Suicide and truth

Suicide is a word that many people don't often want to say or think about, but when I think of the word, I think of a need for truth and openness. These are the only ways to silence the relentless voices which urge suicidal individuals to act. I know because I have been at that point several times and I have not had the luxury of truth or openness, and my own brush with suicide on two occasions was far too close. I shouldn't be saying all this. I shouldn't be admitting that I came that close to taking my own life; that I lay in an emergency room having my stomach pumped, leaving two completely empty bottles of prescription pills, my enraged and abusive husband, at home, and my two young children at a neighbor's house. I should not be saying something so sick and dysfunctional. Who am I to be trusted if I acted so irrationally and almost committed such an appalling act? My husband was quick to remind me over and over again what a terrible person I was, and how this could forever be used against me in the future. But I believe in truth. It was secrecy and fear, and hiding the truth which led me to that terrifying, lonely day. If I am honest, suicide and thoughts of suicide linger and push their way to the front of my mind on a regular basis now, ten years later. I push them back. I have even spoken of the thoughts to a therapist, but I cannot be quite as honest as I would like. I need to always say that I have no plan, when in fact, I know that if things got bad enough, I have every step planned out to the last moment. I have done for years. How many of us live this way, with invasive thoughts of suicide? How many of us rarely, if ever think about taking our own life? I often wonder if it is just an obsession, or if it is what it feels like; an inevitable end to my life because I see no other way out. I wonder how many are weighed down by these debilitating and intrusive thoughts.
Two weeks ago, at my son and daughter's school, a young man, fifteen years old, killed himself. It was the second suicide at the school in four years. I was shocked. I was distressed and horrified for his parents and I imagined the horror my children would feel if I were to end my life. This is why I wait. Right now my children make living a beautiful thing, but without them, when I have lost everything that means security, love, and companionship in my life, and when I am incapable of taking care of myself alone, I see that I will become a burden, and that escape will become a more seductive option. It will become easier for me to justify saying that I have no worth.
Writing these words feels, not honest, but practically illegal. How are people like myself supposed to have an open dialogue about feelings which can legitimately lead to death, depending on the day, the impulse, the strength of the feelings which come in overwhelming waves, if there is so much shame associated with the mention of suicide? How can we erase the stigma attached to depression and suicidal ideation, and allow those who suffer from its effects to put their cards on the table? 
Any other child who lost their life at the High School would have been honored and memorialized, and every student would know about their death, and have a chance to grieve their loss. Yet, this young man's death went unmentioned by anyone except the tennis team he was a member of. I spoke to the principle, expressing my understanding that he must carefully balance the privacy of a grieving family with the needs of an entire campus to understand a loss. He assured me that the school would take this opportunity to reach out to students who may feel alone, to help all those who felt the loss, and to take a chance to stress suicide prevention. As I said, I have been at that point more than once and I live in fear that the feelings will overwhelm me again. I remain ready at any time to act on them, because I know how important that feeling of control is when it strikes. Still, nothing was said to the student body, who knew that a young man of fifteen, struggling with unimaginable self doubt and isolation, had killed himself and would never be coming back.
I believe in truth. I believe in saying it how it is. I believe in honesty and open talk about things that matter. Life and death are surely, things that matter.