Unheard - Mental Health and Suicidal Thoughts
When you type into google "Would anyone care if I wasn't here anymore" the top search engine result is the Samariatians. You might wonder why I know that... but if you are wondering, you are not listening. I am exhausted. Mentally struggling. Emotionally wrung out and physically a wreak. My skin tone right now would be described as sallow. The bags under my eyes numerous from lack of sleep. Various aliments leave me in physical pain and discomfort. I look like shite, I feel like shite.
This isn't my first rodeo with struggling with my mental wellbeing and it's probably a good thing - because otherwise I probably wouldn't recognise the suicidal thoughts for what they are and what they mean. I wouldn't be practiced in initiating every coping strategy at my disposal to not go down that road. But for the first time in over a decade I have begun struggling with wanting to self harm. There I said it out loud. I would like to say in making that particular confession that I haven't acted on those thoughts... but the truth is there's been a couple of occasions in recent weeks when I have been so overwhelmed with anger that I have bitten my hand leaving teeth indentations and bruises. It has prevented me from curling up in a ball and screaming uncontrollably but it is a sign of how much pain I am in, that physical pain is needed to drown it out.
How have I got to this place? The short version is CoVid, my business blowing up because of CoVid and accompanying financial worries, two years without having a break from being Mum of two disabled kids, one of which had a seizure in January 2021 and explosive onset of Tourettes leading to having to pull them out of school in the middle of their GCSE assessments, balancing work with the effort need to navigate all the agencies involved because of my kids disabilities, trying to work whilst home schooling and navigating lockdown with two disabled kids, losing all of the support (such as respite) that was in place, building work not being finished and the realisation that our family are isolated, and without community. Mix in my Mum having a masectomy mid LD3, being wrongly accused of causing a car accident that didn't happen (it was dropped but meant I lived for three months with a police investigation hanging over my head) and a breast cancer scare of my own... and it's been a constant malestrom of things to overcome. I am lucky I have saint for a husband, but my steady rock, who is NOT prone to mental health problems is suffering too. If there were a warning system for a family in trouble we would have all the hazard lights blinking red.
I haven't pretended that we are okay. Both me and my husband are definitely suffering from parental burnout. I have asked for help, being open about how much we are struggling. I have spoken to our TAC officer assigned to our family from social services explaining how much we are struggling. I have reached out to a carers charity. Heck I even rang the samaritarians up one morning at 3am when things were really bad... only to be interrupted by my son freaking out. In July my son's therapist told me he was worried about me, and suggested we need to take time out. When? How?
Failed attempts to help
In August my brother was going to take the kids out for one day to give us a break, and later in the same week my parents were also going to take the kids out for the day. On the day my brother took my kids to Thorpe Park my husband and I spent a glorious six hours kid free. We mooched around a gallery, had afternoon tea on the terrace over looking the sea, soaking up the sun and breathing in the peace and quiet. It was glorious. But my brother came back from Thorpe Park earlier than planned because my daughter had a headache. That night at 1am in the morning I ended up in A&E with my daughter who had caught CoVid. The next day with the whole family taking lateral flow tests and my brother in law testing positive, we packed up our stuff, drove 5 hours home without stopping and lived with CoVid in our home for ten days. Not an easy thing to do with a germaphobic son. So much for our restorative time out.
In September I posted on FB asking for help. Only one person responded with an offer of help... and then kept cancelling on us. We were members of a community church for over 20 years. My husband and I met in church, married in church, had both our kids in church. All our big life events as adults took place in the context of that church. In June 2019 I made the decision to leave the church over doctrinal differences. My church pastor asked me if I was leaving the church or leaving the community. I said I was leaving the church and was told to "remember that." My husband and kids are still, to all intents and purposes, members of the church. Two weeks before Lockdown 1 my daughter was baptised by the church in a local swimming pool. But we haven't heard from our "community" for 18 months. No one has checked in on us since Lockdown 1. Not our pastor, not the elders of the church, nor the majority of our "friends." We are ghosts. We are on our own.
Since the FB post I've spoken to my brother who offered to come and visit for the weekend, giving my husband and I an opportunity to spend a day at a spa and book a night away in a hotel. Our first night away from the kids since 2019. It was all booked and sorted but then my brother, for good reasons, rang last week to say he couldn't do it. We've sorted it but rather than it being 'easy' - there's a lot of faffing around involved. The end of November can't come soon enough.
Would anyone care if I wasn't here?
And so that invasive thought has begun to get louder. Whirling around my inner dialogue multiple times a day. I see it for what it is, but as exhausted as I am, sometimes it is easier to leave it swirling than take the steps needed to bat it away. Last week it become more invasive, more insistent taking up my cognitive energy, vigorously robbing me of peace and calm. And so I decided to do the opposite of what I was feeling I could cope with. I invited everyone I knew to an open house to reunite, reconnect and hang out. No agenda, just friends coming together. Over eighty people were invited directly by me and an open invitation was posted on FB and our streets Whatsapp. But last night, after an hour, no one had showed up and I lay down on my bed and sobbed.
You see, I had told myself my feeling of isolation was all in my head because I was feeling vulnerable and tired. My perspective, like my mental health is squiffy. People did care, I have friends, lots of friends, I just needed to reach out and not allow my feelings of isolation lead to behaviours that isolated me from others.
Eventually four people turned up. But not a single one of my neighbours came. Nor did anyone else from our extensive community that we had been part of for two decades. Our open house invitation is open for two more Saturday evenings, so perhaps more people will turn up next week. But, given my currently destructive thought patterns the feeling of isolation that has been plaguing me for months is viseral and toxic. This morning I woke up with heart palpitations as the anxiety begins to morph into physical symptoms of panic.
We didn't know anything was wrong
There are too many social media posts appearing on streams from friends or family of people who have committed suicide. The posts invariably say something about people not realising anything was wrong. They also say something along the lines of make sure you ask for help. Well, I have been asking for help for most of 2021. I even plainly said in my September FB post "I need practical help not platitudes" to which someone commented; "you are so strong." FFS.
Since April I have openly been saying, when asked how I am doing, that I am struggling with my mental wellbeing, that I am tired, exhausted, feeling vulnerable... and since September, I have been saying that I am feeling isolated. Two months ago I emailed our TAC officer that I was beginning to have thoughts about self harming. So either people aren't hearing me or they are not listening to what I am saying.
Over to you I can talk about this stuff because I really don't care if you think I am a basket case. I am still functioning. I am still smashing it at work and I know I will navigate "this" with or without help from my absent friends and neighbours. But the reason for this post is because if this is happening to me - Mrs So Transparent I am like Cellophane, then there is a huge problem happening. Everyone, including YOU needs to wake up and smell the roses. I want you to really think about your friends, your family, colleagues and neighbours. To what extent are their cries for help remaining unheard? We need to stop giving platitudes and lip service to "being there" for others. We need to see, really see, those who need help and well, fucking well BE THERE giving real help when and wherever it is needed. Who needs your help? Pick up the phone. Drop round their house. Send them a message. Do it NOW. Don't wait until the unheard become another suicide.









