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3 hours ago
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The story about 17-year-old Jen Bridges-Chalkley, who killed herself after enduring a long wait for mental health support, was very hard to read, and almost identical to my son’s experience (The life and death of Jen Bridges-Chalkley: why did a 17-year-old die waiting for NHS therapy?, 6 February). He is now nearly 30, and – by the skin of his teeth – alive. He has tried to kill himself five times. He has rarely wanted to die, but many times he has wanted to stop living.
One of those times when he was distraught and suicidal, I rang the child and adolescent mental health services (Camhs) out-of-hours “emergency line” repeatedly and left desperate messages. I didn’t even receive a call back that week. The times someone did respond, it was to tell us to call the police to pick up my desperate, terrified child to take him to a hospital where no one cared and he was regarded as a bedblocker. We stopped doing that.
He will no longer engage with any form of mental health services; he is too traumatised by the lack of caring and continuity, as am I. Even after repeated suicide attempts, he was always discharged from their care after one appointment as he seemed fine on that day.
Somewhere along the journey, a Camhs psychologist told us that his case was too complex for them to handle and he needed the “top tier” of therapy: waiting list of two years. In the meantime, Camhs could offer three sessions with a therapist, most of which was going through his history, which they already had on file from every other appointment. This was the only time he saw the same practitioner more than once.
When we checked on the waiting list 18 months later, Camhs had no record of him being on the list and had lost his notes. One staff member was justifiably upset and suggested we make a formal complaint, but what would that achieve?
My son tries to keep his struggling to himself. He feels seeing a doctor is pointless; I tend to agree. On the thankfully rare occasions when he sinks to suicidal thoughts again, he has rung the Samaritans. Last time (at 1am) they told him they were busy and asked him to ring back later. He didn’t, and now considers them to be another closed door.
After 20 years of this, I still dread the call that tells me he has finally had enough of this fight. He has never been to a friend’s wedding, but has been to the funerals of six friends who have taken their own lives. Their tales of mental health services are almost interchangeable.
Name and address supplied
Camhs requires an immediate, urgent overhaul of its services. It dangerously offers hope when the reality is years on a seemingly never-ending waiting list. We are in year three of waiting despite Camhs assessing the case as urgent in 2023. The first year included making a formal complaint as Camhs misplaced urgent referral paperwork for six months, despite repeatedly communicating that all was in hand.
A second formal complaint about the long delays (including our MP’s involvement) produced a response of “we are committed to providing support” – yet, still, nothing – alongside a refusal to confirm whether treatment will even commence in 2025.
Staff have come and gone. Camhs is an utter travesty, with the warmth of an iceberg – and yet nothing will change. No lessons learned.
Name and address supplied
My heart goes out to Jen Bridges-Chalkley’s family and friends. Thank God we didn’t lose our son to suicide, but he has been lost to us in every meaningful way. Our son found school tremendously challenging and – at age 10, after three meltdowns a day, working with his doctor and the school, a police visit and a suicidal letter to his doctor – he had an emergency referral to Camhs.
We had a year as a family with an overworked Camhs psychiatrist. It transformed our family’s mental health. That was 2010 and referrals were tough, but Camhs saved our family. Fast-forward to Covid isolation, bullying, GCSE exams and the death of his grandmother (my mother), and everything fell apart again for our son. At age 16, his meltdowns were back, he became isolated from his peers and went for long walks post-midnight on busy roads. He was befriended by a woman with two children who told him we were abusive parents and didn’t love him. We spoke to Camhs, which concluded he didn’t warrant its services.
Our doctor, the police and social services became involved and still we were rebuffed by Camhs, even for the two-year waiting list. I used my inheritance to pay for his therapy, a psychiatric ADHD evaluation and medication. He now lived in the woman’s lounge. Social services and his college cut us off, treating the woman as his “person with care”; me and his dad were forced to pay her child support.
He blocked me on his phone. He refuses to meet with us. He’s 18 and I haven’t seen or spoken to him in six months. If the local Camhs had been a functioning service, I’m sure we would still be a family and not in living bereavement.
Name and address supplied
