Black Teens and Suicide: For the Love of Siwe
The devastating issue hit home for Bassey Ikpi when a family friend committed suicide at 15. Sadly, there are so many more like Siwe Monsanto.
Siwe Monsanto was a girl after my own heart -- talkative, intelligent, funny. Even at age 4, she had the enthusiasm, confidence and spark that all girls are born with but lose somewhere between diapers and dorm rooms. I met her; her brother, Sule; and her mother, Dionne, within months of my moving to New York City.
Nervous and far from home, I fell easily into Dionne's open-armed offer to spend time with her family in Harlem. Our friendship grew steadily, easily. Dionne was my adopted big sister, and Siwe, well, she was my little friend. My girl.
As time went on and I began to wear New York as my own city, I moved to Brooklyn. Harlem felt like another time zone. Between distance and being a touring member of the Def Poetry Jam cast, I saw Dionne and Siwe and Sule less and less, but email and the occasional phone call kept us connected. Unfortunately, honest conversation -- the kind that goes deeper than "Sule got an A in math" or "Siwe grew an inch, with her pretty self" -- was much more likely when Dionne and I could physically connect.
One day, during a break in the tour, I met Dionne for lunch. We spent time catching up, but the conversation shifted when I told her about my recent bipolar II diagnosis. Dionne exhaled softly as she listened and was filled with questions and concern. She asked about treatment and the stress of the tour. She wondered if I needed to come by the house and stay with her and the babies. My pride and foolishness had me shaking my head no before the words left her mouth.
After a pause in the conversation, Dionne looked up and said four words that, to this day, are seared on my brain: "I'm worried about Siwe."
Dionne described, with the quiet crack of heartbreak that only a mother knows, how sad her baby girl got at times. How she turned inside herself. How she got lost. How her tears fell easily and often. Siwe was 6 years old then.
Last Wednesday she committed suicide at the age of 15.
That she lived to be 15 is a testimony to the constructive care her mother took to save her -- to keep her here with us for just a little while longer. Dionne did everything she possibly could to save her baby girl, but at the end of the day, it was out of her hands. Siwe's depression was a cancer that attacked her will to live.
After our lunch nine years ago, Dionne had thrown herself into saving her child. There were doctors and hospitals and medication. There was dance and music and writing. There was the first suicide attempt. Then the second. The third. Then the cutting. Then the black hole of depression that engulfed her.