Life after Suicide. (contains descriptions that could be triggering)

I wrote this some time ago and deleted it in error.

>>>>please be warned the following may contain triggering descriptions of self harm, <<<<




Following another high profile death to suicide I feel compelled to write about the lives of those left behind.  So much is given to the tragedy of the act of the person that the impact on suicide for those left behind is rarely discussed.

My reason for writing this is the hope that by raising the sheer hell for those involved may go some way to persuade someone not to do that final act.

Suicide is not exclusive to celebrity it can hit anyone, rich or poor, famous or unknown, popular happy people are not exempt from this desire to exist no more.

It can come at a moments notice or it can be the end of a long road of planning.

It can come as a result of something traumatic, or it can creep in with depression consuming your whole being. Your whole self worth.  It does not choose who it affects just as cancer does not choose its recipient.

Anyone who hasn’t been that low will justify it as selfish but I honestly believe that thought is wrong, at the point you decide to take your life you are so convinced that you are the one who is the burden, that everyone around you will somehow be relieved that you are no longer bringing them down is so strong. Because it is an illness, it isn’t a choice.  You don’t choose to get appendicitis or cancer just like you don’t choose to become mentally ill. I personally feel in time we will fully understand it and treat it with the respect it deserves.

My personal journey started nearly 3 yrs ago after the suicide of my friend and kind of partner. He was 30.
I had no warning. We were going through a very difficult time and to be honest as with everything in life nothing is simple.

I don’t feel it is necessary to go into the intricacies of our relationship I would be here all day trying to make sense of that. But the point is he didn’t give me one clue of what was to come.
It was the day after new year January the 2nd 09 my son was 13 and he had had his friend stay over. I got up as usual D and I had spoken about his future, as he was sleeping on my settee and he agreed it was time to move forward.  I had left him on the phone to a lady about renting when we left to drop my sons friend to the train station.

Half an hour later my son and I arrived back home. He walked in first and was staring at the stairs (we had a spiral staircase in the front room) I couldn’t see what he was staring at but thought maybe D had packed already. My son did not move and I did not click it was something terrible. Looking back I didn’t twig the dog was not about either.
All I can remember is when I did realise my first instinct was to pull my son away from the scene. I dragged him back outside to the car and told him to stay put.

Then It hit me.. Full on.. The fear of going back in there and facing what was happening was unreal. But I had to, I had to try at least. A neighbour about 4 doors up was out having a cigarette I needed him to help me as I knew I could not get him down on my own.  I kind of regret that because I exposed him to the awful horror too, but I needed physical help.
We cut him down and whilst I was ringing the ambulance I was trying to do CPR it was the hardest thing I have ever done. But I know if there was any chance of bringing him back to life the anger that I put into the CPR would have done it.
I remember getting angry with the poor Ambulance guy on the phone because I couldn’t talk to him and do what he was telling me.
I asked the cigarette guy to do some breaths so I could talk and do CPR. He did and soon after there was this gurgle followed by a projectile vomit that hit us square on.

I remember the Ambulance turned up and I just stood up and said “he is gone”  I was taken out the front of the house and then the Police came.
It was at that point I realised the dog was out in the back garden. Silly but shocked to realise he had not wanted the dog to witness it.
I then rang his mum, I’m not sure if it was the right thing but I felt she should know as soon as possible,
The Police came out and confirmed he had died and I just said I knew.
My Mum turned up shortly afterwards and I joined my son in our car. I just sat there  over and over again saying sorry to my son sorry sorry sorry.  No parent would want their child to witness this. He put his arm around me and said “mum he was ill to do that its not your fault“. Alex was angry with him and I don’t blame him because I was too.

The police drove me to my mums Im not sure why maybe that was when I gave the statement I cant remember.
And that is when I became ill. It was about 3 weeks after. I had returned home with my son and we tried to, waited to, get better.
We were both terrified of the dark all of a sudden. We both had bad dreams and we both needed the lights on full at night.
Walking up the stairs was like walking past a ghost every time. The only feeling I can relate it too is when I felt real fear as a child. Of monsters and ghosts.
Like watching a horror film but it’s a real horror film its your horror film.

I started having really bad night sweats and smelling the vomit so clearly I expected him to be there. Dead on the floor again.  When I opened my eyes I expected to see his face as it was when it was hanging. Swollen and red with bulging eyes and a protruding tongue.
Worst of all was an unhealthy urge to understand. So much so that I found myself replicating the act.
I knew then I was in trouble so I went to my GP, by the end of that day I was in the local mental health unit for assessment.

Things just got worse and worse. The images would not go and the only thing that gave me relief was tying ligatures around my neck until I looked like he did. The night sweats continued as did the smells and visions.
My time in the unit was not brilliant, I am of a happy friendly disposition and found myself putting on a front because that is all I know how to be. I don’t like putting people in awkward position and telling or being everything I felt just felt wrong.

An example of that is the day after an energy man knocked on my door and he came in and I signed up to a new energy company. He left not having a clue that only yesterday someone had died in the same room and I was my normal happy self.

A nurse said to me that she found it hard to believe I should be in the unit when she saw me laughing with other patients.
This had a profound effect on me I felt like a cheat and liar. As if I was seeking sympathy and was not really ill.
Another nurse said during a bad time that if I was really going to do it I would have by now.
My Dad phoned me and in anger just let rip. This was all my fault for being a soft cow and I had to pull myself together and get out of there and look after my son.
My Mum couldn’t cope with the fact I shut myself off and took it that I didn’t need her so she withdrew visiting
My brother told me he loved me but he would wait til I was better before visiting. The truth is he was shit scared of the unit and the people in it.
All this culminating in me attempting on several occasions. My relief came slightly when they told me I was suffering PTSD but only because it gave a reason that wasn’t my fault.
I was already carrying all of the guilt of D wanting to die, to punish me by not giving me the chance to stop him.
I felt angry that he had succeeded and I couldn’t. I felt mad that he had taken my life too but I was left to suffer forever.

I was in and out of the unit most of that year, mostly because of the situation of not coping in my home, I had a mortgage which didn’t make it easy to move, and because of flash backs and bad care at times at the unit itself.

I remember the night before D died he was laughing. Really belly laughing. I was lying in bed upstairs and assumed he was watching something funny.
Now I realise it was probably something else

I believe if D realised the full impact of the fallout from his actions, if he realised how grotesque he looked when my son and him found him, if he knew the pain he caused to me and his family. If he saw his family blaming me for things I didn’t do because of their pain he would not have done it.
In that moment he saw a way out. To him it was the only answer at that time.

For his daughter she will grow up never knowing her dad but knowing how he died.
For his sister she will always hurt that he didn’t need her
For his mum she will forever feel like she failed
For his dad he will forever regret that that the last time he saw his son alive was as a child when he left home.
For my son and I we will never ever forget the pain and carry our memory’s and pain to eternity.
For all of his friends they will wonder how the happy chappy cheeky D came to this.

And yet in the 3 years I knew him not one of them visited him or told him they would be there for him. He had used up all his ask for help cards
 They did what we all do and took life for granted but it didn’t mean they didn’t care.