TW suicide

My dad died from suicide 10 years ago but if he hadn’t he’d have been 65 today.

Suicide is a unique, complicated grief. I used to seek comfort imagining the end of his pain bringing relief, but now I see his pain an equal tragedy to his death, both maybe preventable.

I’m aware that’s a fairly miserable way of looking at it, but I don’t feel anymore like I need to comfort myself with a slither of silver lining an earth-shattering tragedy. His death, and the trauma, addiction and illness that defined so much of it shattered his and my earth.

My point is, we must not see suicide as an inevitable outcome for a certain proportion of people with mental illness, because it isn’t and doesn’t have to be. I know many people who are living testaments to this.

We know what puts people at risk of suicide: poverty, criminalisation of addiction, isolation, trauma.

If we as a society are serious about saving and rebuilding lives, we must make our health system work for people *who are mentally ill* and lift welfare above the poverty line.

My dad’s name was Peter James Rugg. He was a charismatic asshole with a tender heart who would pull out his wallet exclaiming “I’m the richest man in the world!” and then show anyone close enough to him the photograph of his three daughters, my sisters and I. I miss him.