Life is Really Shit Sometimes
I'm not really sure what to say about this one. I have no more words.
This post talks about death and suicide.
Two days ago, on 30 September 2025, my Mum found my younger sister dead in her bedroom. To say that it’s been a head-fuck of a 48 hours would be the understatement of the century.
My little sister, Lisa, was 34 when she died. She leaves behind a 16-year-old son.
Today, while clearing out some of her things, we found three letters and some notes. The letters were addressed to our mum, my step-dad (her dad), and her son. They are brutal to read. I am not going to share them here because they are too personal, but I do want to share a few lines from her notes. They are hard to read, but they matter:
The worst part of having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t.
Why am I like this? I hate it. I hate myself! I put on a smile and act happy, but inside I’m dying.
All I do at night is cry. I hate it! No one wins when you’re like this.
If you are feeling anything like Lisa felt, please talk to someone. Talk to your loved ones, talk to a professional, call the Samaritans. We knew she struggled, but we didn’t know it was this bad.
Because she did not talk to us.
Talk. To. Someone. Suicide is not the answer, and trust me, it is fucking horrendous for the people you leave behind.
Wherever you are, Lis. We all love you and miss you terribly.
Lisa Quirk (24 April 1991 - 20 September 2025)