The wall between me and you

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He sat waiting for the doctor. The door goes up, and a man in a white coat and thick glasses peer out: “Henry Wall” he calls. His handshake is firm before he points to the chair where Henry can sit. Henry sits down nervously, looking around in the room, feeling his heart beat hard in his chest. The doctor sits in front of the screen, his eyes searching intently for something. 

“So, what can I do for you?” He barely looks over at Henry, but reach for a cup of coffee next to the computer. 

 “Well, I haven`t felt so good recently..”. 

 “Yes, I see that you have a history with several cases of the flu. It`s that time of year!”. 

 Henry looks down, its more of a mental flu, but how can he explain? The doctor writes something that must be “flu”.

 “So, how long have you been sick” 

“Well, it all started…” 

“Give me days!” The doctor interrupts, the lack of patience obvious even if he tries to suppress it.

Henry looks at him, swallowing the lump in his throath. 

“Well, I`m not exactly sure..”

The doctor looks irritated, waits for more information.

 “Maybe.. A week?”. Suddenly this has become a contest. Like if he has the right answer, he will get one of those small presents children get when they have been brave at the dentist’s office.

The doctor nods. He continues to ask about the symptoms, and also listens to his heart and looks down his throat. He takes his blood pressure, and says it`s slightly elevated.

Henry answers as fast as he can on every question. When the doctors asks about low energy levels or fever, he starts to say “Well, I`m not sure exactly..”, and the doctor takes this as a confirmation on the reality of the symptoms, even if he didn`t say that he had them.

Before he went in, he had thought about if he could manage another day feeling like he does. He had been thinking about how easy it would be to not live anymore. He had wondered If anybody would care if he died, and even if somebody would find him in his house. Should he drive a car into the water? Could he make it look like an accident? In huge letters it professed that one in four suffers from depression, and it could help to see a doctor to get an appointment where you could talk with somebody. Maybe even medication. But now he just felt stupid.

He left the office with a sick-leave in his hand. He didn`t need it. He would never go to work again.

The sound of unforgivable sinners. Lene Marlin and her suicide attempt

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Depression and suicide is still stigmatized in society. That is why honesty is so important. When people we look up to, tell their own stories, we realize that it`s more normal than we think to suffer. 

Lene Marlin is a famous artist from Norway. She wrote “unforgivable sinner” and it immediately became a hit.

What follows is her confession. Her forgivable sin. 

Lene Marlin reveals suicide attempt

2014-10-05 by Trey Spencer STAFF | 12 Comments

On a post on her Facebook page, Norwegian artist Lene Marlin posted a lengthy story of her emotional state, an attempted suicide and coming out the other side:

I didn’t want to live any longer

Everything seemed perfect from the outside. That just made it worse, Lene Marlin writes

I had decided that I would never speak of this publicly. Not because I am ashamed. I am not. But because I just wanted to be done with it all. As the years have passed I’ve come to realize that I will never be completely done with it. It is a part of who I am. I live with it each and every day and will carry it with me for the rest of my life. So I might as well say it out loud:

I tried to end my own life.

I couldn’t handle the pressure.

It’s strange, isn’t it, how you can go from living life for yourself, to suddenly realizing you are living it for everyone else; their expectations and their dreams. How easily one is lost in the demands of others. How easily one takes to living other people’s lives. Now I see it all the time, kids struggling. Even older people; imagine still feeling the pressure after all those years. What kind of hope is left us then?

A different kind of pressure

I wish I could tell you that the pressure lets off, as you grow older. The one thing I can say is that it changes. You simply have more choices. I decided that I was the only one that could make myself happy. This process included making some choices that seemed very strange to people close to me, but I have no regrets. Because even while living this hectic dream-life I knew I had to put a stop to it.

I let it go too far

Because I at that time lacked both the strength and the ability to listen to myself instead of others, years passed before I was fully healed. This is my only regret. It has, however, made me live my life in a different way. For better or for worse, I discovered at an early age how I didn’t want to live my life, and that is something for which I am thankful. Others take much longer to see this and might end up never having lived the life they really want.

Went home during recess

I still have bad dreams about high school; that they call me up telling me I need to come back, do it all over again. I felt like I didn’t fit in. Like I was weird and different from everyone else. Every time we had free time, even in the middle of the day, I would go home: Play the guitar for as long as I could and run back when I had to. That’s where I found the strength I needed. I kept thinking that if I just got through those three years everything would be all right. And it was. Sometimes you just have to hold on for a little while longer.

Sometime during my twenties I found myself lying on a cold kitchen floor weak from crying my eyes out. I don’t know how many hours had passed, but I found one can actually run out of tears. That your body can only take so much. I was completely worn out; but I had come to peace with the fact that this was to be my last night. I felt surprisingly cold and detached as I wrote notes to people I cared about. I did really want to end my life that night. When my eyes closed I felt at peace. I awoke several hours later, confused and in terrible pain. Ironically I didn’t have the strength to try again; I was too weak to even die.

The importance of being heard

Not being heard is painful. It can take a good while to finally say the words that are needed, but when you do, it is important that those around really listen and take you seriously. Failing that, it is so much easier to just crawl back into your shell, sure that your heavy thoughts are yours to live with alone. That kind of loneliness is the worst.

End it all? You? You’ve lived everyone’s biggest dream. You travel the world; you make lots of money, win awards, what can possibly be bothering you? They told me I was ungrateful. The incredible pressure, the expectations, I just couldn’t take it anymore.

The pain you know

One time I ended up in the ER and was told I had been very lucky. I didn’t feel lucky. I had wanted to die, yet there I was. That night I found myself in the back of a dismal room listening to a girl on the other side of a curtain. She was talking about why she did it, and I remember her talking about the boy who had left her and how she had thought it would be them forever and now she didn’t have a reason to live. Or something like that; I was drifting in and out of sleep and can recall only fragments. No boy had put me in that bed, but I recognized the pain in her voice as my own.

We are who we become. Sometimes the road ahead is long and hard, especially when you are in your teens, when everything hurts and it is hard to believe it will ever end. You just don’t believe it will! I see it myself today with people I know who are struggling. It is hard just trying to get them to believe that life does get better. In those instances I use my own experiences; I can tell them that I know what it’s like to feel so tired and small that there seems to be no hope left. When they imagine that as they are sitting across from who I am today, that’s when I see that they understand what I am saying.

Hang in there!

You can’t change the past, but you can change how you live with it. I sometimes get flashbacks of what’s gone before. Often times I have forgotten all about it, so when the images appear it can be a lot to take in. My whole body reacts, as if it remembers what my mind has forgotten. That’s when I panic, I feel trapped and out of breath and need some time before I can tell myself that it’s all behind me. Once that happens my body settles down, but it’s a terrible feeling while it’s going on.

There is so much more contained in a tear than one might imagine. I have been seen crying on TV, which was something I never planned to do, it happened when songs and conversations took me back there. That experience was both painful and good at the same time because what I felt the most was the feeling of having weathered it and come through on the other side. A heavy thought for someone who didn’t expect to live past 30.

Those tears don’t make me feel ashamed, I know I should have cried them a long time ago.

So if you’re not in a good place when you’re reading this and can’t imagine life getting any better, please hang on for just a little longer and hear this; it will all be worth it!


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Lene Marlin

Protected: The stranger in the mirror

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The narcissus in all of us

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The Narcissus in All of Us

Reflections on the self, personality, and what makes you, “you.”

The occupation with the highest suicide rate

Doctors committing suicide at high rates

For many years now, physicians have had the highest suicide rate compared to people in any other line of work. Is this surprising? Does this happen because doctors are continually exposed to other people’s problems? Because of something about a physician’s lifestyle? Looking at these suicides more closely provides some answers.

To begin with, their methods of suicide follow a different pattern than those of the average person: physicians are far more likely to commit suicide by overdosing on medication (as opposed to, say, using a gun). So part of the reason for doctors’ high suicide rate is their easy access to powerful, very lethal drugs. Furthermore, doctors know better than anyone which types of medication to take and what dosages to take them in to get the job done. Hence, physicians are more successful in their suicide attempts than other people.

A more unexpected finding concerning physician suicides is that there’s no difference in the rates between male and female doctors. This is surprising because in the general population, men commit suicide at much higher rates than women. For example, in the United States, men commit suicide atnearly 4 times the rate of women, but women constitute about half of all physician suicides.

Several explanations have been proposed for the high rate among female doctors. First, while being a physician can be stressful for anyone, it may conflict with the life goals of women more than men. Given that women, on average, tend to place more value on spending time with family, friends, and engaging in other social activities, the amount of hours physicians work takes away from all these things. For example, the long hours make it more difficult to maintain stable relationships, to have children, and to be a parent. Women may be more negatively affected by the social isolation than men.

Another stressor for women is that, like in many male-dominated fields, female physicians are probably exposed to greater levels of sexual harassment than male physicians. This may not be a problem for doctors who have their own practice, but could be for those who work at large hospitals.

Unfortunately, male and female doctors who are suicidal encounter several obstacles to getting effective treatment for these problems. One issue is the stigma associated with these symptoms. Suicide and depression are already stigmatized within the general population, but this stigma is even stronger if you’re a doctor, a person who is expected to be physically and mentally healthy. Thus, doctors are probably reluctant to seek treatment for suicidal tendencies, because doing so would be bad for their reputation and bad for business, should word get around. (Ask yourself, would you continue to get treated by a doctor who you knew to be suicidal?)

For doctors who do seek help, the quality of treatment they get is often not as good as it should be. Therapists who treat physicians may assume that their patients know how to take care of themselves, being that they’re doctors, so the therapy tends to be more hands-off and less helpful. Suicidal physicians, in response to these difficulties in getting help, may thus turn to self-medicating with alcohol or prescription drugs, increasing their risks of drug addiction and a further downward spiral.

In sum, there are several reasons for the higher suicide rates of physicians: greater stress, social isolation, access to powerful drugs, barriers to getting treatment — and especially for women — greater role conflict and sexual harassment.

Having said all this, here’s one more fact: physicians live longer and are generally healthier than people in most other professions. Even if you include physicians who commit suicide or suffer from depression, life expectancy and well-being are still very high amongst doctors. But how can this be if they also have such high suicide rates?

Keep in mind that only about 1-2% of the population dies by suicide, and perhaps (this is just an estimate) 2-4% of doctors. But doctors who don’tfall into this minority tend to have very healthy habits: they exercise more, eat better, smoke less, earn more money, and receive better medical care than the average person. Thus, although there is definitely an elevated suicide risk for physicians, the vast majority of physicians are not suicidal and actually do things that lead to healthier and longer lives.

Their higher suicide levels make sense when you consider that, as in other professions that demand long hours and involve a great deal of responsibility, there are more potential rewards but a greater risk ofburnout.

(This post was co-authored by Josh Foster.)

The sound of a defensive arrow

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My fingers are freezing. Several people around me are sitting with their sleeves drawn down as far as possible, to keep the trinkets of warmth alive. The air-condition is spitting out its icy message: ‘I’ll make sure no drop of sweat manifests itself on your forehead’. I register it and think about the irony. Outside it’s actually quite warm, much warmer than it would be in Norway, but it seems people would rather feel cold than warm. I’m at the bus from Baltimore to New York and have for three hours read a book about self-harm.

Reflections are important for me

Several times I had to just stop and let my eyes rest on the view, since some emotions rose in me. It was some sense of happiness, growing in me after reading about different treatment-approachs ( to self-harm and problems with emotion regulation).

I also grew fond of the author, because of his integrity and obvious respect for his patients. He truly cares about them all, and this compassion awakened his ability to creative new thoughts that elegantly weaves into well-known models. He made them rich partly because they associated with other ideas. Together this was pure mind-candy for my psychology-hungry state of mind (who said not working was great?).
The spider-web of associations made my thoughts light up with memories of people I’ve met. So many of them have shown me love, and I feel gratitude curling itself like a cotton nest in my stomach.

The reason for putting the book aside and writing down this now, was because I read about a lovely metaphor that I just had to share with you. My heart immediately reacted with speeding up its heavy thuds, since what I read made perfect sense and resonated within me.
Maybe you will like it as much as me ?

Defensive walls in a bloody war

Imagine a wall def20130916-173515.jpgending a city. In the book this safety-precaution was compared to the defensive walls in the movie ‘the lord of the rings’. In one battle scene a city is on the brink of invasion by the orks. This means that every boy and man have go into battle regardless of their preferences or experiences. Even a little boy, shaking in his boots so that the too huge helmet clatter, must defend the city against the enemy. Everything looks hopeless until the elves suddenly appear. They help them so they survive and win, but only until they can fight for themselves.

Different constructions
The author of the book compares the war to defense. Their defense is iron-wrought pillars gathered from cuts that colored its surface. Sometimes their enemies (thoughts, emotions, memories or people they can’t trust) are lurking and they try to cement their construction with the few materials and resources they got or collected. Examples of the defensive actions can be to distract the beasts with carving their skin, believing this piece of art will awaken the hunger of the beasts. Like martyrs they settle for contributing what little they know and can do.

If the enemy has been inoculated against bloody fingerprints the fierce fighters can jump over the walls in full destruction-mode (By acting out and possibly hurting both friend and foe). As the enemies draw closer,the unexperienced heroes of war, become afraid and desperate. This in turn colors the type of defensive strategy they unmask. Often they go from mental to continually concrete and physical types of defense (from denial and avoidance to self-harm or violence). Ignoring the orks will sadly mean feeding the orks with their souls. For an eternity.

Is it really strange that they use the only defense they can think off when it looks like the20130917-093800.jpg walls will not hold ? When one feel control slipping away, ‘irrational things’ like cutting themselves might be the only mechanism they had that brought relief.

Think about the samurai’s from Japan: By killing themselves, they didn’t have to face the shame of losing against their enemies. Further; What about all the lovely people who tries to hide their ‘dark’ emotions because they think people will shunt them if not? Isn’t it understandable that instead of letting other respond to their emotion, they rather run away from it than to face it, especially when considering the addition burden of trauma many have in their pasts?

A child who misbehaves and gets punished for it might harvest their own baskets of anger. Is it strange they can be terrified of their parents ‘discovering’ they’ve been cutting their skin, when they sometimes believe they always do wrong and deserve what they get?
What can we therapists do ?

When a patients shows you the honor of telling about their shameful thoughts and actions, try to not be the ‘enemy’ who wants to breach the walls. Let them see that you come in peace, and wait until they feel safe enough to look over the wall for a bit, thereby letting us discover their battle scars from earlier war-zones. Remember that they naturally can be extremely sensitive and guarded after such experiences .

It’s sometimes easier to attack first than risking getting an arrow in your heart, and our job is to respect that and fight along with them, just like the elves.


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More on self-harm

Sofia Åkerman, Humanist forlag 2011
-En selvbiografi om spiseforstyrrelser og selvskading-

other Norwegian pages: – informasjonskanal for ungdom
Drevet av barne-, ungdoms- og familiedirektoratet

Psykisk Helse i Skolen
Opplæringsprogrammer i psykisk helse

Si det med ord
Drives av interesseorganisasjonen Mental Helse Norge.
Lavterskeltjenester for mennesker som trenger noen å snakke med eller skrive til.

Klara Klok
Spørreside for ungdom og unge voksne i aldersgruppen 10 – 30



The sound of death

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When I started this blog, I had a vague idea of what I wanted: To share some of the knowledge collected over a lifetime with the readers, and maybe find others who wanted to do the same. I love to find and share post I find inspirational.

Suicide is a topic that never can be talked enough about. Psychologists in Norway are taught (but not enough) to ask questions related to killing yourself, and most luckily take this seriously. Most therapists will once in their lives lose a client (I am dreading when it happens to me) and it is a real trauma when and if it happens. I have talked with therapists who have lost somebody, and they never forget it. Considering how much I care for many of my patients, I know how much it would hurt if they were not here anymore, and I have seen and read enough to know that the pain never seizes completely. For this reason everything I learn that can make me a better therapist, is extremely valuable. For this reason, I want to share some interesting research I`ve stumbled into lately.



In 2003, during his first year teaching at Harvard, Nock approached his colleague Mahzarin Banaji with a proposal. Banaji had helped develop the Implicit Association Test, which was introduced to social psychology five years earlier and has become famous for its ability to measure biases that subjects either don’t care to acknowledge or don’t realize they have on topics like race, sexuality, gender and age. Nock wondered if the I.A.T. could be configured to measure people’s bias for and against being alive and being dead, and Banaji thought it was worth a try. They experimented with several versions in Nock’s lab and at the psychiatric-emergency department at Mass General. Then they put their best one on a laptop and offered it to Mass General patients, many of whom had recently threatened or attempted suicide; 157 agreed to take it. Hunched in plastic waiting-room chairs or propped up in cots as they waited for a clinician to admit or discharge them, they were often grateful for a distraction.

Some things are automatic for us. Why not use this knowledge ?

Balancing the computer on their thighs, the patients held their pointer fingers over left and right keyboard keys. The heading “Life” appeared in the upper left corner of the screen, “Death” in the upper right. In the center, words associated with one of the headings popped up one at a time. Patients jabbed the left key to link “alive,” “survive,” “breathing,” “thrive” and “live” with “Life”; the right key matched “funeral,” “lifeless,” “die,” “deceased” and “suicide” with “Death.” The researchers asked the volunteers to do this as quickly as they could. Each word had a correct response. If patients put “thrive” with “Death,” for instance, a red X appeared, and the test paused until they hit the proper key. The sorting continued as the words reappeared randomly. After about a minute, the headers switched sides, and the process repeated. Then new rubrics popped up — “Me,” “Not Me” — along with new words to sort: “self,” “I,” “myself,” “my,” “mine,” “other,” “theirs,” “they,” “them,” “their.” Again the headers flipped places, and the sorting continued.

Once the patients had established a rhythm, the test began to measure bias. The headers doubled up: “Life” above “Me” and “Death” above “Not Me,” forcing test-takers to hit the same button to group “thrive” and “breathing” with “self,” “my” and “myself.” “Die” and “funeral” went with “theirs,” “they,” “them.” Theoretically, the faster the patients were and the fewer mistakes they made on this part of the test, the more they associated themselves with living.

Then “Life” and “Death” switched places, swapping the associations; the same key grouped “myself” and “my” with “funeral,” “suicide,” “die,” “deceased.” Agility on this part of the test would suggest an association with dying.

Doctors of all kinds, including psychologists, do no better than pure chance at predicting who will attempt suicide and who won’t. Their patients often lie about their feelings to avoid hospitalization. Many also appear to mislead by accident, not realizing they are a risk to themselves or realizing but not knowing how to say so. Some 90 percent of young people who kill themselves have visited their primary-care doctors within a year; nearly 40 percent of adults have within a month. The opportunity to help them seems enormous, if only there were a way to see past appearances and identify an inclination they might be hiding — perhaps even from themselves.

dontrainThe Mass General patients and their clinicians rated on separate scales how likely they thought they were to try to kill themselves in the future. When researchers checked on each patient six months later, they discovered that, as expected, clinicians had fared no better than 50-50 in their predictions. Patients themselves, it turned out, were only slightly more accurate. The I.A.T., to everyone’s surprise, bested them both. People who sorted words more quickly when “Death” was paired with “Me” than with “Not Me” proved three times as likely to try to kill themselves as people who sorted words more quickly when “Life” was paired with “Me.” The I.A.T., it seemed, was picking up a heightened signal of suicidal tendencies that the most commonly used method for assessing risk — a clinical interview — had been powerless to detect.

One of the comment (there were many)  to this post was:

A letter written by my daughter,16,on tumbler

Dear you,

i’ve been there, okay? i’ve been in the position you are right now. you want to do it, you want everything to end. you think that this world is going to be so much better without you. you think that it won’t matter if you’re gone. you figure people can just go on with their lives, and eventually you’ll be nothing but a memory. it’s better for yourself, and everyone around you.
i’m here to tell you that you’re dead wrong.
Suicide is never the answer. Even though it may feel like the one thing you have control over, the one thing you can take, you can never take it back. There are no do overs. You can’t commit, die, and then decide you want to be back here again. It doesn’t work that way.
Your mom’s smile slowly withers away after the years of your passing. She clamps her hand over her mouth as she rereads those same familiar words, “It’s not your fault, Mom.” Even though she wants to believe you, she can’t.
Remember the guy who would never cry? That was your father. But that was the past. He needs to convince everyone—and himself—that he’s okay. He constantly thinks about what would have happened if he walked into your room, only a half hour before it happened. In his mind,it was his fault.
Remember.You are beautiful. I don’t need to see a photo of you to know that. You’re so much more than what you’ve become. You are so loved.
Stay strong. Keep holding on. Everything is going to be okay.

With love,



The Night I Gave up On Life

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The Night I Gave Up On Life

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I don’t quite know why I am sharing this extremely personal story with you now, except that there is a little voice pushing me to let it out, and I am acting on that.

This story might be upsetting for some and it might make others feel angry and for that I apologise.

I want to tell you about the night I gave up on life.

It was back in 1990, my life looked as if it was going well, I had a lot of friends, I had a decent job, I had travelled a bit, I had good looks, I had money in my pocket, the works.  The thing is I wasn’t all that happy and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I was unhappy inside.  I used to fantasize about ending my life, it was actually a real comfort to know that I had the choice of living or dying.

I used to plan how I was going to end my life so as it would look like an accident to lessen the pain on my family, my favourite fantasy was jumping off a tall building.

One night, I was working in a bar and I was walking the 2 mile walk home late at about 1am.  The rain could be heard thundering down onto the pavements.  I was walking slowly in the rain as I liked the feel of rain against my skin.  I noticed in the distance a dog, and it was limping quite heavily.  When the dog got closer, I noticed the dog had only 3 legs as it ran past me.  For no reason, I started crying uncontrollably as I felt so sorry for this dog.  I couldn’t get the dog out of my mind the next day, and wondered why I was so upset by it.  I realised I felt like the dog: alone, soaked, not fully functional and nowhere to go.

A few nights later I decided that the jacket of life no longer fitted me and I was taking the jacket off for good.  I said goodnight to my mum and dad, I called my sisters earlier on to tell them I loved them.  I took 26 strong sleeping tablets up to my bedroom after telling my dad not to wake me up in the morning for work as I had a days holiday.  I sat in bed with the tablets, a glass of milk and cried as I took each tablet.  I cried for my mum, and at how heartbroken she would be, I cried for my dad as I had only told him I loved him once in my life.  I cried for my sisters as I would miss them terribly and knew they would miss me.  I took all 26 tablets and put my head on my pillow to die.  I am crying as I write this just now.

I can’t quite remember when I woke up, I was in hospital and two of my friends were there with my mum and dad and sisters.  I had been unconscious, I honestly don’t know how long as I have never spoken of this to my family since.  The morning after I had taken the tablets my dad was up for work as normal.  He didn’t wake me up as I had told him not to, however he heard a bang when he got up at around 5am.  Apparently I had fallen out of bed.  That fall , and my dad hearing it, saved my life, I believe.

When I woke up in the hospital there was a lot of crying, a lot of questions and a lot of explaining.  The hospital psychiatrist came round and asked if I needed help.  I told her I knew why I had done it and I was going to rectify the issues in my life.  I felt ashamed, guilty, upset and angry at myself at having to put my family through something as awful as this just because I didn’t have the balls to sort out some of my problems.

I didn’t feel I fitted into life, with the friends I had, the job, just everything.  What did I do? I started over.  I dropped my friends as I realised they were drinking buddies and not friends, I changed my job, I upgraded my skills, I got my finances sorted out and moved to another city.  I have never looked back since and I have been on a quest ever since to find myself and share the knowledge I have with others.

Lessons From That Night

Nothing and I mean nothing is so bad that you have to take your own life.  There are always options and if the worst comes to the worst, drop everything and start again.  If you are in this situation just now, please believe me when  I say it will get better and there are people who can help.

I’ve learned to tell others how much I love them and how much I appreciate them.

I’ve learned to look for the signs that others might need help.

I mentioned earlier the jacket did not fit, what I realised when I awoke in the hospital was that the jacket can be altered to fit me and I didn’t have to fit the jacket.

I have learned so much more over the years since that night and my long standing depression was lifted in one decision – I will change my life to suit me.

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About Steven Aitchison
I am the creator of Change Your Thoughts (CYT) blog and love writing and speaking about personal development, it truly is my passion. There are over 500 articles on this site from myself and some great guest posters.
If you want to learn more about my products you can check out Steven Aitchison’s Productsor check out my books and Kindle books on Amazon

(some) Comments. I have taken away many on this repost, all comments can be found at the original page

    • That really sums up what suicide really is to other people and I think it is a true statement.

      I am really touched with all the personal stories and also the support, I was expecting a lot of people to really condemn this.

      Thanks you for your comment Mary.

  1. Takes alot of courage to share that with everyone…

    Thank you for sharing your lessons.


  2. mary says:

    Thanks to your dad for hearing the bang on the floor because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to share yourself and your story to help others. We are all grateful.

    • Hi Mary, The good thing that has came out of this is that I tell me family every time I speak to them that I love them, more so my mum and two sisters but I have told my dad on many occasions as well :)

  3. Hi Steven.

    You are real strong now. Who would point out something like this? Very few people would even think to. It’s easy to look at it from our view as a potent article, but it is completely different to choose to write it and then write it. It makes us stronger just to read it.

    One aspect we see is CYT, and CYT would not be here without one individual. We see CYT as a strong presence, and have to remember the strong individual behind it.

    I have told folks “Steven Aitchison from Change Your Thoughts said [X] and [Y]” sometimes. I say it in a way that leads folks to assume that I see you as a powerhouse.

    Many people have thoughts similar to the ones you had, and some acted as you had, but so few will mention it at a later time.

    “the jacket can be altered to fit me and I didn’t have to fit the jacket”

    You lose nothing when you mention something important like this, but some of us will see this and then still keep our important things hidden. Maybe it is needed that we get that feeling that we can’t help but point them out.
    .-= Armen Shirvanian´s last blog ..Team Up With A Partner To Make Progress =-.

    • Armen, I can’t begin to tell you how much I have appreciated your support and writing over the last few months. I really appreciate your kind words. You are right in that I am strong, always have been, I just didn’t realise it at times, just like so many others as well.

  4. Jink says:

    Dear Steve, you are a delight and I am so glad you are here. Your writing on your blog- and now you- are important to me (way down in Australia) . Thanks heaps for sticking around and for your bravery in posting this!

  5. Gareth

    • HI Gareth. I will always regret doing what I did because of the pain it caused to my family so I know where you’re coming from with regards to your friend.

      Thanks for commenting Gareth and sharing a part of your own story.

  6. Shaznaym says:

    Steven, Thank you for sharing your story. It is truely incredible that you eventually realised what your issues were.

    I too, went through something similar. I was not happy with life or the life that I had although I had everything too.

    What was getting me down was that I was in a relationship I was not happy in, plus I had found out I was pregnant. I was unhappy because I had no close friends (Due to my relationship) and was increasingly sad. I took pills, but not enough to do me or my baby damage. It was more a cry for help.

    After that, I realised I needed to change my life. After my son was born, I ended my relationship with his dad and started going to church. This was exactly what I needed at that time and it has changed me forever. I made the right friends and had a hectic social life which I loved. It also helped me to find me. What I liked and disliked, how I wanted my life to be, not what everyone else wanted my life to be. I had the time to do a lot of soul searching.

    Everyone is now amazed at my strength and courage now , but I guess in life, we have to go through these rough times to get the strengh to overcome them.

    Thank you again for sharing. I hope it helps many people out there who are going through trials and need a wake-up call. Ending your life is never the best way.

  1. […] wrote a very personal and powerful post about The Night I Gave Up On Life at his site Change Your Thoughts – Change Your Life. “A few nights later I decided […]

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The sound of turning around

Posted on

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I found this on the web and really loved it

Joy Turns to Pain When You Flip Over These Clever Suicide-Prevention Ads Real message is upside down

By  David Gianatasio

Publicis’s poignant print ads for suicide-prevention group Samaritans of Singapore use ambigrams to give upbeat messages negative meanings when viewed upside down. “I’m fine” becomes “Save me,” “Life is great” morphs into “I hate myself” and “I feel fantastic” reads “I’m falling apart.” The tagline, “The signs are there if you read them. Help us save a life before it’s too late,” is also printed upside down. The campaign does a fine job of depicting the subtle, often hidden nature of depression and anxiety disorders. It’s novel for the category, taking an approach that’s clever enough to generate broad coverage, extending the message far beyond its original market. Perhaps those reading about this work will question declarations of happiness from friends and family members that don’t quite ring true. The writing may be on the wall, but sometimes you’ve got to look at things in a different way to avert disaster.

samaritans-hed-2013 (1)
I feel fantastic or I`m falling apart
“Life is great” or “I hate myself”













“I`m fine” or “save me

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