When I was a young parent I tried my best, as most young and new parents do. I never palmed off my weeks old children with friends overnight, and druggy friends at that. I overly watched them when out playing in the streets, never leaving them unsupervised, escpecially at just 5 years old being allowed roam the streets while I just sat indoors. My kids were fed regualrly, and not pusnihed by not having dinner or tea, nor punished by being not allowed drinks. Nor were they punished by not allowing them access to grandparents, punishment at worst in my eyes is not going play with friends for few hours. And I did not and stll don’t believe in smacking. My kids were not sent to bed at 6.30 pm regardless of time of year, in particuilar in summer, on those long. warm joyous summer evenings when the sounds of childrens laughter filled the air outside. Nor in the long dark winter nights, when even adults get fearsome, my kids were not in bed without a light or lightbulb in their room, for when they needed escape the scary dark. And when possible during school holidays, if finances permitted, we took them on days out, or the odd holiday or two. Maybe the days out were only to local park, playing football or going for bicycle rides but they were given appropriate things to do, supervised, loved and nurtured. Yes there were bad times, low times, but nothing severe as the lies being told would have you believe. Now all the above made me a bad parent apparently, now I wonder what the amazing parents of the century are doing with their kids? The total reverse of the above. That makes them better parents than I will ever have been. I tried and often failed, but you have to try to fail. So they will never be a failure because they don’t try and don’t put any effort into it in the first place. It seems the more you try your best for your children the more they only remember that bad things. But surely in time if there are more or only bad times in a child’s life, then they will only have bad memories at all to think back on. Without any glimmer of a nice, pleasant, fun time in their precious short lived childhood. As a young parent I was untrained and everything was new to me, but over time I learned, and hopefully became less useless at parenting. But surely with all the help and the modern life we have now, bad parenting should actually be a thing of the past. I loved my kids, still do, and would allow them to be loved and love back people that mean something in their lives. To deny this love back and forth is dereliction of parenting duties and responsibilities, at least I believe it to be so, but then I stupidly overly care and love outwardly, wear my heart on my sleeve. So maybe I am in the wrong or the minority in this, but I won’t change my beliefs or principles, which were mostly instilled by my parents.

When someone is feeling suicidal, it is not their fault. It is a damning comment or indictment on their family, their friends, the wider community, the public services and the government of the country. That all of these people and officials do not offer a crumb of hope or optimism for a better future, so the thought of dying is more preferable.

Born a happy and free human being in 1969, not knowing what the world or the future holds before me.
Early age, preschool age, make friends with a number of similar aged children, three of which go on to shape part of my life beyond my control.
Three friends of mine, Richard, known affectionately as Kojak, which will be explained in due course. Arthur, or Archie as we called him. Finally but definitely not least Anthony, just Ant to me. The one I became closest to.
We were all of same or close age range, give or take a year.
It is early 1970’s we were children, preschool to nursery age, carefree.
Yet only by age 7 I had witnessed first hand, death being so cruel. Although not old enough to understand at the time, it carved it’s cruel name on my mind and conscience forever.
I was only 6 or 7 myself when after a long battlle, yet short in life terms, Richard died of childhood leukemia, I can still remember his quirky little giggle even now. The Kojak name was affectionate because of the treatment causing his hair to fall out. He even had the guts at that age to see it as funny, saying “who loves ya baby”, as anyone who knows that was Kojak’s catchphrase, whilst shoving a lollypop into his mouth.
Moving on a few more years, while building same friendship with Archie, a friend of mine and my brothers. I was about 10, Archie a year younger. Myself and my brother and Archie were playing about in our house, when he ran into the kitchen, catching the just finished cooking frying pan. Boiling hot cooking fat covered 70% of his body. The screams and vision of this cooking human child still haunts me. He had to have skin grafts for many years after. Luckily he is still alive and kicking now, I see him occasionally. He is now married with family, but that moment still lingers in my thoughts.
Now before we move onto Anthony, I am aged 15, still a young carefree child. Loving family environment. Mother and Father who loved me, and I loved back dearly. I had 3 brothers, ” older step brothers, yet only accept them as real brothers, and one full a year younger than myself. My parents were active in the local community, ran youth clubs etc, got on with everyone. It was after one such youth club meeting, on a Wednesday, May 1985, that the following occured. As mentioned I was 15, myself, two brothers and both parents had just returned home from the church youth centre. It was 9.30 to 10 pm as we got in, kettle was put on, and some toast was made for supper. Sat down drinking a cup of tea, eating toast, and wathcing the TV. On TV that night was a sports programme, was either Midweek Sports Special or Sportsnight, forgive me for not remembering, but what happened within minites from then will take away my exact memory of the programme. What I do know was it was a replay of the snooker world championship final of that year, the famous Steve Davis and Dennis Taylor one, last black ball of very last frame one. It was just showing the last moments. I was sat on the sofa, my Dad was in armchair next to me. Suddenly and without warning, my Dad lurched slightly upwards then dropped back onto the chair. Heart attack, I was not given any warning of any of his ill health, so this was a very sudden,very unexpected and traumatic few seconds of my life that will live with me forever. My dad was dead, he died right in front of my eyes, laughing, smiling and talking to absolute zero lifelessness in an instant. He was my mentor, my hero, my Dad, and he was dead. Other than to say that killed my life and world from that moment on, there is nothing I can add to that. Other than at that time, you were only told to get over it, or time heals. Counselling or bereavement care wasn’t the norm.
Now on to Anthony, or just Ant, my best friend at the time. Knowing him from preschool, we played football practically every day. We both supported Liverpool FC from watching them in the 1974 FA Cup final. We were both hooked and fell in love with the red men. Ever since I have loved the club. Nothing other than family means more to me than supporting them, I feel part of the LFC family. Myself and Ant grew up together, at age of 10, he was 11 a year ahead in school terms too. He went to a school that was not the natural progression from the Junior school we both attended. It was thought to better achieving, but 2 miles further away than the local one. We still kept up our friendship, and I followed him to the same school. We were great friends, yet becasue he left school one whole year before me, he of course had to grow up one year quicker, college or work, or YTS at the time. By the time I left school, I was 16 close to 17. Ant was now 19. He was out visiting his other friends, when a fight broke out. His friend with him took out a knife and threatened his own girlfriend. Ant tried quell the argument, but got stabbed. He died. His Dad, Joe, who I knew well too broke the news to me.
A few years on, now in 1989, I was 19. I was not there, so I am not going try take anything away from the ones that were, and suffered immeasurably, but the Hillsborough disaster hurt me profiundly. As already mentioned I felt part of the LFC family, and although I only witnessed it on TV, my heart and soul went out to the innocents that perished on that day. Also the survivors that suffered, and the families of the bereaeved and survivors that had to endure the pain. I only felt what must have been one billionth of their pain, and the injustices that followed. The families and survivors are the most amazing people and just being connected to them via the LFC connection makes me immensely proud.
In many ways I probably had a bit of a respite for a few years, yes things occured, some I remember, but nothing so traumatic that haunts me in quite the same way as the previous years. Until 2002 that is.
2002,February all the news on the TV at the time was the death of Princess Margaret, she had passed away the week before. On the 16th February,late afternoon, I walked into my Mums bungalow only to find her face down on the floor, dead. Been there since the night before. Ok I was 32 by then, older and let’s pretend wiser, but I didn’t want or expect to see a dead body, let alone my own Mums.
Before and since, like most people I have lost other family, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles etc. So I am not claiming exclusivity to life and death moments.
In the shadow of all this, I have suffered ill health and mental health issues. Some generic, some caused by these traumas, some by unkonwn factors. I have also had suicidal thoughts on a daily basis, and on occasion acted upon them, and depending on your view, I have been either unlucky or lucky to still be here.
Nor am I claiming to be worse off than others, there are many many worse off than me, orphaned at ealrier ages, seeing deaths more violently before their eyes, wars and famine etc.
I just want to explain what’s moulded my mind, what makes me feel the depressive way I do. It is not an excuse for who I am, it’s an explaination of why my thought processes are the way they are.
I did not grow up angry, rebellious or feeling let down, I just had to grow up. I did not become a criminal, or caused anyone any harm knowingly or willingly. Yet as recently talked about my Son and his wife’s decision to barr me from accessing my beloved Grandson, after 5 long years of extreme closesness to him, this has also been a traumatic period to me.
I wish no one any harm, I would never harm anyone, I only feel I deserve to be harmed, hurt or experience pain. I am not a danger to anyone, the public or family, it is myself I am a danger to. Yet I will not endanger others, if I succeeded one time in taking my own life, it will be in private, not publicly, causing disruption to the public, or putting undue stress on the public services. It will happen at home, on my own.
In this world of billions, I am only one insignificant being, just about existing, with no more to reason than anyone else to feel special. But I am a human being, I have feelings, emotions and pains. I do exist.
I am Darren.
Friday Novemeber 9th 2018.