Today, October 19, is Priya Balagopal’s birthday. She would have been 31 today. 

In Part 1 of a poignant interview, Geetha Balagopal spoke about the pain of losing Priya to suicide. But she also spoke about how Priya’s life was a celebration, a life of courage and resilience, despite a very real illness. 

In this concluding part, Geetha shares her efforts in creating more awareness around mental illness and how grief remains a lingering wound, one that time simply can’t dress.

“My daughter Priya died by #suicide in January 2016 at the age of 24. Since then, I have been walking in her honor and participating in #walks to raise awareness and to help organizations raise money for research.”

This is what you wrote in a LinkedIn post. Could you tell us a bit more about these walks? How did you first think of the idea behind #WalkForHope?

When Priya died, I used to stand in front of her picture and blabber, “Where are you, Priya?  How are you, Priya? Come back, Priya.” Then after a few days, my blabbering changed to “What was the purpose of your life Priya? Why did you pick me to be your mother? I didn’t protect you, save you.  Now that you are no longer here, what is my purpose?”  

I cannot tell you what happened or how it happened, but I heard, “My purpose was to shine a light on mental illness, and your purpose is to continue my advocacy.”

Priya’s story was published in local papers and social media. Someone from a local mental health advocacy group contacted the journalist who interviewed us and requested my contact information. I called them back and found out that they walk for the local NAMI (National Alliance for Mental Illness), and the walk was in May, four months after Priya’s death. I had no idea that organizations like NAMI existed. Nor did I know they had free programs that help the mentally ill and their families.

So when they reached out to me to participate in a mental health conference in April and to walk with their team in May, I realized that it was a good first step to continue Priya’s advocacy in a small way, and I have been walking with them every since. 

I also walk with my local survivors’ support group in November. Fundraising is not the primary goal since we walk to honor our loved ones who were all lost to suicide. But all the money we raise through the modest registration fees goes to local mental health groups, including the suicide hotline for which Priya volunteered.

I found out about the Walk for Hope through a neighbor and joined her team. The walk is in its 34^th year. Hundred percent of the funds raised go to the UNC Department of Psychiatry. Priya graduated from UNC (University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill). 

I have walked for NAMI since 2016 and the Walk for Hope since 2019. I found that the walks are an excellent and effective way to raise funds for the amazing programs they offer for free to those in our community, increase awareness about suicide and mental illness, and reduce stigma and shame. 

I also walk because I want families to know that these organizations exist and have programs that can help them and their loved ones. 

No one should feel such pain that they think the only way to stop it is to kill themselves, and no family deserves to suffer because they feel alone and isolated and don’t know that support and help are available.

India is the country with the highest rate of suicide. Stigma and shame are rampant. How do we bring more awareness and sensitivity in managing illness and our coverage of it?

Suicide was not in my vocabulary when my kids were growing up. It has now become a label attached to Priya and others like her. It has also come to define families like ours.

After Priya died and I started walking to raise funds and awareness, I started looking into suicide rates. I was shocked to find that 800,000 people die by suicide every year, or one every 40 seconds. About 1,64,033 people died by suicide in India in 2021. When you factor in the number of suicide attempts, the number is at least 25 times higher (USA) or one every 27 seconds.

As Priya said in her note, “My illness is not what some would call legitimate. They are invisible sicknesses. They do not definitively show up on brain scans or blood tests, not even the ones the nurses took when I landed in the hospital for my third suicide attempt. They may be physically painful, but not enough to draw sympathy from others who have never experienced them before. There are no common remedies. People won’t bring you dinner or write you cards or take you to Disney World when you want to kill yourself. It’s not the same as really dying, because it’s your fault.”

I remember Priya telling me that during her second hospitalization, she smiled at the doctor who came to check on her during his ward visit, and his response was, “Why are you smiling? It is your fault that you are here.”

I also remember that more than one person told me that Priya was in hell. One relative told me we didn’t spend enough money taking her to a good doctor; otherwise, she would be alive. A member of the Indian community said that Priya and I had inflicted pain on another’s soul in a prior lifetime, and we now have to endure this pain. Even though I told myself, “she is wrong; don’t you dare cry,” I cried all the way home and for two more weeks. Hateful and ignorant comments have a way of piercing deep into your heart and staying there and coming up every time you let your guard down.

I know parents who have shared with me that the priest presiding over their child’s burial service told them their child was in hell. There is so much ignorance, stigma, and shame.

So how do we bring more awareness and sensitivity?  

I found a note in one of Priya’s notebooks a few weeks after she died and have shared it every time I raise funds for walks.

“Mental illness is difficult because it’s like fighting a battle that your mind convinces you is not actually happening. It is an invisible disease compounded by stigma and ignorance on a global level. This pushes people into dark places of shame and silence. When you get a broken leg, or you have diabetes, you see a doctor, and sometimes you take medication. Whatever it takes to get better. When you have cancer, people grant you wishes and bring you dinner. They celebrate your little victories. People facing suicidal depression or bipolar disorder or anxiety deserve to navigate their illnesses with the same support, understanding, and care.”

I remember observing once that Priya looked sad and told her, “Be happy, sweetie.” She looked at me and said, “Mom, I don’t choose to be sad, so I cannot choose to be happy.” I remember turning away and rolling my eyes, but I know now that she spoke the truth about how she was feeling.  

Mental illness is a disease. It’s not a state of mind. Those who suffer do not choose to suffer. They deserve to be treated with dignity. They don’t deserve to be put in handcuffs and treated like criminals because their immense pain and hopelessness made them attempt to take their own life.

These are some additional ways:

• Talk about your loved one. Share their story. They are so much more than the last second of their life. Their life matters. Their pain matters. Your life and pain matter too.

• Those who do not know the pain of mental illness are not qualified to offer solutions to those suffering, but they can offer their ear, their heart, and their hand. Just hold their hand and listen to them.

• When we had a memorial service for Priya, many of her friends came to the front of the room and talked about all the special things that Priya did and said. I found myself thinking how much Priya would have loved hearing that when she was alive, when she was suffering.

• Don’t wait until someone dies to discuss how wonderful they were. Tell them when they are alive or, better still, write to them. They will treasure that note till the day they die. I know I will.

• Listen to stories of those suffering; listen to their loved ones. Share resources that have helped you and may help others like you.

• Publish the stories of those who died by suicide and those who live with constant pain when therapies and medicines don’t or never work.

• Support organizations that help the mentally ill and their loved ones by donating to them and by participating in walks to raise awareness and funds.

• Reach out to survivors of suicide loss who are new to their grief journey and offer to talk to them when they are ready to. Go with them to support group meetings. 

• If you see any posts on social media, television, newspapers, or magazines that are cruel, ignorant, or insensitive, bring it to their attention.  

And lastly, Geetha, there are many of us who are in a dark place. Some talk about it. Many don’t. What would you tell those of us who are struggling? What words of hope would you share?

I have a Priya size hole in my heart and always will. Guilt, anger, grief, anguish, and excruciating pain were constant companions during the early days. I also did not want to live in a world that no longer had Priya in it. There were many dark days, and there are still dark days.

I learned that my grief is as huge as my love for Priya. I didn’t just love her; I adored her, and the pain of losing her was excruciating. I missed everything about her. The waves of grief were huge and unrelenting and knocked me off balance in the early weeks and months. Some days, I could think of living only a minute at a time.

As the years went by, the waves became smaller and less frequent, and when they hit, I wobbled but was able to keep my balance. I learned to cry when the pain hit but then kept one foot in front of the other and kept going.

I also learned that the only thing I can control is how I feel and how I live every day. I hope that I can continue to live in a way that makes Priya and her sister proud. I have also learned that it is important to be kind to myself and to others.

It was no one’s fault that Priya suffered from a cruel disease and that the medicines and therapies did not work for her. Nothing I do or say will bring her back, but to the extent that I can, I share her story, share resources, and help others.

I would tell others that they matter. That they are worthy and full of light and love. Just because their loved one got a cruel disease and took their own life, they do not have to stay in a dark place. They can slowly move away from it and choose to live a life filled with peace. They deserve to have peace. Joy and happiness will come in their own time.

You don’t need many friends to be happy.  You just need one or two who care about you. You don’t need a lot of money to be happy. You don’t need a big house, a fancy car, or a physically perfect body.

You don’t take anything with you when you leave this world. When Priya was born, she came with just her body.  When she died, she left that body behind. She left all of us behind; she left the clothes and other material things she had behind.