The Whistling Kettle
Suicidal thoughts are often misunderstood. They’re not always about wanting to die, but about needing something to stop. In this reflection, the “whistling kettle” becomes a metaphor for listening to ourselves when the pressure builds — and for finding compassion in the moments it matters most.
INSIGHTSTRAUMASELF CARE & MENTAL WELLBEING
When the Kettle Whistles: Talking Honestly About Suicidal Thoughts
There are moments when you feel like you don’t belong anywhere.
Moments where the concept of community feels distant, even irrelevant.
So yes — let’s talk about suicide. Not through campaigns or statistics, but through lived experience.
My Reality
I’ve lived with suicidal thoughts for much of my life. Not just fleeting despair, but long-term, deep-rooted patterns.
They’ve taken me to hospital. To coma. To places I never imagined I’d survive.
But I did.
And that survival forced me to understand what was happening in a way no book or awareness poster ever could.
For me, suicide was never really about wanting to die.
It was about wanting something to stop.
The pressure.
The overwhelm.
The unbearable sense of disconnection.
It felt like I was disappearing inside myself, unseen. I didn’t want to die — I just didn’t know how else to carry the weight. The longer I ignored it, the heavier it got. And when it finally broke through, it didn’t whisper. It screamed.
The Kettle
Over time, I found my own way of making sense of it.
I think of it as a kettle on the stove.
My suicidal thoughts are the whistle: loud, insistent, impossible to ignore once it starts.
The whistle tells me:
The heat is too high.
I’ve been pushing through too much, for too long.
Something is off, and I haven’t been listening.
If I ignore it? The kettle boils over. Boils dry. Burns out.
So now, when I hear the whistle, I treat it as a signal. Not a failure. Not a shameful secret. But a message from somewhere deep inside saying: something needs to change.
I pause. I check in. I turn down the heat. I ask myself what I’ve been pushing down, and what needs attention.
I don’t always get it right. But I no longer pretend it isn’t happening.
Why I Talk About It
That’s why I speak openly. Because I’d rather live in a world where someone can say “My kettle’s whistling” and be met with compassion instead of silence.
A world where people don’t wait until it’s too late to speak up.
A world where saying “I’m not okay” doesn’t feel like a burden.
Talking eases the pressure. It gives the pain somewhere to go.
Sometimes, it’s the difference between barely surviving and being here.
We’re often told to be strong, to push through, to keep quiet until we’ve figured it out. But I’ve lived that silence. I’ve watched it nearly kill me.
Maybe it’s time we stop telling people to be strong in the dark — and start teaching each other how to be honest in the light.
If This Is You
There’s no shame in struggling.
There’s no weakness in needing to talk.
There’s nothing wrong with saying:
"My kettle is whistling. Can we talk?"