Suicide is still a dirty word
I’ve been thinking about writing this blog for some time. September is traditionally suicide awareness month and we’ve just had world suicide prevention day. Everyone is talking about suicide, or are they?
You know me, I have an opinion about everything and this is one that I am fiercely holding! However, I do want to point out that this is just my experience. You may know people who say other things. There is no right or wrong when it comes to suicide.
All you need to remember is to leave your judgement at the door and exercise some compassion…
Ready? Let’s start with some facts.
In some countries to die by suicide is still a crime. In fact, it’s only been since 1961 that it hasn’t been a crime here in England. There are many stigmas attached to suicide. It’s been seen as a good way to die, a crime against society and also a mortal sin.
So it’s easy to see why there is much confusion.
But what about the people who attempt suicide? In some respects, they can fare worse than the ones who don’t survive. We are often ignored or seen as attention seekers. People don’t know how to talk to us. It somehow feels that we’re a failure.
Many of you know that I have had episodes of severe depression in the past. I don’t believe it ever leaves you, you just learn to co-exist with this part of your brain which seems to do strange things to you. In recent times I’ve learnt that we now no longer believe that it’s chemical. So this strange activity is most likely linked to trauma. I know that in my life, the time when I was at my worst and in absolute crisis, I’d struggled with a few things, not to mention my nan passing away. None of them feels like they are a trigger, but we digress.
As I sit here now, trying to explain how I felt at my worst. It’s really hard to recall. It’s not because I’ve actively suppressed anything, it’s perhaps that it’s because it was 25 years ago. Memories fade, things become fuzzy.
One thing sticks out. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, more on that later.
I remember feeling utterly helpless, worthless, alone and isolated. I was none of these, but people telling me that didn’t help. My boyfriend of the time had no idea what to do with me. I would just sit and stare into space. I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was. I remember thinking about what I could do to end the suffering. Suffering is the only way I can describe it now and even that doesn’t seem big enough for how all-consuming the depression was. It was blacker than black, like a black hole that I was just being sucked deeper and deeper into.
At this point, it’s worth mentioning that this was not all about me. This was about everyone else.
My parents, my sister, the next-door neighbours would have all been better off and have less worry if I wasn’t here. In my head, I was causing everyone so much upset by not being me.
Those of you who know me now would not have recognised me. I had periods of euphoria, yes, but then other times I was just numb. There was nothing. No feeling, no thinking, no nothing. I felt like I was dead anyway, so taking my own life felt like a realistic and sensible thing to do.
So how was I going to do this? Well, there had to be no blood. I don’t do blood at the best of times, so knives, leaping in front of any sort of big vehicle wasn’t going to work. Looking around my room, jumping out of the window (I was in an attic room) wasn’t going to work, neither was hanging myself.
That left one option. Drugs and alcohol.
It’s also worth pointing out that I’d already knackered my back, damaged joints etc. So I had a fairly hefty supply of painkillers. But I could also get more. I knew that if I went to the various shops locally, I could buy enough paracetamols and the likes and not raise any alarm. I also had access to booze and could buy that easily too.
This is the thing that really frustrates me. People see suicide as some quick action, it’s not. It takes planning. You can’t just wake up and think, right I am going to kill myself today. It doesn’t work like that. You have to plan. You have to plan the spot, no one finding you and stopping you, how you’re going to do it. You have to know it’s going to work. Honestly, it does take some effort.
So I planned, purchased and I laid out my tools.
Then I had to say goodbye and that is why I am still here.
I started to think about what I wanted to say. I would have to explain why for a start. So I sat down with a notepad and paper, and I cried. I cried so much my throat was sore. I don’t know how I managed to cry that much. My eyes stung, I was shaking.
I then realised that that was not the day that I died.
So what about now? Well, I got help, I got medication and I got better. But as I’ve said before, this never really leaves you. I can talk now about suicide quite easily. I would go far as to say I am comfortable with it. I still have periods where I get suicidal thoughts, but they’re infrequent visitors these days. When they do come, I just acknowledge them and know they will pass.
My legendary ability to talk has served me well, it’s kept me alive and it’s also helping me reach out to others to share what was my reality for so long.
If this blog has triggered something in you and you need support, then the links below will help…
