July 21st 2018

I’m at a music festival called Pennfest, in Buckinghamshire at the moment. I wanted to tell my very lovely girlfriend, Wendy, a bit more about me, and I found myself telling her about my suicide last July.
I looked at my watch and saw that it’s July 21st.
What are the chances of me telling her about it, on July 21st, exactly a year after I waited patiently, knife in pocket, for Stella to help me into bed, in the full knowledge that that would be the last time she’d have to help me. We’d watched a film – The Hobbit – and I was completely calm and smiling so as not to alert her at all.

She helped me into bed and I said goodnight. I then waited for an hour or so until I knew she’d be asleep. Then I got the very sharp kitchen knife and pushed it into my leg, the inner thigh of my left leg very close to my groin. As I don’t feel a thing, it wasn’t exactly hard to do! The blood came spurting out as I withdrew the knife.
Then I texted the only person I thought would care ( as you do HAVE to blank out all those inconvenient thoughts ), wrote in pen on my forearm ‘ I’m sorry Pia ‘ and passed out.
I didn’t know that Pia would be awake to read my 2am message and then actually phone Stella in alarm. Stella’s response was to say I was asleep and fine, having been ‘ happy ‘ a few hours earlier. Pia insisted she look into my room though.
Because of that, I’m not dead, and today isn’t the anniversary of my death.

My death had been prompted by my seeing cruel and mocking messages between my ex wife and 2 daughters, about me, that made it not worthwhile to me to carry on. I’d tried to hang myself in the morning, but having prepared the noose and thrown it over a girder, I’d dropped the blimmin thing and because I can’t bend to reach the floor, i couldn’t pick it up again, so I went with the rather more absolutely certain femoral artery method. The day had ticked by so slowly. I went to the gym, did everything I’d have normally done, but with the full intention that it would all be for the last time.

As Stella had, with her 3 hands, put her fingers in the wound, started my heart again with chest compressions, and called 999, I am alive today.

Pia and i talked after I’d come out of hospital and I made it clear I’d soon do it again. I agreed with her, very reluctantly, that I’d wait til October and if I still felt the same way, she’d come with me to Dignitas and be my sponsored help there. I remember how upset she was at my complete indifference to my life, and her tears of frustration.

A year on and so much has happened.
I now have my own home, a beautiful lady that cares so much about me, less legal battles to contest, and far greater peace.
Im Happy, for sure, now.
Am I glad I’m alive though ? Well you don’t just flick from only wanting to be dead to being chuffed to be alive.. I don’t think about death any more actually. Am I ‘ glad I’m alive though ‘ ?
Well I’m still indifferent to my mortality, completely. That’s not the same as wishing I was dead at all, rather it’s just that I still don’t care if I was blown up in 5 Minutes time, or run over by a truck on the way back from here, or hit by a freak Jumbo jet that crashed into the ground where I am. My death is still of no consequence to me at all.

In time my thoughts will change and I will cease to think this way, I’m absolutely convinced of, but it takes time for that to happen.

In the meantime, it’s another Happy Not Death Day (?) to me.

6 thoughts on “July 21st 2018

  1. Russ, do you camp at festivals?
    I’d highly recommend Latitude and the accessible camping site which is run by a music access charity called ‘attitude is everything’
    Fantastic people & they are all bloody mad…in the nicest possible way.

  2. You have come such a long way since that horrifying night. Thank you for sticking with it and staying around. You make the world a much more interesting place, mate. x

  3. Russ, reading your blog has kept me going many times. I feel every day since my Husband died that I don’t want to be here. I am having bereavement counselling at the Doctors and the Therapist asks me if I am going to harm myself every fortnight when I see him. I tell him “No” because I have a son who would be devastated if he found me dead. Every morning I wake up and wish that I had died in my sleep so that I could be with him. I wouldn’t care if the Doctor told me I had weeks to live. I used to read your blog when my Husband was very ill and you helped me in my darkest of hours. If I hadn’t seen you in Specsavers I doubt if our paths would every have crossed. I found my Father dead when I was 16 so had to go to work to help support my Mum. I didn’t have the luxury of University or Holidays abroad. I didn’t have the opportunity of being a “High Achiever” or have a career. I really admire your courage and as I have already said you have kept me going many times. Love to you Margaret x x

    1. Dear Margaret.
      If I have somehow helped you, then I can say there’s been a good reason for writing this diary.
      You are a resilient lady, who knows her own mind.
      Im glad that you too haven’t died in your bed ( yet ). We’ve all got to go sometime, and like me I suppose, it’s not your time just yet. It’s about time we had that cup of tea, I think!
      Russ x

      1. Russ, I read your blog ever day and you have really helped me. I admire your courage and the way you just carry on. I would love to come and see you and I would willingly make the tea and anything else i could help you with. I am also very good at multi tasking as I had to do that when my Husband was ill. Love to you Margaret x xx x

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