Relief From The Grief
By Krystena LuCastro · Originally published on Medium Dec 24, 2025
A Survivor’s Perspective on Suicide, Pain, and the Language That Helps Instead of Hurts
Trigger Warning: Suicide, Depression, Suicidal Ideation
If you are in immediate danger, please contact 988 (US) or your local crisis line.
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I’m writing this because this time of year always hits me differently.
The air feels heavier.
Memories feel sharper.
My own grief and relief sit closer to the surface.
This season — with all its noise, pressure, expectation, and reflection — pulls old shadows forward. It reminds me of who I was, what could have been for me and for others, what I survived, and what I still carry.
But I want to be clear: although I may feel this weight most intensely now, many people feel this ache at any given moment — any month, any season, any random Tuesday when nothing looks wrong on the outside but everything feels unbearable on the inside.
I’m writing this because something about this moment — this year, this timing — stirred a familiar pull in me: a desire to reach outward. To take what I’ve learned through both relief and grief and offer it to others who may be quietly fighting to stay alive, or to those who have lost someone and are still trying to understand why love wasn’t enough.
Before going any further, I want to establish something important.
This piece is written from my own lived experience — my qualia.
Qualia refers to the inner world of experience: the sensations, emotions, thoughts, and textures of living that only the person inside them can fully feel. It’s the difference between knowing about pain and knowing pain. It’s why two people can go through similar events and walk away with completely different internal realities and perspectives.
Everything I share here comes from my own qualia — not universal truth, not a clinical manual, not an attempt to speak for everyone. But it is honest, lived, and deeply human. My hope is that it offers language, clarity, compassion, and empathy — whether you are the one hurting or the one trying to help.
So I’m writing this for:
• those currently in the dark place,
• those who have stood on that edge before,
• those who love someone fighting their way through it,
• and those grieving someone they lost and may still be wondering why love wasn’t enough.
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I Felt Loved.
I Also Felt Immensely Alone.
Both Were True.
One of the most common — and painful — misconceptions surrounding suicide is this:
“If they really knew how loved they were, they wouldn’t have left.”
But that is not how suicidal pain works.
I was loved — deeply, consistently, abundantly, by so many.
And yet I felt a pain that love simply could not touch, a loneliness love could not fill, and a heaviness love could not lift.
An analogy I once gave my mother was this:
It’s like having a monkey on your back that only you can see, feel, and hear.
Everyone else expresses love, but no one can remove the monkey.
No one can carry it for you.
No one can silence its piercing, screeching lies.
No one can unstick the pain from your skin.
And you don’t even know how to save yourself.
It’s terrifying.
It’s dark.
It’s isolating.
And when that heavy monkey claws at you long enough, death can feel like the only way to stop hurting — not because you lack love, but because you lack relief.
Love is powerful — but it is not medicine.
Depression is pain — not ingratitude.
Suicide is an escape from agony — not a rejection of affection.
Seeking relief from pain is not a moral failure.
It is a human instinct.
I once asked a woman how long she had battled depression and suicidal ideation. She said, “Nearly 30 years.” After having experienced depression and suicidal ideation myself, I told her she was one of the bravest people I had ever met. She cried — not because she was sad, but because it was the first time someone had named her survival as courage.
That moment reinforced something I know to be true:
You’re not misunderstood because you’re unlovable.
You’re misunderstood because people cannot imagine pain they’ve never felt — they simply cannot fathom it.
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From My Journal: “Dark Passenger”
(Written in the depths of my struggle — shared with compassion for the version of me who survived.)
You make me feel like a black balloon floating away with no ability to control my direction…
You make me feel a frightening numbness…
You remind me of Venom — a parasitic black goo impossible to remove…
You make me scared of EVERYTHING… even myself.
You make me question who I am and why I’m here…
But you will not win. This is my life. You don’t get to collaborate on whether I live or die.
To find me, just look inside and see.
— Krystena
This is the qualia of suicidal ideation.
A possession.
A hijacking.
A private war behind a public smile.
Not weakness.
Not attention-seeking.
Not ingratitude.
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Guilt Tripping: Why It Doesn’t Work — and Often Worsens the Pain
When someone is upset and you say, “Calm down,” does it work?
Usually, it doesn’t.
Now imagine the suicidal equivalent:
• “Don’t do this — it would destroy us.”
• “Think of everyone who loves you.”
• “You matter so much.”
Yes, the intention is love.
But the impact is suffocation… guilt.
Inside the suicidal mind, guilt doesn’t create hope — it creates weight.
“No one can help me carry this.
I’m alone inside this and I can’t do this much longer.”
Guilt turns pain into quicksand.
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Grief Logic vs. Suicidal Logic
These are two emotional languages that do not intersect.
Grief logic sounds like:
“How could they leave us?”
“They must not have known how loved they were.”
“If love wasn’t enough, what could I have done?”
“Why wasn’t I enough?”
This is heartbreak speaking.
Suicidal logic sounds like:
“My pain is unlivable.”
“Love cannot reach the place where this hurt lives.”
“I’m ruining everyone’s life by being here like this.”
“I can’t withstand this much longer.”
“I need the suffering to stop.”
These logics do not overlap.
Understanding that difference is not just compassionate — it is lifesaving.
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A Note on Language (Because Words Can Harm or Heal)
The way we talk about suicide matters more than most people realize.
Some phrases — often said without malice — carry moral weight, shame, or judgment that can deepen pain. When death is framed as a crime, a failure, or a performance, it reinforces stigma rather than understanding.
Using neutral, people-first language keeps the focus on care instead of blame. It reminds us that a person is more than their worst moment, and that pain is not a moral flaw.
Language doesn’t just describe reality — it helps shape it.
Choosing words with care is one way we reduce harm, even when we don’t fully understand someone’s qualia.
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What Support Actually Looks Like (In Real Time)
People think they need the perfect words.
They don’t.
They need steadiness.
• Slow your energy. Your calm helps regulate panic.
• Validate the experience without validating the hopeless conclusion.
“What you’re feeling is real — even if the thoughts don’t tell the full truth.”
• Offer grounding, not interrogation.
“We can take this moment by moment.”
“It’s okay if you don’t have words.”
• Avoid pressure, forced gratitude, or urgency to “fix.”
• Don’t be afraid to ask direct questions like: “Are you suicidal?” or “Do you have a plan?”
• Follow up. Survival is a process, not a moment.
If You Don’t Know What to Say, Start Here:
• “I’m here with you. Take your time.”
• “You’re not alone in this.”
• “You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling with me.”
• “You’re not a burden.”
• “We can take this one step at a time.”
• “Silence is okay. I’m still here.”
Presence matters more than precision.
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Structure vs. Agency: Both Can Save Lives
Some people benefit from choice and autonomy.
Others — myself included — need structure, need to be alleviated.
When I was at my lowest, decision fatigue was crushing. Brain fog made even simple choices exhausting. What helped me most was structure: a schedule, burdens lifted, someone else holding the container when I could not.
This is why qualia matters.
Some people need agency.
Some people need scaffolding.
Some people need both at different times.
Support is not one-size-fits-all.
It is about responding to the person in front of you.
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Invisible Survivors
Not all survivors are visible.
Some attempted and told no one.
Some live with chronic ideation quietly.
Some are praised for strength while unraveling inside.
Their survival is not luck.
It is labor.
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Ideation vs. Intent
These are not the same.
Suicidal ideation may involve intrusive thoughts or a desire to disappear.
Suicidal intent involves planning and preparation.
Understanding the difference reduces panic, encourages honesty, and creates safer conversations.
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For Those Unequipped: Tools That Help
• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (US): Call or text 988 | https://988lifeline.org
• Find a Helpline (Global): https://findahelpline.com
• Safety planning worksheets
• Peer support and warm lines
• Presence over pep talks
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For Those Grieving Someone Lost to Suicide
Your love was real.
Your grief is real.
But this matters:
Suicide is not a failure of love.
It is a failure of relief.
You did not fail them.
Their pain lived in a place no one else could access.
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PAUSE & REFLECT
• What beliefs about suicide might I need to re-examine?
• Have I ever used guilt when presence was needed?
• What does qualia teach me about the limits of my understanding?
• How can I become safer for someone in pain?
• What kind of support helps me when I’m overwhelmed?
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CALL TO ACTION: A COMMUNITY OF SUPPORT
This piece doesn’t end here.
If you’ve read this and felt seen — or if something helped you survive — I invite you to add to this space.
Share, if you’re comfortable:
• Resources that helped you
• What supported you through dark periods
• Affirmations, mantras, or mottos
• Words someone once said that stayed with you
• Anything grounding, hopeful, or life-giving
This is a space for support.
This is a space for honesty.
Judgment stays at the door.
If something helped you breathe, it may help someone else breathe too.
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To the Ones Still in the Darkness
Your feelings are real.
But feelings aren’t facts.
Pain lies about permanence.
Depression lies about identity.
Suicidal thoughts lie about worth.
You are not the darkness.
You are not the voice of your pain.
Stay long enough for support to reach you.
Stay long enough to meet the version of yourself who survives this.
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A Final Word
To those struggling: your endurance is extraordinary.
To those grieving: it was never a lack of love — it was the weight of the pain.
May this be the beginning of relief — not from memory, not from love, but from misunderstanding.
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Support This Work
If this piece resonated and you’d like to support the continued creation of care-centered writing and advocacy:
☕ Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/krystenalucastro
No obligation. Presence matters just as much.
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#MentalHealth #SuicidePrevention #SuicidalIdeation #LivedExperience #Qualia #DepressionAwareness #YouAreNotAlone #PeerSupport #EndTheStigma #BeASafePlace
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