15/02/2026
I need to get something off my chest.
Over the past 15 years running Shalom House, I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve known who have taken their own lives or died from an overdose. I’ve stopped counting. I can’t count anymore.
I’ve watched a young person ask their mum for money for a hit. Mum said no. They went out the back and hanged themselves from a tree. I’ve seen a husband leave his wife at home with five kids, book into a motel, and end his life. A mother took her own life and left three kids behind. Her own father had done the same, left five kids behind, i know those who overdosed in a public toilet or hotel room.
Every single one of those losses stays with me.
I’m writing this because I need families to understand something, and I need to say it with respect, because I know the pain you’re in. When you lose a loved one to su***de or overdose, I see it. I see the tears of a mother crying over her son. The anger of a wife who doesn’t understand why her husband did what he did. The frustration of not having answers.
Your grief is real. I’m not taking away from that.
But what I need you to hear is that the grief you feel, I feel it too. My staff feel it. The residents who called your loved one a friend feel it. And nobody seems to know that. Sometimes It is too much to carry.
What we get instead is blame.
If I take someone in and something goes wrong, I’m blamed. If I don’t take someone in because they’re high-risk, I’m blamed.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Recently we made the difficult decision to stop accepting people who have attempted su***de or who are on certain mental health medications. Because when something happens under our roof, we carry that. But when I say no to protect everyone involved, families are angry at me. And when I say yes and the worst happens, families are angry at me.
So what am I supposed to do?
On top of that, there’s no support. The government won’t even talk to us. Other organisations treat us like we don’t exist. We’re doing the same work as everyone else on the frontline, but we do it alone.
I’m burnt out. I’m at my limit. I’m seriously asking myself whether I should shut the doors and walk away, just to survive this or even hand it over to another person for them to carry. Because every loss takes something from me that I don’t get back. The first time was hard. The second, the third. But after this many, it’s too much for one person to carry.
I know that when you lose someone, you need somewhere to put that pain. Blaming someone might feel like it gives you answers. But I’m asking you to please really think about where you aim your anger. Because at the end of the day, if a person takes their own life or overdoses, that was their choice in their darkest moment. That’s a brutal truth. But no amount of love or care can override that moment.
So if you’ve lost a loved one, or if you do in the future, please understand that those of us trying to help them are carrying the same grief you are.
We’re not the enemy.
Before you aim your anger at the people who were trying to keep your loved one alive, ask yourself:
Do you aim it at the living, or the dead?
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. But I needed to say it.
Pete
