Mental Health Awareness: “I’m sorry that you did this alone”

I don’t share much of my personal life, I’m a keep it to myself and deal with it myself kind of person, that’s how I’ve always been. Life goes on and problems pass, as people our way of dealing with things vary differently. But on World Suicide Prevention Day I decided to share my Grandad’s suicide, to remove a stigma which myself and people around me have been holding onto.

Here, through an open letter to my Grandad I share with you how I felt 4 days after it happened and still do now:

“Dear Grandad,

I’m sorry:

That you felt this way,

That you felt this was the only way out,

That there was no help.

 

I can’t grasp or understand your pain,

All I understand is how I feel now you’re gone.

I’m not angry at what you’ve done.

I’m full of sorrow: that your pain is the cause of this misery.

Not a physical pain,

Not a physical illness;

But one that has suffocated and swallowed your mind and taken you away from us.

 

I’m sorry that you did this alone, that you ever felt alone in the beginning.

I’m sorry that you did not realise how much you are loved,

that not even the infinite love we all feel for you could have changed your mind.

I’m sorry life ever led you to this,

That it did not fulfil your wishes,

That your body and mind failed to show you how beautiful the world is.

I just hope that in those moments of control you were happy. That you truly believed this was the only way.

 

I will look after Nan, we all will.

I will do anything for her, as I would have done for you too.

Thank you:

for making Nan so happy,

for showing her the world,

for taking her dancing,

for giving her two beautiful children and for asking her out.

Thank you for coming to see my plays, for listening to my brother’s music, for showing my eldest brother the way, and for encouraging the youngest’s thirst for knowledge.

I always thought I’d be angry, that I’d brand it “selfish”; but I’m not angry and I know it isn’t selfish. You were feeling something I can’t ever comprehend, something I’ve never experienced. I can’t try to figure out how I could have noticed, how I could have saved you in some way, how I could have made you stay one more day. I have to accept that you chose that day, all in order to take the pain away. At 72 you’ve held on for so long, for us, for Nan, for your family, I know that. When life began to fall into place that moment was yours to take, to know that we’d have each other when you weren’t there.

I will never be able to not relive the phone call, to not have moments where my heart breaks over and over again, where all I can do is cry, but I can begin to come to terms with it. To write down things that make it better, to find some sort of peace in knowing that in that moment you were happy with how things were. But please don’t ever think that I wouldn’t give anything to show you just how wonderful life is, ten times over.

I’ll love you forever.”

 

I never thought I’d ever be experiencing such heartache and sadness, and no one ever does. People refrain from talking about mental illness and depression in hope that it doesn’t happen to them or somebody that they love. Yet that somebody around them could be struggling to find rejoice in a world that offers them so much. It’s important to realise that’s it’s ok to talk about it, it’s better to talk about it.

I can’t comprehend what happened to my Grandad and I don’t think I’ll ever understand, but I’ll talk openly about the fact that I don’t understand and how much pain it has caused because that’s ok. It’s not a taboo subject anymore, it’s a subject that people choose to ignore because they don’t realise the staggering affects of it for both those struggling with a mental illness or those that have been left behind.

People don’t ask me how I’m doing, or how my mum is doing. People believe there’s a certain amount of time before grieving passes, so they choose not to talk about it in an attempt to not upset me. Talking about what happened doesn’t upset me, the way the issue is chosen to be ignored upsets me. When you tell somebody your grandparent passed away it’s normally due to old age or an illness, people rarely hear it was a choice. And when they do they stop. They stop talking about it. They bury it. They hide their shock, and diverge from the subject. They don’t talk about my grandad like you would when someone else’s grandparent passes away, the conversation comes to a halt. They don’t talk about how proud he would have been, how strong he was holding on, they just stop. And I get it, it’s hard; it’s hard for everybody.

I was over at my friend’s in the summer and at 3am we were all pretty drunk when his Mum turned around and started asking questions, real questions. What had happened? Where was it? The stuff people are afraid of asking, or more to the point decide not to ask for their own benefit. I started to cry as I described how I will never be able to understand it, how hard it is to never be able to say goodbye to somebody, not even through a normal service because they didn’t want that. I described the hurt I feel as I watch my Nan grow older without the love of her life, and how every single detail of how it happened is a pure representation of my Grandad.

The next morning, my friend apologised for how up front his Mum was and I only turned around and said “It’s ok. No body talks about it, I want to talk about it, of course it makes me upset but it’s refreshing to talk about it. People don’t ask and I don’t want to mention it as people are sensitive to the subject.” But that is a stigma I believe needs to be changed. The reality of it is that the people who are either contemplating suicide or have experienced the grief it causes don’t want to pretend it never happened, they want to make sure it never happens to anybody else. And if talking about it means we’re one step closer to helping somebody, then I’ll talk and listen all day long, because I would give anything to not live anything so surreal. 7 months on and I still feel like it’s all a dream. But I also know the that this surreal feeling is never going to go away.

Tell the people you love and care about just how much they mean to you, because unknown to your knowledge for that one person that could be what they needed to hear. Let someone know you’re there if they’re down. Let them see how much you care. How much you’re in support of them, if that means talking, or not talking, just listening, whatever it takes to make them feel comfortable and in control of their lives once again. A friendly reminder that nobody is alone. There’s always someone there to listen, be that a stranger or a friend. There are too many things already wrong in the world, we don’t need to create more.

I will love my Grandad forever and always, and what happened to him will never cloud my memories of a happy 21 years as his Granddaughter.

Let’s bring the dark into the light.