Kyleigh Leist
Marketing Director
This past weekend marked International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day, a day that carries a heavy weight for so many—myself included. It’s a day dedicated to those left behind, those who carry the unimaginable pain of losing someone they loved to suicide. As I sit with my own experiences, as a two-time suicide attempt survivor, I can’t help but feel the collision of worlds. I’ve been on one side of the story, battling the darkest corners of my mind, and I’ve seen glimpses of the other, imagining the emptiness I might have left behind.
To anyone who has lost someone to suicide, let me say this first: I am so sorry. I am sorry for the questions left unanswered, for the pain you never asked to carry, and for the moments when it feels unbearable. Your grief is valid, your love is eternal, and your journey through this is uniquely yours.
But today, I want to take you into my mind, into the mindset of someone who once thought the world would be better off without them.
The Weight of It All
When I was in that place, it wasn’t a decision I reached lightly. It wasn’t selfishness or an inability to appreciate life’s beauty. It was an overwhelming, all-consuming heaviness—a belief that I had become a burden to those I loved, a weight they shouldn’t have to carry anymore.
I remember sitting alone, staring at the walls, the silence so loud it hurt. I didn’t want to die because I hated life—I wanted to die because I didn’t know how to keep living. My brain was a battlefield, and I was losing the war. In those moments, it felt like no one could possibly understand. Even those closest to me, the people I loved the most, felt unreachable. My thoughts were a tangled web of despair, and trying to explain them felt impossible. I convinced myself that my absence would bring peace to those around me.
If you’ve lost someone to suicide, I need you to know this: it was never about you. It was never about the love you gave or the time you spent trying to help. It was about them and the suffocating darkness they couldn’t escape.
A Second Chance
Surviving my attempts was both a blessing and a curse. At first, I felt anger at waking up, at still being here in a world that felt so heavy. But slowly, that anger transformed into something else: understanding.
I began to realize that my thoughts had lied to me. The stories I told myself—that I wasn’t enough, that my loved ones would be better off without me—were distortions created by my pain. It took years of therapy, support, and self-compassion to unravel those lies and see the truth.
The truth is, my absence would have shattered the people I love. My pain would have become theirs, my silence a lifelong echo in their hearts. The idea that I was sparing them was nothing more than the cruel illusion of depression.
For Those Who’ve Lost Someone
I can’t bring your loved one back, and I won’t pretend to know exactly what they were feeling. But as someone who has stood on the edge, I hope I can offer a small piece of understanding.
They didn’t leave because they didn’t love you. In fact, they probably loved you deeply—so much that they believed their leaving might ease your life. I know that’s hard to hear, and it might not make sense. But in the twisted logic of depression, it can feel like an act of love to disappear.
That doesn’t make their choice right or fair. It doesn’t erase the pain you carry. But I hope it can soften the sharp edges of guilt you might feel. Their decision was not your failure.
Finding Hope
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my journey, it’s this: there is always hope, even when you can’t see it. Hope can be stubborn and elusive, hiding in the smallest corners of your life. But it’s there, waiting for you to find it.
To those grieving, I hope you find hope in the memories of your loved one. I hope you honor their life by living yours fully, by carrying their light forward even when it feels impossibly heavy.
To my fellow survivors, I want to remind you that there is life after the darkness. It won’t always be easy, but it will be worth it. There is joy waiting for you, love waiting for you, and a version of yourself who will be so proud that you stayed.
A Message for Us All
International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day is a reminder of both the fragility and resilience of the human spirit. It’s a day to mourn, to remember, to honor, but also to reflect on the ways we can support one another.
Talk about mental health. Ask the hard questions. Sit with someone in their pain, even when you don’t know what to say. And if you’re struggling, please reach out. Your story isn’t over yet.
I’m still here, and so are you. And that means there’s still time—time to heal, to love, to connect, to find peace. Let’s honor those we’ve lost by choosing to live with compassion, courage, and hope.
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