CW: Suicide, police, and a brief mention of abuse
I came to BYU happy to be away from my abusive family. I lived in Heritage Halls, barely 19 and very naïve. I knew I was gay, but I was not out to anyone except my Heritage YSA Ward’s Bishop and two close friends from home.
I was trying my best to find girls to be friends with and to go on casual dates with in hopes one might want to marry someone like me some day. I was filling out mission papers. I was a trying to be a model student and model church member.
I was also suicidal.
I made a friend in my Writing 150 class and we would talk every day. He lived in the same building as me and would invite me over to parties with his friends. We got close enough for me to feel comfortable coming out to him.
He didn’t care I about my sexuality especially since I was looking for a wife. We would also talk about mental health. I told him I was depressed and left it there. His girlfriend had depression and had been suicidal most of their relationship, so he knew what that looked like.
I had made a plan to end my life and the night before I texted most of my friends some type of “I love you, you mean so much to me,” text. My friend from Writing 150 knew what that meant and called his floor’s RA. He told his RA about my situation — including my sexuality and my depression. It was about 3:00am and his RA could not get a hold of me, so they called campus police for a “wellness” check.
The police brought my friend to my door asking him to text me and knock while they hid out of sight. This was their way of getting me out of the apartment I lived in. I had no idea any of this was going on. I thought my friend just wanted to talk. Once I was out of the door, my friend said, “I’m sorry,” and an officer grabbed my shoulder and pretty forcefully marched me down the hall to the multi-purpose room.
To say I was shocked is an understatement. There were about three or four other officers in the room. One had a CAPS counselor on his phone and we spoke about suicide and what it means for other people.
I was in absolute panic and just responded to the questions he asked me, trying to appease him and get out of the situation. I told him I had no plan to end my life and he believed me. The officers just stared at me while I spoke to the counselor.
After the call ended, the campus police asked if I wanted them to call my family. I started frantically crying at that point and they all just stared at me. I really don’t remember how this encounter ended, but I got back to my room and woke up the next day too numb to move.
My friend and those campus officers saved my life, so I do feel some type of gratitude, but as I have gotten healthier and more aware of the world I realize how botched and unhelpful that whole experience was.
Everything was so gruff and harsh. I felt like I would be arrested if I answered a question wrong. I hope these were people who normally do not respond to what they call “wellness checks” because they pretty clearly did not know what they were doing with someone in my mental state.
Three days later, the building advisor (my RA’s boss) sent me an email saying that he wanted to meet with me just to talk about what happened and to make sure I am ok now. My friend’s RA had told my RA that I am gay and suicidal. He also told this building advisor who told higher management.
I declined to meet with the building advisor stating I had already spoken to my RA, and he said he had to talk to me, too. It was protocol.
When I went down to meet him, he escorted me to the main Heritage building and to the office of the woman in charge of Heritage Halls.
He did not talk to me about what happened. This was not about my safety. It was another deception.
This woman had my housing contract on her desk. She never asked my name, where I was from, or how I was feeling. She started by telling me how I did something very wrong.
She informed me that talking about suicidal ideation to other students living in on-campus housing was an infringement of my behavioral contract and told me I should feel bad for ruining my friend’s freshman experience.
I was supposed to reach out to my RA, my bishop, or my professors. These people I barely knew are who BYU provides for us to “confide this awful stuff in, not your little friends.”
She called me selfish. I was still numb from everything happening a few days before and just nodded and agreed. I apologized. She had me sign a form stating I was aware of my behavioral infringement and that if I broke the contract again Housing could choose to evict me from my apartment.
I spent the rest of that school year too nervous to talk to anyone about what was going on in my head. I had a therapist at CAPS who offered some good advice and coping mechanisms. But when I told him everything going on in my life, he broke down in tears and said he did not know how to help me.
I am lucky to have met the few random people I have in Provo. They have lifted me up and encouraged me to get healthier.
I have a great therapist now and am learning how to enjoy the life I have. I do mourn for people like me who don’t have the support I do. I know without it I would not be alive.