![]() They walk you through self-care options, provide contact info for support people in your life, and (if you choose) direct you to formal systems of care. They’re documents you create that are accessible, so you can grab them on short notice. Safety plans help you recognize the early signs of mental health crisis, reminding you of steps to prevent self-harm and find support. To stay safe when suicidal thoughts are recurring, creating a safety plan can be a game-changer. The more we’re oppressed, the less power we have, which means thoughts of ending our lives might come up a lot. Here are just a few of them.įor most people, thoughts of suicide come when we run out of options. There are resources and strategies available to help you keep fighting for your life without compromising your agency or giving up your power. I also want you to know that you deserve support, and I’m angry that you’ve been taught otherwise. Your fears are totally valid, and I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. If it feels like I’m talking about you, I want you to thank you for staying alive. For queer and trans people of color, this second set of fears is often what stops us from asking for mental health support when we’re in crisis. Opening up about a stigmatized experience, or worrying about how your confidant will respond, can be terrifying enough on its own.īut for many of us, that fear extends further, to deep-seated worries that the cops will be called, our abusive parents will be notified, we’ll face hospitalization against our will, or our immigration status will be jeopardized. Part of that fear lies in being emotionally vulnerable. If you’ve ever told someone you were thinking of suicide, you know how scary it is. The mental health industrial complex is violent, perhaps most of all because it uses resources for survival to strip away our agency, and stops us from getting support when our lives are at stake. The reason immigration applications ask us to disclose any history of serious mental illness. The reason therapists rush us off to hospitals, instead of taking the time to talk. It’s the reason crisis hotlines can send cops to our doors. The result is the mental health industrial complex: a vicious system linking policy and the economy to our health.Īs queer and trans people of color (QTPOC), the mental health industrial complex has always been our enemy – especially when we’re at our most vulnerable. ![]() Unfortunately, like most resources that exist under capitalism, it’s heavily regulated and legislated to a dangerous degree. ![]() ![]() Mental healthcare is a vital, often life-saving tool – one to which we all deserve access. When I was growing up, my chosen family of QTPOC youth helped keep me alive when therapists, hospitals, and crisis hotlines couldn’t. As a mixed-race trans person, I know just how impossible it feels for my people to find life-saving support when we need it most. Since then, I’ve survived multiple attempts, and years of suicidal ideation. I was twelve the first time I tried to kill myself. ![]()
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