The following article contains heavy mentions of suicide through data and personal accounts and may not be suitable for all readers.
September is Suicide Prevention Month. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) notes that one person dies by suicide every eleven minutes. And the thing is? Suicide is one-hundred percent preventable. For a long, long time, suicide was a forbidden topic. It was very rare someone even mentioned having mental health problems, let alone suicidal thoughts or intentions. Over the last couple of years, it’s become increasingly obvious that something has to change, and slowly but surely, society has been starting to raise awareness for the fight against suicide.
Amanda Huber, alongside AEW and the American Foundation for Suicide prevention, has just launched a public service announcement featuring several AEW stars detailing their battles with mental health and suicide. This is the single most important thing AEW has done, and will do all year. Eddie Kingston, Aubrey Edwards, and Powerhouse Will Hobbs just did the most influential thing of their careers. Conversations save lives.
I’ll say it again. Conversations. Save. Lives.
While digesting the videos and realizing some of their favorite stars have had personal battles with suicidal intentions, wrestling fans all over have begun to share their own stories and struggles as a “thank you” to Kingston, Edwards, Hobbs, and to also help others realize they are not alone. So here’s my deal: my mental health problems made their presence known as early as six grade. My first suicide attempt was in seventh grade. I was thirteen years old. My latest attempt was Christmas last year. The past six, seven years for me were filled with mental breakdowns, misdiagnoses, periods of not being able to afford medication, psychiatric hospital stays, and more suicidal thoughts than I could even begin to express. It was bad. And up until a few months ago, my future looked as grim as the last handful of years have been. It wasn’t getting better, and no one could tell me it would. Well, actually, since I have bipolar disorder things did get better, just in the form of manic episodes. There were very few things in those years that could bring me down. Sure, I had things I loved and interests and a few, tiny reasons to keep going. But there wasn’t anything in those moments of being at the end of the rope to keep me holding on. It helped a little then, hearing other people’s stories, but it means even more to me now. I’d say around May, a switch flipped. Things were as bad as they had ever been, and then all of a sudden, they weren’t. All of sudden, the work I’d put in at therapy and the medications all came together and started working. And for the first time in seven years I could say “I’m doing better,” and actually mean it. For the first time in seven years I wasn’t afraid of being left alone. It was never, ever about dying. It was about not living life like I was. It was about not crying myself to sleep every night. It was about being labeled “crazy,” or “unstable.” Some higher power, some twist of fate wouldn’t let me go. I failed every attempt I ever tried. And now? I’m about to turn 19. I’ve been accepted into my dream colleges and I’m talking about my future to anyone who will listen. I’m here. I want to be here. Now let’s be clear, my bipolar disorder didn’t suddenly disappear. It’s still there, it still exists. But it doesn’t have the power of me like it used to. It has taken a backseat to everything I want to be, everything I am.
Like I said stories of other people struggling with suicide helped a little in the moments during and after my attempts, but I’d say they matter even more now. Hearing Eddie Kingston, my favorite wrestler, talk about his experiences and his mental health problems help me come to terms with my trauma and my past. I watched Eddie’s video, I read his Players Tribune article, and I keep yelling about how he made it through everything and how he deserves the best of life and then I realize… I made it. I’m processing things and coming to terms with the last few years and I’m talking about my future positively. I can finally talk about my attempts in past tense. I’m saying “I’m okay,” and actually believing it. I’m doing things to prevent myself from feeling those urges.
So here’s a thank you. To Amanda Huber and AEW and Eddie Kingston and Aubrey Edwards and Powerhouse Hobbs. To anyone who’s shared their stories and made an effort to help and to fight the battle of prevention. Stories matter. Conversations matter. The more we talk, the better it gets. I was thirteen years old and I was struggling so badly and I didn’t even know. No one told me. The seventh graders of 2022 should know what’s going on in their minds. They should know that the way they’re feeling isn’t the end all be all of life. Awareness. Prevention. It all starts with conversation.
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