Recently, my suicidal 15-year-old grandson ingested and smoked a cocktail of several drugs. His loving parents found him nonresponsive, with a heart rate near 200 beats per minute. The emergency responders and doctors saved his life. Sadly, it was not his first attempt.
He is now a ward of the state, deemed a danger to himself, and awaits a bed in a facility. Apparently, beds are hard to come by because so many American teenagers — the ones for whom we prescribe many pacifying drugs — are in need of treatment.
I have two friends whose sons have died by suicide. I bet you know someone too. Your son. Your daughter. Maybe your own grandson.
