Suicidal Ideation

An unexpected gift

Many people across the globe have had to deal with massive changes to their daily lives since the coronavirus pandemic has taken hold and become a staple in the news cycle. Whether it’s through small changes such as no longer going into the office for work or giving a home haircut a try, through to bigger things such as tragically losing a family member to the virus or not being able to visit your elderly parents for the foreseeable future, the pandemic has had a massive effect on how we all live.

For me, the global pandemic has had a profound effect on my life in a way that I could never have predicted. In fact, this change is something that I never imagined would happen to me. Yet here it is, so strong and so visible that I cannot deny it any longer.

I now have a desire to live, a zest for life, a will to stay alive.

This is not normal for me. Many other people have a passion to live and my feelings of wanting to die are unusual to them. But for me, the option of not being around has always been present in my mind. Throughout my teenage years and through to my recent 30th birthday, I can’t remember a time when suicide was not on my mind in some shape or form.

I consider the world a horrific and challenging place to live, and the sadness that I feel and see play out on a daily basis cuts deep into my core. Being alive in this day and age has always seemed, to me, a huge uphill battle that was sometimes not worth fighting for. Ending my life was always on the table, and I often considered it a worthwhile alternative to having to suffer and watch others suffer.

Yet, as I sit curled up on my lounge and tune the remote to see the pandemic play its cruel game with the delicate lives of millions, I’ve been hearing a different broken record in my head. Watching the virus take people’s lives so fiercely and experiencing fear while performing simple daily activities such as picking up the mail and getting groceries, has caused an uptake in my anxiety level to the point where I’ve been feeling that I might burst into a million pieces. My skin has felt tight, my heart races to no end, and my muscles fold in on themselves like a boa constrictor. Throughout the past couple of weeks, I have experienced fear and anxiety stronger than I have ever felt before. But the driving factor to these fears?

I want to live; I’m afraid of not being around anymore.

So, while the coronavirus has caused many people immense pain and we are all suddenly realising that things we took for granted are indeed precious to us, I have been unexpectedly gifted with the desire to live. For someone who has been suicidal for as long as she can remember, this is an entirely new feeling. One which I can’t let slip past me unnoticed. Instead, I am leaning into these feelings, and the more I dive in, the more I see that this desire to live has always been around. In fact it’s been engrained into my instincts as a human being, yet I never had the clarity, or the time, or the reason, to uncover it. Previously, life was so hard that I couldn’t see what was bubbling underneath. Now, life stays just as difficult, but I know there is something under me that I can use as an anchor.

By no means am I thankful that the coronavirus has been the thing that has given me this gift. I wish none of this had happened, I wish we could get back the lives we have lost. Yet, I am doing my best to make lemonade from lemons.

Thus, as I sit here enveloped in deep sadness, fear, depression, and hopelessness for what the future may bring and what the world is experiencing, there is one thing that I can hold onto. I want to live, and because of this I am now ready to tackle these big and difficult emotions with a new perspective.

I am finally ready to let life in.

Bridget B

In the nick of time

I was rudely interrupted by an angel while arranging my suicide.

There I was in September 2019, getting my preferred equipment ready, with a very serious intention to do the job cleanly and successfully. I had had enough, there was no doubt in my mind, it was time to go.

At exactly 11 o’clock the angel called me from my room to a pre-arranged appointment that I had forgotten. I didn’t want to disappoint her and waste her time in coming to see me, so I packed up my stuff quickly and hurried up to my room, thinking that I would tell her that I was doing fine and thanks for caring.

Her first words were “Hello Clare, how are you doing?”

And I knew that I was faced with the ultimate choice. Should I reply “Fine thank you! Everything is good. Bless you for asking, but you don’t have to worry about me” and then continue my preparations to die?

I didn’t want to be interrupted. I was sorely tempted to get rid of her as quickly as I could, in case she stopped me from escaping.

Or was it time to finally fess up, to come clean, to be honest.

In the past I have always denied my feelings, pretended to be tough (that’s what men are supposed to do). Mostly to keep my angel happy, so she wouldn’t have to deal with anything nasty.

But this time, I took the risk of telling her what I had been doing, risking being honest. I told her exactly what I was planning, and tried to explain why I needed to suicide. She listened, made a short phone call, then asked “Will you come with me to a hospital?”

At that moment I had a sudden realisation that my suicide was the most grotesque, horrible, awful thing.  How to describe the depth of feeling? Complete horror. Absolute failure. Immense betrayal.

Betrayal of my children’s trust, more than anything else. I’m blessed to be the only responsible parent of seven bright and beautiful young offspring and three (at last count) sweet grandchildren. I had convinced myself that when the youngest of the seven turned eighteen, they would be mature enough to cope with my suicide.

Some time ago, a wise man told me that my kids would eventually forgive me for almost anything, but if I took my own life, they would never forgive themselves. They would forever believe that they were to blame. That they hadn’t been pretty enough, smart enough, loving enough to keep me wanting to live.

That thought has kept me from suicide for forty years. Until that day.

I burst into tears, and agreed to go with her. I trusted her, and I knew that the opportunity to end my life would still be there afterwards if nothing changed.

So I packed my stuff quickly, walked out of the building through a small gathering of residents and staff. They asked me if I was leaving, but I couldn’t speak.  We drove away, at that moment I didn’t know or care where.

They were waiting for us in South Ward of Peter James. I was taken to a room to settle in, stayed there for two weeks, and received the most amazing care, advice and encouragement. Again, my life was saved.

I now want to stay alive for as long as I am able, to love myself and my children, to smell the flowers that are growing in my garden and to do the work I’m passionate about.

I’m not a religious believer, and I try not be afraid of Hell as a punishment for suicide. But I have experienced the horror of those final moments and I now understand what an awful thing it is to contemplate the deliberate end of life. My passion is to speak to as many people as I can to try to convey that horror, and to persuade them to reach out for help if they ever get close to desperation.

Clare Headland

Listen to Clare’s Roses Radio Podcast



This week saw me navigating suicidal thoughts and feelings.

I’m someone who experiences suicidal thoughts and feelings from time to time.

I’ve learned when they show up in MY life it’s not that I want to end my life, instead it’s typically parts of my life NEED to die, typically around work and relationships.

It can be confusing, especially when parts of my life are working, but other parts are unhealthy and out of balance.

I dived deeper into my suicidal thoughts and feelings this time and saw the parts of my life that need to die and the connections to grieving and healing.

I’m honouring what is going on for me right now, allowing myself to feel, heal, grieve and let go of the parts of my life that need to die and in time embrace the next chapters of my life

~ Kit Scott


“Not being and not doing what I Love is a slow form of suicide ~ Kit Scott



I also want to share this short blog post  Healing is grief in motion