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.

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.

An Open Letter to School Boards Everywhere

To School Boards Everywhere:

My name is David James.  I am a teacher and coach at College Park High School in The Woodlands, Texas, part of the Conroe Independent School District.  I was hoping that I might have a few minutes of your time.  I would like to talk to all of you about suicide.  I know it is not a popular topic, and honestly, it is not an easy to talk about, and in some areas, it may even be taboo, but it is one that must be addressed, and you, as school boards have an obligation to the students of your districts. The majority of their parents voted for you, so you have an obligation.

I realize this may not be the best time for many of you.  It is January, and for all the districts in Texas, that means that STAAR testing is just two and a half months away, in Massachusetts, the first part of the MCAS is less than a month away, our neighbors to the far north in Alaska will be getting AMPed up in March, and in the Heartland, Nebraskans will be looking forward to (or dreading) the NeSA. These tests are serious business.  For some students, they determine if students should repeat a grade, and for others, if they will graduate. I know that high stakes testing is a big deal to many of you. After all, accountability ratings are important, as are state funds, but kids can't be tested if they are no longer with us.

I speak from experience when I say this.  I lost my 13 year old son Peyton in October of 2014 after he hung himself.  He was an eighth grader at Forbes Middle School in Georgetown, Texas.  In no way am I abdicating my parental responsibility.  Peyton's mother and I knew Peyton was suffering emotionally.  He was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.  We got him into counseling, and, through his doctor, were trying to find medications to help, but had not found one that provided the desired results.  Unfortunately, we seem to be the exception, not the rule.  Since Peyton's death, I have talked to other parents who lost children to suicide, and the most common threads in the narratives were "We never saw it coming" or "We had no idea our child was suicidal" and "They always seemed so happy."

To many, it may seem puzzling that these parents were in the dark about their children, and it is easy to dismiss these parents as neglectful, but one of the many things I have learned over my 25 years as an educator, kids are really good at hiding things, especially when it comes to mental health. Students in class rooms across the country, including your district, suffer in silence.  They know that something is wrong with them, but they don't know what.  They look around the room and mistakenly think they are the only one that feels different.  They fear saying anything because they don't want to be ostracized or humiliated by their peers.  They don't want to talk to talk to teachers, or counselors, or administrators for the same reasons.  Well, that, plus we are adults, which means we would never understand.

Because education has become data driven, here is some data provided by the #JasonFoundation and the Centers for Disease Control (CDC):

• Suicide is the SECOND leading cause of death for ages 10-24. (CDC)
• Suicide is the SECOND leading cause of death for college-age youth and ages 12-18. (CDC)
• More teenagers and young adults die from suicide than from cancer, heart disease, AIDS, birth defects, stroke, pneumonia, influenza, and chronic lung disease, COMBINED.
• Each day in our nation there are an average of over 5,400 attempts by young people grades 7-12.
• Four out of Five teens who attempt suicide have given clear warning signs
• Over the past decade, however, the rate has again increased to 12.1 per 100,000. Every day, approximately 105 Americans die by suicide. (CDC)
• There is one death by suicide in the US every 13 minutes. (CDC)
• 16% of students reported seriously considering suicide. (CDC)
• 13% of students reported creating a plan. (CDC)

In addition, according to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), "At least 90 percent of all people who died by suicide were suffering from a mental illness at the time, most often depression. Among people who are depressed, intense emotional states such as desperation, hopelessness, anxiety, or rage increase the risk of suicide. People who are impulsive, or who use alcohol and drugs, are also at higher risk."If you walk into almost any classroom at any high school or middle school, you will easily find students that fit that description.

The same weekend that we lost Peyton, a junior at Georgetown High School took his life.  Since then, I personally know of SEVEN student suicides just within Texas.  The ages ranged from a ten year old in San Antonio to a senior in Rogers.  The two most recent taking place here in the Woodlands within two weeks of each other. Through various message boards, Facebook groups, and the #PeytonHeartProject, I have been lucky to talk to parents across the country and around the world.  To a person, we all agree that more can, and should, be done to educate not only students, but their parents (we grew up in an age when no one spoke of such things and could use the help). 

So what can a school board do?  Some states have enacted the #JasonFlattAct, that require regular training for teachers and staff in suicide recognition and prevention.  If such a law exist in your state, make sure that it is followed and implemented.  If not, lobby your state officials to pass such a law (such laws can be enacted with ZERO fiscal note).  Even if there is no state law, what is to stop you from implementing policy locally?  You could bring in experts from the community to speak to the students and/or the parents.  You can enact programs designed to give students a safe place to go where they can talk to some one trained to deal with these problems.  Yes, I understand that some of these things cost money, but is some one really going to complain that you are trying to save lives?  

I know I have presented quite a bit for you to think about.  I also know that there are people on the board or in the community that will disagree.  They will say it is the responsibility of the parents to deal with the issue of suicide, and that schools should just stay with teaching core subjects and how to pass the state mandated standardized tests, but they are wrong.  Mark Twain once said, "God made the Idiot for practice, and then He made the School Board."  I want you to do the right thing and prove him wrong.  After all, we can't teach them if they aren't there.  

Sincerely,

David James

Tragedy Strikes Yet Again

Bad news isn't wine. It doesn't improve with age.-Colin Powell

Godfather 3 was unmemorable for many reasons.  Those of us that loved the first two movies and can discuss and quote them religiously were highly disappointed.  However, there is one line when family patriarch Michal Corleone says"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." That would have been me this past Monday night.

I was busy doing nothing when I received a text from one of the other coaches.  One of the cheerleaders at College Park High School, where I teach and coach, had attempted suicide, had been taken by Life Flight to the Texas Medical Center, and was listed in critical condition.  I was warned by others at the school based upon my past.  The last thing they wanted me to walk in on Tuesday morning was news of another attempted suicide.

I could have called in sick, taken the day off, and no one would have blamed me.  Before school started, counselors and administrators began to look for me to make sure I was ok.  Did I need my classes covered?  Is there anything they could do for me?  I asked them to read the principal's announcement to my 2nd period class, but that was it.  The rest of the day, I wanted to be there for my students.  I wanted to talk to them, to let them know that it was okay to be mad, scared, confused, or any of the myriad of other emotions that were over taking them at that moment.  I needed to tell then that it was nobody's fault, that based on percentages, the young lady most likely suffered from some type of mental illness, and that they could openly talk, cry, or scream.  I talked to them about Peyton and my experiences.  I told them to ignore rumors from people, and not believe what they hear floating around in the hall.  I told them to be patient, as news would be forthcoming eventually, but that it takes time.  I asked them to pray if they were religious, and send positive thoughts and wishes if they weren't. I told them what I had been told while Peyton lay in his hospital bed, that the next 72 hours were crucial.  Finally I told them to hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst.

I tried my best to find reliable sources that would give me any information to help me process the events.  In my own way, I needed details.  By no means am I an expert, but I have an unfortunate knowledge of a similar situation.  As I mentioned before,  I had learned about the 72 hour window, the damage to the brain when deprived of oxygen, how it dies from the top down, how the brain stem controls the most basic functions such as breathing, heartbeat, swallowing, and reaction to pain.  How doctors will test this part of the brain for reactions to stimuli, and the news they give when when those tests produce no results.  I also knew that news would be slow in coming, that caution would prevail, that  doctors would be neutral and try not to give hope if there was none.

Several days have passed  since I began this entry, and I am once again the bearer of bad news.  The young lady I spoke of, Cassidy Hess, passed away on Sunday, December 20, 2015.  I hop that she has found the peace that eluded her in life.

In fact, and I sit here and write this, I have received word that a 2015 graduate may have taken his life last night.  Tragedy strikes yet again.

Onward Through the Fog

"Onward through the fog" -Oat Willie's Slogan

I never thought that this would apply to me.  See, #OatWillie's is a headshop (of which they are proud) in Austin, Texas.  They were around long before I attended the University of Texas, and are still there today.  If interpretation is based on your knowledge of their inventory, then it is pretty easy to apply meaning to their slogan.  However, in the year since Peyton's suicide. I have begun to se it differently.

The fog is what many of the survivors live in, especially for the first year after the suicide of a loved one.  The fog seems to envelop everything we do.  We forget things that happened recently as well as long ago, as well as names and faces.  Events that once held relevance, such as our own birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas, no longer do, On the other hand, new things such as the birthday of the lost soul and the monthly anniversary of their passing, develop great meaning.  We count off the number of days, weeks and months since they left us, much as one does with the birth of a new born child.  We begin to dread any day that marks a new milestone, such as their first birthday since their death, or what would have been the day they graduated. We tend to look at others, and try to understand how their lives can go on when ours have been tragically impacted.

As survivors, we are left behind to pick up the pieces of our lives.  Some of us become advocates for the dead.  Because of the pain we live with,  we vow to keep the same from happening to some one else.  Some of us withdraw from society, we become Boo Radley or Miss Havisham, shutting off contact to the outside world and locking the door behind us.  Others climb inside a bottle, bong or syringe.  We long to banish the incredible pain that we live with daily.  Others will follow in the steps of their loved ones and are driven to join them rather than live without them.  Regardless of which path we choose, we are surrounded on all sides by the fog.

Unfortunately, like any fog, the survivor's fog begins to burn off.  As it dissipates, we begin to truly see again.  What had once shielded us from painful reality, is gone, and we are left to deal with what is truly before our eyes.  The empty room we walked by is now a clear vision of what will never be, as we look at the trophies that whisper of the lost potential.  We see the last picture that we ever took, and realize there will be no more, that they are going to be, in my case, Forever 13.  We hear about the achievements of others and are left to wonder "what if?". The more fog that burns off, the greater the reality becomes.  The pain that we thought we had learned to cope with comes back in waves. Once again, we don't want to get out of bed, we break down at the songs on the radio, and we look for answers that will never come.

Now I am dealing with the pain all over again.  I find myself crying over little things such as Peyton's final school picture over the stairs .  I have a huge pit in my stomach as Christmas approaches.  I have even started to lose interest in things that once brought me comfort.  As we creep closer to the holidays, I am not looking forward to time with family, presents or good cheer, but the time to be alone and envelope myself in silence, and lose myself in a video game, movie or book.  Something that will make the hours pass while my mind is some where else other than the loss of my only son.

Now I am faced with the task of dealing with all the obstacles that I blindly ran into during the first few weeks and months after Peyton's death, only this time, they are vivid reminders of what happened, "“So [I] beat on, boat against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

Dear H, I Heard About Your Death

Dear H,

I heard about your death this past Sunday.  Needless to say I was saddened to hear that you had chosen to end your life.  I didn't know you personally, but in a way, I know who you are.  You are the 13 year old boy from Georgetown, Texas with red hair, freckles, and striking blue eyes.  You are the beautiful blond cheer leader from Trumbull, Connecticut.  You are the gifted Academy Award winning actor/comedian.  You are the brilliant writer and leader of the Modernist movement in literature.  You are the musician from Seattle that created a new sound for a generation.

Your death was hard for me to take.  When I was informed of your death, I looked you up on social media.  I read the posts that your friends, classmates, and strangers, had left for you.  You are loved by your friends.  You were the one that made them laugh.  You were the star that shone so brightly for them.    Your classmates wish they had known you better, had gotten to know you better, or talk to you more.  They liked your sense of humor and ever present smile.  Total strangers expressed their sympathy for you and your family.

In a school of more than 4,000 students, there were many students who didn't know you, but your death has had a profound effect on them.  For many, you were the first person they know who died. Even more profound, was how you died, at your own hands.  You made them think about their own mortality, their own frailty.

You also left many asking, "why?" If some one that seemed to have it all would take her life, then what hope do they have?  The "why?" is simpler than it seems, at least to people who understand.  The desire to end your pain was greater than your will to live, and you are not alone.  Although the pain wasn't physical, it was equally as painful and just as debilitating. Judging by your friends' responses and posting, they didn't know you were in pain.  Like so many who suffer from this pain, you kept it hidden.  Perhaps you were afraid to speak out because you thought you were the only one that felt that way, or that no one would understand. Maybe you did say something, and you were told it was a phase you were going through, or that you will get over it.  There's even a chance your friends knew, but did nothing because, as a society, we aren't old how to help people that are hurting like you, and as a community, we are led to believe that everything is perfect, and that problems like yours only exist in "other" places.   If you did seek help, there is always that chance that no matter what you tried, it didn't seem to work, or you didn't click with the counselor. Regardless of the reason, people need to know that it wasn't their fault, which is something that took me so long to understand after Peyton's death.

Now parents, siblings, relatives, friends, and total strangers are left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives.  They must learn to adjust to life without you.  All the people you thought would be better off  without you will never get over you or stop thinking about you.  Instead, they will have a void that will never be filled.  They will go about with their everyday lives, but not a day will pass without thinking about you.  Perhaps a song on the radio, a smell from the kitchen, or a glimpse of a total stranger in public will some how trigger a memory of you.  They will have to sit down and collect themselves, catch their breath, or even cry, and that's okay.  Eventually they may be able to deal with the gaping hole in their lives, but they will never be the same.
Perhaps they will even come to realize that if you had known the pain your death would cause, you never would have taken your life.

In closing, allow me to say that I hope you found the peace you were looking for, and to paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut, I hope that where you are, everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.

Rest in Peace Young Lady

 "Things just seemed to go too wrong too many times"- Tony Hancock

it happened again. Another young person in our "perfect" community has taken their life.  

I received the news last night about this tragic loss, and have processing the news in my head over and over again.  I even went so far as to look up the young lady on social media, in part to leave a message of condolence, in part to see if there was a clue as to why, and in part to see "who" this young lady was.  I read the posts left by others.  They all seemed to say the same thing, that she was the person that went out of their way to make sure others were happy, to comfort others in a time of need, and to be there for her friends when they needed it.  

All of this sounds painfully familiar to me.  At the tree planting in Peyton's honor at his old school, I heard many of the same things.  Kids told about how Peyton had befriended them when they were new, how he had made them laugh when they were sad, or how he had been the only one to stop and help a total stranger in the hallway when she had dropped her books.  

Now the community is left to wonder "why?"  This is not something that is supposed to happen here. This is something that happens to "other" people.  Our community is consistently voted one of the the tops in Texas.  We have great schools, parks, greenbelts, stores, shops, restaurants, a waterway, hell, we even have a mall.  We are totally self sustaining,  Our kids graduate from high school and go off the Ivy league and other top colleges.  They come back and get high paying jobs, get married, have kids, and raise the next generation of people that nothing bad ever happens to.  How could this happen to "us"?

The answer is actually quite easy, it happens all the time to people around the world.  People that are in such gut wrenching emotional pain that the thought of taking their life outweighs their fear of dying. People that are afraid of speaking up about their thoughts and feelings of sadness, anger, and worthlessness because things like that only happen to "other" people in "other" places.  People that suffer in silence because they are supposed to project an image of happiness because that is what expected of them.  

it made me think of Robin Williams when he said,  “I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”  We realize now, that this was how he felt.  Was this how Peyton and this young lady had felt?  How many other kids find themselves feeling the same way as they sit in class looking at all the others who have it all together, whose futures are bright and rosy.  How many of these people sit in their corner office with the spectacular view wondering where they went wrong.  How many of them have lunch with their friends as they talk about their perfect children, and ponder why they don't feel the way they are supposed to.  

To the family members that  are left behind to wonder, it is not your fault, she didn't do this to hurt you. It will take time, a lot of it, to get over this, and you will never get over it, but you will learn to live with it.  

To those that knew her, and those that wish they had, she is at peace, and you need to go on living.  It hurts, it sucks, and it will take a while to get over.  Cry for her, mourn her, grieve for her, but go on living.  

As for the young lady who took her life, I am sorry that you felt that way.  I hope that you have found the peace you were looking for.  I hope that the pain you lived with is gone.  Rest in Peace young lady.