As I leaned against the kitchen counter, I couldn’t help but fixate on the bottle of Tylenol beside me. The refrigerator hummed softly, filling the otherwise quiet space with a dull sound. Earlier, I had spent an hour on the living room floor, tears streaming down my face as I grappled with overwhelming emotions. I poured my heart into my journal, writing about my pain and contemplating what my parents should do with my belongings if I were no longer here.
The Tylenol beckoned me again as I considered how many pills it would take to end my suffering. At just 14, I was unaware of how different substances affected the body, and I didn’t realize that acetaminophen would not provide a swift exit. I could become severely ill, and if untreated, face liver failure. With my parents returning home soon, I understood that this was a poor choice for a means to escape.
In that moment, the details didn’t matter. Deep down, I didn’t truly want to die. The thought of living with the same shame, guilt, and anxiety felt unbearable.
Now, at 31, I have trouble accessing that painful part of my past. I’ve embraced my identity as a proud gay woman, happily married to the love of my life. When faced with emotional turmoil today, I’ve learned to confront it head-on, knowing that it won’t overpower me. I’ve acquired tools and maturity that equip me to navigate life’s challenges.
I wish I could reach back in time and reassure that lost young girl that everything would turn out fine. I want her to know that after countless days filled with tears, she would find the courage to stand up, embracing her truth and stepping into a life filled with love—where, despite the inevitable hate and pain from the world, it would never come from those she loved.
At 14, I lacked the understanding and resilience to see beyond my immediate feelings. Instead, I wrestled with grief over the person I longed to be—a version of myself that didn’t harbor deep feelings for my best friend but instead fit the mold of someone typical and accepted.
Reflecting on those years, I seek to understand why I felt so trapped and hopeless. Even with an openly gay aunt and supportive parents who had never hinted at disowning me, I feared that revealing my sexuality would lead to a life-altering disaster.
This week, the CDC released the results of its first national survey on LGBTQ+ high school students, revealing disheartening statistics. Over 40% of LGB students seriously considered suicide, and nearly 30% attempted it within the past year. This means that two out of five students have contemplated ending their lives, and almost one-third have tried. Additionally, 60% reported feeling so sad or hopeless that it impacted their daily lives. Alarmingly, LGB youth experience bullying online and at school twice as often as their heterosexual peers.
These figures represent LGBTQ+ youth navigating a world where legal marriage is a possibility but where many still feel that suicide is a better option than growing up in a world filled with hostility. For youth of color and transgender individuals, daily violence and discrimination compound these struggles, demonstrating that legal rights alone are insufficient.
To my straight friends: Engage the children in your lives in conversations about love—not just in terms of traditional family structures, but also about the diverse relationships that exist. Talk openly about love, acceptance, and self-worth so that every child knows there is nothing wrong with who they are.
To my queer married friends: We cannot afford to be complacent. There is still so much work to do.
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In summary, the need for discussion, understanding, and support within families and communities is vital to addressing the alarming suicide rates among LGBTQ+ teens. We must work together to create a world where every young person feels valued, accepted, and empowered to embrace their true selves.