Suicide is the great leveller, the taboo, the final instalment in a life ruined. It ruins other lives, and causes heartache and pain, but what heartache and pain there is for those who chose to take that path, to walk not towards the light but into the darkness, the perpetual horror of death by your own hand.
I have known three police officers who have taken their own lives. Three police officers who had nowhere else to turn, who believed their own lives so worthless, so wretched, so bleak that they found the only solution to be suicide. Their names will never be found on rolls of honour, they will never be subject to remembrance ceremonies or anniversary re-unions. Their passing is a thing of horror. Those near to them will bear the cross, their families the shame of a cursed relation.
Henrietta was a quiet and reliable officer. She would never set the world alight, but equally she would never cause harm. She had one close friend, another police officer, who she would share her deepest thoughts. It seemed that when this friend chose to marry, Henrietta found difficulty coping. When she didn't arrive at work, colleagues were sent to her house where she was found hanged.
Steven was an intellectual, especially by police standards. He had had a book published, and all seemed well in his world. His ex-wife chose to emigrate with their children, something which Steven could not cope with. He died by overdose.
Amber had had issues throughout her life. She had treated joining the police as a new beginning, and had followed a successful career into a firearms role. The demons continued to haunt her though, and she took her life by shooting herself dead.
These were good people. They all had great potential in life, a potential which will never be fulfilled. May they rest in peace.
Should you ever find yourself in dark place, somewhere maybe you think there is no way out of, remember Henrietta, Steven and Amber and think of what they have left behind and what they could have been. Remember them.