There were times I wanted to give up. Here’s what I want you to know

Trigger warning: Suicide and mental health issues
This article discusses suicide and mental health struggles. Please read with care. 

World Mental Health Day is a reminder that across the world, in homes and in workplaces, many carry pain in silence.

More than 1 billion people worldwide are living with mental health conditions, with anxiety and depression among the most common, affecting both men and women of all ages and income levels. Depression and other mental health conditions can lead to suicide.

Every year, suicide claims more than 720 000 lives worldwide − the equivalent of the entire population of a large city. One in every four of these deaths happens in the Western Pacific Region. Behind these numbers are stories of quiet struggles, unspoken pain and moments when help could have made a difference.

Silence sometimes feels like an easier choice, but in reality, conversations can save lives. 

For Roy Wadia, Regional Communications Manager at the World Health Organization (WHO) Regional Office for the Western Pacific, the topic of suicide is deeply personal. His journey through grief and survival reveals why speaking openly matters more than ever. 

The pain I saw in my family

Roy was a teenager when his uncle ended his life in Canada. After a painful divorce, his uncle had moved from city to city, his fortunes declining with each move. He grew suspicious of everyone, cut ties with his siblings and, one by one, drifted away from his remaining friends.

By the time his grown sons reached out to reconnect, it was too late. He left behind only a note to his mother asking for forgiveness and stating his wish to be “like an astronaut, in outer space”.

“The shock almost killed his mother − my grandmother,” Roy shares. “[It also] took a toll on my mother and her sisters... and it triggered his boys – both of whom had been brilliant students, hugely popular in school and university. They were diagnosed with various severe mental conditions.”

The pain did not end with his uncle’s death. Roy watched it ripple through his family. One of his uncle’s sons eventually died by suicide. His other son tried to take his own life and spent years in and out of care. Today, he lives in a halfway house. Their mother lives in seclusion, shattered by one compounded tragedy after another.

The pain I carried myself

Years later, tragedy struck again. Roy’s younger brother, Riyad − a filmmaker and LGBTQI+ activist − died of AIDS after refusing treatment. For Roy, the grief he felt was suffocating.

“I began to wish for death to swallow me as well,” Roy says. “I wasn’t actively suicidal, but yes, I did harbour thoughts of being in spirit – no longer in this world.”

Three weeks after Riyad’s death, and quite by chance, Roy joined the WHO country office in China as a communications officer. There − almost as if by design − his very first assignment was on HIV/AIDS.

The work gave him purpose by day, but grief consumed him at night.

“I’d cry myself to sleep… until I was literally guided out of my grief by a Chinese therapist... If I hadn’t received the unexpected intervention of Professor Chen, who diagnosed me with ‘acute grief and anger’ bottled up along my spine and impacting my heart as she put it, I’m not sure I would have survived or emerged from that dark place.”

When I needed to talk but couldn’t

Even when we want help, words can feel impossible.

“I felt paralyzed with grief – couldn’t express it openly, and yet desperately wanted someone to ask me how I was and what I needed, even though I’m not sure I could have expressed what that was,” Roy reflected. “I had colleagues who were supportive as they knew of my brother’s death, but it’s difficult for folks to ask the right questions – either they feel awkward or perhaps feel one shouldn’t ‘indulge’ grief and that it will heal itself.”

To this day, conversations about suicide remain rare. Fear − of stigma, judgement or “burdening” others − keeps many people silent.

“It’s difficult for the person undergoing this experience to reach out to loved ones – I felt I simply couldn’t talk to my parents as they were experiencing grief as well, and I felt I couldn’t talk to my then partner − now husband − as he was half a world away and I didn’t want to worry him about my well-being.”

                 Roy outside his office. © WHO / Jen Eleccion

What I want to tell you now

Roy has a message for anyone standing at the edge: 

“It sounds clichéd, but really, I’d say please remember you’re not alone. There are others who’ve gone through what you have – even though you may find that hard to believe at that exact moment. Try to be open to receiving the assistance you need – and know there’s absolutely no shame in asking for, and getting, that help.“

This is why conversations are critical. Reaching out opens space for understanding and support, which often eases the pain that silence deepens.

What help looks like

Talking about suicide doesn’t cause it. Not talking about it might.

Support can begin with something as simple as noticing when someone seems to be struggling and asking how they are doing. It doesn’t take much to make a call, send a message or just sit quietly with someone. What matters most is approaching with compassion, without judgement. Listening with patience matters more than finding the perfect words. Encouraging professional help in a gentle, supportive way is equally important.

If you or someone you know is struggling, remember you don’t have to go through it alone. Talk to people you trust. Reach out to a mental health professional, counsellor or social worker. Join a support group.

Roy during a 2025 Pride Month celebration at the WHO Regional Office for the Western Pacific. © WHO / Marie Angelu Pagobo