The online Lyme community averages about one suicide per month—a tragic statistic, neck in neck with military veterans. Both groups that have been failed by the system.


I had to share this post with you about a fellow Lymie. This is not my blog, I am simply sharing it.


Heather Askeland wasn’t just a Lyme friend. Over the past almost four years, she had become a close friend. At this time, I’m trying to grieve both a personal and communal loss. In this moment of overwhelming sorrow, I feel propelled to address something I thought I’d never write about—suicide in the Lyme community and factors behind it.

At the same time, in this entry I’d like to honor the memory of my absolutely incredible friend through the ways she affected both me and the world at large.

Please note: Any personal matters I share in this post were publicly shared by Heather on various websites such as YouTube, her donation page, Facebook and other community sites, and therefore I feel are not a violation of her privacy. I don’t claim to know everything she went through toward the end of her life, and I’m sure nobody does. But I include details of her struggle that I feel are relevant to the topic—both her story and Lyme suicide at large.

The online Lyme community averages about one suicide per month—a tragic and shocking statistic up there with military veterans, both groups that have been failed by the very systems set up to help us.

I think this issue needs to be talked about. And I think that, while Heather’s life was obviously uniquely her own, there are underlying commonalities in the Lyme experience that push people to take their own lives at an unreasonably higher than average rate.

When news broke of Heather’s suicide, reactions varied—as they typically do—from despair to disgust. Folks ascribing to the “suicide is selfish” and “she should have gotten help” type logic were quick to voice their opinions. To those people, I would ask they take a step back and try to get inside the head of a person so void of hope that they want to die. Just try.

Imagine, as in Heather’s case, that your mother had just passed away, you just broke up with your significant other, you had to withdraw from your exciting graduate school program, and found yourself quickly homeless, broke, and sicker by the day.

Now imagine experiencing all of the above while an infection raged in your brain. Not just any infection, but an infection that alters your perception of reality, depletes your brain of neurotransmitters (such as serotonin and dopamine), and impairs your ability to eat, walk, or speak coherently. Imagine you’ve become debilitatingly weak, virtually bound to your bed, living in and out of hotels thanks to generous donations, and continuously sicker by the day in spite of access to acclaimed Lyme treatments which have, for whatever reason, been ineffective on you.

Maybe knowing that Heather went through all that can elicit a sympathetic response from the more judgmental audience. As I always say: less judgment and more compassion makes the world a better place.

Let me be clear: While I certainly don’t encourage or condone suicide, and wish with my whole heart she was still alive, I can understand why she lost hope. I think it goes without saying that a suicidal person should seek help, but it’s also a reality that often a suicidal person can’t see past their crisis, and doesn’t want help.

Here’s the thing.

What non-Lymies don’t realize is what a beast Lyme is. And herein lies one of the most fundamental problems in the Lymeshere. People chalk up Lyme behavior to “mental problems” without understanding why. Sure, most—if not all—late-stage, neurological Lymies have mental problems, but they are based in the biological and physiological. Simply put, we have actual brain damage. We aren’t just whackadoodles.

Why is it that Lyme’s closest relative, syphilis, can be acknowledged and validated for how it alters people’s behavior, but Lyme is still commonly dismissed as insignificant. I knew Heather well enough to know that she felt painfully invalidated and criticized for her unwellness, and that itself is one of the main tragedies that propelled her toward destruction.

Heather’s deep-rooted feeling of being misunderstood, judged, and invalidated is something that Lymies know far too well. And it’s a horrible shame. We feel it from family members, society at large, and our own doctors (until, exhausted by doctors appointments, we stumble upon one who’s willing to help us). In addition, our treatments aren’t covered by insurance. You heard right! Treatment for Lyme is so insanely expensive that most people either go broke paying for it or won’t even start it because they can’t afford to.

As if that’s not bad enough, the treatments are very hit-and-miss. While some people do in fact recover, a lot are left just as sick (or sicker, even, than before) after doling out tens of thousands of their own dollars.

The system is broken, plain and simple. And until more research is done to find better, more effective cures, and doctors are willing to step up and acknowledge chronic Lyme disease, and health insurance companies are willing to cover treatment, and families start validating the reality of the Lyme experience, people are going to keep taking their lives. I hate that I’m even writing that, but it’s true. ————–

Think about the way Job responded to devastating circumstances. Job lost seven sons and three daughters in one unimaginable day. And that was in addition to losing all his possessions and his health. But what did Job do? The Bible says he did not charge God foolishly (see Job 1:22, KJV). Instead, he cried out to the Lord. I am so thankful to my husband who brought me back to the Lord, so that I can not only ride out this Lyme wave, but conquer it. I pray that my blog may help someone in Heather’s shoes cry out to Jesus instead of the alternative. Please pray for Heather’s family and the Lyme community as a whole.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s