I've never told this story before.
Considering what I usually share, that's saying a lot. But suicide attempts, successful or not, are not exactly the way to break the ice when there's nothing else to talk about. Unless, of course, you happen to be a celebrity by birth who lost her father and survived trying to slit her wrists.
Game on, says society. She's a rich little brat with nothing better to do than get me 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. Remarks will be made about if how they'd really been looking for something other than the easy way out, counseling probably would have been a fantastic idea.