Break the Stigma
As children, we often have someone that we connect with in an extra special way. Many times it’s a parent, but for me it was my uncle Marcos. He gave me lots of love and attention. When he came to visit, he would bring pizza, my favorite! Sometimes, he would take me out for a gigantic banana split. It brought him great joy to see me eating my favorite foods and having such a good time. I lov…ed him very much, and I wanted to be just like him. About twenty years ago, while living in St Cloud, MN, I received a phone call from my parents. They told me that my beloved uncle Marcos had passed away two months earlier. They said that he had been driving drunk and his car had gone off a bridge, killing him instantly. I was devastated by this news, and I was confused as to why my family had waited so long to tell me of my uncle’s passing. When I asked about that, they just said they hadn’t wanted to bother me with the news since I had just moved to the United States. I didn’t understand their logic, but I didn’t question them. Twelve years later, my mom came to visit my family in the United States. As we were driving around the city one day discussing family and friends, she mentioned how tragic it was that my uncle Marcos had taken his own life all those years ago. I gave my mom a stunned look, and she realized immediately that she had just revealed something that they had always tried to hide from me. I became angry and demanded to know why I hadn’t been told the truth about my uncle’s death. She said that my dad forbid the family to tell me the truth. I know that he was trying to “soften” my devastation since I had been so close to Uncle Marcos. However, I also feel that they were trying to cover up the suicide because it was perceived as a family embarrassment. It was not until 2010, when I had returned to Costa Rica for my father’s funeral, that I learned the actual circumstances that lead to my uncle’s death. Another relative told me that my uncle Marcos had been depressed for years. He had indeed been involved in a car crash where he was drinking and driving, however it was his best friend who had been killed. This tragic event was something my uncle was unable to overcome, and he subsequently took his own life. I was not privy to this information for over twenty years because my family wanted to hide the truth rather than face it. No one ever knew how much pain my uncle carried inside. I’m certain that no one ever asked him. I know the culture, and I know that he wouldn’t have been able to talk about his depression with anyone. Ultimately, it wouldn’t have made a difference if he were here or in Costa Rica. Neither culture encourages men to show their emotions. And to speak of depression, or any sort of mental illness, is often perceived as a sign of weakness. How often after someone commits suicide do we hear “we had no idea that person suffered from depression”? That’s just not acceptable. We should have known. Maybe we could have helped. I’ll never see my uncle again, never give him a hug and tell him how much he meant to me. But the truth of his life, as I now know it, strengthens my conviction to move forth on this project, sharing the message of the importance of breaking the stigma that surrounds mental illness.
I have started a project: https://www.facebook.com/#!/breakthestigmarun
To continue to make it ok to talk about Mental Illness and break the stigma!