Through the valley of the shadow

I wrote this piece a while ago, reflecting on earlier, darker, times in my life. Some have seen it in other contexts, and I am grateful to them for their advice and support.  Some have counselled against sharing further - for fear of stigma, or that it may be taken the wrong way.

The times I describe have passed; yet too many are suffering, today, through similar experiences.  This past Mental Health Week prompted me, at last, share it in hope that these words might help others.

Depression kills.

The statistics, if you read them, are stark. In 2014, there were over 6,000 suicides in the United Kingdom: three quarters of those men. Suicide may, indeed, be the biggest single health risk to young men; yet most suicides are at older ages.

Suicide took Turing and Boltzmann; Curtis and Cobain; Van Gogh and Rothko; Woolf, Plath and Hemingway; Hancock, Williams and McQueen. It has touched those near and dear to me.

The realities of suicide are complex. Not every suicide, or suicide attempt, is linked to depression, but many are.

Until you’ve been down there, it is hard to understand. The bleakness is all. Tears, when they come, may almost be relief – for their bitter sting reminds you that you can still feel. You cannot explain it; you cannot pull yourself out. You build a wall to protect those you love from the gnawing hole in your soul, but dig it ever deeper in the process. You tell yourself that what you do and what you contemplate is for the best.

You need help, but feel beyond it.

At least, that is how it was for me. I have been there. I have stood upon the platform, day after day, week after week, month after month: wondering if this would be the day I step under the express. I have mentally measured heights of balconies. I have done the cold, hard arithmetic on financial consequences. I have drafted, edited and honed – in head and on paper – notes that I might leave.

I know that I am one of the lucky ones. Many suffer worse than I did. I survived. Too many don’t.

In the end I was able to find a light in the darkness – and to recognise it as such. I am endlessly thankful to those who stood by me in those dark times. I wish, though, that I had spoken sooner.

So now I find myself writing a different sort of note, this time in hope not despair. I hope that these meagre words may inspire someone to reach out a hand to ask for help, or to offer it to one in need.

For those who are today struggling in that darkness, please talk.

Talking helped me to gain control of it, rather than let it control me. Talk to a friend or loved one – if you can. If that is too difficult, find a doctor, a counsellor, a priest, a rabbi, an imam. Talk to the Samaritans – or their equivalent. If someone speaks to you, please listen and do not judge – you may not understand what they are going through, but even the smallest gesture could save a life.

Be kind. Watch the signs. Help each other to find a reason to be.