Why Brazil Turns Yellow Every September: A Nation’s Fight Against Suicide Stigma

Every day, 38 Brazilians take their own lives. Since 2013, every September, the country turns yellow to highlight the urgency of this number and expand the conversation around mental health. The “Yellow September” campaign has become one of the largest global initiatives against the stigma surrounding suicide.

Yet the topic remains globally neglected: according to the World Health Organization (WHO), suicide claims more lives than AIDS, malaria, and breast cancer, but only 38 out of approximately 194 countries promote national prevention campaigns. In Brazil, the most concrete response to these statistics has been listening. 

More than numbers, these are interrupted stories that call for compassion. It’s in the space between silence and a cry for help that initiatives like the Center for Valuing Life (CVV) emerge—a national reference in emotional support and suicide prevention.

CVV Hotline: A Safe Space to Be Heard

Loneliness. We are solitary beings. We’re even born alone. Sometimes we go through good or bad moments, but we don’t always have someone to talk to. This is just one of the situations experienced by CVV’s on-call volunteers, part of a global network of similar centers.

Early Saturday morning. Most people in Brazil are asleep, but Alan Lima, for the past eight years, remains available to answer calls to 188. On the other end of the line, a voice may belong to someone with insomnia, someone lonely, with no one to share life’s difficulties with—or someone experiencing suicidal thoughts. 

Alan explains that he’s received calls from people so lonely they simply wanted to share a joyful life experience but had no one to talk to. He also has a paid profession, but dedicates himself to giving lectures and serving as a spokesperson for the Center for Valuing Life.

Like Alan, CVV Brazil’s volunteers are ordinary people. You don’t need to be a healthcare professional or have specific training to volunteer—just the willingness to listen. After a few weeks of training, volunteers begin answering calls and hearing stories, initially supervised by a more experienced colleague. 

One weekly shift is the minimum requirement. During months when mental health is more widely discussed—like September, thanks to the national “Yellow September” campaign—there’s a need to reinforce the team handling calls.

Volunteers attend monthly support meetings to share experiences and continue their training. Most work remotely, answering calls via software on a computer. Some members even live outside Brazil and still provide services. 

Support is also available via chat, email, and in-person. Across the country, there are 90 physical service centers. Across all platforms, 3,360 volunteers rotate shifts 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. In the first half of 2025, CVV received over 1.2 million calls.

Search platforms like Google and even Instagram help guide people to the organization. For example, if we come across content showing signs of distress, we can anonymously report it (via the “three dots” on Instagram), prompting CVV to reach out and offer help. 

Volunteers have noticed that AI chat platforms, when detecting users trying to use them as “therapists” or expressing suicidal thoughts, have also started suggesting calling 188.

Despite all the benefits CVV provides to society, it receives no government or private funding, surviving solely on volunteer labor and donations to maintain its structure. Most of the financial donations come from… the volunteers themselves! (Yes, besides their time and dedication, they also donate money.) 

The institution, now 73 years old, handled 2.7 million calls in 2024. Beyond the hotline, it’s active on social media and offers over 100 free podcasts on mental health and suicide.

More recently, the organization joined TikTok to reach younger audiences and promote suicide prevention among them. 

With a calm and steady voice, Alan explains that suicide and mental health remain taboos in Brazilian and global society. Often, simply having someone to talk to is already a way to prevent worse outcomes.

It’s quiet work that may seem small, but it holds the immense power of meaningful social support. 

CVV Brazil is part of Befrienders, a global organization.

Well, That Was Awkward

I broke down in tears at the pharmacy this morning.

I cost too much to live. 

I was only $20 off. My car payment of $150 went through the night before. I thought I was in the clear. I had not calculated, however, that I would need to hold an extra $20 in my account to cover my prescriptions.

My medication costs a lot in terms of other people’s money — and my time — just to secure them. I then go to the extra effort of taking them, so as to not waste other people’s money; it would be one thing if I were footing the bill for these meds and didn’t take them, but when someone else is paying for them? Unacceptable.

Second, I take them so as not to spiral into the chaos that is my unmedicated medical condition (insanity) — thus not wasting my time by visiting a mental institution (again). It would also cost more money for that additional visit. And it is already expensive to live: rent, utilities, cell phone bill, gas for the car, rent of the car…. And that’s if you’re normal… but, “no one is normal,” right?

“It is ok to not be ok.” Right?

If you say so.

Life is certainly expensive either way. In addition to the federal government backing the mission that is “Justin’s Life,” my parents give me money to make up for the difference between being a have and a have-not. They provide me with $1,400 or so a month, on top of the $1,500 or so a month I earn by being disabled (what a moral conundrum in and of itself, I must add). With that money, I earn the right to live at the poverty line.

The emotional price

I can provide you with a balanced account from this morning alone. The costs were high — high enough for me to cry as the pharmacists dispensed my medications and politely removed items I could not afford to buy if I wanted to afford my medications. Mouthwash. It upsets me to think that my breath smells, but it makes me feel worse to wake up in a mental institution. So, there is the first emotional cost decision — be unhygienic so it keeps you out of a mental institution or worse. So I cried.

As a 40-year-old, 6’3” white male in Manhattan, Kansas, I am sure I created an awkward situation for the attending pharmacists. They are just trying to do their job in the midst of my existential crisis. I would love to thrive or at least have clean breath, but I have to focus on surviving.

If it costs a lot of money to be disabled, I apologize to the economy. 

But I never met an economy that rewarded me for having emotions so powerful they have to be sedated and subdued with prescription medications. So, how much is my emotional labor worth at this moment? I am breaking down, apologizing for not having enough money to pay for what I need, and these two pharmacists are not paid enough to deal with my shit. So, did I make an emotional deposit with the pharmacists or a withdrawal? 

A lonely corridor with high steel bars and a murky gray sky in the background.
(Image courtesy of Indigite Cruel on Unsplash)

The moral price

That is where the moral costs come into play. Were we in Sparta, my baby body would have disintegrated long ago because I was born dead, and thus I would have no value to add. But I was born in America, baby! No concern for the umbilical cord strangling my oxygen supply; they just forced an oxygen tube down my throat and up my butt to bring me to life, according to some. According to those still living, I was born happy and healthy. Either way, according to the federal government, I am permanently disabled. But I was born in America, baby, so I have the rights of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. 

Healthcare, however, does not fall under the auspices of those rights. 

I gotta fight for those rights every second. A moral dilemma: be an economic burden on the economy by existing or take your chances without the support structure that allows you to survive. A further moral dilemma is believing you are meant to thrive while knowing it takes much more than your emotional budget just to survive.

The intellectual price

My IQ is high as fuck. Too high, really. According to a former psychiatrist, I connect too many dots… that is a nice way of saying I am paranoid, delusional, and insane. But then again, everything is connected, right? From my left nut to my right brain to the end of the cosmos, everything is connected by the reality of energy alone. That is a good-enough stretch for my intellect to admit, in my opinion, that this morning I cried by design. 

What if I spent the money my family gives me to survive on a business that could make me independently wealthy? Then all my problems would be solved. But as a real one once said, “Mo money, mo problems.” That is the smartest thing I have ever heard, and I say that as someone who has seen what happens when people get the wealth they worked toward. I have enough problems as it is.

And so the economy did what it was designed to do — take labor from me in return for goods and services. The labor, however, was in the form of financial, emotional, moral, and intellectual production; my family came through for me financially, as they always do. I merely had to invest the emotional, moral, and intellectual labor. To survive.

What am I capable of when I begin to thrive? 

A single pink tulip and orange and purple pansies thriving next to a brick wall.
(Image courtesy of taliesin on Morguefile)