Jumping out of bed, my partner, Simon, and I raced to the front door.
It was the early hours of the morning in January 2019 and a policeman was outside. I knew whatever reason he was here couldn’t be good news.
‘Does Jesse live here?’ he asked gently as he stepped into the hallway.
‘Yes, she’s my daughter,’ I replied, confused. ‘Why?’
He went on to explain that the police had traced her IP address to our house but I barely understood what that meant or why they were tracing her in the first place.
And then, he uttered one word no parent ever wants to hear: suicide.
‘She messaged Childline tonight and she got cut off from the counsellor who was concerned for her safety,’ he said.
Without hesitating I raced back up the stairs to her bedroom.
Relief rushed through me as I saw the duvet gently rising and falling in time with her breath. She was sleeping soundly. She was alive. She was safe.
But as I pulled the door to behind me, a worrying thought soon set back in. Was my baby girl, my angel, hurting that much that she would really consider doing something so drastic?
I didn’t know it then, but the answer was, devastatingly, yes.
Because even though I’d known Jesse was struggling with her mental health and had been for a few years, I never could have imagined she’d end her own life.
As a child she always seemed happy. She had such a funny, quirky side and a beautiful sense of humour.
She was incredibly creative and loved any chance to get in the kitchen and try out some new recipe – a quality she most certainly didn’t get from me.
I remember the Christmas where she got a juicer and completely covered the counters in every fruit and vegetable known to man.
‘Here, try this one,’ she said as she passed me yet another glass. ‘Oh and that one!’
I laughed as I sipped them both – they were undoubtedly delicious.
‘Jesse, where are you going to store all these?’ I laughed, pointing to all the glasses filled with her delicacies.
‘Yeah… I hadn’t got that far,’ she giggled. Our fridge was full of juice for a week!
It’s such a simple memory, but it’s one of my many, many favourites. And it breaks my heart every day that I won’t get to make more with her.
Content warning – this article discusses suicidal feelings and self harm
When Jesse started secondary school though, she started to withdraw.
‘I’m not particularly happy,’ she confessed to me one day. ‘Why am I here?’
Unsure how to respond, I asked her what she meant by that, but she wasn’t sure herself. So I suggested maybe it would be helpful if she spoke to a professional, that maybe they could help understand what was going on.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to do that.’ And I knew not to push the subject further.
By the time Jesse was 13 she began having panic attacks. They were triggered by a number of things but school was by far the biggest.
The pressure she was under was immense. She was studying for 10 GCSEs and told me on more than one occasion how she believed that, should she fail, it would have an impact on her future.
I tried to reassure her that this wasn’t the case.
That there was so much more to life than exams and that she’d figure out what she wanted to do as she got older.
But she never believed me and as the panic attacks continued I only grew more and more concerned.
At 14, I discovered she’d been self-harming. I only felt two things – shock and panic.
To find out she was intentionally hurting herself made me feel like I had failed. How had I not seen this happening? How had I missed the signs?
Unsure how to handle the situation, I confided in a friend who told me it was really common in today’s society. And though I’ve since learned a lot about self-harm and how to deal with it, at the time, I just didn’t have that knowledge.
Terrified, I begged her to speak to someone. She refused.
In 2018 we moved to Scarborough, which I hoped would be a chance for a fresh start.
Jesse started studying for A-Levels and a media course at college and found a part-time job at an Escape Room, which she loved.
Then, to my surprise, Jesse confessed to me she’d been to get help on her own.
‘Mum, I’ve got something to tell you, but you can’t get mad,’ she announced as we walked into town one afternoon.
She confessed to taking herself to the doctors – ever my responsible young lady – and that she had been prescribed antidepressants and had agreed to see a counsellor.
I was so relieved. ‘Jesse that’s really brave. I am so proud of you,’ I beamed. And I truly was.
Finally, I felt like she was on the track to getting better. She was getting the help she needed.
That’s why I was so shocked when the police told us she’d contacted Childline about suicide.
Sitting in the kitchen with Simon after the police had left I asked, ‘What do I do? Do I talk to her about it? Will that make it worse?’
Then my phone pinged with a text from Jesse. ‘I can hear you talking. It’s 2am. What’s going on?’
Knowing she was up now too I felt the best thing to do was address it. I went to her room, knelt down by her bedside and, because I would never lie to her, I explained the conversation we’d had with the policeman.
She was understandably angry. ‘I can’t believe they did that. They shouldn’t have contacted you. That’s a breach of confidence.’
I tried to explain that they were just doing their job, that if they thought she was in danger that they have a duty of care to make sure she’s safe.
‘Jesse,’ I pleaded quietly. ‘Please don’t ever think about leaving this world. You have so much to look forward to. I’m here. I’m your mum. I’ll do anything to help you.’
‘Mum you can’t. There’s nothing you can do,’ she replied softly.
‘But I can try and help you? If you want to move back to where we used to, we can. I’ll do anything. I just don’t want you going anywhere, you’re my child, you’re my whole world.’
And then she said something that tore my heart into pieces.
‘I wasn’t meant to be here forever. I was always meant to leave at a young age. I wasn’t supposed to live a long life.’
All I could do was plead with her. Beg her not to do anything.
‘Mum, you just don’t know how hard it is,’ she explained. ‘You’ve no idea how, every morning when I wake up, it’s a battle. It’s exhausting just trying to breathe and carry on in life.’
I promised her everything would get better. All that mattered was that she was here.
‘Just please don’t go anywhere. I love you so much,’ I finished.
With that we hugged each other, I kissed her goodnight and I left her to sleep.
Of course, I didn’t sleep much. Nor did I want to leave her side the next day, but knowing she would hate a fuss, I reluctantly went into work.
When I got home though, Jesse could not have seemed happier.
She was bouncing around the kitchen, full of beans and told me excitedly about this new recipe she was going to make that night. It was so good to see her so happy.
Last night’s conversation hung in the back of my mind, though. I wanted to ask her how she was really feeling, but I also didn’t want to bring her mood down. So I left it.
A few hours later I was due to head out to meet a friend, and at first I wasn’t going to go, but Jesse convinced me.
I gave her a big hug as I left, told her I loved her and that I’d be home in just a couple of hours. When I got back I went upstairs to have a chat with her, and then I found her.
I screamed for Simon and we tried everything to save her. Simon called 999 and I did CPR.
Her lips were blue, and I knew in my heart she’d left. That there was nothing I could do, and yet I couldn’t stop.
‘Jesse! Jesse, Jesse! Come on!’ I screamed and sobbed at the top of my lungs as I pumped at her chest.
Everything after that seemed to happen so fast.
In the blink of an eye the house was littered with people. Paramedics arrived and worked on Jesse in the bedroom.
I was beside myself with grief and couldn’t stop the heart-wrenching, painful screams. They were guttural and came from a place so deep within me that I’d never heard them before or since.
Meanwhile the police had searched her room and found three notes. Those words are just for us now.
Jesse was taken to the hospital where doctors continued to work on her.
And as Simon and I walked through A&E I felt like we were under a spotlight.
It felt like we were in that private room for an eternity and when the doctor eventually emerged, he confirmed my worst fear. He didn’t need to say a word though, I knew.
They asked if we would like to see her one more time. We were led through and even though her skin was going a funny colour she still looked perfect to me.
‘She’s an angel,’ I sobbed. ‘She was just a complete angel.’
After a while we were given some booklets and then we just went home. We said nothing. We did nothing. We just sat in complete shock, totally numb.
From that moment on, I’ve been plunged into an existence of trying to survive every day without her.
All I wanted to do was rewind the clock. Go back, change something to stop this from happening. But I couldn’t.
I tried to find information online, anything to help me make sense of this trauma I was living through. I’d seen the storylines on TV, and read the stories in the paper and always thought, ‘How does anyone get through something like that?’ but the short answer is, you don’t.
You don’t ever move on. You can only learn how to live alongside the memories and the grief that haunts you.
I take things a day at a time. On really hard days, an hour at a time – but to be honest, every day without Jesse here is unimaginably hard.
I loved Jesse so much and she knew that, and I did all that I could to help and support her with the knowledge that I had at the time. But ultimately that wasn’t enough.
That’s why services like the NSPCC and Childline are so invaluable. I’m so thankful both were there to support Jesse when she needed it. That she had a place to turn for help when I didn’t know the right thing to say.
Because even as her mum, I didn’t know enough. I’m sure most parents would feel the same.
That’s why this Mental Health Awareness Week I am sharing her story for the first time. To ensure that people like Jesse don’t feel like they only have one way out.
It is so important that we talk about mental health more than ever – in fact, I believe it needs to be taken as seriously as physical health – but it’s going to take every single person working together to take away the stigma.
More advice and information needs to be readily available and I think more education is needed, especially in schools. If Jesse had known what services were available sooner, then she might have been better supported.
If Jesse had that, if she’d known there was light at the end of the tunnel, maybe she’d still be here today.
But I can’t focus on the what ifs and what could have been. I have to keep moving forward. And though I may not see her, I know she will always be with me. My daughter. My angel. My Jesse.
As told to Emma Rossiter
For more information and support visit: nspcc.org.uk
For advice read Childline’s mental health pages at childline.org.uk
Heather Walker has recorded a podcast detailing her experience. You can stream on Spotify: ‘Suicide – Losing Jesse’
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
Share your views in the comments below.
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