So it& #39;s #WorldSuicidePreventionDay / #WSPD2019.

Been going back and forth on this one all day.

But seeing the samaritans at the station on my way home from work pushed me over the line I think.

A sign maybe.

I think I& #39;m finally ready to talk about this.

OK. Let& #39;s go.
June 5th, 2017 I tried to take my own life.
And I& #39;m sharing this because fuck me this shit is important.

If this saves one life, it& #39;s worth it.

If this stops one of you, it& #39;s worth it.

If this makes you DM me instead of going for a walk and never coming back, it& #39;s worth it.

So yeah. This is hard. But it& #39;s time.
A month prior, in an entirely predictable fashion, I wrecked the entire world I had built around me.

My own actions wrought pain and sorrow on those I loved most.

My actions. My choices. My fault.
Fast-forward 30 days and everything is worse.

The shame becomes unbearable (and we will come back to SHAME - because, well, we& #39;ll get there).

I look in the mirror and I don& #39;t like what I see.
The thing is, with men, we& #39;re all so BLOODY RATIONAL.

Looking in the mirror, looking at the mess staring back. The bloody pain of my actions soaked across my reflection, I came to the *entirely rational decision* that the world would be a better place if I just wasn& #39;t on it.
So bloody rational.
And at that point I had an enormous sense of calm and peace.

And this is the danger - this is the dangerous point we never talk about; sometimes men *believe* that going, just going & #39;away& #39;, is the right thing to do.

I knew I had to & #39;go& #39;.
The kids were out. So I hugged my children& #39;s clothes to say goodbye (I& #39;ll never forget the smell of my son& #39;s coat that day). I put the bins out (!!!!) and then wandered down to Sainsbury& #39;s and bought a pocket full of pills to take on the train.
Oh, and my arm was bleeding. I did that before I left the house. Didn& #39;t hit anything major. But it was a pitiful attempt at maybe pushing things along a bit faster.
My partner, then ex-partner, called my sister who lived nearby. Something was off. This time something was different. Something about the way I said goodbye, apparently.

My sister phoned the police.

And the police found me at the station.
They sectioned me under the mental health act there and then. I can& #39;t remember the specifics. But I recall it being explained to me & #39;because I& #39;d tried to do it in a public place& #39;

Here are some things I remember:
I remember my sister arriving at the station. I was in the back of the car. My sister sat in the back with me. I recall with *complete clarity* calmly explaining to her that it was OK.

That it was alright.

That it was completely *the right thing to do* for me to go.
I remember driving around for hours while the police tried to get me in somewhere.

They tried one place, it was full.

They took me to A&E to get my arm treated, then, eventually, they took me to a mental health hospital of some description (I can& #39;t remember the name).
I remember driving into this place. Being checked in. They took my name, my age, my shoes, and my belt.

& #39;Any history of mental illness?& #39;

& #39;No& #39;

& #39;Have you tried to do this before?& #39;

& #39;No& #39;

& #39;Huh& #39;

& #39;What?& #39;

& #39;Normally people try to do this a few times before they get to your age& #39;
err.. ok.
They took me to my room. They told my sister to go home and they& #39;d call her in the morning.

And there I stayed.

I didn& #39;t sleep.

I just sat there.
Thinking about the world I wanted to leave.

The world I wanted to leave behind.

The children that would be better off not knowing their dad.

Better off finding a better man that could bring them up and not be such a fuck up.
So ashamed of who I was I just wanted to erase any and all trace.

Shame. That& #39;s the killer. Shame. Not mental illness (although I& #39;m sure it is in some cases) but *shame*.
& #39;Shame is the distance between your actions and your beliefs& #39; - my therapist told me once.

Hell on earth he was right (as he was in many many things).
I died that night.
The man I was. He went.

I left him in that cell.

I knew it then. I know it now. Christ knows what came out of that room but it wasn& #39;t the man that went in.
The worst thing? They had told my sister that they were going to let me out at 6am.

I didn& #39;t get processed until 10am.

My phone was dead. They didn& #39;t answer theirs.

For four hours my family and loved ones thought I was actually dead.
When I arrived home at 1030, my mum, my sister, my partner... all of them were in pieces. They thought they& #39;d let me out on time and I& #39;d just gone off and carried on where I left off.

Christ. Their faces. I& #39;ll never forget it.
(I& #39;ve made it this far and *now* I& #39;m crying)
There was a policeman. He stayed with me from the moment they picked me up at the station to the moment they checked me in at the mental hospital (can& #39;t think of a better name for that place so that will have to do).

Anyway,
He said to me:

& #39;James, I& #39;m not leaving your side. I get called out to a few of these and your the first person in 20yrs who I believe when they tell me they& #39;re going to do this thing& #39;
& #39;I lost him, the one before. 20yrs ago. I won& #39;t do that again& #39;

He didn& #39;t leave my side. For easily seven hours.
I& #39;ll never know who he is.

My sister never got his name.

But he helped save my life.
So what then? What happens after that?
There was a call to my employer.

& #39;James is not well, he& #39;s been in hospital& #39;

I was signed off for six weeks.

Into therapy.

Sorting myself out.
OH.

Then there was the ONLY EVER SO SLIGHTLY TINY DETAIL of social services assessing me to see if I was well enough to look after my children.

That& #39;s a whole other kettle of hideous fishbags. But we got through it - and it was fine.
So then I set about rebuilding myself from scratch.

Understanding shame. Owning my shit.

Being better.

Showing up.

Just being.
(then my stepfather died, then I had to move house, then I was on a pitch, then I had a funeral and eulogy to give)

When it rains, it pours.

But all was so raw, I could only be *present*.
And slowly, so slowly, things got better.

Because things do.
They always do.

Always.
So this has taken me two and a half years to build up the courage to talk about publicly.

Why? Err. Have you seen my follower count?

#wanker
Jokes aside. I have friends, clients, colleagues - all who follow me here. Talking about this, here, means tomorrow, when I go into work, people might look at me differently.

Y& #39;know what, I& #39;ve made my peace with that.

*AND THAT& #39;S OK* - as I like to say these days.
Someone noted recently that they& #39;d sensed a change in me. That somehow I had developed vulnerability. And, if you subscribe to my newsletter, maybe you& #39;ve detected it too. Well, this is where it has come from.
Visiting the bottom and making it back up again.

Knowing what it& #39;s like down there.

It& #39;s where stuff like this comes from: https://twitter.com/Whatleydude/status/996154936252608512">https://twitter.com/Whatleydu...
And since then, I& #39;ve made it my goddamn mission to listen to men, mainly - but women too. And just say *it& #39;s OK*.

It& #39;s ok to feel shit.
It& #39;s ok to feel like you& #39;re drowning.
It& #39;s ok to feel like you& #39;re barely coping.

It& #39;s ok. I promise you it& #39;s ok.
Those that I& #39;ve spoken to know the story. I tell them. I need them to know that I& #39;ve been there too and that I& #39;m living, walking proof that there& #39;s a way out.

Which leads me to another point:
Suffering with a mental health issue - be that anything from life-freezing anxiety issues to contemplating ending your life (& #39;a long-term solution to a short-term problem& #39; - another one from the therapist there) makes you different.

Makes you special.

IT REALLY DOES.
It& #39;s a god damn superpower.

And here& #39;s why.
*You get to look other human beings in the eye and say & #39;I& #39;ve been where you are and it& #39;s alright, you& #39;re not alone& #39;*

And that my friends is the most powerful gift.

THE most powerful gift.
I was absolutely and entirely blessed to have someone who did that for me.

And now, whenever and wherever possible or appropriate, I will do it for others.

(DMs open btw)
So yeah, that& #39;s my #WorldSuicidePreventionDay story.

I remember the thoughts that man had. With *such* clarity. Such clarity. But that man has gone now. And I& #39;m left.

I hugged my children& #39;s clothes goodbye.

But now I hug my children for real. Every day.
And I am better, stronger, more on top of my shit than I have ever been in my near-40 years on this planet.

It gets better.

I swear it - take it from someone that knows.

It. Gets. Better.

Whatley out x

#WorldSuicidePreventionDay #WSPD2019 #WSPD
You can follow @Whatleydude.
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