This last week proved to be one of the hardest since getting to D.C.. For many at The Washington Center, their internships started with an orientation, coffees and makin’ copies. Week one for me was Forum prep and week 2 was all Advocacy Forum. Sunday to Wednesday consisted of long days, heartbreaking moments, gut-wrenching stories, and above all unsettling anxiety about speaking to Congressional members to advocate for better mental health research funding. I felt like Jake and I were passing partners, never truly getting to spend time together because I wouldn’t get home until late into the evening, he would have dinner made, and then we would have to go to bed soon after I got home because I would have to get up even earlier the next day. Sunday was registration and the kick-off sessions, Monday was a series of courses to prepare for Tuesday, which was Hill Day and the Rally to Prevent Suicide. And Wednesday was the conclusion. My body was pushed to its limits day after day, but Tuesday served to teach me a lot. Tuesday morning, we all gathered together outside of the hotel where the forum was happening and we marched to Capitol Hill. I remember the excitement and the hope that I saw on the faces of those marching (I was directing the group [I may have done the Will Smith move to direct people, that’s just how I roll]). I missed the group photo and was almost late to meet up with the Arkansas group for the first meeting, but I made it in time since they waited for me. Then it came time to prepare to meet with the Arkansas senators. First, Cotton and then Boozman, and we met with staff and Congress members to discuss our stories and what brought us to AFSP. Then we discussed what we wanted to see through their legislation. There’s an exercise on Monday that had people draft their 2-3 sentences that reflected their journey that led them to the office that day; loss, lived experience, advocacy, etc. I wrestled with this pitch until it came time to say it in Senator Cotton’s office. What came out was this (roughly): “My name is Gabrielle Willingham. I’m from Little Rock, Arkansas, and I became an advocate and confidant for many of my peers after struggling with suicidal ideation and mental illness as a young teen. I come, not as an intern for AFSP, but as a constituent to plead to you to consider the asks we have for you, because we can make a change but we need to...now.” I was the youngest in the group. I hadn’t experienced loss like the other constituents. But in those moments, in those offices, it was just as valid. I was a voice for those who had reached out to me in the middle of the night, asking for help, and that’s the only reminder I needed to keep pushing. I was proof that peer-to-peer outreach saved lives. There was a discussion in Congressman Crawford’s office that talked about how to get teachers trained to be better at identifying behavior that could point to suicidal ideation or mental illness. He made a comment that we needed to know when a student jokingly said, “I’m going to actually kill myself,” as opposed to a warning or threat. I had stayed very quiet in almost every meeting, listening and learning, but in that moment I wanted to speak up. Through my experience, young people tend to open up to each other about suicide or depression before they open up to anyone else. Children know their peers. I informed him that children, if they aren’t sure on the severity of the situation, should feel empowered enough to have difficult conversations with one another. They need to feel empowered enough to say, “Are you planning to die? Do you need me to call someone for you? There is help available.” When you call someone on their actions and ask them in an up-front, open conversation, the likelihood in the person’s ability to fake a front is low. Genuine concern could save a life. As an Arkansas constituent, who has never met her Congresspeople I thought my representatives were unattainable. But dude, we elected them to represent US. If they don’t do that, why are we paying them? Send letters, show up, make your voice heard, because if they don’t hear you, either make them listen or get a different set of ears in office.
After Hill Day on Tuesday, the Rally to Prevent Suicide took place by the Reflection Pool between the National Mall and the Capitol. Speaker after speaker, the audience cheered. We called out for more mental health care, more research funding, more consideration. I don’t ever want to forget the words said there, but I want them to be for me, so I won’t share them here. After the speeches, I met Jamie Tworkowski, co-founder of To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA). During my teen years, I had listened to the music that Jamie’s foundation had been known to partner with. Warped Tour was a huge event for the scene I was into, and TWLOHA was a massive presence. TWLOHA was a big deal for me because it taught me that there were jobs other than therapists in the mental health field. I told Jamie my story, told him I was proud of the work he has done and continues to do, and thanked him for taking a picture with me. I was honored to meet someone who made such a substantial impact on my life that seemed unreachable. I also held one of the signs on the stage while he was speaking, so ya know, no biggie (if you’ve seen the photos, if Jamie is facing outward and the Capitol is behind him, I’m on the right side behind the sign). All of this being said, I was pushed this last week (we aren’t even going to talk about after the forum and the drama with my ankle -- not yet). I wanted to give up, sit down, cry, scream, and pack my things and go home on more than one occasion (per day). But, like with my own mental health, I couldn’t give up on this. Work had to be done. In those moments of honest human nature, I had to remember those that could no longer be a voice because they didn’t want other options. I had to remember those moms and dads who needed me to put the millionth piece of paper in their folders so they could be prepared to advocate on behalf of their son, daughter, brother, sister, mother, father, their whatever. The dreadfulness of a moment could be in your head and it is your job, until you reach out for help, to combat that. The ability to persevere is admirable, but as TWLOHA advocates, people need other people. Do not be afraid to lean on the shoulder of someone you know and trust and if you don’t have a person like that, you do now. Hi, my name is Gabrielle Willingham and I have struggled with mental illness, self-injury, and suicidal ideation since I was 13 years old and I want to help you. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicide, please reach out to the Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-8255) or if it is an emergency, please contact your local emergency dispatch (911).
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AuthorGabrielle Willingham is a young Arkansan woman who sees the importance of simultaneous cynicism and optimism. Gabrielle is currently working on a MA in Communication with a focus in gender studies and political science. Archives
January 2021
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