Don't Talk About It | Articles | Ant Smith

For me, at my age, when a person I know dies, I try to think of one thing to do different. To convert some feeling of regret that inevitably attends any source of grief into positive action*. The decision to make that change offers momentary relief, but more than that. Each time I follow through and actually do that one thing, it keeps the person alive in my thoughts. I think it’s a good tactic.

*I wondered if I ought not place a trigger warning on this article since I AM discussing both death and, latterly, suicide. Not just themes of suicide but actual suicide. Had this been a fiction, then I am sure that I would have done. But it is not a fiction.

I used to be really bad at answering the phone. I would look to see who was calling and then simply ignore it if I didn't recognise the number (I still do that). If I did know the number I'd think "hmmm, I must call them back, tomorrow". Mañana; in the sense of 'an indefinite time in the future'.

The sun'll come out, tomorrow...

Months, or frankly years, could slip by with no actual contact with a person. Often a person for whom I actually felt love.

It must have been very frustrating! Of course, it’s a behaviour that speaks to my own lack of self-worth*, an inability to believe that I was actually important to others, no matter how important they were to me. No matter that they had bothered to reach out. Clear evidence that I did (do!) matter to them. But logic, evidence, facts. They don't help. I am (was) isolated by my own psyche. Even though I didn't know it. The phone, would make me freeze up. I couldn't just answer it, simplest thing huh? I just couldn't. Because of who I am, or, who I had become.

*to be honest, this isn't how I think, it's more how I think I feel

I received word that my good friend and erstwhile mentor was entering palliative care. We had not been in touch for years, although he had never left my heart following the season of life we had spent together. I of course was filled with useless and unhelpful regret that I had not maintained better contact. So, I wrote he and his wife a letter. Anything more would have been simply inappropriate, after years of my appalling inability to just stay in touch. And I am good at writing letters. At telling truths. In that one page, I told them all the things I should have been demonstrating over the years. How they had helped me, what they meant to me. And the difference it made, to us all, was quite beautiful. Ultimately, shortly thereafter, he passed - and I was honoured to be asked to speak at the service. A high honour.

So, I kind of learnt, that there are people to whom I matter, and that it matters that I reciprocate in action, not just in thought. SO, thank you for teaching me that, also, Richard.

AND going forward, I determined to answer the bloody phone (well, if I recognised the number at least).

Now, whenever the phone goes, instead of freezing, I answer it, because, you know, how many calls can there be left to answer?

However, this wasn't a silver bullet that changed my psyche overnight. I still always felt pretty worthless and impotent, raging against a large and cruel - indifferent - world. I just did, a little, better at nurturing the good things, the good people. Still with no real belief (faith?) that I was important. Just doing the right thing. Because it was the right thing to do. Because I had learnt it was the right thing to do. I just did it.

Fake it until you make it.

We are, or can be, what we do, way more than what we think.

Our minds, oft times, are our own greatest enemy.

On the upside, recently my wonderful and wise wife (Christine) said to me that there are people who care. Who ask after me, who want to know how I am doing. And, well actually, that came as an epiphany. She took care to point out to me moments where this was happening. The conversation with... That text I got... This kind offer from... Helped me to see that these weren't just random momentary kindnesses, soon swamped by the shit-show of life. But were connected, through me (well, through US actually). And to, start to, see that the surest way to care for others, is to let them care for you.

I had told my brother, he was to stop trying to give me things.

Every time we met he would offer me something. A 3D printer. An electric bike. Whatever. He was tremendously successful and companies would shower him with such goods. He just wanted to pass them on to a good home. But it was embarrassing. I didn't want it to feel like they were the reason we met. But that was my mind, me over thinking. I should have just let him, give me whatever he wanted to give me. Because, I guess, it felt good to him to do so. A clash of world views. Both, quite broken.

My inability to accept nice things butting up against his need to do nice things.

Quite irreconcilable now that he is dead.

Now that he has killed himself.

And because of that. Because he took his own life, I have decided the one thing I will do differently is to better inspect, perhaps care for, my own mental well-being.

Which is something I don't think, I have ever really had. Mental Well Being. My suspicion is, the same is true for just about all of us.

And that's easy, right?

All we gotta do is "talk about it". They say that on the telly all the time these days.

My gut response is, that feels like victim shaming. Talk about it, are you kidding me? How do you talk about it when there are no words for what you feel? How do you talk about it when talking makes you weep? And how do you talk about it when your mates need to talk too?

Talk about it, or you've only got yourself to blame.

"They killed themselves? How stupid, all they had to do was talk about it"

Slogans are cheap, whilst listening is a skill.

No need to spend money on accessible mental health care (which, in this world, everybody needs). Just put the onus on the individual. It’s on YOU. Heal thyself. Talk about it.

There ARE some pretty good resources out there.

The community Rob built on youTube raised over £18k for the CALM charity, and they have a pretty good guide on Finding The Words to support somebody bereaved by suicide. I've read it because, you know, I'm somebody bereaved by suicide.

So great. Now I know all about how to talk to myself about it... But really, if I were to open a conversation with one of their suggestions "I really miss Rob and am finding it very difficult to get by right now" - who's gonna know how to respond? Get another pint in.

There's some fine advice in the guide; especially on how to be an active listener. And that sound bite (Talk About It) would actually be fine IF we all of us already knew, how to listen.

But that's not something we are generally taught. Some of us know it, through bitter experience. Many of us don't. In fact, go on, have a read of that guide; then perhaps if someone in your life does need to 'talk about it' (whatever the it is), you might be able to be a help.

A much improved sound bite might be "Learn To Listen". Instead of blaming "the mental health victim" (for not talking about it) we should be enabling the community by encouraging us all to: Learn To Listen. Because good mental well-being arises exactly from community. From answering the phone to people who know how to listen.

All that said. The individual does also have responsibility. Not actually just to 'talk about it', but rather, to find a way to express it.

Words don't work well with feelings. They are far too blunt.

(Actually, words can express feeling, but only when accompanied by rhythm, melody or some other meta structure)

For most of us life is a cycle of work, eat, telly, sleep. Survival and escapism. Lots of pressure. Little release. No time to talk about it. To open those flood gates. To say the things no one wants, or knows how, to hear.

Instead of blurting out raw and clumsy cries for help, screeching through the pressure valve, at the very point of crisis... better to express yourself how and where and whenever you can.

Take time to draw, or paint, or sing, or play - anything really, other than to simply produce and consume.

Here's a little music track I made in memory of my brother. The vocals are all clips from his youTube instructional videos; the composition is mine; the slight air of mania, a shared characteristic.

It much better expresses how I feel right now than any words I might (but don't) have.

So, let us not talk about it.

Let's Learn to Listen.

And learn to sing.