Suicidal ideation | Rebecca Jane column

I’ve had three spells of feeling like I didn’t want to exist anymore. Two of those spells lasted for years at a time, where every day felt like a painful existence, it felt impossible and hopeless to carry on.

The final spell was June 2021. I began writing this column in February 2021, and there has been one week I simply couldn’t do it. That was the week I didn’t know how to survive any more. Life had imploded.

I’d recently ended a relationship, I was forced to leave my job as a result of that, I’d lost the closest person to me, my private life had been splashed across Sunday newspapers and a few select members of society used all of it to abuse me, in a very public forum. I lost more than that, but for the sake of not identifying people, we’ll leave it there.

It was all too much for one person to cope with, and I saw no way out. I couldn’t ‘bring myself back up’ from so many knocks in one go. I was terrified, mainly for my two daughters. To the point where I truly felt, in my heart of hearts, their life would be better without me in it. How I can justify that in my mind today, is entirely impossible and I was wrong. When you’re in that mindset though, nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever bring you round.

I’ll skip some of the details, because I do have two girls and a wonderful family to protect… but let’s just say, mornings were the worst. When I opened my eyes, and realised I was still here, the pain would hit me all over again. I’d be angry to still be living and just wanted it all to end. That was the week I couldn’t write this column.

There came a point where I realised I was here to stay, and something had to be done. I was under duress, and a heavy weight of reluctance but I had no option left - other than to rebuild the life I was given. Today, I realise the single biggest blessing I received last year was that switch flicking inside me. Even if the glimmer of hope was smaller than a speck of dust, it turned up, just in time. It may have been just a speck, but a speck was all I needed to carry on.

I didn’t know where to start and I didn’t know what I needed to do, but it began with acceptance and patience. Not with anyone, except myself. The acceptance that I wasn’t mentally well, and I was doing whatever I had to in order to survive. I didn’t need to thrive just yet, once I survive, the thrive will come – I hoped.

Each day was different. Some days I was entirely useless. I hated every single morning, but I stuck through them. Showering was even difficult, let alone having a meeting about work! If all I could do for the day was shower, so be it! Some days I would have work meetings, feel the anxiety and nervous stress inside me and have to call it a day afterwards. I turned up, that was what mattered. I faked it, until I eventually made it.

Once I survived enough of the mundane days, the specks of dust turned into miniature sparks of passion. By January, I’d really begun firing on all cylinders. Don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of bumps in the road. I went down with a pretty severe spell of depression in the Autumn, but during that time I went back into survival mode. I was supported by some amazing people around me, and ploughed myself with education until I came back to life again.

There had been a spark in me for over two years, maybe three. It was a ‘children’s charity’. I wanted to test an idea I had where kids came together and ran their own mental health charity. I’m constantly asked by parents to support their children, and frankly children’s mental health services leave a lot to be desired. It’s a bunch of grown ups trying to tell kids what is best for them and no one ever asks what they want!

I had a belief. If we give kids a purpose and community, by giving them job roles and fellow young people. They will come up with better ideas and projects to combat mental illness than adults ever could. We’re adults, we’ve forgotten what it is like to be children. We don’t have the same troubles and worries as children today. We just need to support, guide and show them some patience. Give them the space and freedom to help themselves and each other…

So, I started it. We roped in three schools and organisations to pilot the project. Since March, we have supported over 75 young people with a job role and touched the lives of over 2000 local children with the project.

You know what I did on Sunday?! I spent the day helping the kids take over the whole of Clitheroe Town Centre. They came up with a suicide awareness project. If you visit Clitheroe any time until September 9th, you’ll see 120 shoes lining the Clitheroe sky, because 120 people take their lives each week. All of the shops in Clitheroe were asked to support the project, every one said yes - with the exception of one retailer.

The project is a stark and somewhat brutal display, but this is suicide. It is not pretty. It’s raw and painful. Life’s are lost, people are changed forever and holes are left in hearts that will never be filled. We couldn’t do a ‘positive’ suicide awareness campaign, because there’s nothing positive about the fact Lancashire has the 3rd highest suicide rate in the UK.

13 months after that pretty fateful time, my life is clearly very different. I can’t imagine the thought process I had back then, and I’m so grateful for the experiences I have since, the memories I’ve made and more importantly, that my girls still have their mother. Thank goodness I stayed!

For anyone who feels like I did, not that long ago… Please find that last bit of strength and hope within yourself to enter survival mode and stay with us. Take a deep breath, look up at the Clitheroe sky and realise that if 99% of a town, who don’t even know you, entirely support you - there is a speck of hope left to live for.

If you want to read more about the Clitheroe display, or the work of the Children’s Charity. Please visit: www.120shoes.co.uk.

You will also find pathways of support if you have been affected by this article.