Attitudes have changed in the decade since Jessica Davis' father died, she says. Still, it's vital to keep challenging the stigma

BY JESSICA DAVIS

It's a sticky July afternoon and I'm stuck between lilies or tulips. Normally, I only buy my mum a bouquet for her birthday or Mother's Day, but today – a random summer Wednesday – I feel an instinct to pick some up.

I'd later find out that this exact pocket of time, as I stood glancing from flower to flower, was the point at which our family's life would change forever. Those minutes in 2014 drew a line under our past, plunging us into a future of grief, missed milestones and unanswered questions. It was the time in which we lost dad to suicide.

I recall what happened next as a whirlwind, yet I remember it with such clarity. I arrived home, stems in hand, to see a police car parked outside. Upon entering the house, the news was broken, by my mum, to my younger brother and I. It felt like I was living someone else’s truth, playing a character in a film. After, days and weeks blurred into months.

It all seemed like a cruel joke; part of a game show. I remember saying out loud ‘you can stop now’, imagining him bursting in with a camera crew in tow, revealing a twisted prank. They never came, though. Over ten years later, I’m still waiting.

‘It all seemed like one big cruel joke; part of a game show’

In the wake of his death, a huge weight to bear was using the word ‘suicide’. ‘He killed himself,’ I’d say, numbly updating friends, family or explaining to the landlord of my local pub that I wouldn’t be working my shift, as though I was hungover like any other 18-year-old.

In truth, I didn’t understand it myself. Why would he do this? What about us? He’d suffered with depression for my whole life, however he came across as one of the happiest people to all that had the pleasure of knowing him. He was infectious; someone who lit up the room, made you laugh uncontrollably and was always the centre of the party.

That’s the thing about mental ill health, though. While external words and behaviour are visible, none of us truly know the contents of another's mind. When we, his immediate family, told those in our extended circle about dad, we were met with disbelief, puzzled faces and questions we certainly didn’t have the answers to. How could such a vital character have secretly battled such sad thoughts?

‘None of us truly know the contents of another's mind’

This conversation started to change slightly the next year, when news broke that actor Robin Williams had taken his own life in 2014. Reading about this sad, sad reality, I found myself taking in a narrative that was all too familiar; the big warm joker who loved to make everyone laugh, but sheltered a darker internal life. It helped, I think, cement the general understanding that even the seemingly happiest of people might struggle.

The author as a child with her dad

Over the decade since dad's death, many high profile names have ended their own lives, from television personality Caroline Flack to musicians Chris Cornell and Avicii. Each is a tragedy; each generates headlines. Even so, suicide remains an intensely difficult thing for many to speak about.

‘The way we talk about grief and bereavement is beginning to change as we talk about death more easily,’ psychotherapist Juliet Rosenfeld tells me. ‘The general conversation around mental health has certainly opened up, but suicide is still a difficult area for people to talk about.’

‘Suicide it’s a very difficult area for people to talk about’

But talk about it we must. The latest stats show that 5,642 deaths happened by suicide in 2022; around three-quarters being male. I often think if there was less stigma against men showing their emotion and feelings (a big middle finger to toxic masculinity) at the time of dad’s death, perhaps he would have felt more comfortable to have broken down, to have received help, rather than pretending everything was fine.

A decade on, despite these tragedies filling our newsfeeds and scary statistics, there’s still so much misunderstanding.

‘I'm always struck by the language we use when it comes to suicide, as it’s so denigrating,’ Rosenfeld says. ‘Take "committed suicide." The use of ‘committing’ is extraordinary as it implies criminality – the use of ‘attempting’ and ‘successful’ also does such damage. Suicide sounds like ‘homicide’ or ‘infanticide’, so it’s put into that category and makes people deeply uncomfortable. It’s worrying that given how prevalent it is, we can’t talk about it in a way that’s helpful and preventative.’

#James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy

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‘Talking about death or knowing the "right thing" to say to the bereaved brings such dread’

Generally, talking about death or knowing the ‘right thing’ to say to the bereaved brings such dread. Understandably so, despite it being the only true certainty for us all, we are all scared of our own death, and that of our loved ones. But when it comes to suicide in particular this squeamishness is amplified. It's hard to comprehend something that goes directly against the human instinct for survival.

‘From birth, we have a drive to survive at all costs,’ says Rosenfeld. ‘People cope in horrific danger, suffer accident or disease, they make it through. That’s the difficult thing about suicide as it "goes against" this. It means it can be difficult for people to conceptualise.’

‘And, the reality is, we won’t understand it from the outside, because, how can we? We don’t know how it feels. This is why it’s so important to change how we talk about it and lose that judgement. We do have the power to change things; to change the narrative and help those who need it most.’

Detecting the signs that someone is in crisis early on is paramount. Polly, a 43-year-old Somerset-based volunteer with charity Samaritans, says it’s never a one-size-fits-all approach. ‘Struggling to cope with everyday life is a common feeling and isn’t the same for everyone,’ she says.

‘Some signs include lacking energy, feeling exhausted, finding it hard to think clearly or concentrate, feeling restless and agitated, wanting to cry all the time, not wanting to be with people or do things you would usually enjoy, finding it hard to cope with everyday tasks and experiencing "burn out"’.

‘It’s important to remember that it’s okay to feel any of these things,’ she continues. ‘You’re not alone in feeling like this, as many people struggle to cope at one point or another. Talking about how you’re feeling can help put things into perspective and help you to feel more positive about the future.’

It's true that society has become more compassionate towards those who die by suicide. Before 1961, it was illegal in the UK, meaning that if someone ended their life, they wouldn’t get a funeral or headstone. We’ve definitely moved a long way on from that – but there’s still such a way to go.

Having these honest conversations, better mental health education, sharing stories, squishing the stigma of shame is all part of bringing it forward. I hope with everything I've got that over the next decade, we see those heartbreaking statistics shrink.

Two women who contemplated suicide share how having someone to listen saved their lives

Bella, 45, from London:

In 2019 I was diagnosed with bipolar and struggled badly with depression, which ultimately led to me becoming suicidal that same year. One evening, things got way too much. I felt I'd had enough; I wanted to go – but something in me caused me to phone Samaritans. Being truly listened to and having a space where I could say anything was so helpful. They made me feel like I was somebody. They made me feel I was worth it. Sometimes I think to myself my life was saved by the person who picked up the phone that night. If they weren’t there, I may not be here.

I share my story as a mental health speaker to show others they aren’t alone. At that time for me I felt so overwhelming lonely and had no safe space to share how much I was struggling. It felt like the outside world wouldn’t have cared if I went; I didn’t think I’d be missed by anyone. I couldn’t remember any achievements or anything I wanted from my future.

Of course, I still have very bad days – and that’s okay and so important to share, too. With social media, it can look like everyone else is living a perfect life, but that's not true. I love sharing with my audience when I’m feeling low and what I’m doing to help myself, like getting outside in nature or journalling. Struggle is all part of the journey and nothing to be ashamed about.

Emma, 35 from South Yorkshire:

I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in my early twenties. I struggled on and off and was keen to find coping mechanisms outside of medication. I’ve felt quite up and down over the years; the pandemic lockdown was hard. I’d been plodding on, but my mental health took a dip. I felt stuck, I was in a relationship that wasn’t very good for me and I just felt...lost. Working from home made me feel so isolated, things were getting worse and I couldn’t see a way out. I felt I had no one to turn to.

One night, it was really bad. It was the early hours so I couldn’t call anyone, but I’d seen an advert for Samaritans in the train station early that day. I didn’t really know what I wanted to say, I just wanted someone to be there so I didn’t feel so alone. I was scared and contemplating ending my life.

The volunteer listened, let me cry and asked all the right questions without pushing me. We were on the phone for hours, until I felt truly safe to hang up the phone. She saved my life.

I remember thinking that I didn't want my life to end, rather just for that chapter to close. That night I decided I can fight to live. It’s still so emotional to talk about, but it feels like a distant memory.

To look at me today, you’d never know. I’m so grateful to be here. I rebuilt my life, reconnected with friends and I’m now am in a new healthy relationship: we’re getting married this autumn. I know it's possible to come out the other side. To anybody who maybe feels how I felt back then, please know that when they say it gets better, they aren’t lying.

Anyone can contact Samaritans, free, 24/7, by calling 116 123, email jo@samaritans.org or visit www.samaritans.org
https://standingabovethecrowd.com/james-donaldson-on-mental-health-conversations-are-opening-up-but-we-still-need-to-shed-the-taboo-of-discussing-suicide/