We lost my brother to suicide ten years ago Tuesday.

Ten years for that to be true. Ten years to write those words down.

It was July. I lived in Brooklyn. James, Victor, and I were hanging out, having a few beers.

James’ phone rang. It was my mother. She asked for me. There were words before her voice broke.

Karl is dead. His friend was worried about him, and he went over to the house. No answer. The police were called. It was too late. Karl was gone.

Come home, she said.

I stared at the wall after I hung up. The shock sat on all of our skin. There was no way to soak it in.

James spoke. And then Victor spoke. I called a few friends. There was more beer.

I was supposed to call him that night, but I was late. I promised to call him every night, probably not even two weeks before.

That night I called again and again, just to hear his voice one more time.

***

Karl and his wife were splitting up. It wasn’t going well.

I heard the sadness in his voice across the phone line. I made a promise to call every night.

I hoped it was enough. I thought about flying to Denver, but I had a new job. It was too soon to take time off.

I will never forget how he sounded then. I wrote, “I heard his heart break in his mouth.”

***

I have often felt sad. Life gives you plenty to feel sad about- bad days, bad jobs, bad relationships. We’ve all been there.

And yet, struggling with depression is looked down upon. We are looked upon as weak.

I think that is why the words “my brother committed suicide” struggle to leave my lips. My brother was not weak.

He was beautiful. He was kind. He was smart. He was funny, so fucking funny.

He once did cartwheels down the hallway to make me smile. He was twenty-five.

There is nothing weak about struggling with depression. Depression will strike 1 in 10 people in this country. 1 in 10 of your friends have or will struggle with depression.

There is nothing worse than feeling alone. My brother wasn’t alone, but in that moment he felt he was.

He was a good man. He was a good friend. He was a good brother and son.

We have lost too many good daughters, brothers, friends, and loved ones to suicide. Too often when I tell someone about my brother’s suicide, I hear a story of another friend or relative lost.

We should not be ashamed to speak about our loved ones lost to suicide. We should talk about it more. We should talk about depression and mental illness until it sounds as commonplace at it is.

This summer, I am interning with Canvas Health, a non-profit organization that helps those struggling with mental health, substance abuse, and domestic and sexual abuse. Canvas also runs Minnesota’s suicide hotline, as well as the TXT4Life program.

It feels good to write about a topic that is so close to my heart.

Ten years later, I can’t say I miss him less. But the ache settles in is maybe the best way I can describe it.

And now I am trying to help people like Karl, people like you, and people like me, people that need to know they aren’t alone, and someone wants to listen.

This week’s video is actually just a song, “Gold Mine Gutted” by Bright Eyes. It’s one of my favorite songs. It makes me think of Karl.