The overwhelming crowds that shut down St Pancras on Friday were long dissipated. On a day more akin to spring rather than late winter I travelled serenely back home without a hitch. The taxi driver made me laugh when he said "I take it you're retired"-do I really look that old? Over recent months the thought of being so wealthy I didn't have to work was most alluring but I'm sure I would get bored.
My time in Kent was very mixed. I went to bury one friend but did not expect another to die whilst I was down that way.
More than 20 years have past since I lost my first friend to suicide. She was a young nurse named Liz who I met in hospital in 1994. Diagnosed with manic depression, that's what we called it in those days, she always seemed happy to me. Then some weeks after I left to return to Kent she attended the morning therapy session on a Friday, told them all she was feeling a little bit down, then went home and hanged herself with a belt.
In the years that have past since a further 8 friends died by their own hands. And now it is 10. Tragically as we feared my friend did kill himself on Friday. The campaign running now called Spot the Signs clearly did not reach enough into his life. Every death is a tragedy, and those tragedies are rising. Only yesterday a major report came out on the chronic under funding of mental health and the politicians hit headlines lauding another £1 billion of funding. Is it enough? Of course not. Is it aimed in the right place? Only partially. We need to do so much more for young people. And we need to do better at stopping people getting so detached from meaningful emotional connections that they end their lives.
Sadly I fear it is not the end of the suicides in my life. I move in those circles most at risk so sadly it is inevitable.
I Heard a Voice.
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