Teen Suicide: Anxious Depressed Girl Lives to Tell

Familiar brakes squeal in front of her house.

Startled, she exhales the breath she doesn’t know she’s holding.

“It’s right on time. And too late.”

Parting white curtains, Tabitha spies the yellow bus. Mrs. Sanders looks expectantly thru the open door.

An eternity passes in a moment. Tabitha’s anxiety soars. Like usual.

Looking concerned, Mrs. Sanders closes the door. The familiar old engine growls. This ugly sound always churns Tabitha’s stomach.

Today, it sounds more like disapproval.

But there will be no more anxiety. No more painful upset stomach. No more mask to protect from bullying.

Tabitha has decided.

She isn’t going today. Or ever. She’s done.

Tabitha thinks of the old bus permanently minus one depressed hopeless student. She sighs in a long sad exhale.

“Not that anyone will notice. Or care.”

Her life isn’t always this way.

Six years before that hopeless teen suicide day, Tabitha’s childhood is delightful. On most days.

Small town Arkansas is a good place to grow up. It always feels like home for Tabitha, if only in her vivid memory.

“Mom, may I go play in Big Spring Park?”

“Sure, as long as you’re home at 6:00 for supper. We’re having pizza.”

“Yum, I’ll be here, Mom.”

“Will your friends be there?”

“Probably. But if not, I’ll have fun on my own.”

“My independent nine-year-old. Be safe and have fun,” Mom encourages.

On the way, she waves at her youth pastor. He’s a listening, encouraging friend. On weekends, she loves spending time with her church youth group friends.

A decade later, Tabitha will look back and summarize her childhood:

“When you’re young, you feel invincible and not going to die. Hang onto that when you grow anxious and depressed.”

As she grows up, this ceases to be true.

At age 13, Tabitha’s life shatters.

Tape screeches on the brown box holding mounds of clothes. It echoes her heart’s silent scream.

“Mom, do we have to move?”

“Yes dear,” Mom pauses to empathize with her distraught daughter. “I’m sorry you don’t want this and you’re sad about it.”

The girl writes “Tabitha” on the box and pushes it among others by the wall. Daughter looks at Mother.

Mom looks at her daughter with a caring loving look. This gaze often helps Tabitha believe in herself–even on bad days.

“But mom, I want to stay in Arkansas. I don’t want to leave my friends!”

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to move from your home. And even harder to say goodbye to friends. I understand why you’re mad about it.”

Tabitha grabs a new box. The space inside matches the hurting emptiness within her. She can’t imagine life two states west of here.

“It’s hard for you now,” Mom encourages. “But I know you will be able to handle it. I believe in you, super-girl.” 

Tabitha smiles as her self-esteem rises a little. But then she looks at her toys waiting to go into the box. She loudly exhales her disapproval.

“It makes me mad! I’m not gonna say goodbye!”

After this unwanted move, Tabitha doesn’t feel so invincible.

She’s vulnerable.

Life changes drastically 300 miles from home. Without goodbyes, it’s hard to say hello to Salida, Colorado.

Tabitha doesn’t open up and make good friends for a long time.

The next troubling years are a rough downhill slide. School mornings blur into the same old ritual.

“Tabitha, time to get up,” Mom calls. “Gotta go to school. You don’t want to miss the bus.”

“I’m not going to school!” shouts Tabitha. In her mind.

Instead, she forces out a low mumble. “OK, mom.”

School nerves sprout as she eats her Raisin Bran cereal. Familiar pain in the pit of her stomach returns.

After breakfast, Tabitha stands and braces herself. She lifts her dark-blue backpack to her shoulders with a sharp exhale.

“Whew! These books get heavier every day.”

Next, she puts on invisible armor to protect her fragile self-esteem.

Tabitha grabs a chocolate chip cookie. Chocolate energizes her inner fight.

Walking out the door, she mentally fortifies herself to navigate school’s unpredictable maze. Her breath is slow and shallow.

Whirlwinds of worry increase as the bus growls past houses. She imagines people in them. One grandmotherly woman with a garden shovel waves.

“They’re happy. I wish I was happy again.”

Her bus nears a large building with the morning teen invasion.

Tabitha braces for pressure. For cruelty. For hormonal unpredictability.

And for nobody to understand. Or care.

Tabitha doesn’t know about her classmates’ mental health issues. Like her, they experience pain, anxiety and depression. But everyone desperately hides behind masks and fake-smiles.

Even her friends.

Tabitha’s slight smile covers her gradual downward spiral into hopelessness.

Ten steps before the door, she inhales a deep breath. Then she exhales her final whispered preparation: “God, please help me get thru today.”

She knows God is present. That helps.

But she craves a relationship with a touchable friend. Tabitha needs to share her deep pain with a listening ear.

Finally, she steps thru the glass doors. Full-blown anxiety knocks her over. Almost.

Her stomach is unsettled all day. She barely breathes.

Tabitha bumps shoulders in crowded hallways. But inside, she lives on a lonely island.

Three years ago, when Tabitha first moves here, insults barely effect her. She brushes off ignoring and bullying.

Back when she’s the new kid, she likes herself. She has inner invincibility.

But now, Tabitha’s self-worth is vulnerable.

An insult here.
An unkind word there.
Then cruelty anywhere.

Mean words hurt more than sticks and stones. Over time, they beat down Tabitha’s self-esteem.

Her self-worth tips on the hopeless edge of worthlessness.

Now and then, this teen imagines a permanent solution to her temporary problems.

Suicide.

One grey stormy day finds Tabitha’s breath fogging the window.

Two years after the move, happy houses stream by as the bus travels home. She wipes her left eye to keep her cheek from matching the rain-streaked glass.

“My life’s darker every day,” she whispers to no one. “Not that anybody notices. Or cares.”

When the bus stops at her house, rain tries to shower her hopelessness away.

As a little girl, she loved the taste of rain on her tongue. But today, hunched under her backpack’s weight, rain can’t drown life’s depression.

Inside her home, Tabitha inhales deeply.

Then she exhales mountains of anxiety.

“That you, Tabitha?” a friendly voice calls from the other room.

“Yeah, mom.”

“How was school?”

“Fine,” Tabitha mumbles as her bedroom door shuts.

Safe at last.

Or is she?

Tabitha hits the button beside her bed. The band R.E.M. sings:

“When your day is long
and the night,
the night is yours alone
When you’re sure you’ve had
enough of this life,
well hang on…”

Shades pulled. Lights off. She curls up in bed.

Life is a heavy burden. She turns it’s painful weight into believing she’s a burden on everyone.

“Don’t let yourself go
‘Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes…”

Lonely tears flow. The storm outside pelting raindrops on her window seems pleasant compared to the swirling darkness inside this room.

 “If you’re on your own in this life
The days and nights are long
When you think you’ve had
too much of this life to hang on…”

Once upon a time, young Invincible Tabitha handles any challenge. Now, daily painful situations are as insurmountable as the rugged mountains behind her school.

“Everybody hurts sometimes
So hold on, hold on, hold on,
hold on, hold on,
hold on, hold on, hold on
Everybody hurts”

“I hurt,” she says to no one. “And I’m holding on. Barely.

“I just want to sleep. Forever.”

Depression.

It’s all too much.

Anxiety.
Loneliness.
Depression.

Feeling worthless.
Mean school comments.
Negative inner voices.

All this dark painful input crushes Tabitha. Something has to change to survive the onslaught.

Over time, Tabitha goes numb.

Her relationship with herself is disconnected.

For months, living numb helps Tabitha put on her daily mask. She gets through each day, barely.

Eventually, living numb feels more like walking dead. Tabitha craves feeling something.

Anything.

One particularly dark day, she focuses classmates’ painful insults and her inner voices into a blade.

Her face winces as she cuts her arm next to old scars. She sucks in a full gulp of air.

Pain bleeds red thru her numb safety barrier against the world. She holds a white tissue on the spot. It hurts.

But at least she feels something. She’s alive.

“I shouldn’t do this,” she thinks, adding layers of guilt. “But maybe I deserve it.”

Tabitha cleans up the mess. Then she carefully hides pink spotted tissues in the bottom of the white trash can. Finally, she gently pulls down dark maroon sleeves so Mom and classmates can’t see her inner pain.

Are the negative voices pleased with this private self-destruction?

Hard to tell. But nobody cares anyway.

Or so she thinks.

If only Tabitha can picture the strong, caring, healthy woman she can become.

But she can’t. Not now. 

At 15, life is lived now. Each day is an exhausting slog through a swamp of negative thoughts and painful emotions.

On this last morning of her life, Tabitha hits rock bottom.

Her pain is great. Hope is gone. She barely breathes.

Even the bus’ open door won’t beckon her to future possibilities. “Good Morning, Tabitha,” from smiling Mrs. Sanders won’t cheer her up.

Not today.

The pills are gone. The bus is gone. Soon life’s struggle will be gone.

“Thank God Mom hasn’t noticed,” Tabitha whispers. “Now what do I do?”

She puts the empty pill bottle back on the second shelf. The closing cabinet click is embarrassingly loud.

She carefully places her cup perfectly on the sink’s left side.

A childhood flashback briefly appears in the dark mirror. Invincible Tabitha used to drink from this cup, then slam it down and run outside to conquer the world.

But not today. Invincible feelings are swallowed by tragic teen realities.

She folds her navy blue towel, matching the corners. It seems softer than normal. Making it straight on the rack, she looks in the mirror one last time.

A hopeless lonely girl stares back.

Funny thing. Tragic really.

On this most consequential day of her life, the world goes on like nothing happened.

Buses go on picking up kids.
Students go on to school.
Mom goes on readying for work.

“That’s odd. Tabitha missed the bus. HEY TABITHA! You missed the bus.”

Tabitha’s eyes flash wide open. She sucks in a quick burst of air.

The lock sticks, then opens way too loudly. It echoes ominously down the hall.

Tabitha exits the lonely bathroom. With practiced school-morning calm, she calls out.

“I’m not going, Mom.”

“Are you sick?”

“No, just sick of school.”

“Tabitha, you have to go to school. I’ll take you.”

“I don’t want to go to school anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I’m exhausted. I hate school. I hate my sad life.”

Tabitha fears she said too much.

“I’m sorry, Tabitha. You have to go. Come on, I want to hear what’s going on with you in the car.”

This is NOT the plan!

No school. No people. No life. 

Nobody cares.

Mom acts like she cares. But, she’s probably faking it. Tabitha’s creative low self-esteem turns everything into negatives toward herself.

Mom is ruining her daughter’s hopeless view of life.

And Tabitha’s impulsive plan for death.

The bewildered teen has no energy to argue.

Tabitha ignores the Raisin Bran box on the counter. She grabs her book bag, which is heavier than ever, and steps out the door.

The sun blinds her wet eyes, but her life is too dark to notice.

Slam!

Anxious fear causes Tabitha’s right arm to overreact. Her car door shuts much harder than planned.

“Sorry, mom.” The last thing she wants to do is be a burden.

Mom glances over, tilting her head in curiosity. Tabitha looks away.

This is all wrong! It’s supposed to be the end.

Tabitha had decided.

She breathes calmly to hide her pounding heart and racing mind.

But Mom acts like life goes on.

Turning left out of the driveway, Mom inquires.

“So Tabitha, what’s up? You seem mad. More like sad.”

The girl looks out her window. She sees a boy get in a car with his dad. He’s late. He probably doesn’t want to go to school either.

Houses pass. People in them are probably happy. Unlike her.

She sits in silence, protecting her unspeakable secret. Air barely passes in and out of her lungs.

“Why can’t mom just leave me alone?” the fearful girl thinks.

“Tabitha, I wanna hear what’s up.”

“Why does she sound like she cares?” Tabitha silently screams. “Nobody cares about me.”

Tabitha shows none of this painful inner turmoil.

Her mask is perfected.

“Tabitha?”

Mom glances right, her face flooded with concern. And love.

That familiar look cuts through Tabitha’s defenses. Underneath, her hopeless heart bleeds. The vulnerability scares her.

But this cut is painful in a good way, unlike the scars hidden under her forest green sleeves.

Finally, the overwhelmed girl can’t take it anymore.

“Uh, Mom?”

She pauses for the second turning point this morning. Forcing in a long deep breath, she opens her mouth.

The dam breaks!

Her truth spews out with such force, she barely keeps the words from tumbling out on top of each other.

“I’m sorry. I can’t handle it anymore. School. Pressure. Mean kids. Loneliness. My life sucks. I’m a burden on everyone. I took pills.”

She sucks in a quick gulp of air and holds it. Finally exhaling, she calmly clarifies her confession.

“A lot of pills.”

Tabitha slowly inhales, her body shaking. Water bathes her cheeks.

The mask washes away.

Anxious fear causes Mom’s right foot to overreact.

Tabitha has never seen Mom drive so fast. Houses pass in a blur. Tabitha is oblivious to their inhabitants.

In the driver’s seat, Mom is shocked she didn’t see her daughter sinking toward teen suicide. What happened to their relationship? A tear strays down the parent’s cheek.

Tabitha looks at her mother.

That tear on Mom’s face waters hidden buds of hope in the desperate daughter.

Maybe mom does care.

Inhaling a deep breath, Tabitha notices the air this time. It feels good going in and out.

She will miss this feeling when it ends.

“Sorry for being such a burden, Mom.”

“Burden? You’re not a burden, Tabitha. I love you!”

Tabitha has felt like a burden for so long, she doesn’t believe her mom.

The racing car skips school.

Within minutes, Tabitha sits on a white bed with a cup of disgusting grey liquid.

Mom stands vigil beside the emergency bed. She looks with love and concern at her daughter.

Rays of hope and worry from Mom’s eyes cut hope into Tabitha’s darkness.

“Am I going to be OK, Mom?”

“I hope so. You better be. I love you.”

“I love you too, mom.”

“Charcoal binds the chemicals in the pills,” the nurse says. “They’ll lose their effect in your body. Now drink up.”

Tabitha takes a sip. “Yuck!” She wants to spit out the horrible liquid. “That tastes terrible!”

But at least she tastes something.
And feels something.
She’s no longer numb.

And better yet, somebody cares.

The hopeless silent-suffering teen had forgotten.

Earlier this morning, her eyes were blind to those who care. Her mind thought others will be relieved without a burden like her. Her hopeless heart was too tired to notice Mom’s love.

But no longer.

Now Tabitha is mad at herself for misreading her most important relationships.

Two days later, Tabitha picks up her book bag.

Strange.

It seems lighter. A lot lighter. Or is it just her?

“Mom, I’m off to school.”

“Wait!” Quick footsteps echo down the hall.

“You can do this, Tabitha. I believe in you. Don’t you forget it.”

That tear is in mom’s eye again. Tabitha’s self-esteem raises two levels as they hug.

Having an adult believe in her begins the mind-shift to believing in herself.

“OK, mom. I won’t forget. I love you.”

Tabitha stops on the front step.

Mint chewing gum enlivens dulled senses. She inhales the smell of damp spring dirt. 

Something’s new. Something’s growing. Something’s changing.

Sun rays warm her hair. Birds sing brighter songs this morning.

Looking up, buds on green trees sprout Tabitha’s hope.

Familiar brakes squeal, right on time. Her anxiety rises within, as usual.

But a little less today.

“Tabitha, I mean it. I love you. You’re important to me.”

The teen turns with a slight smile, a little embarrassed. And forever thankful for this encouraging relationship.

Tabitha steps up into the yellow bus.

“Good Morning, Tabitha,” Mrs. Sanders smiles. “Missed you the last couple days. You OK?”

“I’m fine,” Tabitha responds as usual. But this time she means it.

Tabitha looks around the bus thinking, “These kids have no idea what happened. And they’re not gonna.”

As the engine growls, Tabitha braces herself in her seat. The familiar teen self-esteem roller coaster takes off again.

During her routine emotional preparations for school, today she notices her breath. It’s easier. Deeper somehow.

She feels alive for the first time in years. 

This anxious, depressed girl who tries to commit teen suicide can’t imagine her future. She can’t see the confident, capable, independent young adult she will soon become.

All Tabitha knows this day is she’s grateful to be alive. And thankful for her relationship with Mom.

Scared and hopeful, she slightly waves out the window. Maybe Mom is spying thru the white curtains.

Her mom. Her lifeline.

Tabitha CAN do this.

Mom peaks through the window.

“I should have said something. This year, Tabitha changed from her old self. She’s sad, lonely, depressed. And pretty anxious. But I didn’t pay enough attention to our relationship.”

Mom quietly vows, “I’m stopping to listen and empathize with what my children are going through. They’re going to know I love ’em. And care.”

In coming months, mother and daughter’s relationship grows closer. Much closer.

Tabitha continues struggling with anxiety and depression. But with Mom’s support, the teen’s self-esteem goes up more than down.

In time, Tabitha goes through a mind-shift about herself. She grows to believe she’s valuable, in spite of negative feelings or others’ words.

Also, she remembers the people who care about her. She surrounds herself with more caring people.

Most importantly, Tabitha cares for herself.

She’s worth it.

High School passes quickly.

Now, Tabitha loves life—even on days her mental health goes down. She reaches out, makes healthy relationships and never again rides life’s roller coaster alone.

Tabitha is convinced she’s alive to make a difference. She’s still breathing because she’s supposed to be there for others.

Three years later, her family goes thru painful tragedy. The girl who used to think she’s a burden has a new identity. She’s the rock on which others depend.

But that’s another story.

Six years after her teen suicide attempt, Tabitha has close friends and a caring church community. She’s  employed and training a new clerk. When anxiety rises, she has ways of keeping it in check.

This confident, strong young adult thinks about her life. She’s come far from anxiety and depression sinking her into teen suicide hopelessness.

Tabitha takes a deep breath, smiling with hope for her future.

“I’m glad it didn’t happen! Look at me. Look at my life!”

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