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0 By Frances Beck
We’ve finally reached the end of January with its seemingly 131 days. As a sufferer of SAD, January has always been a particularly long, dark month for me, but this year even more so. I’ve found myself reliving Conor’s pain and my concern for him as he struggled with his depression last year, but now with the knowledge that he was struggling much more than he actually told me.
Despite his downward spiral of despair, he was still making plans and looking forward, with hope of better days ahead. A year ago he had just signed the lease on a house with three friends (with his stipulation of there being no more than two flights of stairs to climb regardless of the longer walk to get into the city centre).
He was really looking forward to getting out of the halls of residence, which had served their purpose but he had outgrown. He was happy with his decision to leave the university course that was causing him untold stress, and he was looking for a job. In his own words, he said, ‘Just need to get myself a job and that’s most of my problems solved’. Although I still worried about him and his mental health (I’m his mum, it’s my job), I was so happy that things were picking up for him and I was glad to see that he was looking forward with hope, but it did lull me into a false sense of security.
I couldn’t save you
Looking back now, I can see it may actually have lulled Conor into a false sense of security too. Under the direction of his GP, he had just weaned himself off one high dose antidepressant over the space of a week and started a new one. Unbeknownst to me at the time, he only took the new medication for four days before deciding to stop taking them altogether because he couldn’t cope with the way they made him feel. I don’t know if perhaps he thought that he had been feeling better without them at the point he signed the lease, that everything was looking up and it therefore made sense not to take them.
I had warned him of the possible withdrawal effects of coming off the medication. But I don’t think he really grasped the seriousness of it. Had I known he’d stopped taking them altogether, amongst other things, I would have insisted that he go back to the GP to be closely monitored. In my opinion, his GP should have been monitoring him closely through the very quick tapering of one medication and the introduction of a different acting medication anyway, but that didn’t happen. And just like that, again, I’m back to the pointless questions, ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’ that won’t bring him back. I’m just so sorry that I couldn’t save you, Conor.
What we can do
However, as I’ve said before, there are things that I, and you, can do that can potentially save other struggling souls who are feeling completely hopeless and can’t escape their own destructive thoughts. The first thing is to make it easy for the person to talk about how they are feeling. Just listen to them; don’t judge, stigmatise or belittle their feelings. Remember that whatever they are feeling is very real and deeply upsetting to them; even if it sounds illogical or irrational to you, they need to feel heard and understood. Ask them what you can do to help, whether that be emotional or practical support. Gently encourage them to seek professional help.
NHS mental health services are severely stretched and don’t always seem fit for purpose at this moment in time. But there are some fantastic charitable organisations that can provide timely and appropriate support. This is a particularly hard time of the year for many people. So please be mindful that you don’t always know what anyone is going through, and just be kind. Kindness costs you nothing and it can make an enormous positive impact on the person on the receiving end.
As difficult as it can be to believe, hard times do pass and the sun does always shine again. I so wish Conor had been able to see that. If you are struggling just now, please hang on in there. Share your troubles with someone: a trusted friend, a loved one or a crisis helpline. You are far too important not to!
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frances, this is beautiful and helpful. I have passed it to a friend who’s daughter suicided last year. Thank you for being such a caring advocate for mental wellness.