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Hope
We are one of the fortunate and the unfortunate. Unfortunate, because we lost a dearly loved son through suicide at the age of 28; fortunate because we found the White Wreath Assoc. where members have all suffered loss through suicide and therefore are the only ones who truly appreciate the devastation that suicide wreaks.
Having read all the articles and letters sent to the newsletter and having an affinity with each and every one in some part I will not add my particular experience. Instead I want to offer HOPE. Yes, HOPE. You will laugh again. When we first went to an organisation in Perth, WA called Compassionate Friends, there were all these survivors of suicide – laughing. I was angry – how dared they laugh when we are suffering so badly, don’t they know. But of course they did know because they had all been through the despair we were suffering on that day.
I can’t tell you when you will join the world again. It took me years – too many years and I am sure this withdrawing from the world took its toll on other members of my family as well. But, as you would know, I just couldn’t help it. I was one of the lucky ones with a husband who tried his utmost during the period of my depression. The chances are we are also dealing with other issues prior to the suicide of our loved one, difficult family members, work worries, ‘time of life’, financial problems. It is like a volcano and the suicide sets all the other ‘rubbish’ off into a catalyst explosion. We are then faced with dealing with everything at once – no wonder it takes time to recover.
But as I said there is HOPE. Time will not necessarily take away your pain. After 12 years we just yearn to have our son back with us. Of course, this is not going to happen. What follows is ‘Acceptance’. We have to accept that Mark is not coming back. We remember his laugh, he loved company, he was an extrovert, and he would talk to us about anything and everything he was doing. He was married to a lovely girl who embraced us as her family. You ask, Why, and the answer is we don’t know. We just get a phone call at 4.00 am to tell us our son has died, hit by a train – the rest as they say is history.
We have joined the world again; we laugh again and have fun, go on holidays and outings, meet friends. Sometimes on outings we will say “Mark would like this” or “Do you remember when Mark did that”. We don’t exclude him; he was part of us for 28 years and will never be forgotten. That is often a fear. That our loved son/daughter will be forgotten – they won’t be. Don’t give up HOPE that one-day you will feel better than you do right now.
MW, Brisbane Qld
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Fiancee's
Story
Losing some-one close to you to
suicide is something only those who have experienced it first hand
can really understand.? And yet, at a time when everyone is feeling
such deep loss, harsh words and accusations are thrown with intent
to hurt those who are already trying to comprehend the reality of
what has just happened.
E
veryone seems to have their own personal views on what events lead
to the suicide.? Blame towards others seems to be the easier
alternative, in order to hide their own deep self doubt that maybe,
they themselves could have or should have done or said something to
change the present circumstances.
No
one is to blame.? This is not murder or an accident.? This is
suicide, the end result of mental illness.? Whether the illness was
long-term or short-term, at the time of suicide, a thought disorder
was present.
Why are we so afraid to accept that a loved one just wasn¡¯t
thinking straight at the time of suicide?? Their thought pattern is
muddled ¨C will I, won¡¯t I.?? Their final decision is just that ¨C
final.? Even if you had the chance to give them a million reasons
why they shouldn¡¯t, their thought process wouldn¡¯t accept what you
had to say.
By not blaming others, you also take away that
hidden underlying guilt and blame from yourself.
Living with a gentle soul who was full of dreams, so kind and
loving one minute, then turn into someone who was irrational and
irresponsible, was very draining for me.? I know his family
experienced similar experiences, for I¡¯ve witnessed them myself.
After the death of my fianc¨¦ my way of dealing with it was a
strong desire to speak out and bring about awareness to those who
may be in a similar situation.? Once I found the White Wreath
Association, I saw it as my opportunity to do something positive in
his memory.
Sadly though, his family did not see it that way.? They have
chosen to blame me.
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My Life, My
Story
How do I know where to begin? The call came through that day,
a mother sobbing on the phone to report the death of her 18 year old
daughter. My heart just broke for her, I was crying inside with each
question she answered, but could find no words that would ever be
enough to express my sorrow at her loss and her pain. I put down the
phone and cried ¨C yet she was a complete stranger. It was only later
I learnt that her daughter had committed suicide, her parents had
found her.
That call broke my heart and I couldn¡¯t get that young girl
out of my mind for weeks ¨C although I¡¯d never met her. In the
ensuing I was on the phone to every help line I could get hold of.
All suicides affect me deeply, but something about her just ¡®got¡¯ to
me.
Maybe because I understood her pain, as I understand the pain
of all suicide victims, because I¡¯ve been there myself. I lived in
that place of despair and desperation of wanting to die for many
years, and I tried; My God I tried so many times to end my life ¨C
serious attempts, and during a really bad phase, it was my young
daughter who was nine at the time who had to ring the Ambulance to
get me to the hospital, and who would find me unconscious ¨C
repeatedly.? I was even in a relationship with a man for 2 years who
had HIV, and I never used protection, because I hoped I¡¯d contract
the disease and die ¨C I just didn¡¯t want to live and thought if I
contracted the disease, it would shorten my life and get me out of
this hell called life.
I
was molested by a neighbour at 9, and my own brother at 13, and I
was a lost soul, always looking for love. I had a father who adored
me and a mother who I felt despised me. She loved me, but when I
turned about nine, she cut off all feeling toward me ¨C I never knew
why, and as I grew into a teenager, she constantly compared me to
other people and asked why didn¡¯t I act and dress like them. I felt
I was never good enough. It didn¡¯t help my self esteem that I nearly
died due to an illness at 12, and was left with horrific scars all
over my stomach, so I felt flawed inside and out. I started drinking
at 13, and discovered boys very young and did a lot of things that I
regret, but I so desperately wanted to be loved.
My
dad died when I was 16, and my mum blamed me ¨C she used to say that
it was because I worried him so much that he died ¨C He died because
his lungs collapsed, but when your 16 ¨C hearing those words breaks
your heart. That was about the time I first started having my
depressive bouts, and went to doctors and would be put on anti
depressants and they have been a part of my life, off and on ,
since.
My
life had been so ¡®abnormal¡¯ from the time I was a young child ¨C? I
came from a European family ¨C which made me ¡°feel¡¯ different , I
always felt like a misfit like I didn¡¯t ¡®belong¡¯ anywhere, like I
was adopted, , and I was so extremely sensitive and desperate to
please. I remember being 16, and thinking ¡®I¡¯m too weak for this
world; it¡¯s too evil, how will I ever survive it?¡¯- I just didn¡¯t
think I could cope, even back then. And I had my first taste of
alcohol at around 8, and I remember feeling really alive and happy,
for the first time.
I
got myself in all sorts of trouble with men, always seemed to pick
the ones that were abusive or violent, I couldn¡¯t understand it at
the time, but now after years of therapy I have learnt those sort of
men can sense your vulnerability, and I was so very vulnerable.? One
time, during one of my worst relationships, I attempted suicide by
taking 200 or so anti depressants I had been prescribed, and the
lovely chap I was with left me on the floor where he found me
unconscious; mind you ¨C he had sex with me while I was unconscious,
but he didn¡¯t bother getting help for me or picking me up off the
floor. He was in the army, and didn¡¯t want it on his record, that
his Fianc¨¦ had tried to commit suicide.? I was unconscious for 3
days and couldn¡¯t talk properly for a week, as I was slurring so
badly from all the drugs in my system. I remember feeling terrified
that I¡¯d permanently damaged my speech, and would talk like that for
the rest of my life.
In my late 30¡¯s, I got the idea that I needed
to drink more, and by 39, I had became a full blown Alcoholic, who
drank 24/7 ¨C this was whilst raising a daughter on my own. I¡¯d take
her to school drunk, I¡¯d pass out while she was at school and drink
myself silly once I got her to bed ¨C which I couldn¡¯t wait to do so
I could really get into the drink, pass out again, wake up through
the night, have another binge, and on and on it went day after day,
year after year. All the time I was off and on anti depressants;
prozac, Zoloft, prothaiden ¨C too many to remember.
¡¯d
try to stop drinking, but I couldn¡¯t ¨C not even for a day. Then I
started to think I was better off dead, and so would everyone else
be. So for months and months I took countless cocktails of pills
200, 500 ¨C whatever I could get my hands on and that I had in the
house. I lost count of how many times I was in the psychiatric ward
after having my stomach pumped and being put in there till I was
¡®safe¡¯ to come home. I saw Psychiatrists, Phycologists, drug and
alcohol councillors and on and on it went. But I just couldn¡¯t get
over the sense of helplessness and despair I felt.
I
just carried so much shame and guilt about my life and the things I
had done. Although I¡¯m sober now my life was chaos for many decades,
and the depression and self loathing and shame and guilt and hurt I
caused others ¨C and myself, was too much of a burden to bear. In
hindsight, I realise I had never learnt to deal with any emotion
without alcohol to help me get through it ¨C especially all the pain
in my life and the sensitiveness of my character.
Eventually, I met one too many bad men and got myself and my
daughter into a lot of trouble. I moved in with him and he was an
alcoholic too, and boy, did my daughter and my life go to hell, She
witnessed the alcohol infuelled fights, the craziness of two
alcoholics living together. In the end I was so broke, I was
drinking vanilla essence to get drunk, and I even tried metho, but I
just couldn¡¯t bear the taste and smell.? Eventually for her own
good, I put her into temporary foster care, with the hope of getting
sober but again I failed But eventually, I got sober long enough to
get her back ¨C maybe a 5 week stretch of sobriety.?
Then a miracle happened; yet another councillor I was seeing
(and I saw many throughout my life), stepped in and gave us the
opportunity to get away from this man, and we were placed in a
women¡¯s refuge ¨C I was broke and bankrupt and had very little
possessions by then. Drinking wasn¡¯t allowed at the Refuge but still
I couldn¡¯t stop at first, but a pinhole of hope gleamed through the
darkness of my despair, and slowly our lives changed, and I stopped
drinking.
It was one of the hardest things I have ever
done ¨C dealing with a lifetime of suppressed emotions and living
life without a crutch such as alcohol. I could never have coped
without the help of an amazing councillor, who taught me how to live
in this sometimes terribly painful world, and she taught me coping
mechanisms and ways to deal with emotion.? But the hardest part was
really feeling for the first time in my life, the disappointments,
the hurts, the shame, the fear ¨C almost every emotion. I literally
had to reprogram my brain and the way I thought for the whole of my
life.
It took 3 years of intense therapy, and I¡¯m
still terribly sensitive and still can get depressed at the drop of
a hat ¨C one thing goes wrong and the worlds coming to an end!
Everything¡¯s catastrophic. With the help of a 12 step programme, I¡¯m
sober ¨C have been for 4 years, and that has been another saving
grace for me, but again was one of the most difficult things I have
done.
?But life today is so precious, and so full of
hope. I wish I could say that I don¡¯t find the world a harsh cruel
place at times, but I¡¯ve learnt ways to cope, have a gentle man in
my life, and live a comparatively ¡®normal life¡¯. Over the past four
years, there have been bouts of depression, and moments when I feel
like ending it all ¨C but they¡¯re fleeting thoughts! ?I¡¯m careful of
the warning signs now and when I know the world is getting too much
for me to bear and I can¡¯t cope ¨C I see my local doctor and firstly
get medication before I hit rock bottom, and secondly I talk, talk,
talk - to people who can help me get through it ¨C councillors, help
lines, friends - I don¡¯t isolate myself or my disease
anymore.
So, I guess why I am so affected by every
suicide I hear about and see ¨C and I mean literally see, because I
work for a funeral Home,? I¡¯m deeply affected because I wouldn¡¯t be
here telling you this if I had of been successful in my attempts.
And because my heart is filled with sadness for the anguish, pain
and desperation people feel when they are suicidal and take their
own life. And maybe my story may let someone see that little pinhole
of light through the darkness of their despair like I did, and make
it through.
Every time I take a call that¡¯s a suicide, I grieve
for the loss of such a precious life because I know you can work
through it. And I grieve for those left behind, and all I can do is
pray, because I never seem able to find the right words to express
my sorrow for their loss. And I pray at night that God holds you in
the palm of his hands, until you¡¯re strong enough to carry yourself
through the darkest hours, days and months ahead.
Posie
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Sister's Story (1)
On the 17 June
1986, I lost my brother Graham to suicide as he shot himself, and
the pain the hurt I carry will always be there, as I loved and will
always love and miss him dearly.
It
has been 21 years of tears and pain that has always remained, it
feels like that it was yesterday.? It should not of happened and I
am so angry and hurt.? I write poems for my darling brother, Graham,
and it comes from my heart.
When I lost my brother a part of me went with him and I have
tried to take my own life too as I had no one to talk to about it as
I was asking why did he have to go away but got no answer.? But I
know he is with me always and forever.? I have tried to take my own
life several times but was talked out of it, and now I know my
brother wants me to be strong for our mum as he was the most strong,
loved man you could ever meet.? As my brother once said to me when
we were kids, you can be strong and love ya Sissy, always be happy
and tell your family you love them.? He would always smile and
always loved life and family.? There is a lot of pain inside of me
and so very angry and this will last a life time.? The pain will
always remain.? All I say now is Dear Humble I will always love and
miss you forever.
Love always your sister
Sharon? ?xxoo
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Sister's
Story (2)
It is just over 10 months since Cameron age 42
took an overdose of prescribed medication then gassed himself as the
result of bi-polar disease.? Sometimes it feels as if it were just
yesterday that we lost him.? Sometimes we can¡¯t even seem to come
terms with his death and that our feelings of sadness will last
forever.? Our hearts are broken and we will never be the same
again.?? But on the other hand our love for him grows stronger every
day and we know that we will never forget him.? We strive to
remember the good times as well as the bad times.? We hope that
through the White Wreath newsletter it will help others understand
the struggle for Cameron and for us as his family. Excerpts from his
diaries which will be published in future issues of our newsletter.
From his sister.
Top
 MY SON'S EXPERIENCES
An extract taken from the book my son Daniel started to write
about his experiences. Daniel hanged himself on 19 October 2006.
¡°So in my room the flickers were back, now by this time I thought
well I even saw some one run over the back fence, but only I had
seen him or her jump the fences, so was I going crazy. Another day
passed as more confusion spun through my head, now it was day time
and then I heard what sounded like the roof was getting moved again.
And I could see the roof boards getting pushed down again. Well mum
had gone to work and my step dad wad out doing trade( fitting &
turning,) so I watched the roof and now I could hear footsteps in
the attic, some one was really in there and now I'm going to catch
them in the act. (I figured after going up the first time didn't
think they would leave this time, so once again as quick and as
quietly as I could I grabbed the chair gently put it on the floor. I
lifted the man hole cover. See this was going to be where I finally
see who they are, at last. So I did a quick chin-up and got up
there, and as I glanced round the attic, no one was there again, but
I was positive I heard some one. Maybe I gotta go look a bit more at
the chimney. So I got out of the roof, went outside and climbed on
to the roof and then made my way to the chimney with my old trusty
torch. I studied the chimney a bit and it occurred to me the loose
brick that would be the perfect size for some one to fit perfectly,
so I shone the torch in and I could see nothing. Now I could hear
shhh shhh again, you don¡¯t want him to hear us, and it was coming
from at the bottom of the chimney but even with the torch I could
not see down, but what if they couldn¡¯t blow up the tank or it would
have blown them up too. So I got to thinking what if they were in a
big brick chimney and what if there were gas lines that passed
through it because if there are, I¡¯m stuffed and they'll be safe
from an explosion.
Then I thought of some thing what if they aren¡¯t really there.
Well I didn't want to stay at my house. The paranoia of people
trying to blow me up again, cause I head felt safe before because I
heard the lighters for over a month but nothing had been blown up.
But now they got a way of surviving and still getting rid of me, and
taking a huge chunk out of my house.
So I decided to go to Johnie's these boyz are pretty hard maybe
they can help me with my problem. So I told my mates about my cousin
and his best friend were trying to blow me up and I told them
everything.
I was so convinced I saw someone. I was getting a bit worried
bout people trying to blow me up and people in the house.
Unfortunately I never had any proof that there was someone out
there... I never even found them or seen them.
It started off making me angry when people are in my roof
laughing at me as I would try to sleep. I¡¯d run outside and tell
them to come and fight me and when there was no reply I gave them a
count from 30 to come out but no one came. So standing in the back
yard counting again this time back from 30 burrin' up for a blue.
after I reached 0 no one came and well I began to grow very wary of
these people that mocked me at I slept and laughed at me, and
dropped feathers on me to piss me off. At first I was scared even
petrified, but that soon turned to anger.
So as I went to school I began to grow bitter at my friends and
my mate Tyson kept asking me ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± and I'd reply ¡±nothing¡±
and he just kept asking me and I was getting more annoyed. A week
after that I end up given up school. I just didnt want to go any
more. http://www.daniel-coorey.memory-of.com/
A MOTHERS
STORY
Robert was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1994. In the early
days of his illness Robert spent a lot of time in and out of every
major hospital in Brisbane, and he escaped from them all at one time
or another.
The only real care he received was from the staff at John Oxley
Hospital where he was a patient for five years, purely because he
couldn¡¯t look after himself without proper care.
When he was released, he ended up in various boarding houses and
hostels where apart from seeing a case manager once a week for
medication, the rest of his care was left up to me his mother and as
much as I loved him and would have done anything for him, sometimes
it was all to hard and at times I had never felt so alone.
There needs to be a lot more help out there and not just for the
person suffering the illness, but for the whole family.
¡°May Robert Rest In Peace¡± now, as after twelve years of mental
torture it all became too much for him and on January 9th 2006 he
jumped from Victoria Bridge and drowned.
He will be missed terribly.
His Mother
I JUST FELT SO
HELPLESS
I would like to relate to you something that
happened to me in July of this year. I will transcribe my story
exactly as I wrote it the day after the event.
Well this afternoon I saw a young lad take his
own life by lying on a railway track.
He
couldn¡¯t have been very old 16/17 perhaps. I saw him standing at the
gates waiting for the all clear to cross, he did appear a little
agitated but I didn¡¯t really take much notice as I was sitting in my
car waiting for the train to pass. Then as the whistle blew he made
his way to the centre of the track, lay down, sat up again to see if
the train was coming, then calmly lay down again. The train was then
upon him and he was thrown to the side of the track on impact, very
bloodied limbs askew. The train stopped as soon as it could, but
there was nothing that the driver could have done. There was a guy
in a car next to me who was very badly affected and got out of his
car and threw up. He could not bring himself to even look in the
boy¡¯s direction. He came to me and said he had to go. I said he
should stay and talk to the police, he in tears said he couldn¡¯t but
gave me his name and number then very hurriedly left the scene. By
this time the driver of the train, who was very upset was standing
on the track and calling essential services. I had a blanket in my
car so I asked him to cover what he could of the boy. I then sat and
waited for the police to arrive.
I just felt so helpless at not being able to
get to this lad. I do not know if he was killed instantly or if
there was anything that I could have done in those last few minutes
of his life to have helped in any way.
It
took nearly an hour before I could leave the scene by the time the
police, accident investigation, ambulance and railway personnel
arrived and I retold by story over and over again.
There were two comments made by people at the
scene that really stuck with me, the guy from the railways said that
this was the 6th suicide by train that had happened that week. And a
constable said to me (because I work in palliative care) seeing the
suicide probably wouldn¡¯t affect me as much as it would those who
had never dealt with death before.
Now
dealing with people dying of terminal disease, and people,
especially young people taking their lives because of not being able
to get the help they need in no way make dealing with unnecessary
death easier.
I
guess this is another side to suicides, those strangers who are
involved. Those people who just have to get on with their lives
without any assistance ¨C without knowing the causes, the effects and
all the other aspects involved with suicides. I know I often wonder
about this boy. Did he have family and friends, was there a medical
reason, was he high on drugs, was it spur of the moment or did he
plan it in advance. These are questions that for me are never going
to be answered, as my involvement stopped once my statement was
given. I have had no contact from anyone since it
happened.
I have probably rambled on long enough and I
don¡¯t know if I can be of any assistance to your organization. I am
happy to send a donation if you can give me an address and if you
feel that I can be of any help please let me know.
Thank
you for allowing me to get this off my chest.
I wish you success in your
endeavours
Sincerely
R¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡.
A FATHER¡¯S
STORY
(as seen on the home page)
My son was 25 years old when he suicided.
I could not receive proper confirmation of how my son
suicided but only hearsay that my son consumed a packet of
tranquillisers, went into the bathroom with a bottle of LPG gas,
blocked off all windows and door with a towel and turned on the gas.
My family and I spent much time coming to grips with the
enormity of what had happened with lack of care and treatment.
As time went by I found myself more and more angry. The
general indifference of the system, the apparent uncaring of society
and the lack of any help before my son suicided and afterwards.
We were well aware that our son was at risk of taking his own
life and over the years he had tried to seek help. None was
effectively available except the usual ¡°Here, take these pills, try
to relax, see you in 4 weeks¡± scenario.
I wanted to help the doctors and psychiatrist with my
knowledge of my son¡¯s background and to help with any treatment that
they may have offered my son. Because of the confidentiality law I
was excluded and never contacted by doctors or psychiatrists of my
son¡¯s condition even though the medical profession knew my son was
suicidal.
I feel betrayed by the medical profession because they are
supposed to have the patient¡¯s best interest at heart.
Till this day, anyone or any organisation for help has never
contacted me. We have been left totally on our own to cope the best
we can. No one seems to care or understand. I¡¯m sure that if my son
had died in a public forum, perhaps made the news, we would have
been inundated with grief counsellors, offers of help etc.
For our family left behind the hurt is no less traumatic than
had we been a ¡°Port Arthur¡± victim. Yet society¡¯s response in
helping the surviving families is vastly different.
My son¡¯s suicide is no less a tragedy to me and I believe was
as much a victim to the ills of our society as were the victims of
the ¡°Port Arthur¡± massacre. But they at least, rightfully, received
a great deal of help and perhaps some comfort in society¡¯s response
and support.
Only with caring, compassion, and the facilities to take care
of our children can we hope to fight this epidemic of despair.
Felix - Our
Story
My
son Felix was 16 ½ years when he tragically shot himself, leaving an
enormous hole in our lives with so many unanswered questions.
He was a wonderful son, a quiet boy, courteous, hard working
but he loved his cricket and athletics. The hardest thing to
understand is why he never confided in anyone about how he was
feeling, not even his best mates at school. He obviously had
some sort of depression that had started to manifest itself in the
latter half of his 15th year but he was able to mask it in some way,
even from his family. He was our only son, and excelled in
operating the machines on the property and that was what he loved
the most about being on the land. He was becoming an expert at
driving all the machinery we had, dozers, graders, front end loaders
and yet seemed unaware of the special gift that had been bestowed
upon him from an early age.
My
son had been in boarding school from the age of 12years but it
wasn't until Grade 10 that we noticed he started to become moody and
depressed especially after the holidays when he had to go back to
the school, yet back in school everything settled down or so it
seemed on the outside. It was then we sat down with him and
told him that if anything at all seemed too much for him he must
confide in us as we were always here for him. His school marks
never showed there was a problem looming that was slowly eating away
inside him. At school he worked diligently, was popular, ate
well, slept well and had fun like normal teenagers do when they are
with mates. At the commencement of Year 11, he didn't want to go
back to school but when we discussed, as concerned families do, that
to finish senior would be of benefit to him, he relented and never
argued with us.
Felix had just gone through a tough mid-term exam in mid 2003
and was almost relieved to be home for the holidays. But coming home
he seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders and
became almost intentionally withdrawn from me, especially avoiding
physical contact to the point of becoming aggressive, which I found
disturbing. Concerned, I assumed he was going through a stage of
growing up and this was his way of breaking his bond with his mother
and getting closer to his father. As parents we did not even
consider depression let alone suicide as we had brought both our
children up knowing that if anything bothered them our lines of
communication were always be open. We often had forums of
discussion around the dinner table as our children were growing up
and there were other relatives such as grandparents and aunts, just
a phone call away, which were also close to our
children.
During the three weeks at home I noticed there was something
that had changed with his personality but when I tried to ask him
about it he brushed it off and didn't want to talk about it.
My son was struggling with dark thoughts but wouldn't
let anyone in to help him.
On
the 15th |
