World Suicide Prevention Day 2016

It's World Suicide Prevention Day today, the theme this year is 'Connect. Communicate. Care.' There is no single truth to suicide. Whether we have been bereaved by suicide or have been close to ending our lives, we all have our individual stories to tell. Days like today though are an important time for us to talk - and to listen. The World Health Organization estimates that over 800,000 people die by suicide each year – that’s one person every 40 seconds. Up to 25 times as many again make a suicide attempt.

This is what this year's theme means to me.

 After Simon's death I felt lost and isolated. I had my family of course and we were a source of strength to each other but we all had to deal with our own grief first. Friends were a comfort too but had their own lives, they would never say my needs were a burden but I couldn't monopolise their lives with my loss. I needed to talk to somebody who understood. I probably should have gone to see my GP after Simon's suicide but I was too numb to think logically. The system was very good at dealing with practicalities. The police informed us, took us to identify his body, the coroner carried out his post mortem and his body was released to the funeral directors so we could have his funeral. The steps to managing a death were followed smoothly. We weren't offered any advice on how to cope with the emotional fallout though. I felt lost but was expected to find my own way out of my grief. I did (or at least I still am) and connecting with other people bereaved by suicide was definitely an important factor in my recovery. To communicate with others,  whether those who have lost loved ones to suicide, or those burdened with suicidal talks is so vitally important. Suicide needs to be talked about, it shouldn't be a taboo subject but even now I'm occasionally wary of mentioning how my brother died in case I make the other person uncomfortable. Having these conversations though it the only way to quash that discomfort. It means our voices, those of us bereaved and those of us who feel, or have ever felt suicidal, must be heard by professionals, by policymakers, clinicians and other service providers. It means the media learn they have to report deaths by suicide responsibly. It means this crisis that is leading to vast numbers of unnecessary deaths, to millions left to try and make sense of suicide can't be ignored.
Connect today, communicate with others who live with the shadow of suicide, those still in its darkness and those who have tentatively emerged back into a fragile light. Care for others and just as importantly take the time to care for yourself because you matter. No matter what your mind is telling you, you matter and I care.

Four years...

And so 4 years have passed. As soon as it was August I've been thinking about this date. Not that I ever really stop thinking of what happened, most of the time though I'm able to push it to the back of my mind. As the anniversary has approached however, I've been remembering those awful days again. Of course the Olympics are on TV and I think will forever now be associated in my mind with Simon's death. That's all I remember from the summer of 2012, the Olympics and having to somehow get through each day when nothing made sense anymore.
I still miss him so much. Not that I saw him very often, but just the knowledge that he was there. And then he wasn't. I still find it hard when we pass the turning to the road his car was found in. I still can't hear Under the Bridge without remembering his funeral. I will never get used to having to talk of him in the past tense. I had two brothers and now I have one. Rob is the best brother anyone could wish for, he knows how much I love him. But I should still have two brothers and I will never be okay with that loss for I've lost a part of me.
It's four years on though and so time has done what time tends to do. Daily life has become the balm that has soothed the raw pain and while I may always bear a deeper sense of loss, a sadness that will never quite leave me, I know that as years pass this anniversary becomes a little easier each year. I lost a bit of myself when I lost Simon but I've slowly been rebuilding a new me. It's imperfect of course, but then it always was, we all have our scars and our flaws. Is it a better me? In some ways perhaps it is. I've become more aware of mental health, more invested in trying to help reduce the stigma. I try to be more forgiving, I try to remind myself that you can never know what inner turmoils people are battling. Life is too short to bear grudges. I've become more political though, I think given what has happened both nationally and internationally over the past four years that was inevitable but perhaps now I care less about what people think about me. I certainly listen more, have learned to be less defensive and I'm finding that feeling criticised or uncomfortable means I should examine my thoughts and beliefs. When Simon died I felt as though I'd had my skin torn from my body. I lost a sense of my self. I remember wondering how I could feel ripped apart and yet so numb, so very numb, at the same time. How could I feel everything and yet nothing at the same time? Four years on and I believe I'm more empathic, the kindness of friends and strangers continues to touch me. Today will soon be tomorrow and my life - a normal, messy, unpredictable, and yes happy life - will go on. Simon may not be with us but he'll always be a part of us. Four years after his suicide and I'm not just surviving, I'm doing what became too hard for him. I'm living.

A strangely prophetic picture, I'm with Rob on the right, Simon with us but apart...

Three years on

It's the anniversary of Simon's death today, three years have passed now since that life changing phone call. I've been looking back at old blog posts and I'm struck by how much better I'm feeling about this date that looms over me every year. The first two anniversaries were hard, really hard. I think the first year was such a blur, so much happened that when I realised a year had passed I didn't really feel I'd properly mourned him, everything still felt so raw.
By the time of the second anniversary I was feeling more accepting, less overwhelmed by it but as the date drew near I found myself dreaming of those early days again, and then with Robin Williams' death it felt like the newly formed scab had been picked off and I was reminded that although I'd come a long way, the feeling of loss was still just there, under the surface.
So it's now three years and I won't pretend there wasn't a feeling of trepidation as the date drew near but despite my fears this year it's different. I'm beginning to hope that scab has finally healed. I still have a scar of course, no death occurs without leaving some mark on those left behind and suicide is such a violent way to lose someone, they are ripped from your existence and and for a while you feel broken.  I wondered about writing a post today, the first year I still needed the outlet, last year, in response to Robin Williams' death I wrote about suicide not being selfish.  Did I need to write today? I'm not feeling fragile, I don't need the healing balm of writing today. And then I realised that is why I need to write this post today. It's for me but also for anybody reading it who is also mourning the death of a loved one through suicide. They call us suicide survivors as we somehow manage to keep on going after hearing the news nobody should ever hear, news that changes us irreparably.  I am a survivor but more than that I'm living, not just getting through each day, not waking every morning with that heavy feeling of loss deep in the pit of my abdomen. I am happy. Not always, sometimes I'm sad or angry or worried but these feelings aren't related to Simon any more. For a long time it was as if my grief was tangled up with who I am, even as those intense first days, weeks and months passed, even when I wrote about feeling better, I still felt that his suicide cast a shadow deep into my soul.
I'm finally starting to feel freer, there will always be a Simon sized hole in my life but it's not what defines me.
If you are grieving somebody who has died by suicide then my thoughts are with you, be gentle to yourself and give yourself time, all the time you need. If you're concerned that somebody you know may be feeling suicidal then talk to them, and more importantly listen to them and believe them. There is some useful advice here.
It's the third anniversary of my brother's suicide and for the first year since it happened I haven't cried, today there will be more smiles than tears.

"Boys don't cry" is killing our men

I've just finished watching tonight's Panorama on BBC1 in which Simon Jack (whose father died by suicide) looked at male suicide in the UK, the biggest killer of men under 50.
Naturally it's a topic that resonates deeply with me, Simon was in many ways a 'typical' male suicide. He was 37, had drug problems, was living alone after the end of a long term relationship, was in debt and had always found it hard to open up emotionally. Since his death I've come to firmly believe that openly talking about depression and suicide is so important, it's not a magic wand of course, not when mental health services are so patchy in this country, but when the rates between male and female suicides are so disparate it points to the damage done to men who learn from a young age that "boys don't cry".
As a relative of somebody who killed himself I do however, sometimes pause before posting something on social media. I'm acutely aware that I don't want to make somebody suicidal feel more guilty. After a high profile suicide there are always the inevitable "selfish" and "not thinking about their family" comments. I beg to differ of course, without presuming to know what's going through somebody's head when they decide to kill themselves I'm willing to bet they're more likely to believe they are a burden and their family and friends will be better off without them than they're planning their death without a second thought to their loved ones. It does concern me therefore that when I talk about my devastating loss it may be construed the wrong way, that I'm trying to shame people into staying alive. However, what I'm hoping to convey is that I don't believe that anybody bereaved by suicide ever feels a burden has been lifted, no matter what happened previously and whatever problems led them to that final decision. To anybody considering suicide I would say this, despite all of our ignorant and thoughtless comments, we would always choose to continue to live with you than without you. This isn't to make you feel guilty, feeling suicidal shouldn't be seen as a shameful act, please think of it as releasing you from your burden of worrying about us. Talk to us, talk to professionals, talk to someone.  It can get better and we can wait with you for as long as you need. Depression is not weakness, feeling suicidal is not wallowing. As a society we need to stop the man up comments and ignore those who have decided - without any medical knowledge or experience - that depression is a first world problem. Remember the old HIV advert in the 1980s with the iceberg and "Don't die of ignorance" slogan? I think our attitude to depression, particularly in men is a bit like that. The iceberg of shame and stigma looms there menacingly, dark and cold. It's time now to take a pickaxe to that ice, people shouldn't be dying because they don't feel they can talk. Boys being taught that they shouldn't show their emotions, they shouldn't cry, is ultimately killing our men.

A little dip

I haven't updated this blog for a while, life goes on and learning to live with the loss of Simon I think means gradually not feeling the need to write both about him as a person and about how I'm dealing with his death. When I first started the blog I didn't have any sort of a plan, just a desperate need for some sort of pressure valve, a way to free my head from the thoughts that overwhelmed me, day and night.
So those first few posts were almost a necessity, in the months following his suicide I remember needing to tap my fingers against my thumb to try to distract myself, to stem the tears when they threatened to fall again. Crying is cathartic at times but I was washed out, scared to walk into town in case they started to fall in front of strangers. I was fortunate to receive so many messages of love and support, I wasn't alone yet so often felt it as I struggled to verbalise my thoughts - the words so often stuck by the lump in my throat. Eventually I realised I needed an outlet and so began to write, of the grief, the confusion, the fear, the anger... And it helped, slowly my head felt less full, the intensity of those early months of grief passed. No doubt that would still have happened naturally as time went on but I believe writing helped ease that time a little.
I needed to write about Simon too, to remember the person he was. For a while I was consumed by the thought that he would be forgotten, there is no grave to mark that he was once here as we scattered his ashes. I've reconciled myself with that now, those of us who knew and loved him won't forget him ever and a few words on a headstone won't tell people in the future of the kind, funny, infuriating, opinionated and flawed man we knew and he doesn't need to be remembered by history. More recently I've written posts I hope help other people, both those feeling depressed and suicidal and those bereaved by suicide. This isn't entirely altruistic, I need to feel something good can come from losing Simon, that his death wasn't the end of our relationship but a catalyst for me to achieve something positive in his memory.
Recently though I've not been able to write, I've thought about it but the words wouldn't come. For a few weeks I found myself waking every morning with a deep sadness, not necessarily thinking of Simon, but  feeling that a heavy weight was on my chest. It wasn't depression, I'm not going to suggest my few weeks in a dip comes anywhere near what people who suffer depression for weeks, months and years go through. It was however, a reminder that nobody should feel they're immune to depression, my low mood passed but I'm not naive or vain enough to believe that it won't happen again or that it won't develop into something more. It wasn't an inner strength that lifted me, I was just fortunate that it was nothing more than a short period of the blues. What I have been struck by though is my reluctance to tell anybody, I often write of how depression isn't shameful, and the language used when discussing the illness isn't helpful - nobody admits to cancer or confesses they've had a migraine after all - and yet I struggled to try talk about even my brief low. Partly I think that's because I didn't (still don't) want to compare what I felt to true depression but also because it felt frightening to say out loud that I was struggling a bit.
The crushing feeling has gone now, I'm back to normal (whatever that means!) but perhaps this has been a reminder that I still need this outlet now and again. For all those of you who have ever read my jumbled thoughts, thank you, I genuinely appreciate the time you take to read and comment on my posts.

World Suicide Prevention Day 2014

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day 2014, a day that is obviously close to my heart. In England and Wales suicide is the leading cause of death in men under the age of 50. Worldwide every year almost one million people die by suicide, that's about 1 death every 40 seconds. More people die by suicide yearly than by homicide and war combined.
When I first started writing this blog it was for me, I needed an outlet for my overwhelming thoughts and feelings and realised I needed to write them down to release them. Gradually though it became more than that, people started thanking me and telling me their stories about suicide, depression and other mental health issues. One thing that struck me after Simon died was how difficult some people found it to say the word "suicide". People who have felt depressed or suicidal in the past have " confessed" it to me. I've been reminded of the scene in St Elmo's Fire where Wendy takes Billy home and warns him that her mother finds it difficult to utter certain words;

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T48Zx5Ikkzo

I remember when people found it difficult to use the word "breast" when talking about breast cancer, instead referring to it as "women's cancer". These days that stigma seems silly. Yet there is still a taboo when it comes to talking about suicide or feeling suicidal, about depression, mental health or addiction.
So now this blog is about using those words, without fear or shame. It's about recognising suicide is a global problem and that it's only by working together, by talking and listening that we might be able to start to reduce those horrifying statistics. There is much to be done, mental health services are too often insufficient, too many people fall through the gaps. However, perhaps if we start to talk, without judgement or prejudice, if we recognise that depression is an illness and no more shameful than cancer, that addicts are more than their habits, that language like "man up" and "grow some balls" may stop men seeking help, then it'll be a start and maybe we can push for more research and more help for those who need it.

In memory of Simon I'm supporting Calm's Man Down initiative,
"The Man Down campaign is all about raising awareness of the fact that suicide is now the biggest killer of men under 50.  It’s about encouraging men to recognise when they are finding life difficult and talk to someone, rather than reach a point of crisis, and it’s about encouraging us all to look out for our mates…"

https://www.thecalmzone.net/2014/09/mandown-launches-wednesday-on-merseyside/

For anybody feeling suicidal or for those concerned that somebody they know may be having suicidal thoughts Grassroots Suicide Prevention have today released an app to help prevent suicides, available on IoS and Android;

http://prevent-suicide.org.uk/

Please don't tell me suicide is selfish

Yesterday I wrote about Robin Williams and mentioned that at that point I'd not seen any talk of selfishness or cowardice. Of course since then there have been numerous examples, from Alan Brazil on TalkSport who said he has no sympathy, to Fox News anchorman Shepard Smith who suggested those who kill themselves are cowards (he has since apologised), through to the comments on social media and in the newspapers from the misinformed, ignorant or heartless.
When a loved one takes their life the aftermath is beyond anything I can really describe. Any sudden death is a terrible and tragic shock but with suicide comes so many questions, so much blame. After Simon died I tried to remember conversations we'd had, had I missed something? I trawled the internet looking for clues. There were none. Simon didn't have Robin Williams' fame and riches but he grew up in a stable and loving family. Even after he served time in prison we were there for him, visiting him when he was inside, providing a bed for him afterwards, listening to him when he talked without (I hope) judging him. Like Robin Williams though it's pointless discussing what he had. The sad fact is that he had a black hole in him, one he tried to fix with drugs but they just ripped the hole wider until it overwhelmed him. I can wonder whether Mum's death was a catalyst but perhaps it made no difference and he would have suffered the same anyway. The point is none of us can know the exact reasons why a person reaches the moment when suicide seems the only option. I don't know why it was that day, two years ago that Simon couldn't take any more and for all the media supposition we can't know why Robin Williams reached the moment where he couldn't bear it any longer. His moment will not be the same as another person's moment and there is never a straightforward reason why, depression is more complicated than that. What I never needed to hear afterwards though was that Simon had been selfish or that he had so much to live for.
When you lose someone to suicide you just need to hear "I'm sorry" or I'm here if you need me". No matter how well meaning the sentiment, hearing that your loved one chose to leave you and was selfish to make that choice is something that for me at least would have added to the anguish. I'm aware I can't talk for all those affected by suicide loss, some people do feel their loved one's decision was selfish. That is their right, it is not the right of others to make that decision. Robin Williams' family will be in complete turmoil right now, their lives have been torn apart, a myriad of competing thoughts will be filling their heads so much that they feel they could explode. They need time and space to slowly begin to learn to live without him there with them. They don't need people who only knew him through a screen saying he was selfish. People who kill themselves have reached a point where they can take no more, they may believe they are a burden to others. They do not choose to leave their loved ones behind, they don't feel they have any other choice other than ending the hopeless, overwhelming pain. When a person dies by suicide those left behind need compassion. Even if you still believe it's a selfish act I ask you what you hope to achieve by expressing those thoughts publicly? You are entitled to your beliefs of course but if you are concerned for the family left grieving then please keep those thoughts to yourself. The person who has died couldn't be kind to themselves, family will be blaming themselves, this is the time for you to do nothing more than to be kind.

O Captain! My Captain!

Tomorrow (13th August) will mark the second anniversary of Simon's death and if I'm honest I've been going through a bit of a rough patch recently. I've not been depressed, I wouldn't dishonour those who actually suffer depression by suggesting that, but if life is a roller coaster then I've been in a dip.
My cousin died of a heart attack which was obviously a terrible shock and recently I've been feeling pretty socially inept. I went on an annual camping weekend with forum friends but spent much of the time feeling awkward and out of place. I think knowing the anniversary is looming is really what's at the root of everything though, I've not been sleeping well and have been having flashbacks again.
So I've been planning to write something for a few days -  in the past it's helped me to clear my head, it's as if writing out the words releases the jumble of thoughts. Then last night I heard the devastating news that Robin Williams had died, most likely by suicide. Like many people I took to Twitter and among the many tributes I was touched to read several tweets that acknowledged depression as an illness and others that linked to helplines for the depressed and suicidal. I didn't spot any suggestions of cowardice or selfishness, although I've little doubt they're out there. I will never believe that Simon was selfish or a coward. I read an analogy last night comparing feeling suicidal to being on fire, if you're burning then you'd do anything to put out the flames; Simon, Robin Williams and all those who end their lives by suicide couldn't stand that pain any longer. It's a pain most of us won't know but I hope we can feel compassion and empathy for those who are suicidal. I did read a couple of tweets last night mentioning the thousands of suicide victims who won't be in the news today and while that's true, we won't hear their names, I don't think that means Robin Williams' sad death shouldn't be reported and grieved over. He was a man known to millions, his films have been enjoyed for decades. Dead Poets Society is one of my favourite films of all time. Before children I rarely cried at films (afterwards anything can set me off) but the "O Captain! My Captain!" scene was guaranteed to move me to tears, no matter how many times I watched it. It will be even more poignant and heartbreaking next time I watch it. Robin's death being headline news does not make the countless other deaths by suicide any less tragic or less important. Williams' death should be reported, I don't feel any bitterness that Simon's death didn't receive any media coverage. If anything I'm grateful that we were able to grieve privately and away from the world's cameras. I hope his family and friends will be given the space they need right now, I can't imagine feeling torn apart while being under the watchful gaze of the media. They are beginning their new lives as those left behind and my thoughts are with them and all those who have heard that most devastating news recently. Two years on and I'm mostly in a much better place than they will be right now. I've slowly put myself back together, it's an imperfect repair and the seams come apart at times but the patched up me will be ok, as I hope they will in time. Right now is not a time for criticising the cult of celebrity, instead perhaps Robin Williams' death can be a catalyst for open, frank and compassionate discussion of depression, addiction and suicide. Perhaps just one person will pick up the phone and ask for help today because they've see a helpline on Twitter or Facebook.
With that in mind here is a link to a list of international suicide prevention helplines. It's a US site and has a separate link at the top of the page for US helplines by state.
Depression lies but it is not a weakness. Picking up the phone and asking for help is not an admission of anything, you don't admit to cancer or heart disease, neither should you feel you should admit you have depression. Don't let shame stop you for you have nothing to be ashamed about. This might be the first step to putting out those flames.

My advice to those recently bereaved by suicide

On Saturday my brother, Rob married his long term girlfriend Charlotte. It was a day we have all been looking forward to for a long time but obviously missed loved ones were always going to be conspicuous by their absence. This was particularly true of Simon who could so easily have been stood alongside me in the photographs. If only...
However, despite my pre-wedding fear that I would find the day especially hard, I actually didn't. It was a day filled with love and laughter and although I wish with all my heart that Simon could have been there, I more than got through it, it was actually almost a perfect day and I don't think I've felt as happy for years.
So it's almost two years now and I can honestly say I'm doing well. I'm never going to completely recover from losing my brother to suicide, I don't actually think it's possible but I'm ok with that and I know that the pain I once thought would consume me won't. Life is good. Not always but it's more good than bad and that's enough.

Sadly in the almost two years since Simon ended his life many more people have also lost loved ones to suicide. If I was going to give advice to somebody recently bereaved by suicide I think I would say the following,

 1. Whatever you're feeling is ok, chances are you can't even name all those feelings right now as they compete for space in your brain. Don't feel guilty if anger is one of the emotions you're experiencing. The person you love chose to die and whilst it's not a selfish act, it is still an act that has left you shocked to your very core. Acknowledge your anger then you can let it go.
 
 2. If you feel as if your head is going to explode then find an outlet that allows you even a brief moment of peace. The thoughts will come back but finding something else to concentrate on, even for a little while will give you just enough strength to carry on. Reading and later writing was my way of coping, I often read through the night.

 3. Talk, scream, cry, rage but don't forget to laugh. You are still here and although your world has currently been shaken from its axis you are going to carry on. As much as you'd love to go back in time it can't happen so remember the person you've lost by honouring the good times you shared. Then go and make new good times, you deserve it.

4. The person you loved chose to end their life because dying became less frightening than living. It wasn't an easy choice for them, at the moment they died it probably felt the only choice. They did not choose to leave you, dying wasn't easy but they felt life had become impossible.

 5. It wasn't your fault. Whilst right now you will be sure there was something you could or should have done differently, they made the decision, you didn't make it for them. You are no more to blame than when somebody dies of cancer or heart disease. You may not have spotted the signs because they kept them hidden from you or you may have tried your very best to get them help, whatever you did or didn't do doesn't make it your fault.

 6. It will get better. Right now you can't believe that, chances are you don't want to because feeling better means moving on without them. You have to move on though, they ended their life, they didn't end yours. It will get better and you will be ok with it getting better.  

This is my advice based on my experience, it's not meant to be prescriptive, you must do what is right for you. All I can really say is that I am so very sorry for your loss. It hurts like you can't imagine and there is nothing I can say that will stop that. That intense pain though, it doesn't last, honestly it doesn't.

If you have lost somebody to suicide and would like to write about it here, either about your loved one or about your own experience as somebody bereaved in this way, then please get in touch. Writing about it has helped me immensely and I would love to be able to help others similarly affected.

Fear

It's been a little while since I updated this blog but as always Simon is never far from my thoughts and as expected over the Christmas period that was especially true.
Just before Christmas we (me, my dad and my brother) traipsed across a muddy hillside battered by torrential rain and driving winds to finally scatter his ashes. We carefully checked the wind direction, chose a spot then Rob opened the container his remains were in and tipped...we hadn't taken into account the wind was swirling in all directions and like a bad comedy poor Rob was coated in a layer of the ashes. After a bit he handed the pot over to me and I too experienced the gritty sensation of my brother's remains in my eyes. It was an odd occasion really, in some ways we were glad the weather was so awful as it meant we were able to have our moment privately - but it was too windy to hear each other speak and so we didn't say any meaningful final words. I'm not sure what I would have said anyway to be honest, it's a very strange feeling watching ashes blow across a field knowing that they were once a person. I didn't really feel emotional, just empty. I guess there's some closure now, whatever that means. It's something that's not hanging over us at least, that stage has been dealt with.
And now it's 2014, the year Simon should have turned forty. So much is spoken about ageing and the fear of growing older, we read it all the time - "30 things to do before you're 30" as if there's a cut-off date and it's always "the big 4-0" because 40 can't be mentioned as a number - the Voldemort age. Ageing, growing old, dying; with each passing year we're reminded of that ticking clock. I realise now Simon didn't fear ageing, it was living that frightened him, believing that things would never get better. In the end I suppose dying became less terrifying than living. For me it's different and in a strange way the pain I've felt has been life affirming, if anything I appreciate life more since he died. I don't know if I'll ever truly come to terms with his suicide, I think there will always be a rawness to his death but I do understand more now that his decision wasn't made selfishly but was the action of a man who just couldn't see any other way.

Suicide is the single biggest killer of young men in the UK. In 2012 there were 5,981 suicides in the UK, of which 77% (4,590) were male (ONS, NISRA, NRS). CALM, the campaign against living miserably, exists to prevent male suicide in the UK. You can read more about their aims here; http://www.thecalmzone.net/about-calm/

CALM helplines (lines open 7 days a week, 5pm till midnight)
              Nationwide - 0800 58 58 58
              London - Call: 0808 802 58 58  To text: 07537 404717 (Include CALM1 at the beginning of your first message.)
              Merseyside - Text: 07537 404717 ( Include CALM2 at the beginning of your first message.)

The Samaritans (24 hours a day, 365 days a year) 08457 90 90 90

The Maytree Suicide Respite Centre supporting people in suicidal crisis in a non-medical setting. If you, or someone you know, could benefit from a one-off stay in a safe and confidential space, call 020 7263 7070 or email maytree@maytree.org.uk.
                             

International Survivors of Suicide Day

I am a survivor. I wish I didn't have to be. I wish I didn't now bear this label but it's what I am - a survivor of suicide loss. Survivor though sounds too final, like I've accepted my loss totally and am at peace. I haven't, perhaps I never will...but I am surviving. And of course I have no choice now, not really. From the moment I heard the news I started surviving.
I'm not the only one of course, there are millions of us, too many of us. Before I joined this group I'd give anything not to be a part of I had no idea how many, just how common it is. It's one of the secrets you learn once you're thrust into your new existence as one left behind following a suicide. Too many people die of suicide, too many people are surviving suicide loss, not enough people talk about it.
There is still a stigma to suicide and to mental health, it's whispered about, avoided, not looked in the eye. And every day more and more people have to start surviving. Next time your train is delayed by a suicide or your journey to work disrupted by a person threatening to jump from a bridge remember us.  Think of us hearing the news that our loved one has taken their life. Think of us having to learn to live with the loss, with the guilt, with the anger. Think of us having to learn to survive.
November 23rd is International Survivors of Suicide Day. To my fellow survivors, I will be...I am thinking of you all.

http://www.afsp.org/coping-with-suicide/international-survivors-of-suicide-day

With my brothers on holiday in the 1970s. Simon has the parrot on his arm.

World Mental Health Day

Today (10th October) is World Mental Health Day and so I felt I should contribute something through this blog. I've not suffered mental health issues - not yet anyway, I'm not conceited enough to think I never will. After all just look at these statistics:

• 1 in 4 British adults experience at least one diagnosable mental health problem in any one year, and 1 in 6 experiences this at any given time.
  (The Office for National Statistics Psychiatric Morbidity report, 2001)
• It is estimated that approximately 450 million people worldwide have a mental health problem.  (World Health Organisation, 2001)

Even those of us who don't suffer ourselves with a mental health problem are likely to know somebody who does. Up until August 2012 I didn't know just how affected I was going to be, until that one phone call to say my brother had killed himself changed everything. It can happen just like that; one moment it's an ordinary day and the next the tsunami wave after a loved one's suicide engulfs you. My post today won't do much, it's not going to result in a miraculous cure for somebody affected by a mental illness, The Sun isn't going to suddenly develop a conscience just because I'm typing this. What I can do though is add my small voice to that of others, so that together we can help reduce the stigma of mental health issues. I have read several blogs today from people directly affected; this is me saying I may not truly be able to understand what you're going through or have been through but I am here with you, I will not judge you or tell you to pull yourself together, if you want to talk I'll listen.


I have added a pledge to the Time to Change Pledge Wall, perhaps you would like to as well and help end mental health discrimination.

If you've been affected by suicide

I started this blog because I had to. After Simon died I felt as if my head was going to explode, I could almost physically feel thoughts racing through my mind, jostling for space and pushing their way into the forefront of my consciousness. Eventually I realised I had no choice and I had to write down these thoughts and words that were spilling out of me.
Has it helped? Without a doubt. I'm past that intense stage now but knowing there is a place where I can release my thoughts continues to help me.
What I didn't expect though was the response from people reading the jumble of words that poured from me. The kind messages from friends and strangers have been truly touching, words may sometimes feel futile but knowing somebody has taken the time to offer comfort really has meant a great deal to me, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. I've also heard from other people who have lost loved ones to suicide, or who are supporting friends bereaved by suicide. How people react to this most devastating of losses is always going to be individual but I have been struck by a common desire to connect with others who have suffered the shock of losing someone to suicide. Knowing that by sharing my thoughts and experiences I have even in a small way helped others is humbling and also helps me to believe something positive can come from Simon's death. I'd like to do more though and after thinking things over I've realised that one thing I can do is offer this space to others. If your life has been forever changed by suicide and you would like to share your story or your memories of your loved one then please contact me through the form on the right of the page. I will reply as soon as I can to arrange a guest spot.

World Suicide Prevention Day - We Care

http://www.iasp.info/wspd/index.php

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day and as somebody who will always be a person left behind it's a day that's very important to me. I wasn't able to prevent Simon's suicide and I'll never know if I could have helped because he never reached out to me. Would he have heard my words anyway? Really heard them? I know from his suicide note that he couldn't bear the pain any longer and that he was afraid of living more than he feared dying. He wanted peace.
I wish I could have told him that if he could just hang on then it could get better. And I wish he could have seen himself as I saw him. I think he felt a failure, he was addicted to heroin and had a prison record. I saw much more than that though. He was so gentle, so softly spoken and kind. After he died his friends told me how he always had time to listen to their problems. I loved seeing him around animals, he lit up in their presence. My daughters loved him too, he wasn't around much sadly - too busy battling his demons - but when he did visit they had so much fun. He would have made a wonderful dad had things been different. I have such special memories too, I was the eldest and he made me a sister. I had (I hate that I have to use the past tense here) two brothers and don't remember ever wishing I had another sister. We had so much fun growing up. Arguments and fights too of course, Simon was the hot headed one out of us and my other brother Robin loved to tease him, but we were so close in age (only three and a half years between oldest and youngest) and we played with each other often. I particularly recall the volcano game we invented in our back garden that we played for weeks, it was an obstacle course we set up really but we pretended we were in the depths of a volcano..
I recall waving him off at the train station when he was leaving to go travelling around Europe with his girlfriend, choking back the tears as he left...maybe I should have let him see those tears?
We weren't really affectionate with each other, not like I am with Rob. I wish I had been now, I think he knew I loved him but I wish I'd told him every time I saw him.

So today, on International Suicide Prevention Day, if you are feeling suicidal, this is my message to you; I care and other people care too. We may be a bit rubbish at reminding you of that sometimes, perhaps we're guilty of assuming you know it. You may feel you are a failure or a burden. You are neither,  you are loved, please believe that.
Nobody should have to die alone, the thought that Simon's last moments were about as lonely as you can be tears me up. Nobody should die alone.
We care.

If you are despairing and considering suicide you can find global crisis centres here; http://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/

If you are suffering the bereavement of a loved one through suicide there are resources here; http://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/

One year later

A year ago today the phone rang with the call that would rip my world from its axis. A lot has happened in that year. I've been to a hospital mortuary to formally identify my brother's body, spoken to a policeman about the needles found in his car, been to a travellers site and hugged the addicts who were his friends, watched his coffin disappear from view, gone on holiday two days after his funeral, seen my youngest daughter start school, held my 98 year old grandfather's hand as he slipped from life, helped organise his funeral, learned about steel framed houses, moved house, mourned the death of my 18 year old cat, had a routine mammogram as three generations of my family died of breast cancer (still waiting for the results).
I've also grown even closer to my other brother, made new friends, both in real life and online, been deeply touched by the kind words of both friends and strangers - the internet may be a dark place of bullies and trolls but there are also many thoughtful and decent people using it too. I've sat on the floor of my shower and sobbed, cried more tears than I thought was possible, read books that have changed my life, laughed, loved, danced and sung.
 I will always have a gaping wound - time doesn't heal everything but it becomes easier to bear. It's a year on and I'm still here.

Almost a year...

It's almost a year now since Simon took his life. I've been having dreams about him again, although now at least I'm talking to him rather than seeing his body. When I was thinking about updating this blog yesterday I was intending to just talk about my feelings and specifically my anger. Reading back through my old blogposts I was struck by how I avoided mentioning how angry I was with him. I think I felt by admitting it I was letting him down and not accepting his right to decide to take his life.
But now I am ready to say I was angry with him, I still am angry a bit. What about MY rights? And the rights of my dad and other brother? We deserve the right not to be grieving over the loss of a brother and son through suicide, to not be forever wondering if there was something we could have done, shouldn't have said, if we'd only done this or noticed that...
I've decided now it's ok to be angry, his actions ripped our lives apart and I love him and forgive him but he's not the one dealing with the aftermath, we are and our feelings are just as valid now as his were then. So I'm accepting my anger as part of my grief, not all of it but a part that needs to be recognised as much as the sorrow, confusion, loss and numbness.
I don't want this post to be just about anger though, the sun is shining and I'm sitting in my garden typing this - it's a good day! So this post is also about making new friends, friends who understand. I post on Twitter a lot and have had a few conversations with people who have lost a loved one through suicide. After Simon died I remember trawling the internet for mentions of him (I even joined a forum he posted on) but also I looked for people who had been through it. I found very little UK based and so when I do connect with others it means a lot. I was really pleased therefore when David Hurst followed me on Twitter. David's best friend Tim killed himself and as a result David has written *relentlessly me* A memoir of a best friend's suicide. I haven't read it yet as I have three other books on the go but it's downloaded and I'm looking forward to reading it soon. If we can keep the memories of Simon and Tim (and all the other people who kill themselves) alive through talking and sharing and make new friends then something good has come from all this, hasn't it?
If you want to talk to me on Twitter then it would be lovely to hear from you. I don't talk much about suicide because my life is about so much more but neither do I shy away from talking about it or about depression or mental illness. The more of us who talk and who challenge the stigma the better.

What I wished I'd said

I recently read the author Matt Haig's incredibly moving blog post entitled 'Reasons To Stay Alive' I wish with all my heart I could have shown something like this to Simon and that he would have believed it - or at least just hung on a bit longer to see.
If I could have shown him the post I would have also added the following personal words, things I really should have said when I had the chance;

1. I love you. Really. Not just words and not just because I have to. No matter what you've done I will always love you. I am not ashamed of  you or disappointed in you, just sad for you.

2. Talk to me about Mum. I know you miss her every day because I do too. Just because she died years ago doesn't mean you should be over it.

3. Cry more often. You've always bottled your feelings up. Crying isn't a sign of weakness.

4. You are more special than you think you are.

If you haven't read Matt's post yet please do, chances are depression will touch your life some way sooner or later.

Mental Health Awareness Week 2013

Next week is Mental Health Awareness Week. A little while ago this would barely have registered with me if I'm honest. If asked then I would have agreed that mental health was something that should be discussed openly, not kept hidden and seen as something shameful. Indeed I've tried to reassure online friends suffering with depression that they're not weak, bad parents or failures and have no more reason to feel guilty than somebody afflicted with cancer.
However, it wasn't something I thought affected me directly, and so I may have retweeted a link but doubt I'd have spared long thinking about what mental health actually means and how all of us need to look after our mental health and wellbeing.
Now though it's something I think about often. Simon never told me he was depressed and that probably makes me sadder than anything. I question why he never felt he could share that with me. Was he ashamed? Was I not approachable? He was a drug addict with a prison record and I'm a married mother of three daughters. Did he feel that in comparison to my socially acceptable lifestyle he was a failure and so I wouldn't want to know?
Last weekend was a difficult one for me. It started well, I went to see my middle daughter sing at the Albert Hall with her school choir and spent the day in London with my dad, step-mother, brother and his girlfriend. It was a really good day so I'm not sure why that night I had a vivid nightmare about my father being diagnosed with a terminal illness. And I'm not sure why that meant I was about as low as I have been for a long time for the next few days. For some reason thinking of Dad's mortality was enough to push me back down into that abyss of grief and for a while there it was really hard again. I retreated into myself and cried tears for myself, for Simon and for my family.
The cloud passed though and I could breathe again. It was a reminder that grieving isn't a linear process and the lows can strike without warning. I sometimes wonder if I should seek some sort of counselling? Is dealing with the unexpected suicide of a loved one something you can deal with on your own? I think I'm mostly doing ok but it's something I've become open to. If the lows become more frequent and last longer then I think it's something I would seriously consider.
Simon never spoke of his mental health issues until it was too late and then we only found out through his suicide note. I wish I could have told him that he had nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear from telling me. I would always have been there for him. I wasn't able to do that but perhaps this blog will just help raise awareness of how important it is that mental health is discussed openly.
More about Mental Health Awareness Week can be found here; http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/our-work/mentalhealthawarenessweek/get-involved/ This year the theme is the importance of physical activity and how it can enhance our quality of life.

Catching my breath

It's been a while since I last blogged but life hasn't been quiet here. In November my heart was ripped open again when my grandfather died. It wasn't a totally unexpected loss, he was 98, but up until a few months before his passing he was full of life still and I think we all dared to believe he would reach his century. He was and remains my inspiration in life, his wasn't a life untouched by tragedy; he fought a hard WW2, seeing action in North Africa and Italy (where he saw his best friend beheaded by machine gun fire), he lost both his wife and daughter (my mum) to breast cancer aged just 58 and 42 years respectively. Shortly after losing my mum I remember somebody asking him if he ever asked "why me?" to which he replied "no because that would imply I wished it on somebody else instead."
He was tolerant and non-judgmental, he believed few people were inherently bad and whilst he would never condone bad behaviour nor excuse it, he understood that a myriad of circumstances could lead people into making certain life decisions. A prime example being following the 2011 riots when he talked of a poverty of hope and aspirations.
He was fun too, so much fun. His jokes were awful but told with such relish, you couldn't help but laugh. Growing up all the children in our neighbourhood called him 'Grandad' and I remember feeling so proud. To know him was to love him.
He found Simon's suicide very hard. They had a bond when Simon was growing up, he loved us equally but they had a special understanding and I think it hurt him deeply that Simon didn't feel he could come to him. His cause of death was pneumonia secondary to lung cancer but I do wonder if Simon's death just made him that bit more tired of life. His decline was noticeable and rapid between August and November.
I was honoured to be able to help organise his funeral. My uncle (his son) has never married and lived with him, as my mum is dead and my other brother lives away it meant I was the person able to be there to support my uncle through those difficult days. It was obviously a hard time, perhaps particularly so coming so soon after helping organise another funeral and there were days where I didn't really want  to wake up and face the reality of my losses. However, knowing I was there to support my uncle and that we gave Grandad the funeral he deserved was of some comfort and if anything good has come of these last few months it's the reminder of the importance of family and the need to spend time with our loved ones.
To add to my mental turmoil on the day Grandad passed away we found a buyer for our house so as well as registering a death and organising a funeral I was house hunting and making decisions affecting our future. There were many days where I felt my head would explode and I'm not really sure how much I truly remember of November and December, much of it feels a blur.
We moved at the end of January and it's only now I feel like I can catch my breath. I'm still not entirely sure I've grieved Simon's death properly, perhaps I never will. In some ways I would have liked life to stop a bit so I could take the time to come to terms with my loss, with Grandad's death and the house move coming so soon afterwards it feels as though I've been pushed to move on before I was ready.
I'm doing ok, I can look at photos of Simon now without crying and he's not my first thought when I wake up. The flashbacks have mostly stopped too. I still have moments when I lie in bed at night and silently weep when I think of my loss and of what he must have gone through and I guess that for as long as I live I'm going  to have that aching sense of something missing. Mostly though I'm all right, life feels calmer and I'm going to take the opportunity to breathe and appreciate what I had and what I still have.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Well not party as such, but it was my 40th birthday last week. It also happened to be exactly two months ago that Simon died. Special days following a death are always hard, I remember really struggling with New Year after Mum died and this was no different.
I spent the first part of the day in tears, I think with it being a milestone birthday I was particularly aware of the future we're not going to have with him now. He'll never celebrate his 40th birthday, I'll never go to his wedding or be an aunt to his children. I've lost him in the now but I'm also mourning what could have been.
That aching hole is always going to be there, I'm always going to feel desperately sad that I'm not going to be able reminisce with him or share a future. He stopped while the rest of us go on and whilst I know that's the way it has to be there are some days when it just feels that bit more difficult to comprehend.
Mostly though I get on with the day to day, I smile and laugh and life is generally pretty good but on my birthday it was hard...