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Suicide is not Painless

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Trigger warning. This is not about M*A*S*H. This is about the real thing. I guess it’s possible that this could be upsetting for some.

Ah well. I’d got away with it for 24 years, but statistically, after all those years as a train driver, there was always the likelihood. Someone jumped in front of my train. Spectacularly, most definitely deliberately. They wanted to go; they even turned to face the train as it took them out. It is a strange strange thing to witness – someone deliberately putting themselves in harm’s way. ( I should not prejudice the outcome of the coroner’s court, but then again, I am the key witness, so my statement will heavily influence the conclusion. I did check with the police that I am in the clear to talk publicly. )
I have two angles on this, giving prior knowledge. I’m a union rep and in that capacity I have spoken to so many colleagues who have gone through this. Some are deeply affected and take months to get back in the cab. Some can’t bear to see a train for weeks – I caught one to the pub the next day. I am and will be fine, though the first few nights allowed me very little sleep. In this respect, I am very matter-of-fact. Some drivers own the incident, use language that conveys that they actually killed the person. I am able to detach myself, not to the point of dangerous denial, but rationally. And here’s the second angle that helps, I believe. I used to volunteer with the Samaritans. I have listened to people who have got to the point where they just want an end to it all, where they are no longer thinking about anyone else, friends, family, least of all the poor sap at the front of the train. They just want oblivion. I think that helps me accept what has happened and their decision.
In supporting friends and colleagues who have been through this, I have picked up a pattern. The drivers who suffer most are those who already had shit going on. The trauma of the fatality and the awful lying awake in the morning, churning thoughts, drags them back to unresolved issues in their life – bereavement, separation, loss, inadequacies, latent depression. At other times in my life, this could have affected me worse, but right now, I’m feeling pretty level, having just had one of the best holidays where I had done exactly what I wanted to do and just recently freed from dealing with my father’s estate, all successfully concluded. So, I’m not in a bad place in life. Strangely, perhaps, this has confirmed that I like my work, and I like my home. I like my life. That will make this much easier to get over.
And I am in the best place for separating myself from the incident, in the middle of festival season, my brain focused on dance steps and belting out songs. I am a particularly gregarious fellow and I am surrounded by good people. Formal support is there too. Work know how to look after us with counselling and the like, but what has been so heartening has been how the railway community has wrapped its arms around me. We do look after our own. I suppose I have been doing that for years supporting colleagues. Now it’s my turn. What goes around, comes around.
So, I shall be fine. I am fine. Once back from Sidmouth, I may even have time to post a bit more. There. You can look forward to an increase in postings on Breton folk.

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Comments

  1. Well done on coming to terms with the incident CC. It must be an awful thing to witness and I admire your sympathetic but professional approach to the unfortunate person who did this.

  2. I can’t begin to imagine that, yet sort of can, having rationalised my role in the deaths of others, which isn’t remotely as grand guignol as it sounds, death being a commonplace in my work. Still can be shocking, though. Or should be.
    Cause and effect, eh, two completely different things.

  3. Well done on such a measured response. As I was reading it I reflected on a glib throwaway utterance I once heard from a glib throwaway journalist about a similar occurrence, and admired your humane report.

  4. @thecheshirecat

    Jesus, how horrible for you. Should I ever be in the unfortunate situation where someone attempted to kill themself by jumping out in front of my car, I doubt I would be able to cope nearly as compassionately as you have.

    Would imagine many AWers have harbored suicidal thoughts at some point – I know I have, and more recently than I would care to detail here.

    Ultimately, I have every sympathy for anyone whose life has become so insufferable the only way forward they can see is to take their own life. That said, I really cannot fathom how someone could do so by stepping out in front of a car, lorry or train knowing their doing so was likely to bring untold suffering into the life of the person driving it and his/her family.

      • If all care is past, why choose that option? I don’t mean to be glib, but it’s a question I think worth asking. I haven’t known any suicides in my life (so far) and am definitely not that way inclined myself (again, so far) but if my life became insufferable for some reason what would I choose to do? I think Dignitas or similar would be my first choice, if I could afford it and qualify. Thinking of other methods, I can easily see how throwing yourself in front of a train might seem an attractively “efficient” method. The speed and certainty of death and the lack of time spent in pain or thought. I imagine suicides focus entirely on the train as an object, without considering that a human is at its helm.
        A very thought-provoking read, Cheshire, thank you.

          • As far as suicide goes, I guess you’re right. And in many, many other respects too. But we all have our tragedies. (Like most here, I imagine, today I can’t stop thinking about the grieving families in Southport.)

        • I’ve known a few, sadly. Worked with one guy. He didn’t come into work one Monday morning. He had killed himself over the weekend. I had no idea at all he was depressed, I think marital issues were the trigger. I know what that can be like.

          I have felt bad running over a cat and a deer. Can’t imagine what it would be like if that was a human being

  6. Thanks for sharing this.

    For anyone wondering about how someone can bring themselves to do this and bring suffering not only on their family but total strangers, I have experience. My best friend had a serious mental illness that got progressively worse in his early 20s. At times he was his regular self, but more and more he became distracted and a stranger to us. After taking himself off his medication (not for the first time), he jumped under a train early one morning in South London. I was too young to process it properly and it took many years to deal with it. Big birthdays come and go, visits to tidy up his grave, a letter to his mum (now in her 90s) at Christmas.

    Two things are foremost in my mind when I think of my friend. The life that would have been – he died at 23 and he’d have been 53 now. The other is what the driver of that train and the people from the emergency services had to go through. Take care of yourself CC.

  7. Thanks for sharing, it’s good to talk.

    It must be an unimaginable place to be in, to even contemplate that, let alone do it. My heart goes out to the family and friends.

    Often the forgotten person here is the driver. I work in transport too, buses in my case, and it occasionally happens there too, and can happen more often, accidentally. Talk about it if you feel the need to (it’s OK not to be OK, trite as that sounds), and know that there was nothing you could’ve done. As you say, we do our best to look after our own.

    Take care. Have a man hug.

  9. Wow. Such wisdom, kindness, and perspective. Some people want out, and in their distress hurt those who unavoidably enable them to achieve their wish. Take all the support and input offered. FWIW, sending support, strength, and manly hugs.

    • Many thanks H and you know that is welcome. In fact, here is the place to thank the blog as a whole. Fear not for your community spirit will be made flesh in a few days when Retro joins me for a whisky under my Sidmouth gazebo.

  13. Take care of yourself, sometimes the shock comes later, but you seem to have the situation under control. I guess that the person killing themselves see it as being killed by the train, not by the driver, so that’s how the driver should see it too, to achieve that detachment and be able to move on. Which of course is easier said than done, so I’m glad you’re able to!
    Keep dancing and singing, because life’s too short not to.

  14. A beautiful post on a grizzly subject, cheshire. I’m glad you are okay. I guess he achieved his goal, a swift and decisive end to his life. Other methods of suicide are less reliable for the average person.

    I hope you can fully enjoy the rest of the Festive season. We have to make the most of the life we have.

    • A very thought provoking post. My wife has had 3 suicides in her family and possibly 4 – one was inconclusive. It is devastating for the family of course but the person committing suicide pays no heed to the people they are leaving behind because the issue is bigger than that to them. The initial response is ‘why didn’t they talk to me?’ followed by ‘I should have been there for them’
      Neither of these options are likely to alter the course of someone intent on ending their life so even less likely that the train driver is even remotely considered. I think your attitude is spot on.

      I would like to ask one question out of interest – please don’t take it as glib – what happens in this situation? Does the train driver immediately stop or does he continue his journey while alerting the authorities.?

      • Oh no. I won’t drive a train for weeks. Pardon my flippancy – black humour is part of the coping – but my convalescence will last until the end of the festival season at the very least.
        The on duty manager drove out to the location with fresh traincrew. Myself and the conductor were then driven back to depot. All lines blocked for a couple of hours. The passengers held hostage for the same; unfortunate but unavoidable.

  15. Sad to recall that it’s not uncommon in the Middle East. Its done for Diyat (blood money) so if anyone commits suicide in front of your car you pay their family £50k (or it’s covered by insurance). The only choice left for some people. It happened to two of my colleagues.

  16. So sorry you’ve had to deal with this @thecheshirecat and thank you for such an insightful, thoughtful and measured post. I’m sure you’re right. The poor individual who stepped in front of your train wanted to end it all, and made that choice – ultimately nothing else mattered to them as much as that. You’re not responsible for that; they are, and, tragically, it was their decision,

    But take care, and enjoy Sidmoutb.

  17. It’s a topic that needs more visibility. A family member made several thankfully unsuccessful attempts on their life, ringing me each time as they did so. It took me some time to process and start to understand. For a long period of time I couldn’t settle if there was any chance I wouldn’t hear the phone ring.

    Thanks for sharing and best wishes for your recovery.

  18. @thecheshirecat Thank you for your post. It is thought provoking and brave. Take plenty of time to make sure you’re well and get help if you need to; it’s really good these days.

    @Gary there are plenty of old-timers on here who will remember my struggles and my writing about my severe mental health issues, resulting in me taking 300 paracetamol and a bottle of brandy on 18th January 1994; it was my 30th anniversary this year. When I didn’t die I became incredibly angry; it was -5 outside so I went out onto the remote hillside hoping I would die of exposure. Eventually I somehow drove myself to a hospital and collapsed in the reception at 6am. I was taken by ambulance to a liver unit in London and then back to The Royal Surrey in Guildford. I spent several days on a psychiatric ward with a young guy who could not come to terms with his failed attempt at an overdose.

    For me, that started 24 years of lying to anyone and everyone in authority about the state of my mental health. A few days after coming out of hospital I was in the office of the Admissions Officer at Botley Park, a Victorian mental hospital in Woking, well aware that the wrong answer, (or the truth,) would mean me being sectioned. I got myself out of every following similar situation by lying through my teeth. Somehow I managed to function at work but in 2018, 44 years of severe depression caught up with me and I had a complete breakdown in a hotel in Birmingham. Luckily my wife was with me and my boss was brilliant and I finally put myself in front of my GP and put my hand up for help.

    I got brilliant treatment and therapy and today, 6 years on, I’m retired and the happiest I can ever remember being.

    In 2015 my wife and I talked my best friend off a rail bridge, ( it was his eventual death in 2018 from multiple organ failure – he drank himself to death – which caused my huge breakdown,) and my stepson from my first marriage worked on a track-team for Network Rail. Part of his job was to ‘clean up’ after a jumper, (it’s what they call a suicide on the railways,) and I could never imagine what that’s like.

    By the time I was prepared to take my own life, all reason had deserted me. The consequences, the effect on my family, none of that entered my head. The depression took over so much that I lost all peripheral vision for several days beforehand. I was not acting or thinking rationally, and yet I fooled everyone around me into thinking that I was okay; no one had any idea what I was about to do.

    I still think about it a lot. I’m a great believer that I had to go through that to meet my second wife and to be as happy as I am now.

    • Sounds awful and I’m glad you managed to get through that and come out the other side. I’ve only suffered from depression for one brief period in my life, when I was laid up following a car crash. It was terrible. I had no will to get out of bed or eat or do anything and the immediate future was horrible to contemplate. Thankfully after just a couple of months I was able to resume physical exercise and that brought me out of it to the extent that I could no longer even identify with my depressed self.

    • Gosh @niallb – my mother worked at Botleys Park in the 70s. I spent a bit of time with her there when I was a child, not sure why, but I suspect it was a childcare solution during school holidays.

      To say the place was grim is a huge understatement. It’s a vast former stately home and housed 100s of patients. From what I can remember, those with conditions like Down Syndrome were basically living alongside schizophrenia sufferers and those with dementia. Also people born with physical disabilities found themselves there too. Like they were all the same.

      • @Black-Celebration That’s exactly it. I remember my poor mother turning into the driveway and there were inmates wandering all over the road. I was so scared. As we sat in the hallway I knew that I would say anything to get out of there. And there was the decision which dictated the next 24 years of my life; lying to the psychiatrist, lying at the walk-in centre in Woking, to several different people, lying in two separate therapy programmes.

        It was only after Des died and, because he was an orphan and had no family, I paid for his funeral and did all the arrangements with my wife. I had to sign my friend’s death certificate but I just remember staring at it, unable to move my hand.

        After we had a celebration for him in Guildford, where he spent most of his life from 18 yrs old, I took his ashes to the place he had requested, on Dartmoor, and sprinkled them on the banks of a lovely stream. The following weekend we were in Birmingham and had dinner with Jan’s sister and her husband, two of my favourite people. My brother in law and I shared several really good bottles of red and I went to bed in the Hyatt, as usual.

        I woke up sitting on the side of the bath, crying uncontrollably, unaware of how I got there. I woke Jan up, we went home and I rang my boss on Sunday afternoon. By 9am I was in front of my GP, pouring my heart out with 44 years of multiple breakdowns, lies and deceit. I was in there almost an hour. By the end of the day I was on Citalopram, within three days I was talking to Talking Therapies and, after ten weeks, I felt like a completely different person.

        I finally gave up the booze on Boxing Day 2021, after exactly 50 years. A sommelier friend had given me a fantastic bottle of Amarone, my favourite red and, after I drank it, I began to weep because all I wanted to do was open another bottle of red. So I stopped.
        I will pass 1000 days sober on 22nd September. I will be in Whitley Bay seeing Big Big Train and some wonderful friends in their fanbase.

        I never stop reminding myself how lucky I am.

  19. There are a lot of really fucked up people who failed their suicide attempt – hanging in particular – then spend the rest of their , unwanted days, badly incapacitated. So you can imagine the train option being taken.
    I do hope that your current “ I’m fine” state of mind continues CC.

  20. Daughter of my best friend, bright, beautiful, Phd from Cambridge, rising star in the Civil Service/Palace of Westminster. Only her parents and sister knew she had a history of self-doubt and anxiety. The rest of us only saw a charming young woman with the world at her feet.
    Killed herself in front of a train one morning. To ask why she couldn’t find another way to end it all that didn’t involve trauma for everyone, including the train driver, completely misses the point. She was mentally ill, full stop.

  21. Thanks for writing this, and glad you’re doing ok. Very sorry to learn that you had to go through that ordeal.

    When I first arrived at university, I was disappointed to learn that I’d been allocated a room in halls on the ground floor. For reasons of safety, these rooms were assigned to boys only, so having endured 7 years of boys school I now found myself in yet another all-male environment. I quickly resolved not to spend too much time on the corridor, although inevitably I made friends with some of my neighbours despite my own best efforts.

    About 8 weeks into our first term, the kid next door to me said goodnight to some of the other guys on the corridor, went to bed and hung himself off the back of his bedroom door.

    I had been out to the movies that night, to watch the just-released Scream. I came home relatively early, stayed up late reading, and must have been on the other side of the wall, maybe a foot away, as the poor sod took his own life.

    The next morning I woke and left my room only to step into what looked like a crime scene. Police everywhere, room next door taped off. Last night’s movie bleeding into this morning’s reality. I was briefly questioned by the police, even as I absorbed the completely unfathomable news they had delivered to me. I had no answers, just more questions.

    The body had been discovered by a friend from across the corridor less than an hour earlier. He’d gone to knock for the victim, found the door unlocked and opened it, causing the body to fall. A couple of years later he told me he still had nightmares about the sound of the kid’s feet breaking under the body’s weight as it hit the floor. I confessed to him that I had my own nightmares too.

    I don’t know why my neighbour killed himself. I know that he’d previously been subjected to electro-shock therapy for whatever reason and did not want to go home for Christmas, but that’s about it. Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter: his death sent a ripple out into the universe that was felt by all those around him, even those who knew him only superficially. And it was bad enough for us, god knows what it must have done to his loved ones.

    I moved off the corridor as quickly as I could, and have tried very hard not to think about that evening. About whether one of us could have said something that might have made a difference. About what my neighbour must have been thinking and feeling as we sat on opposite sides of the thin dorm wall.

    I tried hard too, not to think about my own family. About my paternal grandfather, who killed himself when my father was still at primary school. About the great empty hole that death left, and the quite evidently profound impact it had on Dad.

    About the consequent way that loss, that trauma, seemed to echo down the decades and touch my own life in ways I’m still figuring out, even deep into adulthood. Just another ripple from another stone breaking the water somewhere back along the line. I didn’t even learn my grandfather’s name until a few years ago, my father still doesn’t know where he was buried. The man who was not there, as if he never was.

    So, no, suicide isn’t painless, it’s just process of transferral. Some poor soul ends their suffering, and for others the suffering only begins.

    I will never know what went on in the room next door that night, what could possibly have lead someone so young to make such a decision. I know and love plenty of others who have had similar nights in similar rooms and thankfully come out the other side. Have found themselves wandering in that darkened hinterland upon which reason lays no claim, and then found their way back home again, thank god.

    I try very, very hard not to think of my grandfather, in his own room, on his own final day, fighting and losing that battle. About the ramifications of that loss. About the thousand questions with no answers, and the void into which they disappeared. About the time I spent as a kid fruitlessly trying to figure out the magic words that would fill that void for my father, fill that void in my father. As if I could somehow unvanish a man. All so sad beyond belief, and perhaps so needless.

    A couple of years ago a friend texted me from a pretty dark place. He couldn’t see a path forward and was at risk of doing something silly. I dropped everything to go find him and spent several long hours talking him down, and then dozens, maybe hundreds, more hours in the months that followed continuing that same conversation and helping him ride out the wave that was passing over him.

    These days, he’s in a pretty happy place – in fact, he texted me earlier today; a quote he’d found resonant in Siddartha and enthusiasm for a dinner we’re both going to next week. He has everything to live for, he just lost sight of it for a short while and needed someone to lean on. I am so glad he got in touch that night, so glad that he chose to talk it through. It’s tempting to tell myself that I found the magic words this time around, but I know deep down that’s not the case: I was just present, and listening, and on this occasion that was enough. He has two kids, and I think about them often.

    Check in on your mates. Talk to them with an open heart. And for god’s sake, be kind to yourselves, always.

  22. I believe (although it is unbelievable, if you see what I mean) that suicide is the #1 cause of death among young men in the UK.

    That is what prompted me to post a thread about perspective just now, a luxury that someone considering taking their own life sadly lacks.

  23. Terrible experience for you Cat. It sounds like you are well prepared to deal with the inevitable shaky moment, just don’t ignore the wobbles should they manifest – deal with them. But you know this.

  24. @thecheshirecat

    Not sure if you’ll check back in here, but in case you do, and while you’re in Sidmouth (how I’d love to go again!) please consider catching Jon Fazal on Sunday (Aug 4th) when he’s playing with a full band and performing his debut album in full as part of the Sidmouth Fringe Sessions.

    Music heals.

      • It’s just a short distance up the road from the main festival (they are coincident but not directly connected), situated at Thorn Park Golf Centre, Salcombe Regis, near Sidmouth, Devon EX10 0JH.
        The venue is adjacent to the ‘alternative’ festival campsite. Gates open at 5.30pm with informal live music and the first act goes on stage at 6.45pm but I’m afraid I have no idea at what time Jon will be playing.

  25. Interesting insight, thanks for writing.
    When I was much younger a friend of mine’s father jumped in front of a train at the local station. And some years later, a friend of my young son – his mother did the same at the next station along the line.
    I think because of these experiences, I once got into an argument with a guy on a train I was on that was held at Stevenage for ages – because the obvious thing had happened down the line. He was complaining about the selfishness of the person who had stepped out and was causing his delay into London. Now, I’m normally the most relaxed individual you could hope to meet, but I let rip into this guy who was complaining.

  26. Thank you for sharing the post; I appreciate your wisdom on this matter and hope you are OK. I remember a young man at my university did something like this.

  27. If nothing else, the reflections on this thread show me how transient is my part in this sad tale. For some, the struggles are chronic, and not just the one who seeks the end. The young policewoman who was first on the scene, visibly shaken as she was obliged to see more than me, simply recommended to me to keep talking. I have never needed that advice! But it’s how and when we talk that matters, and just as important, how we listen. Take time.

  28. Thanks for sharing your horrific experience and your thoughts about it all, @thecheshirecat.

    And thanks to all the other contributors for so many very thought-provoking comments.

    This was the Afterword at its best with a lot of people talking about stuff that normally one does not talk about.

    You take care of yourself, Cheshire, and enjoy that festival.

    One of the things on my bucket list is to come and watch you sing and dance either in Britain or in Bretagne!

    One fine day…..

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