Every day is a struggle just to get out of bed, get dressed and go to work. Do I want to turn off the alarm, pull the covers back over my head, and curl up into a ball? Every damn day. But I don't. It would be so easy. No one would blame me, after all, the pain I live with daily is just as crippling as any physical ailment. There are days where I have no energy, no desire to do anything. There are days where getting from the bed to the couch is a chore. There are even days where I think about how easy it would be to make the pain go away, but I don't. I refuse to give in, and I will not.
Sadly, there are far too many people out there that suffer from forms of mental illness, mainly depression. According to that Archives of General Psychiatry, almost 15 million adults suffer from some sort of persistent depression. Depression is also one of the leading causes of suicide. almost two-thirds of the suicides completed in the US each year are linked to depression, and 90 percent of all who complete suicide are suffering from some form of mental illness, most of them untreated, so I am not seeing the joke.
Amazon is not the only culprit. Several TV shows use suicide as a punch line. Perhaps the most prevalent is Family Guy. One episode goes so far as to show Peter taking off his belt, attaching it to the ceiling fan, and hanging himself. Another has Stewie encouraging Meg to kill herself in order to get a full page in the year book. I know the show prides itself on being politically incorrect and not sparing any group, from racial minorities to the physically handicapped. However, there are some topics that are just off limits, and suicide is one of them. While the show's creator, Seth McFarlane may defend itself as saying that much of the show is satire, I can't see how he could defend these scenes. After all, satire is humor designed to bring about change, but I fail to see how Peter dangling from a ceiling fan is going to help.
Every day, I stand in front of a class of students, and we read literature that deals with topics ranging from the abolition of slavery, religious beliefs, and women's rights. We see how perceptions have changed over time, and how authors have addressed these topics in order to bring about change. Perhaps it is time to take the same approach with the topics of mental illness and suicide. Perhaps through a voice of reason, some one will use their talents to bring these topics to light and help bring about a change in perception too.
To those that have lost some one to suicide, and to those struggling daily under the weight of mental illness, I implore you to take a stand and make your voice heard. Until people realize that there is no humor is suicide, then nothing will change. It is not just a joke or a t-shirt, it is an issue that needs to be addressed.
Author's Note: I began this entry on Sunday, January 9, 2016. Before I published it, I went to the Amazon website, and saw that they no longer offer the above mentioned shirts. To the people that spoke out in outrage, especially Maggie Harder, thank you.
First of all, I applaud Maggie for seeing a problem and taking a stand Not only are these shirts insensitive to those who have lost loved ones to suicide, but they also poke fun at one of the most crippling diseases in society, mental illness. as a person that has struggled with depression for years, and lost my son to suicide, I really don't see the humor, or any kind of rational logic, in these shirts.
The shirts boast such sayings as "Suicide makes our lives so much easier" and "Stressed, depressed but well dressed." Really? My life has been a living hell since the death of my son. Every day is a struggle just to get out of bed, get dressed and go to work. Do I want to turn off the alarm, pull the covers back over my head, and curl up into a ball? Every damn day. But I don't. It would be so easy. No one would blame me, after all, the pain I live with daily is just as crippling as any physical ailment. There are days where I have no energy, no desire to do anything. There are days where getting from the bed to the couch is a chore. There are even days where I think about how easy it would be to make the pain go away, but I don't. I refuse to give in, and I will not.
Sadly, there are far too many people out there that suffer from forms of mental illness, mainly depression. According to that Archives of General Psychiatry, almost 15 million adults suffer from some sort of persistent depression. Depression is also one of the leading causes of suicide. almost two-thirds of the suicides completed in the US each year are linked to depression, and 90 percent of all who complete suicide are suffering from some form of mental illness, most of them untreated, so I am not seeing the joke.
Amazon is not the only culprit. Several TV shows use suicide as a punch line. Perhaps the most prevalent is Family Guy. One episode goes so far as to show Peter taking off his belt, attaching it to the ceiling fan, and hanging himself. Another has Stewie encouraging Meg to kill herself in order to get a full page in the year book. I know the show prides itself on being politically incorrect and not sparing any group, from racial minorities to the physically handicapped. However, there are some topics that are just off limits, and suicide is one of them. While the show's creator, Seth McFarlane may defend itself as saying that much of the show is satire, I can't see how he could defend these scenes. After all, satire is humor designed to bring about change, but I fail to see how Peter dangling from a ceiling fan is going to help.
Every day, I stand in front of a class of students, and we read literature that deals with topics ranging from the abolition of slavery, religious beliefs, and women's rights. We see how perceptions have changed over time, and how authors have addressed these topics in order to bring about change. Perhaps it is time to take the same approach with the topics of mental illness and suicide. Perhaps through a voice of reason, some one will use their talents to bring these topics to light and help bring about a change in perception too.
To those that have lost some one to suicide, and to those struggling daily under the weight of mental illness, I implore you to take a stand and make your voice heard. Until people realize that there is no humor is suicide, then nothing will change. It is not just a joke or a t-shirt, it is an issue that needs to be addressed.
Author's Note: I began this entry on Sunday, January 9, 2016. Before I published it, I went to the Amazon website, and saw that they no longer offer the above mentioned shirts. To the people that spoke out in outrage, especially Maggie Harder, thank you.
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