I took the header photo in my darkest hour. Well, one of my ‘darkest’ hours, I suppose. My phone tells me it’s been four years, so I suppose I’ve kept it for a reason. Looking at it now, I can see how it encapsulates my mood at the time, yet I am disturbed by the photos taken a few moments later – it’s as if they have been captured by someone else, yet I can still feel the pull of the darkness that possessed me at the time, splitting my personality in two and allowing the repressed self to break through to attempt putting us both out of our collective misery.

It wasn’t my first attempt – and certainly not the last – but it was the first time I stopped what I was doing to call for help. Interestingly enough, it was the complete lack of empathy and careless comment from the person manning the suicide hotline that had me put the shard of glass away and clean myself up, rather than plunging it deeper into my arm. They managed to piss me off, and that made me realise I had to stay to fight another day, that perhaps I had a purpose after all. Tomorrow is World Suicide Prevention Day (WSPD), so I thought I could give you my two cents on that.

The following should be regarded only as opinion based on personal experience. Nothing more, nothing less.

Apparently, the International Association for Suicide Prevention wants to “change the narrative”. What they mean by that is a little unclear, as their website doesn’t provide much information about anything other than who they are, so I am going to leave them out of this for now – the above link links to the World Health Organization, who partnered with the IASP in establishing the WSPD back in the early noughties, and their definition of changing the narrative.

I still find everything to be a little too vague. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great that they are vocal about the need for systemic change and that mental health must be prioritised – the WHY of it all is covered – but there’s nothing on there that indicates HOW. So, how are we going to help governments and their leaders find ways to change an all too categorical system? I am but a humble peasant and can only offer my opinion, but let’s start at removing the stigma, shall we? Perhaps by tackling how we talk about mental illness.

There is a lot of stigma around suicide, not to mention the fact that attempted suicide is still a punishable offence in many countries. I’m not going to go into aiding and abetting, because I don’t believe anyone who would contemplate suicide because they truly see themselves as a burden would involve others in something that would potentially harm them. Only a sociopath would do that. And, who in their right mind would want to alert someone to the fact that they’re thinking about doing something illegal? The legal definition can be interpreted in a few different ways, so who’s to decide whether the extent of the harm you inflicted on yourself should be classified as too severe or not? (If you survive an attempt but you’ve suffered near-fatal injuries, you might still be held accountable.) And how is punishment going to make them better? Isn’t failure punishment enough?

Personally, I believe suicide prevention starts at the very beginning of a person’s life, through the nurture of loving carers. But we’re not all lucky enough to have that, and sooner or later we are faced with the loss of someone that couldn’t bear to go on, and it is the reaction of our community that shapes our view that first time; the way we refer to something can shape public opinion of the subject.

If an act is classified as a medical term, or it’s described using a negatively laden associative term, it can become alienating or viewed as something that does not concern them and they therefore cannot comprehend. It also makes it difficult to talk about, wouldn’t you say? Oh, and, if you think I’m wrong, do let me know. It’s not going to make me kill myself or commit suicide.

Oh no, you can’t say that!

Well, I just did, and this is largely how we still refer to the act of suicide; killing and committing. More and more nations are trying to refrain from using the term ‘commit’ these days, thankfully, but there’s still a lot of stigma. The act itself is just not something that we would like to see as anything other than dirty – something shameful that should be punished. So, we need to change how we view it. Educate ourselves somehow. And where do we start?

By talking about it! Not necessarily by discussing the act itself, but by talking about how we really feel, what depression can look like from different perspectives, how it is human to feel things that are uncomfortable an that the overwhelm simply does not go away by your ignoring it. When we learn about the human body in school, the mind should be included. If you need to take a ‘mental health day’ from work, you shouldn’t have to explain it, in the same way you’re not required to explain exactly what type of symptoms you’ve got if you have to call in sick with a physical ailment… But it should feel just as natural letting your manager know that you are feeling overwhelmed/depressed/suicidal as it would telling them you’re out with the flu.

We are all responsible for removing the stigma.

What are we so afraid of? It’s not like in Candyman – the suicide fairy isn’t going to come through your bathroom mirror one day and get you if you dare speak its name too many times. (Although the film was based on a true story – but I can assure you it was the opposite of talking about it, or, rather, of being heard, that caused the first cursed death to spawn the legend.)

For the person contemplating ending their life, suicide can feel like auto-euthanasia – as if they are eliminating the pain and suffering of the ones around them by doing it, rather than their own. Like cutting malignant tissue from a diseased cervix, they are removing the bad bits before it spreads. In short, you feel as if you’re not doing it for yourself – you are doing it for the greater good, like a psychologically driven vigilante. It’s rarely just about not hacking it anymore, but beyond that – you’ve somehow become convinced that everyone else’s wellbeing is worth more than your own. It becomes difficult to acknowledge any detrimental effects your suicide could have, because you can’t see your own death as a loss to anyone but yourself.

Perhaps, if we had been able to talk openly about such a thing, we wouldn’t have to get to the point where it’s just us and the abyss, and the only way out is death or external interruptions. Perhaps, if we had been more vocal about what it feels like to have lost hope, the “warning signs of suicide” posted on NIMH’s website wouldn’t have been so one size fits all, and someone would have reached out when they noticed the change in you.

Firstly, all of these signs imply that the person feels as if they have someone to turn to – if that were the case, you might not be at the end of your rope. Pardon the pun. Secondly, they cite ‘withdrawal’ as a sign, yet they fail to list the opposite. I can only speak for myself, of course, but I would do the opposite – probably in an attempt to scare people off – go into full-on exhibitionism (which might, to be fair, be classified as risk-taking behaviour). Social media followers saw it as confidence, that the over-sharing meant I was thriving, whilst the fact remained, that I loathed my existence. I would have never dreamt of talking about “wanting to die” or “being a burden” – to me, that would have made me more of a burden. I can remember thinking I didn’t want to be remembered as one of those people.

But then, for some reason, I found a reason. Or, it found me (I certainly wasn’t looking for it at the time). A reason to go on. It didn’t make life any less hard, but it gave me something to fight for. With time, it’s made me realise that I am worth fighting for.

What my reason was may be irrelevant, but the reason to change the narrative on suicide is not, because the stigma around suicide is the one thing that still makes me feel shame and guilt, even though I’ve not really done anything to deserve that. So, the darkness will reappear from time to time. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to ignore it, but it’s also not healthy to let myself get swallowed up in it, so I fight it by asking the questions it doesn’t want me to ask, by not backing down when I feel I am treated poorly, by letting people close to me know that they matter to me and why and, lastly, by acknowledging my own emotions and talking to the people I thought I was protecting (or not trusting) previously. Turns out it helps. Me and them. And, luckily, I’ve got professionals I can talk to about the really messy, shitty stuff.

World Suicide Prevention Day tomorrow, folks. I bet you’re sick of reading about talking about talking about it. I sure am sick of writing about it, knowing that I can’t change much from where I stand just now. But I found something that made me pull my own head out of my arse last night, and thought you might enjoy it as well.

I don’t know whether the people involved with the podcast episode I am about to recommend would be particularly happy to be associated with this post, but I believe in the power of really great, genuine, stories, and this is something they both continue to provide me with. I am in awe of both of these women and hope that they won’t mind me sharing. There is something incredibly soothing about something that happens during this episode, that really helped me from spiralling – maybe it’s just what you need too. In addition to that, you’ll find the rest of the episode offers some brilliant anecdotes. Listening to it made me feel something about myself that wasn’t entirely negative, shall we say. Anyway. The incomparable Miriam Margolyes guested Bryony Gordon’s The Life of Bryony podcast yesterday, and I suggest you listen to the episode. Link below.

• Spotify

See you next Tuesday. I am off to see where I can find Miriam’s new book, The Little Book of Miriam, when it drops on the 11th of this month.