Ben Raemers was the sweetest, funnest kid I ever toured with. I only traveled with Ben a couple of times, first through Europe and then through the Pacific North West. Now, in light of his recent death, I realize that there was a subtle anxiety in him that only in hindsight I see was the surface ripple of something profoundly painful. Having experienced episodes of darkness in my own life, I can’t help but interpret that as an indication that somewhere deep inside him was a dark, agonizing, Mariana Trench, from which he was desperately trying to escape. That constant struggle is exhausting but I remain convinced that there are concrete methods out there with which we can defuse these mental short-circuits — these false narratives that get stuck on loop in our heads. And, I have to say, I feel lucky that although I have suffered through periods of depression at times in my life, I have each time been able to find that invisible side-door through which to escape back onto a more optimistic path through this labyrinth we call life; and I have not been stuck in the awful, crippling loop of long-term or truly chronic depression.
The spark to start writing this post came when I picked up my old notebook from the weeks that directly followed my own sister’s suicide back in 2011. It’s a small 6″x 6″ brown craft-card-bound pad that I kept with me in Scotland when I was back there for the funeral. From the opening few pages I can see that I had been reading a book called The Philosopher and the Wolf by Mark Rowland. One of the passages I had noted down relates to the human condition and goes as follows: “…our uniqueness [as humans] lies simply in the fact that we tell these stories — and, what’s more, we can actually get ourselves to believe them. If I wanted a one-sentence definition of human beings, this would do: humans are the animals that believe the stories they tell about themselves. Humans are credulous animals.”
Now in 2019, for the last few weeks I’ve had a book by my bed that I’ve been dipping into here and there called Waking Up, Alive by Richard Heckler. It’s about the road to recovery after a suicide attempt. In it Heckler walks us through a number of case studies from his work as a Psychologist and Counselor. The quote that stood out to me this morning is in the story of Teresa, a soft-spoken mother of two Nurse, who lost her biological father and was then horrifically abused by her stepfather. Over time her brain’s survival mechanism was to construct a story, a narrative in which her real father could provide her solace from the afterlife and that if she died she would surely be reconnected with him.
“Slowly but progressively, Teresa withdrew from life by entertaining the possibility of her death. She had constructed and nourished a lethal equation: that in death there is solace and connection; in life, there is only despair.”
In retrospect, I now again recall my own sister, Katrina, talking wholeheartedly with clear conviction about her best friend Laura who passed a couple of years earlier due to complications of pneumonia and left Katrina utterly devastated. “Aye, that’s Laura right there, that bright one,” Katrina would say gazing up at the night sky as we walked through Westburn Park on a summer night in 2009. In her head Laura was still “up there” watching, smiling, compassionately waiting for them to reunite. I thought it best that I didn’t tell her that was actually the planet Saturn. Now I’m not sure if that was best after all.
To bring it back to Ben, the fact is that I didn’t know him well enough. Like I said, I only traveled with him twice before we were both again off on different paths. Him with new sponsors and a bright few years ahead of him as a well-loved and respected Pro Skater; and me to figure out what life after pro-skateboarding looks like. Since then I’ve thought a lot about the subject of depression and its horrific worst-case conclusion. To bring hope back into the arena, I am more and more convinced that education about the root causes of depression is a critical factor in reducing suicide. At least I hope it is. The thing about depression is that it feels so all encompassing and overwhelming. It’s feels enormous and insurmountable when you are in it, but I will continue to believe — until I’m categorically proven otherwise — that knowledge and understanding is a tool that can help move things in a positive direction. To be lost in the dark is a different feeling than being lost with a map. The counterpoint that immediately springs to mind is that depression has a tendency to make us forget to look at the map. That’s where the knowledge and education part comes in. The more understanding we all have about this stuff — whether we’re going through it or beginning to notice a friend going through it — the more chance we have to catch it…I think. I hope.
If you are struggling and need immediate help here are some first response resources:
US/UK: Crisis Text Line https://www.crisistextline.org
Aust: Lifeline https://www.lifeline.org.au/
Hey John, Alvin here its been a long time since I have seen or spoken with you but when I got the news about Ben last week after the initial shock as he was local to us in Colchester and my shop and i had then known him when i worked for Volcom years ago it reminded me of our conversations back in the 90’s when you were down and finding it hard to deal with doing your degree and being a pro skater and i was so glad you were able to punch threw it and go on to have an incredible carear which was amazing to watch. Anyway just wanted to say thank you for your words of positivity which we all need from time to time.
Thanks Alvin, Great to hear from you. I hope all’s going well with you these days.
These are lovely, thoughtful words and I appreciate that you have shared so much of your own personal story.
I agree with you, the stories that we tell ourselves are immensely powerful. They are entwined with our history, our life circumstances and our hopes and dreams of the future. They significantly impact the way we view ourselves and the decisions we make.
I never met Ben but as a skateboarder from the UK, I felt immensely proud of all he had achieved, things that you and Ben shared. I have felt empty since hearing the news last week. I’ve read many comments since then, people trying to make sense of what has happened and comfort each other. In them I often recognise the urge to split of mental distress into something else, to medicalise it as a disease or an illness. I worry that if we take this approach the onus is on the individual to seek help or ‘get better’.
I believe that one of the greatest assets that the skateboard community has is its connectivity and the shared experiences we have, things like being risk takers, being alone or feeling like outsiders. If something can come from this tradegy it is that many of the skateboarding organisations in this world can come together to think about what has happened and how they might do something that safeguards the well-being of so many young people that sacrifice so much in the pursuit of dreams, putting themselves in potentially vulnerable positions.
Thanks for sharing your views Michael. As a lifelong sufferer of mental illness, i find it important to medicalise suicide as a disease and illness. The onus might be on the individual to seek help, but telling a mate you skate with can be the first step. That friend needs to know what to do in this situation. eg. the friend rings a suicide hotline beside him and stays by his side while he talks to the cousellor.
Everyone discussing suicide, like here, helps toward ending stigma so we feel its ok to ask for help and not onerous at all.
Men & boys are less likely to ask for help. We need to change that. Asking for help is ok, whoever you are. And asking for help doesn’t nessisarily lead to medical intervention. Sometimes talking to friends and family is the best medicine. Even though i take six diff meds a day, my friends & family help me just as much.
Anyone with a mental illness or thoughts of suicide can ‘get better’ -just as with cancer. Cancer can kill a person. Mental illness does not need to kill anyone if our society conquers the stigma around asking for help.
Cheers
Thanks for writing back Clare. That’s cool if you find the medical model works for you and keeps you safe. Personally, I don’t find medicalising psychological distress an approach that sits well with me, but I agree with you that it is a societal problem. I would see that problem more in its causes rather than our responses to ‘it’.
I’m aware that these are important debates to have but perhaps not ones best suited to such a personal post. I respect that this is about Ben and his friends more than anything else. However, I think we’re in agreement that talking about these issues can be helpful in moving our curiosity into helpful positions.
Nice words Mr Rattray. Sorry to hear about your sister. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. It almost feels as if those people who’ve made it through difficult and dark times are ‘survivors’ in what at times can feel like an epidemic. It’s so sad about Ben. Thoughtful informed writing like this can help I think. All the best
Thanks for the comment, Tim. Hopefully it helps a little. Little by little.
Thanks for writing this.
Can you please add a link to a suicide hotline/website. After reading about suicide some people may need immediate help talking to someone.
US/UK: Crisis Text Line https://www.crisistextline.org
Aust: Lifeline https://www.lifeline.org.au/
Added. Good call. Thanks.
Great insight Mr. Rattray. As someone who is fortunate enough not to have to deal significant MH issues myself, I find it particularly mysterious when someone so apparently full of life and joy such as Mr. Raemers succomb to this disease. I agree that hope lies in futher education and empathy. ❤️
Thanks for the comment. Knowledge and understanding are the best tools we have as far as I can tell.
Very well said, Mr. Rattray. I immediately began reviewing Durkheim’s “Le Suicide” (having recently read it for a sociology course) upon the unfortunate discovery of Ben’s passing. Not only do we need to consider, as you mentioned, better education about depression, but also the concept of social integration and a sense of belonging to society. I wonder if maybe he never really felt like he was where he wanted to be. Or maybe he never had those connections that we, as a social species, thrive on. For the sake of Ben, I won’t theorize further, as we will truly never know what brought him to his decision, and of course, you actually met him. So my theories could be baseless. But I admired Ben’s spirit and skating. Thank you for taking the time to write these words and suggest a course of action we could all take to help those in need around us.
Thanks for the comment. Lost Connections by Johan Hari is a great one I read recently too.
You pretty much nailed it. Although everyone deals with their darkness in their own way and no two cases are ever exactly the same, the more you know about how to move forward the better chance you have of taking that next step.
Thanks, Jeremy. Agreed that no two cases are ever exactly the same. It seems that the thing we need to learn to do is to slow down, turn around, stare into that darkness and find the reasons from our past that are causing us to react so distressingly in the present. There’s no smoke without fire as they say and more often than not the level to which we respond to certain life scenarios now was shaped at some point when we were kids and our brains were developing. I truly believe that “wiring” can be re-wired, but first we need to find the fuse box in the basement, if that makes sense.