In 2007 I was asked to give a talk on mood disorders in adolescents at a conference for school principals at Barker College. Nic had stated previously that, as a consequence of his experience and Chris’s death, he wanted to contribute to educational programs. At Barker I gave an ‘outside in’ overview of mood disorders—somewhat academic and risking sterility—and was followed by Nic who gave a complementary ‘inside out’ view of his personal journey. I’m competitive—speaking gigs included—but I was completely outclassed by the 21-year-old neophyte Nic. Later as we sat at the official table, so many principals came to compliment him, with one (who had probably never publicly admitted any fallibility) saying: ‘Nic, thank you. I should add that I have walked in your shoes.’ I received a note from his parents reporting his keen pleasure and I record here part of my rather earnest response: ‘I have always felt that he will do something special in life and I am starting to get some embryonic sense of his unique capacity to communicate at a quite exceptional level. Where it will manifest itself in the future (theatre or whatever) is unpredictable now but it will be somewhere.’
As Nic became an advocate for advancing the understanding of mood disorders and suicide in adolescents—relating his personal story openly, wryly and whimsically—his mood disorder settled further; medications were able to be reduced, and we set the objective of no medications in the future. I have learned over the years that those who develop severe bipolar disorders at a young age generally improve the most. In addition, those who speak about their mood disorder (and Australia has been blessed by many such high-profile politicians and sportspeople) develop a level of invulnerability. In speaking openly, they are no longer at the centre of a secret. I have never heard anyone criticise those brave enough to tell their personal stories.
In 2007, Nic’s mood swings were under good control; he had rejoined ‘life’, and he embarked on a delayed Gap year. He was working part-time in IT, socialising and engaging in comedy performances. In 2008 he was employed in a highly sought-after IT position and by 2010 his psychologist (David Gilfillan) and I could gradually withdraw. I seek to make a key point here. Those reading Jayne’s account of Nic’s highly disturbed psychotic world in adolescence may feel that such murky forces simply lie latent, waiting to emerge later. Any such concern needs to be firmly redressed to guard against any misinterpretation by readers. Nic’s psychotic world disappeared. It will not return.
In 2011 Nic commenced work at the Black Dog Institute. Here he has taken key responsibility for its website for adolescents, called BITE BACK, demonstrating his extraordinary creativity and empathy, and building on his personal experience. Since then I’ve become aware of the people he has helped—over social media and in real-life high-risk situations, though I didn’t learn this from Nic himself, as he is extremely modest and self-effacing and perhaps even oblivious to some of his skills. But—and here is the central message—not only has he brought hope to so many young people in despair, I’m aware that he has directly saved the lives of several young adolescents. Whether all of this would have occurred if Chris had lived is, in my view, doubtful, though noting this is somewhat risky. I’m providing details about an ex-patient and, while I have the approval and permission of Nic and his parents, there will be many professionals who will view writing about him as a boundary violation or even exploitation. I hope they are wrong for, if we are to destigmatise mood disorders, inspiring personal stories—subject to appropriate checks and balances—should advance that agenda. A more salient risk is that in so many of us recording our admiration for Nic, it may put extra pressure on him to continue the task. His work with mental health may be a calling in life; however, this does not mean that it must continue as Nic’s only focus or goal. The path of his life is his choice alone to make.
Jamison observed: ‘The suffering of the suicidal is private and inexpressible, leaving family members, friends, and colleagues to deal with an almost unfathomable kind of loss, as well as guilt. Suicide carries in its aftermath a level of confusion and devastation that is, for the most part, beyond description.’18 Later she records a military chaplain: ‘I do not know why young men have to die. You would think it would break the heart of God.’19 But then she adds a wry observation by one man: ‘We can’t put it all in God’s hands. God’s busy.’20
Jamison finished her book with an excerpt from a poem by Douglas Dunn and noted the fragment (which she kept on her desk) that had drawn her back to life—‘Look to the living, love them, and hold on.’21 It is a mantra for those at risk of suicide and it may also be a mantra for those who survive the suicide of a relative—but then perhaps only able to be approached after an extended period and by those—like the Newlings—who possess the capacity to truly love.
Jayne Newling has taken us into a very private domain and provided us with a harrowing description that is exceptional in its rawness, openness, honesty and insights. Her ‘inked memories of what might have been’ will be etched on all who read this classic.
Gordon Parker AO is Scientia Professor of Psychiatry at the University of New South Wales, Professorial Fellow at the Black Dog Institute and a renowned researcher and expert on mood disorders. He is co-editor with Kerrie Eyers and Tessa Wigney of the bestselling book Journeys with the Black Dog, and co-author with Kerrie Eyers of Navigating Teenage Depression. He has written many other books on depression and mood disorders, including Dealing with Depression. His autobiography, A Piece of My Mind, was published in 2012.
ENDNOTES
1 Kay Redfield Jamison, Night Falls Fast, Picador, London 2000, p. 18
2 Night Falls Fast, p. 39
3 Night Falls Fast, p. 197
4 Night Falls Fast, pp. 291–2
5 Night Falls Fast, p. 94
6 Gordon Parker and Kerrie Eyers, Navigating Teenage Depression, Allen & Unwin, Sydney 2009
7 Night Falls Fast, p. 115
8 Night Falls Fast, p. 127
9 Night Falls Fast, p. 37
10 Richard H. Seiden, ‘Where Are They Now? A Follow-up Study of Suicide Attempters from the Golden Gate Bridge’, Suicide and Life-Threatening Behavior, 1978, vol. 8, no. 4, pp. 203–16
11 Night Falls Fast, p. 5
12 Stephen Morrell, Andrew N. Page, Richard J. Taylor, ‘The decline in Australian young male suicide’, Social Science and Medicine, 2007, vol. 64, no. 3, pp. 747–54
13 Night Falls Fast, p. 236
14 Albert Facey, A Fortunate Life, 1988, Penguin, Ringwood, Vic. 1988
15 Gordon Parker, Amelia Paterson, Kathryn Fletcher, Bianca Blanch, et al. ‘The “magic button question” for those with a mood disorder—Would they wish to re-live their condition?’, Journal of Affective Disorders, 2012, vol. 136, no. 3, pp. 419–24
16 Tessa Wigney, Kerrie Eyers, Gordon Parker (eds), Journeys with the Black Dog, Allen & Unwin, Sydney 2007
17 Night Falls Fast, p. 295
18 Night Falls Fast, p. 24
19 Night Falls Fast, p. 69
20 Night Falls Fast, p. 289
21 From Douglas Dunn, ‘Disenchantments’, quoted in Night Falls Fast, p. 311
Acknowledgements
I would like to extend my thanks to the following people:
To my parents Tom and Ellie, Phil’s parents, Graham and Moya, and to our brothers and sisters and extended family—thank you for your love and support.
To our dear friends, Daisy and Mandy Richards, Trish Murgatroyd, Mel Steers and Pauline McMahon, who held our hands and protected us through all the difficult times. In their own special way they all helped us survive the early shock and trauma of Christopher’s death and continue to do so.
To Christopher’s friends who loved and supported us and who honour him on each and every anniversary of his death. A special thanks to Ben ‘Murgy’ Murgatroyd who is still a major part of our lives.
To Zach for making me laugh and for teaching me how to love again and to Sarah for trusting me and giving me unfettered access to indulge my beautiful grandson.
&nb
sp; To Ashleigh: thank you—and you were right to throw out the clock.
To Angie Moore for her love, care and insight and for helping me to realise it wasn’t my fault.
A special thank you to our family doctor, John Eccles, who with great compassion helped me to understand what really happened that night at the headland.
To my brother-in-law, cinematographer Allen Koppe, who gave me the greatest gift of all, the beautiful photograph of Christopher when he was happy.
Thanks to Patti Miller and my fellow Faber Academy writers for their enduring kindness, patience and encouragement during chapter readings.
A huge thanks to Sophia Barnes, editor and manuscript assessor and my very first reader who gave me the confidence to seek publication instead of filing the pages in a drawer. To my other readers, whose detailed and complimentary feedback made me realise I had a story in which others would be interested—Will Bonney, Robin Bell, Amelia Paterson, Kate Fagan, Josie Harris, Jo Wise and Dan Harris.
Thanks to the incredible team at Allen & Unwin: publisher Elizabeth Weiss, editor Ann Lennox and copyeditor Susin Chow.
Thank you to Robert Grant AM, John Burns, Graham Robertson, Matthew Pickering and Antony Weiss for everything they did for Christopher and my family. Also to the greater Shore community who kept us fed in a far greater way than Trish or I could ever manage or imagine.
I want to thank the team at the Black Dog Institute: Executive Director Helen Christensen, Chairman Peter Joseph AM, General Manager Will Bonney and Kerrie Eyers AM.
A very deep and special thanks to Professor Gordon Parker AO, founder of the Black Dog Institute. When Sophia encouraged me to seek publication, I sent the manuscript to Gordon for his permission to use his name and that of the Institute. He not only gave his personal endorsement but offered to write an afterword in honour of Christopher and our family. He reassured Phil and me that it is normal to expect that our pain will ease but also told us to expect that it will last a lifetime. I always knew that it was never okay to ask ‘are you over it yet?’, to say that ‘time heals’ or ‘it’s time to move on’, but I’ve always felt guilty that I couldn’t be the person I was before Christopher died. Gordon has made me realise I don’t have to be. I thank him for his integrity, insight and for his unstinting support of my family over the past eleven years. But most importantly, Phil and I thank him not only for saving Nic but for giving him his life back.
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