Another death in my old network of survivors of serious mental illness. James and I hadn’t spoken for more than 10 years and he’s been gone a year… Still a bit of a shock I must say….
He would be roughly the 10th suicide I’ve known.
We’re often bloody rude about ‘nut jobs’, ‘psychos’ and ‘loons’ but need to remember that mental illness is the single biggest killer for adult men under about 50.
When diagnosed in 1999, my then head doctor explained to my parents that if everyone with my diagnosis in the UK got together we’d fill every seat at Wembley Stadium. Add in bipolar and we’d fill it twice.
As a mental health journalist I ran into the ‘rule of thirds’. Essentially, one in three seats at Wembley would be occupied by those who had one serious spell and go onto live fulfilling lives. Another third, the odd spells of years in and out but fulfilling lives between. The final third, on welfare and never really moving on. (I doubt that’s true these days – resources are so sh** I’d be a dead man if diagnosed even 5 years ago.)
While for my part I was in an odd situation telling a psychiatric nurse the other day that even after earning similar to her these last 12 months, I’ve lost £15k in business to depression – for others this is life or death.
So to you: your weird friend/mate/comrade. Beware the quiet ones. Don’t just let them be quiet. Don’t let them hide. Don’t undervalue them. As happened to me 25 years ago, they might just turn round one day and tell you that you saved their lives just by being there. You may have no idea how.
Keep your weird buddy in range!
Rich Shrubb
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