LET'S TALK ABOUT SUICIDE

I write this post with the utmost respect to those who have died by suicide, and with my deepest compassion and condolences to all families whose lives were forever changed, and although I have dedicated a tremendous amount of time to healing since 2007, we all know that it's not that simple, because healing is not linear and it takes constant and ongoing mindfulness and hard work.

Two nights ago, all past hurt, betrayal, and injustice that had touched my life since childhood, exploded from the deepest inner depths of that contained, untouchable void cleverly constructed in childhood, where overwhelming emotions were silenced until I'd basically buried myself alive to feel nothing at all - completely logical in a household where expressing truth and feelings jeopardized my safety and sense of belonging, and this is not a judgement of my parents, it just was. They followed what they were taught and did what they knew.

Only, this time around, I was consciously noticing the cycles, connecting the dots on patterns and triggers, and feeling the raging inner storm, instead of running. My thoughts were racing, colliding, and crashing. With rage coursing through my veins, my internal world was speeding up, out of control to the point of illogical oblivion, being in my skin felt dangerous, and my nervous system was tearing at my flesh to escape imminent death. When I could no longer trust my actions, I took half a sleeping tablet and shut it down. The next day, a family friend confided in me that his friend's daughter had taken her life that same evening. My heart sank with an indescribable sadness. Had I felt her anguished last moments? Maybe, maybe not, but it got me thinking...I wondered why suicide statistics are still at an all-time high, with so many, nowadays, advocating mental health awareness and suicide prevention, in a society that no longer deems this a taboo subject, and the most prevalent explanation that came to me, is that this fragile and complex subject is still largely misunderstood.

In 2010, when I overdosed on Seroquel, Tegretol, and Valium, I didn't just decide that today I want to die. I'm aware that every suicide attempt, and suicide, is a personal story, but I'm thinking that maybe there's a common underlying thread. I didn't want to die on that day. Looking back now, I realise that the build-up to that serious overdose was exactly the same, as what I experienced two nights ago with racing thoughts, colliding, crashing, and speeding up, out of control, and there were signs everywhere, but everybody in my life, dismissed them.

In 2024, I worked at St. Katherine's Parmoor, near Henley on Thames; a retreat house owned and run by the Sue Ryder Prayer Fellowship. The house was given to Sue Ryder by Mother Christine, the last surviving member of the community of St. Katherine of Alexandria which she'd owned for over 50 years, and today, it is also home to the Lady Ryder Memorial Garden. During my time there, I experienced the same thing, on an entirely different level. A short walk from the main house, was a separate building, St. Josephs. It was a Friday, and I was preparing rooms for the weekend. As I was cleaning one of the bathrooms, that directly looked out over glass double-doors, a young girl walked in, pulling a suitcase behind her. I greeted her but she didn't reply, and I remember thinking, what a bitch, but as I watched her, I felt the deep sadness within her, and I remember thinking, your heart is broken. Then I wondered how she'd managed to get through the corridor so quickly, with closed doors either end, but I finished cleaning and returned to the main house. Without thinking, I informed the owner that a guest had arrived, and he frowned and said that all three male guests were only due to arrive the next day, and we walked back to St. Joseph's. There was nobody there. Naturally, I was looked upon as crazy and delusional, but I asked him what the building was used for, before, and it was run by the nuns as a safehouse for abused women and single mothers. I know, without a doubt, that what I saw was real - what she was wearing, her weary, defeated posture dragging her few belongings behind her, the expression in her eyes, the hopelessness that had left her empty, believing that she didn't deserve better, and for the next three days, I felt every hurt and betrayal that this girl had experienced, every emotion that she'd never voiced, or that had never been taken seriously, and again, my thoughts were racing, colliding, crashing, and speeding up, out of control. Those three days were filled with tears from unreachable depths, with a deep sadness that no words can describe, but I held space for her, certain that she had suicided, hoping that she could feel my love and know that she was not alone - that somebody cares and that she matters.

I am acutely aware that suicide does not discriminate and that lives lost, are people of all walks of life, class, and upbringing, but looking back at everything, including my childhood, it makes sense to me that there might be common denominators for why someone gets to that point of feeling that there is no other way out, other than to end their life...During my sixteen lengthy psych. admissions, over a three-year period, while undergoing intensive psychotherapy, every patient, in every mental health unit, I met, struggled with a low to non-existent sense of self, with a fractured sense of belonging, and a gaping void of being misunderstood, and feeling isolated and alone. At some point, most likely during those very important informative years of a child's life, they felt unheard and invalidated and just to make it clear, I am not a therapist, and my views and perspective are solely based on my life experience, but I think that feeling invalidated plays a huge role in suicide.

The abuse by my father was invalidated, and enabled by my mother, who drove it through my skull that it wasn't happening, and that it was all in my head. The abuse by my cousin, was invalidated, even though he is now sitting behind bars for paedophilia. The abuse by the Baptist Church was invalidated, even when I'd have a physical reaction every Sunday (from age 5-12) and was bribed with a soft serve ice-cream, which made me want to vomit, and that truth was brought to light, in a newspaper report, after decades of abuse by the church. All of the above, invalidated ME. Not being heard, invalidated me as a person. It invalidated my human rights. It invalidated my feelings. It invalidated my truth. It changed the way in which I saw myself and the world. It made me question reality, resulting in severe dissociative disorder. I learnt to distrust my own judgement, disown my body, disregard my inner voice, and I saw family, and all relationships as a threat. It taught me that nothing could be trusted - not myself, not others, not the world, and this all in-turn, secured a faulty foundation to carry me into adulthood, resulting in further trauma, with an innate belief that I am undeserving, that I am not enough, and that my needs don't matter.

Today, even with having healed immensely, I am still massively triggered in situations where I feel unheard, ignored, or left without choices and powerless, whether real or perceived, and I have to consciously step back and force myself to be present. Getting through every day can be draining, with so many, not understanding the amount of energy exerted internally, just to be able to function daily.

Whoever created the quotes, there are others worse off than you, and that which does not break you, makes you stronger, echoed through generations, and so thoughtlessly taken on by society, clearly had a lack of insight. Do people actually hear what they are saying? For those crying out, these words only reiterate that their crisis, and what they are experiencing (which is painfully real for them) is not taken seriously, that they do not matter, and that they have not tried hard enough. Bear in mind, that anyone who is suicidal, is most likely at a point where they are lacking in judgement and logic, and in no state to receive criticism or blame, let alone brainstorm for a quick fix, or finding a perfect solution, while being told to show a little more gratitude. If it's anything like my experiences, they're trapped in their head, while their nervous system is overwhelmed with escalating feelings and emotions, speeding up, and impossible to describe or articulate. In that moment, balancing between life and death, maybe the only thing needed, is to be taken seriously, and for somebody to say, I am here, hear my voice. It's not about understanding the inner storm that the person is trying to survive, it's about letting them know that they are important enough to fight for, and that they have somebody in their corner, right here and right now, to fight for them while they can't. That urgency to act, eventually passes, and once the crisis has subsided, it's vital to ground, or if need be, seek professional help to gain healthy coping mechanisms and start the healing process, or continue to evolve and grow. Then, of course, there are the ones who hide their pain well, never reaching out for help, and who just quietly slip away, but guaranteed, somewhere along the road leading up to this fateful day, there would've been signs that nobody cared to notice.

So, my train of thinking, is this - should the focus on suicide prevention maybe be more about educating on the importance of healing generational trauma within families, as invariably unhealed parents' and familial dysfunction, repeat, until this destructive, normalised cycle is broken. I believe that if parents are aware of how vital it is to heal their past, so that they can be emotionally available to their children, and really hear them, then hopefully, we'll be creating a healthier, more confident, next generation, resulting in a healed society, better equipped to dealing with an already stressful world, and surely this has to have a positive impact in reducing suicide...Just a thought.

TO ANYONE STRUGGLING TODAY...

YOU ARE NOT ALONE, I AM HERE

JUST HEAR MY VOICE

YOU MATTER