Paris Jackson survives a suicide attempt and the Internet laughs. So I dusted off my soapbox, put on my red lipstick just because I felt like it, and told a story of my own in my weekly online Latina advice column.
Game on, says society. Paris Jackson is a rich little brat with nothing better to do than get media play, right? And then those of us with morals and feelings and heart and personal experience sit back and watch with horror as the Internet explodes with comments actually lamenting the fact that Paris failed at her attempt to kill herself.
This is where I dust off my soap box, grab my microphone, do a sound check, and ask the world one simple question:
“What the F*** is wrong with all of you?”
Suicide is steeped in stigma and misunderstanding. Those who keep their pain so secret that a suicide attempt shocks even their closest confidants are the ones who the judgmental will refer to as selfish for not thinking of the loved ones left behind.
I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m not trying to be brave. Instead, I’m sharing a story that needs to be told in order to add to a conversation that needs to continue. Read more the full column on Latina.