The Crash (Part 1)

A woman is at the centre of this. Inevitably.

Or rather, two women. Or maybe three. Perhaps, ultimately, even four. 

But that’s a story for later.

Safe to say, my world was crashing down on top of me.

I had been driving home along the motorway on a rare visit to my sister’s home when my emotions began overwhelming me once more, choking me. And I couldn’t breathe.

The Crash (Part 2)

My daughter finally got me to hospital. 

She had rushed up from London to Sale to be met by her father, a quivering wreck, and a gaggle of police hovering around me in the kitchen. 

They were ever watchful after my bungled suicide attempt. I was curled up in the corner. Hardly able to speak.

We’d already waited two hours for an ambulance, but one had still not been mobilised, my daughter was told. And the police were, understandably, losing patience with their unscripted role as mental health nurses.

The Crash (Part 3)

Oh Jesus. An institution.

All I saw at the end of our 240 mile journey to the other end of the country, was a long anonymous grey block of concrete, low level buildings. The Priory, it certainly wasn't.

“This is not going to work,” I thought, as we waited in the reception area, too tired to speak. 

We listened mutely as a departing member of staff chatted away in pidgin English at a receptionist framed behind a glass panel.

We could have been extra-terrestrials for all the notice that was being taken.

A man in white overalls finally came to meet us, with a beaming smile. Even in my insanity, it struck me as incongruous in the extreme.

Not appropriate, mate. Nothing to grin about.

Sanctuary? Inside an NHS Mental Health Unit

The relief was palpable.

After three days in limbo at my daughter's flat in London, a place at a mental health unit had finally been found for me nearer home in Trafford.

Back up the motorway to Sanctuary.

First impressions were markedly different from 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.'

No dragooning, no strip search, more informal.

"This is much better, Dad", said my son.

I thought so too. It was now five Days since my suicide attempt.

At last, this was somewhere I would find help with the thoughts of Sarah and Angela still pounding through my head and heart.

I prayed that being here would soothe my very soul.

The coup de gras - sacked while recovering from suicide attempt

WOMAN No 2 (my employer) sacked me by email while I was recovering from my suicide attempt on the mental health unit. 

It was no real shock - it had been coming since April.

I had been signed off work in March with 'poorly controlled diabetes, stress and exhaustion'.

Picture the scene: a Saturday evening, I was cooking dinner for Sarah (Woman No 1) and me, in the first weekend off I had that year.

Texts start coming in from employer. Sarah paces the kitchen: "How dare she do this on your first weekend off?" she protested. Again and again.

I was under pressure, personally, professionally and with my uncontrolled diabetes.

Two weeks later my employer decided to bring disciplinary proceedings against me.

Woman No 1 - anatomy of The Break-Up

The Break-Up, when it came, was a relief. 

At least at first.

The back end of May. Late night. Sarah Chilton (Woman No 1) on the phone. I was just two months into the battle with my employer, Angela (Woman No 2) and fighting for my professional life. My diabetes was out of control. My depression worsening.

And then suddenly, Woman No 3 (Jo, an ex) lurches into view.

The Great Betrayal - how could you do that?

The story so far:

• My partner, Sarah Chilton has suddenly left me: Woman No 1 - anatomy of The Break-Up 

• My employer, Angela has sacked me: The coup de gras - sacked while recovering from suicide attempt

• I have struggled with controlling my diabetes for months.

• I am suffering from chronic depression and anxiety.

• I have tried to take my own life and spent two weeks on a mental health unit.

(These are the facts, not self-pity. Oh go on then, there's a bit of that).

And then the phone rings.

On the doorstep: her face went white, and in a split second I knew it was true...

There was only one question in my mind.

I had to know the answer. Had Sarah Chilton betrayed me by colluding with my employer? There was nothing else in my head, although the things I should have said on that bitterly cold night in December are in {brackets}.

I knocked on Sarah's front door. There she stood, shocked at first, then squirming a bit. Months since I had last seen her.

Woman No 4 - Mother

This is where it all began.

This is why, unlike my children, I am unable to simply shrug off disappointment in a failed relationship.

Why it hurts so fundamentally. And why I tried to end my own life.

Mistakes, misunderstandings... and Fate

IT was all just a huge mistake.

Or a massive misunderstanding.

Or maybe just Fate.

Whatever, Thomas Hardy could have had a field day with the raw material.

Postscript: Understanding Sarah

It was the end of another, awful, day when something suddenly clicked in my head.

I had never forgotten about it - I just hadn't concentrated on exploring it, being too pre-occupied with my own torment.

But - and it must have been what, 25 years ago? -  I remembered that Sarah had been engaged to be married.  She had left her job in London and moved to Sheffield to set up home together with her new fiancee. Then he suddenly upped and ran off with another woman. Out of the blue.

The awful power of the human mind - Epilogue

I could write a million words but it would make no difference. 

Whatever I do, I can never make Sarah understand - or as Dylan sang on Idiot Wind: "You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain."

I could even push https://anonbreakdown.blogspot.co.uk/ through her letter box and it would make no difference. As I did, when I went to kill myself on the moors with a massive insulin overdose.

She said she never read it. Didn't even want to read it. Had no curiosity, couldn't care less.

Her mind is already made up. And I mean that literally.

There is nothing I could do, nothing I could say, to change it.

Which brings me to the power of the human mind.

Care-less > Sarah's reckless response

SO, what was Sarah's response to my anniversary letter?

No empathy, compassion or understanding, of course.

No, she was wilfully care-less.

I got a phone call out of the blue from a police officer late on the Sunday night and several text messages. I returned his call next morning - voicemail. Sent texts to him - no response.

Then six days letter, I got a letter from this police officer.

Sarah had made a complaint about me.