Tag Archives: suicide


I was fortunate enough to meet Sue Jones via WordPress on the internet and as amazing as it sounds, she has been helping me. She realized that I was not as computer savvy as other bloggers are, and she not only took it upon herself to offer very good advice, she has posted a question and answer interview under the title of FELLOW BLOGGER which I find very touching indeed. We have also shared some heartbreak together.

Please click on the link below to see what she has done. Thank you, Sue Jones.


Ever wondered why people commit suicide?

When people take their own lives, they think that they are ending their pain. But, what they are doing in fact, is passing it on to the loved ones that they leave behind.

I was told that people who are severely depressed often take their lives when the chemicals in their brains get out of balance or get disrupted in some way. Healthy people do not do this even if it appears to be the case. Someone suffering from a depression is prevented from being able to look forward to anything at all, and they seem able to think only about the here and now and have lost the ability to imagine the future. They may not realize that they are ill and feel that there is no help for them out there. Seeking help could be the very last thing that they have in mind.

From what I have seen during all those years spent going in and out of psychiatric hospitals due to our son’s illness, they are unable to even think of their families and friends due to their illness and are consumed with emotional and often physical pain, that can become unbearable – they see the world in relation to themselves only.

Someone in that position is probably unable to see a way out. I am quite sure that they do not want to die, but it might be the only way they can find to end their pain. Of course, it is not a rational choice.

Nobody in the world chooses to be in a depression. The same way we don’t ask to get diabetes, cancer, or any other illness. we simply get it because it is an illness and the same thing occurs with depression.

My son, my son

My son was one of the people who suffered from paranoid schizophrenia and who did not make it as he was medication resistant. My son, David, wanted to get well, he wanted to love and be loved, but most of all, he needed the peace of mind that the rest of us take for granted and which eluded him. When he threw himself to what I can only hope is a place of calm, peace and endless waves fit for a surfer, our family was left to cope with our grief, each in his/her own way.

I often think back to the first 18 years of my son’s life, before he was drafted into the military. In those days, he was perceived as being normal. During the following 16 years, people referred to him as mentally ill, but our family always addressed him as David. (I have changed his name to make this easier for me to write about.)

We were left with little or no guidance on how to survive our terrible loss. My immediate family had the usual coping mechanisms used to dealing with regular stress.  But these mechanisms were insufficient in the face of David’s suicide. As a result, we cycled subconsciously through various ways of coping in order to find the best way for each of us. I remember the disruption and pain we each experienced – deep, forceful pain that has never completely healed, but somehow, we got by even though it took many years. I was fortunate to have a supportive, loving husband who knew how to give unconditional love to us all. We had good relationships with our other children and were there for one another.

In the past, during the 16 years of David’s illness, I carried a lot of anger around in me; Illogical anger at him for contracting this terrible illness, anger at the medical profession for their inability to cure him or even give us the kind of support we desperately needed. I often though of fleeing but of course I remained. I wanted to tell my son’s friends that if I could have fled, I would have done so. I was never angry with them. I was angry at the world and understood that they had to get on with their lives. They gave David as much support as they possibly could.

How did I cope? I coped by keeping busy. I swept, and dusted, washed the floors, shone the beautiful silver candlesticks on our sideboard. I dug in the garden, knowing just how useless and tiring this activity would be, but, it stopped me from thinking about David all the time.

After his death, someone told me that my son was in a better place. What I should have told her was that grief is permanent and that all I wanted was my son at home with us and not in a better place. I was told; “Time heals.” True, but it was far, far too early to say that to a newly bereaved mother whose son had taken his life. “Find something to take your mind off it,” I was told by another well-meaning person.

None of this made any sense to me. It was a time when G-d did not make sense, so I left it at that and concentrated on trying to cope.