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  • Good Will Hunting: A Masterclass in Therapy and Emotional Growth

    Take a deep dive into the therapeutic relationship as illustrated in the classic film Good Will Hunting, where a defiant genius and a compassionate therapist confront pain, grief, and regret in an emotional journey that changes them both.

    Good Will Hunting (1997) is a widely acclaimed cinematic masterpiece, offering one of the most compelling depictions of therapy ever portrayed on screen — and it remains one of my personal favorite movies of all time.

    The main protagonist is Will Hunting (played by Matt Damon) who is portrayed as an underachieving genius who works a modest life as a janitor at the prestigious MIT. Despite his intelligence, he’s emotionally guarded and frequently gets into brawls and run-ins with the law. One day he solves a difficult math equation on a chalkboard and is then approached by professors and faculty to pursue his talents in mathematics, but first he has to see a therapist and work out his personal problems.

    Will’s journey into therapy begins reluctantly with a typical “I don’t need to see a shrink” attitude. But after a series of arrests and getting bailed out, he’s court-ordered to start seeing someone. He cycles through five therapists, including a hypnotist, antagonizing each one to the point that they refuse to work with him. Will’s sharp intellect and deep emotional defenses make it nearly impossible for anyone to break through and connect with him.

    Finally he meets Sean Maguire (played by Robin Williams), a compassionate but no-nonsense therapist with a rich life of experiences, including deep wounds from his past, and accumulated wisdom. This article breaks down their relationship, session by session, to explore how it evolved throughout the film and potential lessons we can takeaway from it.

    First Meeting: Tensions and Boundary Testing

    Will’s first meeting with Sean begins with his usual strategy of intellectual dominance and boundary testing.

    He scans Sean’s office, searching for things to criticize, and immediately targets his book collection. “You people baffle me. You spend all this money on beautiful, fancy books, and they’re the wrong f***ing books.” Sean, unfazed, spars back, standing his ground while playfully naming books he assumes Will has read.

    Things reach a climax in the scene when Will begins to mock a painting hanging on the wall, which hits a personal nerve for Sean regarding the grief and loss of his wife. Sean’s reaction is striking and unconventional. After listening patiently, he suddenly grabs Will by the throat and threatens him: “If you ever disrespect my wife again, I will end you.”

    While it’s an unethical move for a therapist, this unorthodoxy shows Will that he is not dealing with an ordinary therapy. Both Will and Sean share working class Irish backgrounds in the hard streets of Boston. Sean knows this language and he is willing to speak it if it’s the only way to get through to Will. Sean thus establishes himself as someone who understands Will’s world, where strength and confrontation often dominate.

    This moment lays the foundation for their relationship. Sean shows he’s human, not just a clinical professional, but also that he won’t be intimidated or dismissed by Will’s antics. It’s the first step in breaking down Will’s defenses.

    The Bench Scene: A Turning Point

    After their intense first meeting, Sean invites Will to a park, where he delivers one of the most memorable monologues in the film. Sean begins by admitting his vulnerability, sharing that Will’s comments about the painting kept him up all night and genuinely bothered him.

    By admitting Will’s comments hurt him, Sean shows he’s willing to show weakness, but then he sharply pivots to challenge Will directly, “But then you know what occurred to me? You’re just a kid. You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

    Sean goes on to explain that despite Will’s intellectual brilliance, he lacks lived experience. Sean shares personal moments that defined him — seeing the Sistine Chapel in person, being truly in love with someone, the scars of losing friends in war, and watching a loved one die of cancer. These deep experiences illustrate the limitations of knowledge without life. Sean’s speech is a blend of tough love and empathy, forcing Will to confront the gap between his intellectual defenses and his emotional reality.

    good will hunting bench

    The bench scene sets the tone for the remainder of their therapy. Sean acknowledges Will’s brilliance but challenges him to live beyond books and theories. Sean leaves the door open for Will to continue having sessions with him only if he is ready to truly open up.

    Second Therapy Session: Silence

    The next therapy session begins with complete silence as Sean and Will sit across from each other. After two emotionally charged meetings and still lingering tensions, neither is willing to be the first to reach out or break the quiet.

    The entire hour goes by and neither says a word. While this may feel like an unproductive session, this is another important moment in their relationship. The power of silence acts as a reset button in their relationship.

    Sometimes, simply sitting in the same room without confrontation (“sharing space”) can be a meaningful step toward healing. It allows both Sean and Will to recalibrate, setting the stage for a more productive dynamic moving forward.

    Third Therapy Session: Humor and Opening Up

    The silence stand-off continues into their third session, with each still not willing to budge or say the first word.

    Finally Will breaks the silence with a dirty joke, immediately breaking the tensions in the room and reinitiating conversation in a fun and light-hearted way. After they share a laugh, Will begins to open up about a girl he’s been dating recently. Will mentions how he worries the girl is “too perfect,” and that getting to know her more would just shatter that illusion. Sean wisely responds back, “That’s a super philosophy, that way you can go through your entire life without ever really getting to know anybody.”

    Sean opens up about his wife and the quirks behind their love, like her farting in her sleep and waking up the dog. After all these years, these are the little moments he remembers and cherishes about her. No one is “perfect,” and it’s often the imperfections that make someone special to us.

    good will hunting laugh

    Robin Williams improvised the story about his wife causing Matt Damon to genuinely burst out into laughter during this scene.


    After more light-hearted banter, Will turns the tables and ask why Sean never got remarried. Will firmly replies, “My wife is dead.” Then Will, always testing and challenging, uses one of Sean’s lines against him: “That’s a super philosophy, that way you can go through your entire life without ever really getting to know anybody.”

    Fourth Therapy Session: Love, Opportunities, and Regrets

    Now on much more amicable terms, Will opens up with an honest question, “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you never met your wife?”

    Sean accepts that there’s been a lot of pain and suffering in his relationship, but he doesn’t regret any of it, because the good moments were worth it and he wouldn’t trade a single day with her through good or bad times. Will presses to learn more, “When did you know she was the one?”

    “October 21, 1975.”

    It was game six of the World Series, the biggest game in Red Sox history – and Sean slept on the sidewalk all night with friends to get tickets. He recalls the momentous occasion when the Red Sox hit a game-winning home run and everyone rushed the field.

    “Did you rush the field?”

    “Hell no, I wasn’t there. I was in a bar having a drink with my future wife.”

    The story illustrates how Sean knew his wife was the one when he was willing to miss the opportunity of a life-changing moment (being at a historical sporting event) for an even bigger life-changing moment (finding love and his future wife).

    Will is incredulous and yells at Sean for missing the game. He asks, “How did your friends let you get away with that?” And Will simply replies, “I just slid my ticket across the table and said, ‘Sorry guys, I gotta see about a girl.’”

    Fifth Therapy Session: Facing Potential and Values

    In this session, Will begins to ask deep questions about what he wants to do with the rest of his life and what are the best uses of his intelligence and talents.

    After a job interview with the NSA, Will goes into a diatribe about how his talents could be hypothetically used for catastrophic consequences, like overthrowing foreign governments, destabilizing entire countries, or getting his friends sent to fight some war overseas.

    Sean asks him directly, “What are you passionate about? What do you want?”

    They discuss the honor of work, including construction work and Will’s job as a janitor and the pride he takes in it, even though society may not view it as the most rewarding job in the world. Sean prods further asking why he chose to be a janitor at the most prestigious technical university in the world, and why he secretly finished math problems, highlighting that there may be something else driving Will.

    Sean asks again what Will wants to do with his life, and he deflects by joking that he wants to be a shepherd on his own plot of land away from the world. Sean isn’t willing to waste his time and decides to end the session early. Will has a final outburst before leaving, “You’re lecturing me on life? Look at you, you burnout!”

    This session reveals how Will is afraid of his potential and talents, including the responsibility that comes with them. “I didn’t ask to be born like this.” He feels safe continuing to live in his hometown, work his everyday job, and hangout with his childhood friends. He’s afraid to dream bigger. There may be something deeper driving Will’s thirst for knowledge, but he doesn’t know his core values and motivations, and doesn’t truly know himself or what he wants out of life.

    Sixth Therapy Session: “It’s Not Your Fault”

    The next therapy session begins with Sean uncovering more about Will’s painful past, particularly his life as an orphan and the physical abuse he endured with his foster parents. Sean reveals that he, too, grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father, forging another shared bond between them.

    As their conversation unfolds, Will correctly guesses that his final psychological report likely diagnoses him with “attachment issues” and a “fear of abandonment.” He acknowledges that these issues may have driven him to push his girlfriend away, leading to their recent breakup. When Sean gently asks if he wants to talk about it, Will declines.

    Sean then shifts the focus, holding onto the reports as he says, “I don’t know a lot. But you see this? All this shit? It’s not your fault.”

    At first, Will politely agrees, brushing off the comment, but Sean repeats the line: “It’s not your fault.” With each repetition, Will’s emotional defenses begin to crumble, and he cycles through a range of emotions—politeness, confusion, anger, and aggression—until the weight of Sean’s words fully sinks in. Overwhelmed, Will finally breaks down and cries, releasing years of suppressed pain and guilt.

    good will hunting

    In this profoundly cathartic moment, Sean embraces Will, offering the safe and empathetic connection that has been absent from Will’s life. It’s a turning point where Will confronts his past without blame or self-judgment, finally opening the door to acceptance and healing.

    Last Goodbye

    In their last meeting, Will thanks Sean for all of his help and shares the good news that he has accepted an exciting new job. Sean, in turn, reveals his plans to travel and explore life on his own terms. They exchange numbers to keep in touch, symbolizing the respect and connection they’ve built.

    This moment underscores that therapy is often a chapter in life that prepares individuals to continue their journeys independently. Both Will and Sean needed to say their goodbyes and go their separate ways to continue following their paths in life. Will has learned to face his fears and embrace his potential. Sean has rediscovered purpose and fulfillment through helping Will. Their goodbye is bittersweet but profound, a reminder that growth often requires letting go and moving forward.

    In the final scene, Will leaves a letter at Sean’s place that reads, “If the professor calls about that job, just tell him sorry—I had to go see about a girl.” This moment beautifully exemplifies Will’s newfound courage to follow his heart and take meaningful risks.

    Conclusion

    The therapeutic relationship between Sean and Will in Good Will Hunting is a masterclass in storytelling and psychology. Through humor, vulnerability, and mutual respect, Sean helps Will break through years of pain and fear, while Will reignites Sean’s passion for life. Their journey is a powerful testament to the transformative potential of therapy — and how creating a space of acceptance, healing, and growth can change lives.


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    Steven Handel

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  • Will COVID’s Spring Lull Last?

    Will COVID’s Spring Lull Last?

    By all official counts—at least, the ones still being tallied—the global situation on COVID appears to have essentially flatlined. More than a year has passed since the world last saw daily confirmed deaths tick above 10,000; nearly a year and a half has elapsed since the population was pummeled by a new Greek-lettered variant of concern. The globe’s most recent winters have been the pandemic’s least lethal to date—and the World Health Organization is mulling lifting its COVID emergency declaration sometime later this year, as the final pandemic protections in the United States prepare to disappear. On the heels of the least-terrible winter since the pandemic’s onset, this spring in the U.S. is also going … kind of all right. “I am feeling less worried than I have been in a while,” Shweta Bansal, an infectious-disease modeler at Georgetown University, told me.

    That sense of phew, though, Bansal said, feels tenuous. The coronavirus’s evolution is not yet predictable; its effects are nowhere near benign. This might be the longest stretch of quasi-normalcy that humanity has had since 2020’s start, but experts can’t yet tell whether we’re at the beginning of post-pandemic stability or in the middle of a temporary reprieve. For now, we’re in a holding pattern, a sort of extended coda or denouement. Which means that our lived experience and scientific reality might not match up for a good while yet.

    Read: The next stage of COVID is starting now

    There is, to be fair, reason to suspect that some current trends will stick. The gargantuan waves of seasons past were the rough product of three factors: low population immunity, genetic changes that allowed SARS-CoV-2 to skirt what immunity did exist, and upswings in behaviors that brought people and the virus into frequent contact. Now, though, just about everyone has had some exposure to SARS-CoV-2’s spike protein, whether by infection or injection. And most Americans have long since dispensed with masking and distancing, maintaining their exposure at a consistently high plateau. That leaves the virus’s shape-shifting as the only major wild card, says Emily Martin, an infectious-disease epidemiologist at the University of Michigan. SARS-CoV-2 could, for instance, make another evolutionary leap large enough to re-create the Omicron wave of early 2022—but a long time has passed since the virus managed such a feat. Tentatively, carefully, experts are hopeful that we’re at last in a “period that could be kind of indicative of what the new normal really is,” says Virginia Pitzer, an infectious-disease epidemiologist at Yale.

    Top American officials are already gambling on that guess. At a conference convened in late March by the Massachusetts Medical Society, Ashish Jha, the outgoing coordinator of the White House COVID-19 Response Team, noted that the relative tameness of this past winter was a major deciding factor in the Biden administration’s decision to let the U.S. public-health emergency lapse. The crisis-caliber measures that were essential at the height of the pandemic, Jha said, were no longer “critical at this moment” to keep the nation’s health-care system afloat. Americans could rely instead primarily on shots and antivirals to keep themselves healthy—“If you are up to date on your vaccines and you get treated with Paxlovid, if you get an infection, you just don’t die of this virus,” he said. (That math, of course, doesn’t hold up as well for certain vulnerable groups, including the elderly and the immunocompromised.) The pharmaceuticals-only strategy asks much less of people: Going forward, most Americans will need to dose up on their COVID vaccines only once a year in the fall, a la seasonal flu shots.

    Making sweeping assessments at this particular juncture, though, is tough. Experts expect SARS-CoV-2 cases to take a downturn as winter transitions into spring—as many other respiratory viruses do. And a half-ish year of relative quietude is, well, just a half-ish year of relative quietude—too little data for scientists to definitively declare the virus seasonal, or even necessarily stable in its annual patterns. One of the most telling intervals is yet to come: the Northern Hemisphere’s summer, says Alyssa Bilinski, a health-policy researcher at Brown University. In previous years, waves of cases have erupted pretty consistently during the warmer months, especially in the American South, as people flock indoors to beat the heat.

    SARS-CoV-2 might not end up being recognizably seasonal at all. So far, the virus has circulated more or less year-round, with erratic bumps in the winter and, to a lesser extent, the summer. “There is a consistency there that is very enticing,” Bansal told me. But many of the worst surges we’ve weathered were driven by a lack of immunity, which is less of an issue now. “So I like to be extremely careful about the seasonality argument,” she said. In future years, the virus may break from its summer-winter shuffle. How SARS-CoV-2 will continue to interact with other respiratory viruses, such as RSV and flu, also remains to be seen. After an extended hiatus, driven largely by pandemic mitigations, those pathogens came roaring back this past autumn—making it more difficult, perhaps, for the coronavirus to find unoccupied hosts. Experts can’t yet tell whether future winters will favor the coronavirus or its competitors. Either way, scientists won’t know until they’ve collected several more years of evidence—“I would want at least a handful, like four or five,” Bansal said.

    Amassing those numbers is only getting tougher, though, as data streams dry up, Martin told me. Virus-surveillance systems are being dismantled; soon, hospitals and laboratories will no longer be required to share their COVID data with federal officials. Even independent trackers have sunsetted their regular updates. Especially abysmal are estimates of total infections, now that so many people are using only at-home tests, if they’re testing at all—and metrics such as hospitalization and death don’t fully reflect where and when the virus is moving, and which new variants may be on the rise.

    Shifts in long-term approaches to virus control could also upend this period of calm. As tests, treatments, and vaccines become privatized, as people lose Medicaid coverage, as community-outreach programs fight to stay afloat, the virus will find the country’s vulnerable pockets again. Those issues aren’t just about the coming months: COVID-vaccination rates among children remain worryingly low—a trend that could affect the virus’s transmission patterns for decades. And should the uptake of annual COVID shots continue on its current trajectory—worse, even, than America’s less-than-optimal flu vaccination rates—or dip even further down, rates of severe disease may begin another upward climb. Experts also remain concerned about the ambiguities around long COVID, whose risks remain ill-defined.

    Read: Long COVID is being erased—again

    We could get lucky. Maybe 2023 is the start of a bona fide post-pandemic era; maybe the past few months are genuinely offering a teaser trailer of decades to come. But even if that’s the case, it’s not a full comfort. COVID remains a leading cause of death in the United States, where the virus continues to kill about 200 to 250 people each day, many of them among the population’s most vulnerable and disenfranchised. It’s true that things are better than they were a couple of years ago. But in some ways, that’s a deeply unfair comparison to make. Deaths would have been higher when immunity was low; vaccines, tests, and treatments were scarce; and the virus was far less understood. “I would hope our standard for saying that we’ve succeeded and that we don’t need to do more is not Are we doing better than some of the highest-mortality years in history?” Bilinski told me. Perhaps the better question is why we’re settling for the status quo—a period of possible stability that may be less a relief and more a burden we’ve permanently stuck ourselves with.

    Katherine J. Wu

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  • Life After a Suicide Attempt: Finding a Path Toward Hope

    Life After a Suicide Attempt: Finding a Path Toward Hope

     

     

    Last spring, Craig Miller descended into a depression that was even deeper and darker than the one that led to a carefully planned suicide attempt at age 20. Now 46, the married father of two young girls says a lifetime of grappling with serious depression has taught him to interpret a suicidal thought as “a red flag that something needs to change.”   

    Miller responded this time by cleaning out and reorganizing every drawer in the master bedroom of his home in central Massachusetts – a symbolic way, he says, of sorting through his thoughts and emotions. “It meant I’m putting things in order,” says the author of 2012’s This Is How It Feels: A Memoir – Attempting Suicide and Finding Life.

    Then Miller got a text from a concerned friend who suggested he jot down a list of 10 things that make him grateful to be alive. Miller rolled his eyes. 

    “I’ve been through this since I first considered suicide when I was 8 years old,” about 2 years after a neighborhood man, he says, began molesting him in the crawlspace beneath his family’s house. “I wrote that list a million times.” 

    But then Miller was struck by a new thought, “one that got my gears going.” Instead of acknowledging the people and moments that made his life worth living, he wondered about the lists his wife and daughters would write. Instinctively, he knew his name would be at the top. “That’s what made me slow down,” he says. “They would be destroyed by me leaving. That’s the thought I plugged into. That’s the one that worked for me.”

    Miller is one of millions of Americans who have what the suicide prevention community calls “lived experience” – a suicide attempt that did not end in death. (The term “suicide survivors” is reserved for family and friends left behind by someone who takes their own life.)

    The Semicolon as a Symbol of Solidarity

    In 2020, more than 45,000 people in the U.S. died by suicide, the 12th leading cause of death, according to the CDC. But that’s just a tiny fraction of the estimated 1.2 million who attempted to take their own lives. Many now sport a tattoo of a semicolon – ; – signifying a pause in life, not a period at the end of it. The punctuation mark has become a sign of solidarity among those who have attempted or contemplated suicide and sympathetic supporters calling attention to mental health issues.

    For some, waking up alive after a suicide attempt is not a happy ending. Nathan Lipetz of Vancouver, Canada, thinks the media too often takes a light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel approach to lived experiences, glossing over the lingering root causes of depression and mental illness that led to the attempt.

    “You see articles that say it gets better for everyone, but I don’t really think it does,” says Lipetz, 21, who estimates he has tried to end his life at least 8-10 times. Since 2013, he has been hospitalized for months at a stretch and prescribed 19 antidepressants and mood stabilizers.

    Nothing worked until earlier this year, when Lipetz visited a West Palm Beach, FL, rehab center that administered ketamine, the psychedelic drug that has recently been shown to reduce symptoms of depression. A study published in The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry in September found that 72% of patients who received 10 IV infusions of ketamine saw their mood improve; 38% said they were symptom-free.

    “It’s been lifesaving,” says Lipetz, whose most recent infusion was in mid-September. “After a few weeks of ketamine, any thoughts of attempting suicide would just disappear. They’d pop into my head and would be gone just as fast. I’m not actively thinking of killing myself anymore.”

    That glimmer of hope is encouraging at a time when mental health and suicidal thoughts have been made worse by the endless reach of social media, where rosy depictions of daily life are rivaled only by the nasty barbs of anonymous trolls.

    Suicide Risk and Social Media

    A recent 10-year study by Brigham Young University found that teenagers who used social media at least 2 hours a day were at a higher risk for suicide than emerging adults.

    “Social media can be a great place to connect, get information, and socialize,” says Amelia Lehto, chief of staff of the American Association of Suicidology (AAS), a science-based organization that helps develop strategies to reduce suicidal behavior. “But it can also be a tool for distress, disconnection, and harm.”

    “When people post on social media, we only see their outsides, and we compare that to what’s going on in our insides,” says April Smith, 49, whose depression and anxiety after a “really treacherous divorce” and her father’s death led her to jump off a Florida bridge 8 years ago. “I woke up to a flurry of activity … and was in disbelief. How did I survive?”

    Smith was hospitalized with broken ribs and three broken bones in her legs. “I was significantly beaten up and in a lot of pain, but nothing that didn’t heal well in a reasonable amount of time.”

    With the support of her mother, teenage children, and therapist, Smith spent 5 months in a group-based treatment facility. “I was terribly ashamed that I had chosen to voluntarily leave my children on this earth without me, but nobody important wrote me off,” she says. “Reentering the world after a major attempt is not easy, but there was a very, very small circle of people that I slowly started confiding in and trusting. They understood what I had been through – and that was super key to me. I started to feel so much less alone.”

    Smith now lives in Virginia, where she runs a Facebook group for others who have survived attempts. The focus, she says, is to talk about the best ways to get the help needed to move forward, instead of dwelling on the specific aspects of their suicide tries. “I don’t allow people to share details of their attempts,” says Smith. “I teach them how to share their story in a way that doesn’t trigger or negatively affect the others.”

    A New Way to Get Help Right Away

    Accessing vital mental health services is essential for anyone who has tried suicide or is plagued by suicidal thoughts. But a survey published earlier this year in JAMA Psychiatry reported that 40% of Americans who had recently attempted suicide said they were not receiving any mental health care. The primary reasons cited by nearly 500,000 respondents: not knowing where to go, the high cost of treatment, and a lack of transportation.

    Fortunately, a new, groundbreaking way to get help right away was launched in July: the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. The three-digit emergency phone number is the mental health equivalent of 911, a simple way to connect with operators who can send trained counselors – not police and ambulances – to assist callers within minutes.

    “Suicide is often a time-limited event that peaks with intense suicidal thoughts,” says the AAS’s Lehto. “It’s such a critical moment. If the field can provide the support that’s needed in that moment, more and more lives will be saved.”

    Suicide rates in the U.S. soared by 35% from 2000 to 2018, but dipped slightly in 2019 and 2020, according to the CDC. That’s an encouraging sign, one that hints at an important shift in the public perception of suicide. What was once a hush-hush topic, rife with shame and stigma, is now viewed with more empathy, as demonstrated after the recent suicide deaths of country legend Naomi Judd, former Miss USA Cheslie Kryst, rockers Chester Bennington and Chris Cornell, and fashion designers Kate Spade and L’Wren Scott. This summer, UCLA football player Thomas Cole shared the story of his attempt at the beginning of the year, while Los Angeles Clippers guard John Wall and Australian tennis pro Jelena Dokic talked about their battles with depression and thoughts of suicide. 

    These high-profile incidents, coupled with increased public awareness of suicide’s prevalence nationwide, have prompted robust calls for better ways to stop the things that trigger attempts.

    “It’s never one thing,” says Jill Harkavy-Friedman, PhD, a New York City psychologist and senior vice president of research at the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). “It’s always a combination of factors, mostly mental health issues, but also chronic pain, head trauma, genetics, and family history.”

    ‘I was intent. I wasn’t going to hesitate’

    Peter Hollar was 21 and living with his mother in Olympia, WA, in the late 1970s when he found out his estranged father had killed himself in California. “It shook me to the core, of course,” says Hollar, now 65 and retired. “I can remember it like it was yesterday.”

    Yet Hollar found himself contemplating the same fate in 2000, debilitated by an imploding marriage and “job stress through the roof,” he says. “There was a lot of torment, anguish, and pain.”

    He developed a long-range plan to end the “overwhelming trauma” by jumping off a nearby bridge. “I was intent. I wasn’t going to hesitate.”

    But as Hollar was driving to his destination that night, he suddenly felt as if he was in the grip of a higher power. “I’ve always had a spiritual part of my life, and I had been praying a lot in the 30 days before I headed to the bridge, reaching out for some kind of guidance,” he says. “I started thinking about my dad, and I said, ‘What will my loved ones think? Is this how I’m going to leave my two young sons?’”

    When Hollar reached the bridge, he kept driving and crossed it. “I drove to a gas station and called my psychiatrist.”

    A weeklong hospital stay was supplemented with medication, counseling, and a renewed sense of purpose. “I guess the bottom line is it wasn’t my time to go,” says Hollar, who later married “an amazing, awesome, wonderful” woman and moved to a Seattle suburb. “God did not want me to die. I had things left to do. Now things are better. I don’t have those feelings anymore.”

    Navigating Emotional Turbulence

    Of course, not everyone with lived experience feels that kind of closure. Their struggle to survive continues to be fought daily. “It’s not that you want to die, it’s that you’re willing to die to make your life different,” says Miller, who tells his story in Moving America’s Soul On Suicide, (masosfilm.com), an online documentary series developed in cooperation with six health care agencies, including the National Action Alliance for Suicide Prevention. “There’s no magic answer.”

    The key is to somehow weather the emotionally turbulent storm instead of succumbing to the moment. Someone in crisis needs to know where to reach out for help, and friends and family members must learn to recognize signs of struggle and step up.

    “If you notice a change in someone, trust your gut,” advises Harkavy-Friedman of the AFSP. “Ask how they’re feeling. Tell them, ‘I’m concerned about you.’ Have a conversation to find out what their stresses are and help them to get help. Call 988 or tell them to talk to a therapist.

    “Be patient and persistent,” she says. “Don’t give up. Suicidal thoughts can be managed. I am ever the optimist.”

    If you know someone in crisis, call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988, contact the Crisis Text Line by texting HELLO to 741741, or dial 911.  

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