Content warning: This blog discusses suicidal feelings.
The weight of new figures
I don’t often get upset at work, but new figures from the Office for National Statistics released last week brought tears to my eyes. They’re hard to read. They show that LGB plus – lesbians, gay men, and bisexuals – people face a higher chance of death by suicide than the rest of the population, more than double. They also show 1.8 times the chance of death from alcohol and 2.8 times the chance of death from drug poisoning. Whilst trans people are not included in these figures, we have every reason to believe that for them the situation is likely to be even worse. Such inequality is always shocking but as these figures speak direct to my experience as a gay man, they hit especially hard.
Mike and his long struggle
A number of friends come to mind. Mike* carried a quiet sadness for years. He once told me he felt like he lived behind glass. We were left dazed and angry by his death, sad and in deep grief, but none of us thought of it as sudden. It was the end of a long struggle with shame and dark thoughts. His family had rejected him, and he saw them rarely in the last few years of his life. He had faced taunts at school and at work for the way he looked. And had been attacked twice in the street in the months running up to his death. He had found some support, in the form of antidepressants and CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy), but he slowly withdrew.
Suicide is often spoken about in harsh and simple terms. Some people call it an easy way out. Others call it a sign of weakness. Both views are wrong. Suicide can happen when a person cannot see another path, when someone feels trapped, or when support is thin, and the pressure feels endless. It is not a choice made in comfort. It is not a mark of personal failure. It is perhaps most clearly a sign that someone carried more than they should, more than they could bear.
Dan and a life on the edge
I met Dan* during my heavy partying era. We had a lot of fun. He was funny, and sexy. He attracted a lot attention. He could party long after the rest us had gone to bed. Despite the fun and joie de vivre, there was a tremor under the surface, a sense of disconnection, that I couldn’t really get to grips with. He had, on occasion, given me snippets of information about the violence of his childhood. As we both struggled with keeping some kind of balance in our lives, we slowly drifted apart. We fell out over something small, the detail of which I can barely recall, and didn’t see each other again. He died a few months later after taking a mix of drugs at a chemsex party that his body could not carry. His death was called poisoning. That word makes it sound like an accident. It was not that simple. It was tied to years of struggle, manifold losses, and the slow isolation from others that such chaos brings.
People often speak about addiction as if it is a choice. That view misses the truth. Addiction takes hold in the cracks left by pain and loss. It takes hold where support is thin. It takes hold when people feel alone. It takes hold when people feel they have no place to turn. For many LGB plus people, those cracks are wide. The new figures reflect the cost of that reality.
The complexities behind the numbers
These are the kind of stories – and there are many, many more – that sit behind the figures. They show that the issue is not only about substances or suicide. It is about mental ill health shaped by discrimination and the stresses of living in a world that still treats some people as less worthy. It is about the fear of violence and the pain of family rejection. It is about the strain of hiding parts of yourself to stay safe, not just once or twice, but repeatedly throughout our lives. All these pressures build over time and take a toll.
LGB plus communities are not a single story. They include people of all genders, people who are racialised, people who are working class, people living in poverty, disabled people and people who face pressure on several fronts at once. These figures are shocking, yet they may hide an even harsher reality for some sub groups. The weight of discrimination is not shared in equal measure. Some people carry more of it because of the ways discrimination and systemic violence relating to their race, class, faith, or disability shape their daily lives. When these pressures combine, the risk of harm rises in ways that the headline numbers cannot show.
Prevention is the answer
Population level action has a clear place in this story. Individual support matters, yet it cannot carry the whole weight. Strong protections in law, safe housing, fair access to work and stable income all influence the paths people take. A root and branch banishment of homophobia is key. When these foundations are secure, pressure can ease. When they are weak, harm spreads. Public health approaches can lift whole communities by reducing shame, strengthening safety, and creating spaces where people feel seen.
Strong and loving attachments at home help queer children grow with a steady sense of worth and safety. When family life offers trust and care, children build the confidence and inner strength they need to face the harder parts of growing up queer. Schools can offer clear messages of respect. Families can receive guidance that helps them support young people who question their identity. Local services can reach out before crisis takes hold. Prevention is not a single act. It is a steady set of actions and interventions that make life safer for those who face extra pressure.
Equitable treatment is another pillar. Fair access to care is not only about opening the door. It is about what happens once someone steps inside. Services can reflect the realities of LGB plus people. Staff can listen without judgement. Care plans can take account of the impact of discrimination. Treatment that respects identity and experience gives people a better chance of recovery.
The friends I lost did not fall through cracks by chance. Those cracks were shaped by discrimination, by fear, by poverty, by rejection, and by the long shadow of shame. They were killed by the same kind of system-wide neglect and hate that saw thousands of gay and bisexual men die of AIDS in the 1980s and 90s. These stories are not rare. I am familiar with some of them, yet still they represent unnecessary loss of life and the devastating legacies that the violent and sudden nature of their deaths leave behind.
The Samaritans are available 24 hours a day on 116 123 to provide confidential emotional support for people who are experiencing feelings of distress, despair or suicidal thoughts.
Find more helplines here
*Names and some details have been changed to protect anonymity.
