On Wednesday 10th September 2003, World Suicide Prevention Day was observed for the first time. Having become an annual event, it has been observed on 10th September ever since. It was, and still remains, a collaboration between the International Association for Suicide Prevention (IASP), the World Health Organisation (WHO), and the World Federation for Mental Health (WFMH). Various events take place around the world, which raise awareness , and discuss ways of lowering suicide rates.

There are some shocking statistics relating to suicide. Globally, more people die from suicide than from murder and war. In fact, according to the WHO, suicide accounts for almost half of all violent deaths in the world. It is the thirteenth leading cause of death worldwide. Three quarters of all suicides are committed by men, and the age group with the highest rate of suicides is fifteen to twenty-nine-year-olds.

And here, I must confess a very personal interest in the subject. But for some wonderful people, I would have been part of those statistics.

What follows may be uncomfortable reading for you. And I know it will be uncomfortable writing for me.

On the afternoon of Thursday 9th January 2014, I was told by my GP that I was suffering from depression. I was then prescribed the antidepressant, Sertraline. This I took for the next two years or so, with very encouraging results. In fact, things improved so much for me that I ended up weening myself off it. It wasn’t a conscious decision, I simply kept forgetting to take it. Although I was feeling much better, it was almost certainly the wrong thing to do, and I would never suggest that anyone should follow my example. If it’s something you’re considering yourself, Please talk to your doctor first, and if it is appropriate, come off your medication under some form of supervision.

For the next few years, I felt fine. Yes, I had occasional bad days. But for heaven’s sake, we all have bad days, don’t we? Or so I reasoned.

Then, as time transmuted 2021 into 2022, the bad days became frequent. Then they became the norm. The longer my battle with my inner demons went on, the more overwhelming the world became. Every task, regardless of either its size or its importance, became ridiculously, often impossibly daunting.

By the morning of Friday 29th July 2022, I felt that the world had become too much for me to cope with. I had had enough. And, by God, I had a way out. Although I had unwisely taken myself off my medication, I foolishly hadn’t disposed of it. I still had a little over two months worth of Sertraline. I swallowed the lot. Sixty-three times the daily dose I had been prescribed.

Shortly afterwards, I did the only sensible thing I had done that day. Perhaps the most sensible thing I had done all year. I thought that somebody should know what I had done. So I sent a “farewell” text to my sister.

Thank God for my sister. Within fifteen minutes of sending the text, she was banging on my door. She then called an ambulance

There then followed a long afternoon of physical monitoring and psychiatric evaluations, and an even longer night when three amazing and brilliant ladies – a friendly doctor, and two lovely nurses – did what was necessary to save my life. I can’t thank them enough.

The weekend was a series of tests to make sure that my heart rate and blood pressure returned to acceptable levels, and that I hadn’t done serious and irreparable damage to my liver and kidneys, as well as a lot of gentle kindness from those who looked after me. Then, on the Monday evening, I was discharged into the loving care of my family, one or two close friends, and some very supportive professionals. I can’t thank them enough either.

Nearly fourteen months later, things have improved beyond all recognition. My demons appear to have been vanquished, and life is very close to being exactly as I’d like it to be. Of course there are one or two things I wish could improve, and perhaps, in time, they will. But I really can’t complain at all. I can, instead, with utter certainty, say that it is good, very good, to be alive.

I haven’t written the above in order to garner sympathy. Rather, I hope that if anyone reading this is feeling as I did, that my story, albeit the bare bones of what happened, is useful. Be assured that you are not alone. Many other people feel, or have felt, as you do. But please, don’t do to your nearest and dearest what I did to mine. I said earlier that I can’t thank my family enough for their support. Unfortunately, I can’t apologise to them enough either for what I put them through.

If you feel that life has become too much, I would urge you to do what I should have done, and talk to someone. People are far less judgmental, and far more compassionate, than you might imagine. Whether you talk to someone from an organisation such as the Samaritans, or your GP, or the staff at A&E, or a friend, a relative, a colleague, or a priest, or someone completely different, is up to you. But please, please, talk to someone. Life is one of the most precious gifts we have. And our lives enrich the lives of those around us, far more than we realise.