#Open journalism No news is bad news

Your contributions will help us continue to deliver the stories that are important to you

Support The Journal
Dublin: 5°C Sunday 11 April 2021

Opinion: Six weeks ago I went to hospital, threatening to hurt myself. I was sent home.

I have clinical depression and presented myself to hospital on my GP’s request. The doctor deemed me to be “stressed”, wrote me prescription and sent me home, alone.

Fiona Kennedy
My cousin Glen McNally’s body was found in the canal this week but he should not be dead. He should not have been allowed to leave the Mater Hospital one day after trying to kill himself. He was deemed fit by the doctors, he didn’t abscond or discharge himself against advice. He was given a clean bill of health, walked out the hospital doors and took his own life.– Conor McNally, 28/4/14

This piece appeared in TheJournal.ie yesterday, you can have a read of the full content here. It saddened, scared and angered me to read this last night, all by equal measure. I don’t know the full story about this man, in fact I know nothing more than the circumstances outlined in the above article. I don’t know what he said to them in the hospital, or why they felt it was OK to let him leave.

What I do know is this – my own experience has been so very similar. Six weeks ago I went to the Emergency Department desperate for help. I was off medication (by recommendation of my psychiatrist), my depression was worsening by the day, I couldn’t look after myself never mind my kids, my husband didn’t trust me to be left alone, and suicide was constantly on my mind. I was hurting myself daily.

My GP thought I should be admitted

It took me weeks to realise that the situation really was extremely serious, but eventually, I did realise, so I asked for help. My GP referred me to Emergency Department, I believe with the expectation that I would be admitted. I was not. I met with a doctor who I’d never seen before, who deemed me to be stressed, and sent me home with a prescription for Xanax and a letter for a few days off work.

In all my years working with a therapist, in all my dealings with my GP and various psychiatrists, I can hand on heart say I was never as visibly distressed as I was on that day. I told him I would hurt myself. I told him that it was a hell of a lot more than stress. Upset doesn’t begin to describe how I presented that day. And yet, he thought it was OK for me to be sent on my way, alone, knowing that there was no one waiting for me outside the door. I still can’t quite believe that it happened.

I have never felt as hopeless, alone and terrified

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I left the hospital that day and rang my therapist. There was little she could do for me at the time, but she did manage to calm me down and help me work out how to get home, and how to look after myself and keep myself safe until my husband could come and get me (he was at home, a half hour drive away, with our two young kids).

I have a lot of support – apart from my therapist and GP, I have an incredibly supportive family and good friends. My illness is not a secret, anyone who knows me knows about it. Despite all of that, despite all that support and years of therapy, I have never, ever, felt as hopeless, alone and terrified as I did that day walking out of the hospital. I truly believed there was nothing anyone else could do to help me, that things were never going to get better.

If I can be left feeling like that, considering all the support that I have, how can other people who don’t have the same level of support be expected to cope? I’m just one person. I know my story, and I know that various other people who read my blog have found themselves in a similar situation. In just one small circle, there is already far too much replication of the scenario I’ve just outlined – what does this say about the bigger picture? How many people are being let walk out of hospital, every day, desperate, alone and unsupported? How are they supposed to cope? How are they supposed to live?

I’m scared but, mostly, I’m angry

Mental illness is real. It affects so many people, in so many ways. Yes, it can be incredibly difficult to treat, and treatment, in my experience at least, is slow and arduous. But it can be treated. It manifests very differently to physical illness, but needs to be taken every bit as seriously. Just as a physical illness can be life threatening, so too can a mental illness – it has the power to convince the mind that there is no hope, no way out, and that suicide is a real and valid option. Not only that, that suicide in fact makes sense. Mental illness can be life threatening. Sadly, all too often it ends in tragedy.

Why am I writing all this? Partly because I’m scared, and realising how lucky I’ve been, and how lucky I am to still be here. But mostly, I’m angry. More than angry. Resources have got to be put back into mental health. People have died, and will continue to die. That is not OK, not even close. Please, please, listen to what patients have to say. Listen to what people like Mental Health Reform and See Change have to say. Mental health services in this country are in severe crisis, and something has to give. Soon.

Fiona Kennedy is a 30(ish) year old, happily married, mam of two, living in a small town in Connemara. She has two crazy dogs, wonderful friends and a loving, supportive family. Oh, and clinical depression. She blogs at Sunny Spells and Scattered Showers. You can follow her on Facebook or Twitter @SunnyScattered

Fiona is an Ambassador for See Change – a national movement to change minds about mental health, one conversation at a time’. 


  • Samaritans 116123 or email jo@samaritans.org
  • Teen-Line Ireland 1800 833 634
  • Console 1800 201 890
  • Aware 1890 303 302
  • Pieta House 01 601 0000 or email mary@pieta.ie
  • Childline 1800 66 66 66

Column: ‘He was given a clean bill of health, walked out of the hospital and took his own life’

About the author:

Read next: