Real stories
Heathclyff’s Self Care Activities
The following resource has been put together as I found a lot of the usual suggestions were simply not helpful. For example, we are forever being directed to connecting with family or friends but there were many barriers as to why I could not do this. If I joined a group, I found myself not returning after a visit or two as I felt very disconnected from others and would leave, feeling that I was unable to contribute to such a group in a productive way. This became very unhealthy as I started to pull away from others around me.
After losing my partner, I felt very isolated and so I had to allow myself to connect to things that would just find their own connection to me. As I did so, I found them healing in terms of an inner journey as opposed to a prescription handed out to me by others. Many people would say, "If I were you…," but I found a lot that was shared to be hampering me as many involved other people. From where I was sitting, I needed things that I could also do by myself.
The reason that I am offering them up here is to simply prompt others to ways of finding their own healing and to generate further ideas on those already listed; to maybe expand a given activity to a way that becomes more personal and yet safe for you to do. They are suggestions only and may not appeal to everyone. You should only do these activities if you feel comfortable to do so.
These activities are all the things that I notice myself doing as I move ever so slowly forward, integrating my loss in a more positive way that is able to support me. May they support you too, this is my one hope.
Take a short or a long walk, at a time that suits you.
Visit a park to eat your lunch and listen to the wind moving through the trees or the song of birds. Observe the insects as they flitter from flower to flower. Write your feelings in a journal. Binoculars are good to have on these occasions.
Take an ice water bath. Dip your face in a bowl of ice water. It’s a cold plunge for your face and is a good way to keep yourself centred.
Drink something warm - Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate. Maybe a soup.
Listen to gentle music, such as “instrumental” music. Create your own playlist that you can access at any time. Find music that calms, restores and inspires you.
Read a favorite book, watch a movie or flick through a magazine.
Reach out to someone who always lifts you up.
Go for a drive or train ride in the country or to the beach. Look for shells.
Take a dip in the ocean or spend time on a ferry boat.
Journal about a memory that brought you a sense of joy.
Get a massage.
Give yourself a foot massage. Try a trigger point ball or massage chair.
Try Yoga or other mindfulness activity. Or any exercise program that may appeal to you.
Turn off your phone and step away from your computer for a whole day.
Try doing a crossword or other puzzle if that is your thing.
Lay on the floor with your legs up on the wall for 5 minutes.
Walk outside barefoot. Pick a grassy area or visit a local park.
Dance or sing to a favorite song. Maybe learn the lyrics.
Go see a movie by yourself or with a friend. Have a coffee afterwards.
Create a piece of artwork －draw, cut, paste, scribble, or colour in a mandala. I like the good old fashioned colouring-in books.
Stretch your body.
Take a day trip to a place you love. Maybe indulge in a picnic.
Spend time sitting or walking in the sun (but remember your sunscreen).
Or maybe you would rather enjoy time in the rain. Sometimes listening to the rain as you are cozy inside your home can also be a source of comfort.
Go for a bike ride. Ride you own or hire one.
Treat yourself to some self-care such as a hair cut, attending to your nails or whatever takes your fancy.
Visit an Op Shop and see if you can find something to fall in love with.
Burn your favourite incense (note that sage for smudging can set off your smoke alarm).
Diffuse essential oils such as lavender (be aware of any pets when using oils). Learn about the properties of oils that you can diffuse.
Notice and name 5 things around you (something you can see, feel, hear, touch and taste). This is a good centring exercise.
Buy flowers for yourself and make an arrangement in a vase or grow a plant in a pot. Make time in the garden to establish a flower bed or herb garden. House plants can be a real joy, as too artificial flowers.
Or take time to observe the trees, plants and birds outside your window.
Organize a small space in your home (a drawer or closet) for the special things in your life or the things you cannot part with.
If you are handy with woodwork, make a bookcase or shelf.
Spend time in nature. Camping or a walk or hike somewhere beautiful.
If you need to, have a good cry (as tears can help us with our healing).
Write a letter to a trusted person about how you are feeling or about the person who is now gone.
Decluttering is great for focusing the mind. Only do this if it benefits YOU and not for other people. Distribute any unwanted items as you see fit. Maybe some things can go to people you know who shall value them as reminders or who can use them (art materials, for example).
Donate to a charity to lift your spirits, to honour the one now gone.
Try some voluntary work (refocusing from your own pain to help others).
Light a candle to remember your person. A candle in a coloured glass jar can look really nice. Change the colours to suit your mood.
Learn meditation.
If you feel comfortable, you may find prayer to be supportive.
Visit a place that holds something Spiritual for you. It could be a church, synagogue or mosque or a place within a natural setting (a park, river etc).
Be gentle on yourself, especially on Anniversaries or Festive occasions. If you need to cancel events, remember that this is OK.
Arrange your books, or other collectables, into a new way of display (This can re-connect you back to those things that you love).
Visiting an antique market or store.
Buy yourself something from your earlier life that gave you pleasure at that time, such as a toy from your childhood (I found a toy from when I was 5 years old several decades back).
Have a good chinwag with someone that reignites happier times.
Spend time with your pets or observe fish in an aquarium or a pet shop. If you don’t have a pet, ask someone in the park if you can pat their dog or approach a cat to see if you can pat it.
Learn a new skill such as cooking, art or photography.
Find something to get you really focused on, such as learning a new language. Esperanto, for example, is a fairly easy and yet enjoyable language to learn.
Visit an animal or bird sanctuary, maybe a wetlands or forest.
Try your hand at writing a fictional story (set your own theme).
Sitting quietly and listening to the ambient outside noises around you can be calming, whether it be during the day or at night.
Observe the night-time animals outside your window. Look at the moon as it shines through the trees and imagine life on it.
If you need to, then join a Support Group as these can be immensely supportive and you can share in a safe environment. Or you could always consider seeing a therapist.
Kristin’s story
“You may have become those branches reaching out to me.
Why not? You changed hourly in this world.
”
Raie’s story
“I personally believe connection is the antithesis of the loneliness & shame that so many LGBTIQA+ community members experience. Connection is how we overcome these challenges and find meaning together”
My experience of growing up bisexual in a small town was challenging, I felt like I was always the other - Different. Difficult. Outspoken. Odd.
I was rejected for being me, abandoned by my family very young. It taught me that who I was, was unacceptable. The people closest to me couldn't love me for who I was, and as a result I felt I should have been someone else.
Rejection equalled loss of connection with myself & others. This early experience led me to a cycle of substance abuse for years, just trying & fill that void - of not belonging or being good enough. It felt easier to let go and attempt suicide than to try to figure out and accept who I was, and live a better life.
Ironically, I now see that uniqueness as a reason to rejoice. It's been a long road to accepting my identity, with lots of loving supporters & therapy! There are still rough times but I'm an expert in my own survival now.
I see these experiences I’ve had as useful to potentially support others in a way I wished I'd had back then. I now work in a peer mental health support role for people in crisis. I know people appreciate the openness, empathy & humour we share. It’s not clinical - it's based on mutual understanding & connection. I’m so very grateful for the empathy I have developed and the learning I receive when working with peers.
I personally believe connection is the antithesis of the loneliness & shame that so many LGBTIQA+ community members experience. Connection is how we overcome these challenges and find meaning together.
For those of us that are proud to have come this far, that are comfortable to disclose personal struggles – I believe it can assist in diminishing stigma around mental ill health. Visibility counts, it extends relatability to people who might be suffering. For me, living well with my nuanced sides is possible, and telling a personal story of survival shows others there is always hope.
Heather’s story
“With a shattered heart I mourn your passing
Not knowing my long windy road will lead
Your earthly existence no more
Now a brilliant bright star in the heavenly night sky
Guiding myself and other deer to safer grounds”
”
Artwork supplied by Heather, with permission to use.
The fallen Doe
I saw you from a distant land
Not through a telescope or binocular
But the flickering electronic images of a gathering
Of other beautiful deer in our herd
United in grief by circumstances beyond our control
The loss of loved family members and close friends
Their souls stained with non-acceptance and hate
Evident in our faces the pain so great
We spoke of acceptance and tolerance
For which we desperately seek
You spoke of loneliness and isolation
I felt your sadness and share your agony
A familiar glove that we all forced to wear
We spoke briefly and I understood you
I hear a unnerving quiver in your voice
And saw a deathly stare in your eyes
Not at us while we deer talked
But at your frayle mortal inner self
The moving pictures from your distant land abruptly stopped
I knew in my sinking heart that you have left
This unfairly challenging mortal existence
Not by choice but to end the painful suffering
You’ve had to endure
With a shattered heart I mourn your passing
Not knowing my long windy road will lead
Your earthly existence no more
Now a brilliant bright star in the heavenly night sky
Guiding myself and other deer to safer grounds
Vale Shara (she/her)
By Heather (she/her)
Ruah’s story
Anonymous Story
I feel like I have some kind of trifecta of suicide experience, my own, caring for another and the loss of many dear queer friends to suicide as well as others from outside the community and people in my biofamily.
In accessing support and care I have often had to step outside of my queer identity. This has happened so many times that I normalised it and eventually I began to feel that somehow my queer identity was even contributing to my distress. I wasn’t closeted, but rather engaged with the world in separate ways. I didn’t integrate my identity. I normalised leaving parts of myself out.
When I moved to a regional area the feeling of being in community struck me as integral to lifting the heavy weight of all the aspects of suicide I lived with off my shoulders.
I coincidentally found a local queer book club. When I attended the feeling of being valid, seen and able to meaningfully connect with others in my community without booze, without loud music and in a quiet nurturing space was incredible. It shifted everything. It fuelled me through some of the hardest times in my life. I looked forward to seeing my LGBTQIASB+ bookish family in a way that gave me joy and lifted my spirits. It led to so much other stuff opening up in my life too. I had been outside of community like this for so long that I had forgotten the exquisite skills we have in holding space, looking into darkness and caring for each other as humans. There was open discussion (and active demonstration) of self care, mental health needs and queer culture. I felt so completely at home and at ease. It was true medicine.
Another key has been getting access to some reproductive surgery to limit the hormonal fluctuations which affected my moods severely and caused much of my suicidality.
I was diagnosed with mental health issues at around 14 years of age. My reproductive cycle was beginning to hit its stride. It was always hell and I had a strong feeling that hormones were a cause of my distress. However over MANY years I struggled to find people who were interested in the intersection of psychological health and endocrinological health. After doing my own research I inquired about surgeries and was often told that I was too young to make these decisions (even later on at 35) and I just couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t change my mind and want children at some stage. Mostly I was told this by male doctors, therapists and surgeons but on a few occasions also by female and even recommended queer practitioners too. I just didn’t know what I wanted and what was right for me apparently. I found this enormously disempowering and felt I had no agency in my own health.
When I did finally access the surgery it was exactly what I needed to balance my moods and eliminate my suicidality. I really wish I had been listened to much earlier in terms of knowing what I want and what is right for my body.
People really do know themselves and what they need.
Bodily autonomy is a human right and deserves to be freed of the patriarchal and religiously informed views that reproduction is a choice someone else can make for another and that your body needs to be a certain way.
Access to information about relevant procedures saves lives and empowers people to live fully and be free of suffering, pain and ultimately be the controller of their own life.
Having the power to choose, determine and access healthcare you want is a protection against hopelessness and the desire give up on your body and even life.
Sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to ask.
I have experienced periods of suicidal ideation and behaviour during different times in my lifetime. I am, in fact, in one of these periods as I write this.
Wanting to die often has nothing to do with anyone else. It can be a very private and isolating experience. But the way that the external world handles this experience, although can come in many different iterations, usually reverts the responsibility of staying alive onto the person who wants to die.
If you have experienced this state or are supporting someone who is experiencing suicidal ideation or behaviour, the absolute worst thing that you can say to them is “think of the lives you will ruin if you were to commit suicide”. I have had this said to me even within the last two weeks, and it is far and beyond the least supportive and understanding, bordering on selfish things that one can say to another person when they are at their depths.
The social norms which surround suicide and self-harm function via a medicalised, shame-based methodology. It is the onus of the unwell person to seek help and support from friends, family, community and medical professionals. But this is where the advice will vary from case-to-case.
Each friend or family member will receive this information differently. Some will provide practical advice such as “go for a walk” or “do some meditation”. This is not helpful, because between the lines of what is seen as supportive, again puts the responsibility of providing support and self-care to one self, when one only wants to do the opposite.
The truth of the matter is that crisis support provided by loved ones shouldn’t be imposing or judgemental. It should simply be supportive, checking in with your suicidal loved one regularly and being available in an emergency. This has also been provided to me in the last two weeks and for that I am eternally grateful.
It’s not about giving reasons why someone should live. We understand those reasons, but sometimes they’re just not enough. You can’t manipulate a person into choosing life, if you do this, you’re incapable of understanding and should take a step back. A person who wants to take their own life needs the channels of support, akin to a soft hand at your back reassuring you that you are loved, even when you don’t love yourself.
If you are reading this and your loved one is experiencing suicidal ideation, secure your own supports first, and then gently let your loved person know that you are there, and not just once.
If you are experiencing these feelings, secure your channels. Only confide in those who you know will not judge you, and even if you don’t love yourself, find ways to reach out to those who care, even if they are support services.
And only go for a fucking walk if you want to.
by E.
Some Snippets from My Story
My story of surviving suicide and of mental health treatment is one of someone who had to advocate for themselves, for safe and competent care, even when no person should reasonably have been asked to be still fighting.
It’s a common story that I share with many amazing peers: we were made to survive not just our own suicidality or attempt, and not just our own personal hells, but also the incapacity and lack of care shown too often by caring professionals. It’s a story where continuing our existence requires our activism, and our activism deteriorates our mental health.
I attempted suicide because I lost all hope for a future life worth living. I ended up at a hospital after my attempt. I stayed there for 3 or 4 weeks, and then spent an additional 2 weeks at a different facility.
I couldn’t find hope. I just could not. I had done all the right things: reaching out, seeing psychs, taking meds, breathing exercises, yoga, more water. I had tried 6 different antidepressants over 10 years, and they had few options left. I was put onto an experimental blend called “California rocket fuel” at an extremely high dose (400 ven /50 mirtaz). It permanently damaged my neurology and has caused me to struggle with a disability I didn’t have before. I was always autistic, but I now have functional neurological disorder, odd seizures and photosensitivity as well.
Sometimes well-meaning people ask: “how is it that being trans affects what you need in suicide prevention and care?”.
Being trans informs how likely it is that you have a support network, competent existing care, existing economic security and safe relationships. It impacts the likelihood you’d consider suicide at all, as well as the reasons why you’d consider it. Those reasons include the treatment, attitudes, prejudice and bigotry that we face routinely in healthcare environments. We are a community that is likely to delay, not afford, or avoid accessing support as a result of this treatment.
For me, being trans when attempting suicide meant being held in the emergency room for hours and hours and hours while I was approached repeatedly and told ‘being with the men would put you in danger’ and being forced, as a person who just attempted suicide, to explain that I was in fact not a woman and no I would not ‘just go home’ or ‘just accept a bed with the women’.
It meant being accused of ‘trying to skip the queue’ for gender affirmation procedures via the emergency room - as if attempting suicide was an attempt to get ‘a quicker access to surgery’ or hormones. Never mind that I already had and already used hormones. I was treated as if I was betraying the trans community – those who are patient in the queue - by expressing I had no hopes for life, but that if I could have my top surgery fixed one day that might mean something. I must only be bringing that up if I ‘expected them to make that happen’.
It meant being told, point blank, that I was not trans until Monash Health had diagnosed me as such in a gender specialist clinic appointment - and refusing to take the call from my endocrinologist (and head of Trans Research Australia, Dr Ada Cheung), to hear how utterly trash a position that was for a psychiatrist to take. How exactly does it help someone in post attempt care to doubt their gender and undermine their sense of reality or self?
It meant hearing the staff repeatedly misgendering you to both patients and other staff members, and occasionally being proudly told ‘oh - I always stand up for your gender thing in meetings!’ - as if it is helpful to know my existence is in contention between the professionals responsible for my care when they’re behind closed doors.
It meant being repeatedly told ‘we try not to make a big deal of things to upset the other patients’ whenever I tried to care enough about myself as to correct use of my name and pronouns and try to explain why it was counterproductive to my attempts to want to live if I can’t have that much respect in our groups or common areas. Speaking up meant being told I was behaving in a ‘hostile way’ and being offered sedatives by the nurses who didn’t have time or care to stay and hear that maybe the quality of care was below competent standards.
As horrible as that might have felt, it wasn’t being trans that made me feel horrible. If anything, knowing I was trans was one of the few things that held me to the hope that my life could transform, that I could transform, and that a future was possible for me. Being trans is not, and never was, a bad thing for me to know about myself.
I learnt that mainstream services are not always suitable care for people like me, and have found some validation and genuine caring connection in more specialist supports.
I have heard the most powerful, inspiring stories of learning true strength and self-compassion from my TGD peers, whose voices leave me fuelled to ensure they have a world worthy of them.
I’ve started to build meaning and a sense of life purpose in being there for my peers. I can be part of a world that celebrates peer work that isn’t only ad hoc “friends-helping-friends” (which is still super valuable! But I’m glad I can make regular, sustained programs and healing environments).
I know I am dynamic, I know I am capable of change, and I know I am exceptionally lucky in how much of the world I have experience and knowledge of living. It’s this lived experience that makes me able to be one piece of a larger wave of real, amazing people that shifts our country closer and closer to safe and suitable services.
By T.
Suicide has touched my life in many ways over the years and will I imagine continue to.
I have experienced the loss of friends and family. I have had thoughts of suicide, have made plans and have been rescued. I have lived carelessly, self-harmed and taken risks. I have had contributing factors such as an eating disorder.
With time and therapy I moved away from my own thoughts of suicide and was proud to utilise my lived experiences with an eating disorder and thoughts of suicide to work in the mental health space for a time. I worked at an eating disorder foundation and as a Lifeline crisis support counsellor on their hotline. I was immensely proud of being able to do these jobs and it was both confronting and healing. I always hoped I made some small difference in the lives of the people I spoke to. Ultimately I found that having had my own experiences and working in the mental health sector was too emotionally challenging to continue long term and now I find it is more rewarding to assist when I feel the need arise.
In terms of my LGBTQIA+ identity the reasons for my period of poor mental health were complex. Whilst my identity has been a contributing factor it is one of many. Over time through connecting with others in the LGBTQIA+ community and support groups, I have become more comfortable with my sexuality and gender and this has had a positive effect on my overall mental health.
My personal experiences with thoughts of suicide, losing friends and family, and working with people in mental health crisis have made me a lot more responsive to both taking care of my own mental health and being able to have conversations with people about theirs. If someone indicates to me that they are struggling in any way I usually ask “do you have thoughts of suicide?” and recall my Lifeline training.
Most recently my cousin died by suicide. I was angry that I have found strategies to support good mental health and they didn’t. But I will always have hope that anyone who experiences mental health crisis can make it to a place of good mental health that they can proactively manage with the right support. It takes time and patience.
For me, I manage my mental health through healthy eating, exercise, checking in with a psychologist on a monthly basis, being active in some way in the LGBTQIA+ community and through hobbies like reading, writing poetry and stories and continued learning.
By Leone
PODCAST
Let’s talk about suicide
Let’s talk about suicide podcast
Experiencing loss through suicide is a grief like no other. It can be difficult to find others who have similar experiences and are open to talking about their loss, especially other LGBTIQA+ people. You can hear Hamish Blunck, Joe Ball (Switchboard CEO) and Dr Louise Flynn (Support After Suicide) and other LGBTIQA+ people talk about loss through suicide on this podcast produced by JOY 94.9fm with Switchboard and Support After Suicide.