Health

Suicidal review – a harrowing look at a hidden epidemic


The 136 suite is a secure area for suicidal men. Spot-lit, windowless, empty save for a trio of red plastic chairs lined up in a corner like seats on a bus, this is where men intent on ending their lives are kept when they arrive at the Riverside Centre, a specialist mental health unit in west London. Men like Charlie, 18, who has tried to end his life “four or five” times. “How I’m still here … it baffles me,” he says with a little crushing laugh. “I thought it would have worked the first time.”

He was rushed to the 136 suite after his mother phoned a helpline explaining, with the terrible calm of a parent who has become experienced at this, that her son had drunk lots of alcohol and wanted to harm himself. As for Charlie, he dreams of falling asleep and not waking up. The appeal of death is “silence”.

Suicidal (Channel 5) is a deeply harrowing feature-length documentary about an epidemic we are failing to address in every sense. It approaches the appalling statistic that a man takes his own life every two hours in the UK, not by exploring the impact of toxic masculinity or brutal cuts to mental health services, but by letting suicidal men speak for themselves. Six of them, between whom there have been 20 suicide attempts. Broken and frightened men, invariably dressed in sweatshirts and back-to-front caps, with tears in their eyes and legs that will not stop juddering. Men with many diagnoses and no hope. “If my life is battling with this feeling all the time I don’t want to live it,” says Jack, 19, who has attempted suicide three times in the past 18 months. He swallows. Takes deep breaths. Flips a pen over and over in his hands. Apologises and asks for a moment.

What of the ethical questions, even surrounding a documentary as sensitively handled as this one? Suicidal was made with the full and close co-operation of the Riverside Centre’s local NHS Trust. The patients were monitored during filming and advice from professionals was taken on board. The documentary opens with these statements, as if to reassure us up front. Still the question remains: does this film address the stigma of male suicide enough to warrant any potential exploitation of its highly vulnerable subjects? I’m not sure, but I do know it didn’t feel OK to hear the voiceover pose a question as crass and verging on upbeat as: “But what is it really like to want to kill yourself?”

The men, on the other hand, are brave, sweet and amazingly articulate considering the daily horrors they face. What comes across, in all six cases, is a profound isolation that ought to be inexcusable in any society claiming to care about its citizens. Take Leo, a 29-year-old autistic man with a learning disability, who has lived alone for 10 years. He has no money. He has tried to end his life eight times. No rapid response team, however well-meaning or funded, can hope to scratch the surface with a brief visit to drop off medication, a hand-shake, some talk of crisis plans and risk factors, and a promise to return. Not once did I hear psychotherapy mentioned in this long documentary. Meanwhile, men continue to want to die. “People tell me, ‘You have a purpose to live, man’, but I don’t see it,” says Leo. Every morning when he takes his meds, a voice tells him to take his life. Sometimes he listens to it.

Jack’s short life has been crammed with grief. When he was nine, his father died in a motorbike crash. At 14, his granddad – who had become a second father – died. When they went away to scatter his ashes, his nan had a heart attack and died holding Jack’s hand. How did he cope? “Just got on with it,” he says, legs jumping. He talks eloquently about the cliche that crash-lands on a boy’s shoulders following a death in the family: you’re the man of the house now. “People don’t see that for what it actually is,” he says. “I tried to be the man of the house from the age of nine.” Most recently, his mother died after a chronic illness. Jack had been her carer for years and now appears to live with friends. After 10 days on the ward it is suggested he might be ready to go home for a night. “I don’t care,” he says. “It’s pointless. I’m not going to get better.”

If there is a take-home message from this unbearably sad documentary it is not only that men should not have to suffer in silence. They cannot be left to suffer alone.

In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org or jo@samaritans.ie. In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org.



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