My brother killed himself a few years ago with anti-depressants, I’m not sure if he was clinically depressed or just weary – I suspect he was clinically depressed. Although we weren’t especially close in the traditional sense, it destroyed me. I was convalescing from a done for relationship at the time & my brother’s death eradicated any feelings of lament for that; nothing could compare or compete with the sadness I felt for his premature end. I thought at the time, if both my parents were killed in a car crash I’d be sad but wouldn’t feel like this, I’ve exhausted my sensitivity as a human being; nothing or no-one can hurt me more than this. I had lots of weird thoughts at the time, for two or three weeks after his death I’d go so far to say I was a little psychotic. I was wrong though, about exhausting my sensitivity, because I’ve had children since my brother died – they reminded me that love is something you can’t really opt out of. What I would say about killing yourself is, life changes constantly. The part of your life you want to end is a specific point in the journey that you’ll probably move on from in months if not weeks, nothing is permanent - except death, which is difficult in the best of circumstances.