James Donaldson on Mental Health - Isolation and suicidal thoughts: the quiet friend

Ronke Lawal, MBA There is a father somewhere on the internet, grieving his son on camera, doing the brave and devastating work of converting his loss into warning signs for someone else’s child.

He lists them carefully: if someone tidy becomes constantly disorganized, if nothing excites them anymore, if the texture of their daily life has quietly collapsed, please speak to someone, get professional help.

The comments beneath the video tell you everything about how that advice lands.

“Getting professional help feels like a joke.” “I once called the suicide hotline and was put on hold.” These are not cynics, just people who have already tried.

There is a counselor, published and celebrated, positioned by his institution as a mental health care trendsetter, who once sat across from a student in the middle of a breakdown.

She had been directed to him as someone who would help her navigate the crisis, ensuring she did not fall apart or fall behind.

She sat there crying through several paper towels, narrating the abuse that had brought her to that room, with no idea that the man across from her was working through a large jug of milkshake.

She only discovered this when he took a loud sip and she looked up to find him staring at her with the flat affect of someone watching paint dry.

After the session, he sent an email that translated to: I didn’t quite follow what you were saying, but I hope you’re ready for next time.

This is the person the clinical system designated as her lifeline.