An epidemic of suicidal thoughts among school-age girls
Early one morning in May this year, Shafiqa noticed a note in her daughter’s room. In bold blue letters, her daughter, 16-year-old Lima, had written: “My mother and sisters, forgive me. I couldn’t bear it any longer. Being a girl in this situation means just breathing, and I don’t want to breathe anymore.”
At first, Shafiqa thought her daughter was trying to scare her. She remembers loudly saying, “Wake up, Lima-jan, you need to have breakfast and take your medicine. You’ve slept too long.” She got no response from the 11th grade student. Panicked, she ran to Lima’s side and shook her, but her daughter was unresponsive. Shafiqa’s heart pounded as she realized that Lima wasn’t breathing. Shafiqa rushed her daughter to the hospital nearest to their home in the western province of Herat, where doctors informed her that Lima had died at least an hour earlier.
Her voice thick with emotion, Shafiqa, 52, explains that Lima had used medication to take her own life. Her mother recounts to Zan Times how Lima had attempted suicide multiple times since the closure of her school: “One day, I heard her crying in her room. I ran to her and found her screaming, saying, ‘Mother, they’re going to kill me with a knife,’ while holding a knife close to her own throat.”
In late 2023, Lima’s family took her to a psychologist, but the sessions didn’t help her. One of her teachers tells Zan Times that Lima had been a capable student who listened to her lessons with eagerness: “When the schools closed, some days Lima would come to school and, with tears in her eyes, would ask me, ‘Teacher, when will school reopen?’ Every time she asked, my heart ached. I didn’t have an answer, but I tried to give her hope. Yet the circumstances were unbearable for her.”
The Taliban have driven young girls like Lima from school to the grave, her teacher believes, adding, “I should have been at her graduation, but instead I attended her funeral. A girl with big dreams lost her life due to a merciless regime and unbearable conditions.”
It’s distressingly easy to find other girls who have died by suicide in Afghanistan after the Taliban shut their schools. Last summer, Zan Times, in collaboration with The Guardian and Fuller Project, uncovered a dramatic rise in suicide rates among women in Afghanistan. In this report, female journalists inside Afghanistan delve into the reasons behind the increasing rate of suicide among young girls. For this report, Zan Times interviewed 27 female students aged 14 to 21 from Kabul, Herat, Balkh, Badakhshan, Ghor, and Jawzjan provinces, all of whom were in grades 7 to 12 when barred from school by the Taliban. Of these, 19 students admitted to having considered dying by suicide at least once since the school closures. Four students said they had attempted to die suicide more than once but were unsuccessful. Four families confirmed that their daughters had died by suicide. All interviewees reported experiencing anger, isolation, constant crying, lack of interest in household tasks, and despair about the future in the past three years. Furthermore, 16 respondents said they have been neglected by family members since losing access to education. They say that their families no longer focus on their well-being as they once were.
In early 2024, Khaleda, a 19-year-old former ninth-grade student in the village of Yangi Arigh in Jawzjan, hanged herself in her room. Khaleda’s mother, Somaiya, shares with Zan Times that her daughter’s mental state was strong before the Taliban took power. However, she fell into severe depression after her school was closed. “She used to do sports and study,” Somaiya says. “Through school, she even competed in a cycling race, but when schools closed and she was confined to the house, she spoke less with us and stopped attending gatherings and weddings.”
In late 2023, Khaleda’s family decided to organize her marriage, hoping it would bring her a renewed sense of purpose. It only deepened her despair, her mother explains, because Khaleda neither wanted the marriage nor accepted her fiancé, a religious cleric. Her condition worsened. “Four months before her death, she became frail, almost lifeless. We took her to a doctor, who treated her, and she seemed a bit better. But the doctor warned that she was depressed and needed close attention. Khaleda even told her brother she would strangle herself with her scarf,” her mother tells Zan Times.
Khaleda only went to two psychologist sessions, as her father couldn’t afford regular visits. Not long after her medication stopped, Khaleda hanged herself in her room.
Similar psychological and family pressures took a toll on other girls, deprived of educational opportunities. In Kabul, Marsal, a 16-year-old former eighth-grade student, died from blood loss after slitting her wrists in mid-2024. “Marsal was my daughter, my hope, my future. She wanted to become a doctor, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it. When the schools closed, she and her dreams were buried,” her mother sorrowfully tells Zan Times.
After Marsal had been without schooling for three years, the men in the family decided she should marry. “When the schools closed, Marsal became reclusive with worry. The family arranged her marriage, and I couldn’t oppose her grandparents and other family members alone to save my daughter,” her mother says.
Marsal’s suitor was a Taliban fighter. His position meant she had no way to escape from the forced union. She cried constantly, and feared her future husband, telling her sister Banafsha, “He is as old as my father; he is a Taliban fighter — a man who has spilled the blood of so many of our innocent young men and crushed the hopes of thousands of girls. How can I live under the same roof with him?” It was Banafsha who found her sister after she’d slit her wrists. Her pale face had been drained of life yet soaked with her blood.
Before the Taliban regained power, 3.7 million Afghan girls were enrolled in primary, middle, and high schools. One month after seizing power in 2021, the Taliban closed middle and high schools to girls, leaving 1.4 million girls deprived of education, according to UNESCO statistics. The deprivation of those basic rights, combined with intense pressure from families to marry, has led many schoolgirls to develop severe mental health issues, often ending in suicide.
Marwa was in the 11th grade when the Taliban closed her school in Sheberghan, Jawzjan province. The inability to attend school constantly haunted the 18-year-old, leaving her feeling deeply depressed. “If schools hadn’t closed, I would be at university now. I wanted to study computer science and work for an international organization to lift my family out of poverty,” she explains to Zan Times.
In early 2024, Marwa’s family decided to marry her to her cousin without her consent. He lives in Iran and struggles with drug addiction. “Not being able to go to school and the pressure of a forced marriage made me cry for hours; I had no escape,” says Marwa.
Seeing no other option for her future, Marwa gathered up pills from around the house two months after her engagement. “I took the pills in the morning, but they affected me at midnight. I felt nauseated, with intense headaches and heart palpitations,” she recounts. Her mother awoke Marwa’s sounds of distress and realized that her daughter had attempted to die by suicide. She treated Marwa herself, out of fear of her husband and to avoid bringing shame onto their family. “My mother said, ‘You’ll bring shame upon us. I’ll never wake your father. If he finds out, he’ll beat you to death,’” recounts Marwa.
Now, Marwa’s mother taunts her about her desperate act: “My mother says, ‘Go ahead, kill yourself and disgrace us all; make death your escape.’ When I say I still don’t accept marriage to my cousin, she says, ‘It would have been better if you had died that night.’”
For the girls, their worlds after school are often compressed to the four walls of their rooms. Narges, a 19-year-old who had been a 11th grade student in Badakhshan, spends hours alone in her room, lost in thought. She suffered from depression due to the enforced home confinement and separation from school. She avoids connecting with anyone, even family members. During this interview, she frequently lost patience, paused, and restarted. “When I think about the days of laughing and studying with my friends at school, I feel worse,” she tells Zan Times. “Recalling their laughter or my eagerness to learn no longer brings me any joy. I feel like I’m trapped in a silent, motionless world.”
Initially, her depression was so overwhelming that she struggled to control her mind: “Voices echoed in my head, and terrifying images of the Taliban appeared before my eyes. When I saw these images, I screamed uncontrollably, and my family rushed into my room in alarm.”
In late October 2023, Narges went to a neurologist, who diagnosed her with severe depression. She was advised to undergo nine months of treatment, however the cost would be between 750 and 1,000 afghani per therapy session, plus up to 2,000 afghani for medication. However, her family could not afford more than the initial session.
After losing the prescription written by the specialist, she bought medicine from a pharmacy without a prescription. Those drugs worsened her condition: “I was sitting alone in my room when I suddenly felt something tighten around my throat. My hands were clenched around my neck, squeezing. It felt like I lost control. I couldn’t breathe, and at that moment, my sister entered. When she saw me like that, she screamed and hugged me. My face had turned blue, and I passed out from the pressure.”
Psychologists in Afghanistan report that mental health cases have surged in the past three years, especially among girls deprived of education. These girls describe monotonous days without goals or hope for the future. Their mental distress is exacerbated by patriarchal attitudes in many families, which disregard the emotional needs of women and girls. A mental health doctor in Herat tells Zan Times, “The majority of our depression cases are schoolgirls. This was expected among 12- to 18-year-olds. We’ve had between 500 and 700 cases from western provinces alone, with girls suffering from depression due to their isolation from school and education.”
Since the beginning of 2023, about 2,000 women have sought help from this mental health center. According to the doctor, these women face psychological trauma due to societal pressures and the oppressive environment in Afghanistan. These pressures lead to depression and anger, which often lead to aggressive behaviour. “The current atmosphere in Afghanistan has created mental insecurity for women. Many of the women we’ve seen have contemplated suicide due to depression and mental trauma from suppression,” he tells Zan Times.
The psychologist adds, “This year, we’ve intervened in 13 suicide attempts. Most involved poison, but due to rapid emergency response, these women survived and later sought our help. Only two were married, and the rest were young girls, driven to suicide attempts by academic deprivation, emotional setbacks, and abusive family dynamics.”
Laila, a 10th grade student from Mazar-e-Sharif, says that her mental state began to deteriorate as she became certain that schools would never reopen. She recounts crying in public and in private, and her sorrow became a lump in her throat, a pain that has haunted her for three years. She’s grown to hate everything associated with school. “I burned my awards and books, hoping I could also burn away the pain and despair,” she tells Zan Times. “My home has become a prison, and our small garden, once full of colourful flowers, now means nothing to me. I envied my brother, who could still go to school, and I couldn’t bear to look my mother in the eyes because I had promised to become a doctor and heal her pain.”
When she is alone, Laila finds herself contemplating the end of her life and considering ways to take it: “I feel like I’m poisoned inside and can’t endure this life anymore. In those dark moments, I think about suicide.” Laila experienced multiple anxiety attacks, which worsened her mental health. “I couldn’t breathe; even the scarf around my neck felt like a noose.”
Searching online, she learned about antidepressant medications and tried to obtain them: “I went to a pharmacy in town and asked for the pill, but the pharmacist refused to give it to me without a prescription. After I pleaded with him, showing my sleepless and tired eyes, he relented and gave me a sedative.” She adds, “I took the pills every day, escaping into the dark world of sleep. But when I woke up, the insomnia tormented me. At night, I would lie awake staring at the ceiling, hearing strange sounds in the dark. I started experiencing bizarre hallucinations, as if shadows surrounded me and terrifying laughter echoed in my ears. These feelings drove me to the brink of madness.”
Over time, she became dependent on the sedative, and is now unable to sleep without it. Despite her efforts to avoid worsening her mental health, her hopelessness about an uncertain future continues to push her toward suicidal thoughts: “I try to distract myself, but the harsh reality always lingers. Every day, I wonder if I’ll ever reach my dreams. But deep down, I know that the light of hope has been extinguished in this darkness. I think about eternal sleep, as if it’s my only way out.”
Farshid Aram and Sana Atef contributed to this report.
Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewees and writer. Laila Mandegar and Mahtab Safi are the pseudonyms of female journalists in Afghanistan.
