September is Suicide Awareness Month

The publishing industry doesn't discuss mental health nearly enough. That needs to change.

Trigger warning: Suicide

I started feeling overwhelmed as I was trying to develop topics for this week’s newsletter. Then I was a bit depressed. There’s no “reason” for the faint but palpable sadness lurking beneath my skin, but that’s the point: Depression is often an unannounced visitor. Since September is Suicide Awareness Month, I’m using my platform to discuss my experience. Mental health is not addressed in book publishing nearly enough, and that needs to change. I hope this helps someone or helps you help someone. 

In July 2017, I hit rock bottom due to a series of bad personal and professional decisions. My depression was the worst it had ever been, and the pain felt permanent. No part of my brain told me that tomorrow would be better. My kids were at school, then 8 and 12, so I was home alone. As I stood at the kitchen counter and cried, I truly believed the world would be better without me. I took a knife and made a small cut on my wrist but then stopped to text my therapist. She directed me to the ER, and off I went.

As soon as I was taken to a room in the ER, I instantly regretted what I had done. There’s no convincing a doctor or nurse that no, you weren’t going to off yourself because they won’t believe you. A saintly hospital volunteer sat with me for hours while the nurses waited for a bed to open at a nearby psychiatric hospital. I will never forget the kindness the volunteer extended to me. She held my hand and told me it would be okay.

At 3 a.m., an ambulance transported me to the psych hospital. I was alone and scared, but the two female EMTs riding with me were empathetic. Their words meant so much at that moment. After they dropped me off, I had to hand over my phone. Then, the administrators went through my bag and promptly removed the underwire from my bra and any drawstrings from my pajama pants. The only item I was allowed to have outside of approved clothing was a book. I don’t even remember the title of it. However, I remember trying to convince anyone who’d listen that I was ordering an Uber and going home. That didn’t happen.

Instead, I was assigned a bed in a room occupied by an older woman who was convinced I was Dolly Parton and introduced me as such. I went along with it. I’m guessing many of you have never experienced a stay at a psych hospital, and I bet you’ve got preconceived notions about what it’s like. You’ll find every kind of person there: young and old, medicated or awaiting medication. Nothing is ordinary about it. An aide had to sit outside the shower while I was in it. I refused to attend group therapy. I felt it was beneath me (the joke was on me), and I wouldn’t eat because I didn’t want to sit with the other patients. My brain had gone into survival mode: I needed to get out of there, and I’d do anything to make that happen.

The funny thing about being in PR for so long is that you can spin a story in your favor if you're good at it. That’s precisely what I did with the psychiatrist who treated me. I told him I was okay. He looked at the tiny (and I mean small) cut, gave me a gentle tap on the hand, and said, “Don’t do that again. You’ve got so much to live for.” Noted. I was released the next day. 

In the fall of 2018, I entered six months of outpatient treatment for major depression. It saved my life, as did moving close to the ocean. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) taught me excellent coping skills that I still employ. But the real change in me came from the realization that everyone at outpatient, no matter their situation, was the same as me. We were together for 6 hours of group therapy daily, yet only knew each other’s first names (HIIPA rule). Some patients were recovering addicts, others had made suicide attempts and almost succeeded, and then there were the ones like me: severely depressed. Our commonality was that we were all looking for a lifeline.

I felt like something was wrong with me. My peers seemed to thrive in the book industry while I was unemployed and healing. I wanted so badly to be “normal.” It felt like people I knew in the business had me pegged as damaged goods. No one knew what I had gone through, of course, because I wear my mask well. Depression was not openly discussed in publishing offices, which still rings true. Employees in the book industry absorb a great deal of stress: we are responsible for writers' careers, we need to make things happen for specific titles so our employers can meet their fiscal targets, and we don’t get paid much for any of it. Insurance plans (if you are lucky enough to have one) are mediocre and expensive for low-salaried junior employees. If the industry wants to retain talent and attract recruits, CEOs must take a long, hard look at the workload of understaffed departments. Publishers must support staff when an author becomes verbally abusive and resist blaming others when things go awry. Additionally, human resources departments should be aware that hardly anyone will admit to depression being a disability. People need to feel safe when they talk about their mental health instead of fearing they’ll lose their jobs or be considered “less than” if they disclose such information.

I’ve spent the past few years reinventing myself and accepting that other people aren’t necessarily better; they’re just different. I’m grateful I fully recovered from where I was in 2017 and 2018, and lucky to have a close family unit supporting me. I worry for the younger generation working in the industry because they may not have the support or tools they need to get through bad bouts of anxiety and depression.

When we read about a suicide in the news, there are often quotes from people saying, “They seemed fine.” Yes, we seem fine, but that doesn’t mean we are. On the surface, someone can seem like they have a great life, but their internal life is something no one else sees. Above all else, this is why you should be kind because you don’t know what someone is going through. If nothing else, give someone the hope of a brand new day.

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, seek help from a professional and call 9-8-8. The United States’ first nationwide three-digit mental health crisis hotline, 988, will connect callers with trained mental health counselors. Text “HOME” to 741741 in the U.S. and Canada to reach the Crisis Text Line.

Back to regular programming next week.

As always, send thoughts/comments to publishingconfidential@gmail.com

Be well,

-Kathleen