September is National Suicide Prevention Month. In the hyperacusis and tinnitus communities, the risk of suicide is not abstract; it hangs over people like a constant cloud. When these conditions become severe enough, people’s will to live is tested every day.

Almost everyone featured on Breanne Woods’ hyperacusis memorial died by suicide or euthanasia. I will never forget the day I learned my girlfriend Pattie became one of them.

It was late afternoon on June 29th, 2024, and I was lying in the living room trying to decide what to watch on TV. A text came in from Pattie’s sister and I read the words that would change my life forever: “Yesterday around 4pm my mom went to check on Pattie. Pattie was non responsive and her lips were blue. In the 24-48 hours prior she had requested everyone not disturb her because she had been ‘struggling to sleep for the last week.’ She said she ‘just needed to rest for 24 hours.’ The last text she sent me was Thursday at 9:25am asking ‘do not disturb. I need sleep. I love you!’ … I’m so sorry she’s gone. I hope your family and loved ones can be there for you to process this loss. I know you loved her dearly.”

For a moment I didn’t believe what I was reading. Then the shock and anger hit at the same time. It felt so unfair. Pattie’s pain hyperacusis and light sensitivity were so severe that she had been confined to a single room, wearing ear and eye protection, for more than a decade. She was also dealing with a condition that made clothing feel painful on her skin. 

A doctor who did not understand hyperacusis told her family the problem was psychological rather than a real physical condition. As a result, they forced her to push past her limits and expose herself to more sound—something that is often catastrophic for people with pain hyperacusis. Her symptoms worsened, and that deterioration played a direct role in her decision to end her life.

Pattie’s dreams of healing, traveling the world, getting married, and having children would never come to pass. Neither would the environmental career she had gone to college to pursue.

Later I learned that the family had looked through Pattie’s computer and discovered she had kept a suicide backup plan in the works for five years. She had been teetering between life and death for a long time.

It was almost too much to take in. In the days that followed, guilt settled in. I kept thinking I hadn’t done enough to help Pattie. People told me I had, but the feeling persisted. Pattie was irreplaceable to me, so it felt natural to believe I should have done more. I told myself that if I had known what was coming, I would have pulled out every stop. That is exactly why she never told me what she was planning.

She sent goodbye notes to a handful of people. At first I was hurt that I was not among them. Later I understood why. When someone has decided to end their life, they often do not tell the people they love most—at least not beforehand. They may leave a note to be found only after it is too late, because they know the people who cherish them will do everything in their power to stop them.

This is why it matters so much to make those who are struggling feel understood and loved at all times. Pattie’s situation was so extreme that anyone living in it might have longed for an exit. We need to do everything possible to accommodate people in that position. Family and friends need to keep showing up with practical support and steady care. That support can be the difference between living and dying.

Because I am severely disabled myself—with pain hyperacusis, tinnitus, and light sensitivity—and because I lived 2,000 miles from California, where Pattie lived, I could not attend her funeral. But I was there in every way that mattered. A friend kept me updated and sent photos. I saw the televisions playing tribute pictures from her life. I saw the yellow and white flowers around the casket. Then, like a hammer to the heart, I saw her lying there looking like a glowing, sleeping angel. I was not prepared for the psychological toll. It felt as if she had died a second time. The guilt and pain returned in full force, and I had to begin grieving all over again.

My message is simple. Some of the people lost to the worst forms of these disabilities might still be here if they had been believed and properly accommodated. We need to keep making people feel loved and supported every single day.

*AI wasn’t used to write or edit this piece.

Disclaimer

If you’re suffering from suicidal thoughts, you’re not alone. You can call or text 988 for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also chat with 988lifeline.org. Or text MHA to 741741 for the Crisis Text Line. Or, for a comprehensive list pertaining to different countries, visit the following link: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines.