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Three years and 11 months. Three years and 11 months since I stood on a bridge with a plan to end my own life.
I’ve put off writing this. That’s not me anymore, I don’t want to open that chapter again are things I thought. A bit of hypocrisy from the Mental Health focused Welfare Officer who founded UCC TALKS.
I’m scared of me; I’m scared of past Jamie. I’m scared of reopening the pain he had to go through. For years, for so many years, I battled myself continuously. When I think back it stems so much further than I actually realised.
Mental Health is something that has embedded itself so far into every fibre of my being that I almost get lost in it sometimes. My mother has battled her mental health for her whole life. My brother, who will always be the greatest human being who has ever graced my life took his own life thirteen years ago. When he died, although my world fell apart, in my head he had lived a good life and reached a good age. This December, I’ll be 24, my brother died a month after turning 24. It’s scary how little 10-year-old me knew about the world and how quickly I’ve learned that 24 years is nothing.
I sit writing this at almost an identical age to where my brother decided that, amidst a fantastic world that he was in too much pain to go on. The majority of my friends have spent more time on this earth than my brother ever got to. In a way I’m thankful. I’m thankful to him. In addition to my mother’s support, my brother’s death kept me alive at a time where there was nothing more appealing then ceasing my existence on this earth.
There is an abundance of adages used when attempting to articulate mental health. I equate my struggles and tribulations to the process of finding out who the real Jamie Fraser is.
At a glance, you see a big goofball who’s extremely extroverted, the life of the party and the first to dish out the slagging. At depth, you don’t see the fragile boy with an Obsessive Anxiety Disorder who fixates on everything around him, who disassociates, tears his bedsheets apart, thinks he’s worthless and acts as an incubator for a concrete block which sits menacingly on his chest.
In the past, I absolutely despised fragile Jamie. An oversensitive, over caring boy who couldn’t handle his emotions and took his frustration out on tearing apart the relationships he had worked so hard to foster, planting his fists into various walls and suppressing every worry he felt.
Self-acceptance and expressing gratitude. That’s what changed my life. Not counselling, not medication, not exercise, not meditation, not fucking eating healthy (although all these helped and are so important) they would have been futile without the first two. I got refused from various mental health services, being told nothing could be done for me unless I was suicidal. I got passed from counsellor to counsellor as "nothing could be done for me." I was made feel like it was my fault because it took me so long to feel “normal”. What the fuck does normal even mean anyway?
We wonder how people end up at the point where they feel like they have no choice but to take their own life? We tell people constantly to open up and talk about their feelings and then our system fails to provide them with the support they so desperately need. The government needs to take a long hard look at themselves, they’re failing the youth of our country.
My brother and I went through the exact same process. The only difference was that he hadn’t lost his best friend to suicide first. If Fraser had been the younger brother, he’d be sitting here as the Welfare Officer talking about how his brother Jamie’s suicide saved his life. That is all there is between it; I cannot stress that enough, without his death, I would not be here.
To conclude my tangent, I was a lost cause. I fell between every crack imaginable. I was “beyond saving”. The only thing that brought me solace in this life was the thought of ending my own life. I should be dead and that was all I wanted for so long. Taking a second to reflect right now on what would have happened if Jamie Fraser had died in October 2016 is something that doesn’t hurt. It fills me with power and makes me feel so grateful for the life I have today.
There is no other person that has existed, nor will there be another person that will ever exist that will be me. They may act similarly, they may hold the same name as me, they may even look identical to me, but they won’t be me. I am precious, I am powerful, I am unique and I’m so grateful that now I sit in a position where I’m bursting with happiness.
There are down days and there will be dark days ahead, but thankfully I’ve learned to embrace the darkness rather than fighting it.
To the person reading this, who feels lost, scared and down and thinks that the world would be better without you in it I understand how you’re feeling. The world is a better place with you in it and no matter what your mind tells you or how many inadequate services you fall through you are enough.
There is not one single person who will ever touch this earth like you can, you’ve got this.
I’m always here and you are unique, special and so important.
