Here To Listen
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LinkedIn, the place to be, to be. Warning, this episode contains depictions and discussions of suicide, drug overdose, and other graphic depictions. Listener discretion is advised. You can find a full list of our content warnings in the show notes. We are The Watchers.

Unseeing.

Welcome to the Mayfair Watchers Society. Hey, I'm Trent Palmer with buildinglifelines.org. I'm 35 years old. I'm a suicide survivor. And I've experienced suicidal ideation on and off for the last 15 years. I think to say, it gets easier, wouldn't be entirely accurate. You grow, you learn, you get better at dealing with it. But you'll still have bad days, bad weeks, bad days.

At once. Sometimes even getting out of bed feels like scaling some impossible mountain. There were times in my journey, even surrounded by friends, I just felt so scared and alone. But if I could go back and tell my younger self one thing, it would be that I wasn't alone. According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, 0.5% of all adult Americans have attempted suicide at least once in their life. That's around 1.4 million people.

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It's a judgment-free environment, and we can assure you, everyone you're talking to at one of our booths has been where you are and understand how you feel. If you're currently experiencing self-destructive thoughts and don't know where to turn, come talk to us. At Building Lifelines, we're here to listen. I am freezing my ass off. I told you to bring a thicker coat. This is my thickest coat. I'm not used to this stuff. Just give her the thermos. Fine.

Ugh, my sweet nectar. Hey, hey, come on. We need to share that. There's an all-night diner like ten minutes down the road. We can fill it back up. Sure, but it's about the principle. Rationing, sharing, community spirit. It's a fucking coffee thermos, dude. Let's try to keep the bickering to a minimum. We need to be friendly, open, and empathetic with the people we're helping and each other. I still don't understand why we're here, Trent. This has got to be one of the smallest stations I've ever seen.

Aren't suicides more common in dense, urban areas? Not funny, Liza. What? Humor can be a coping mechanism. That's valid, right Trent?

Perhaps we'll stick to more, uh, low-key coping mechanisms while we're recording? Okay? Wait, you're recording this? Ugh, god, this better not be live or I am fucked. No, no, don't worry. It's not live. I just think it's good to keep a full record of our activities tonight for accountability purposes. I don't want us to breach any ethical boundaries. Can we cut the suicide joke? I really need to get that volunteer gig for my college application.

Accountability? You sure? That's the only thing you want to use that footage for? I mean, any footage can have a multitude of uses. Not like releasing it online, though, right?

Jesus Christ, man. Wouldn't that fall under a breach of ethical boundaries? Not if we anonymize the footage. And get releasing consent forms. I don't want to be out of line here, man, but I don't think someone who's come out here in the middle of the night to throw themselves in front of a train is in the right mind to sign legal documents. Yeah, I'm with you, Go on this one. Seems a little... exploitative. It wasn't my call, okay? Orders from the top. Don't Nuremberg this shit, man.

It's for a good cause. If they can compile one viral video of us and others helping people across the country, it'll send fundraising through the roof. We'll be the new It Gets Better. Oh yeah, bet the fat cats in admin will love that. The more we make, the more we can do. This operation isn't free. We're here for free. And for that, I'm eternally grateful. But don't worry, okay? Unless something happens, the only person who's ever going to see any of this footage is me.

Fine. I'm gonna head outside for a cigarette. It's a no-smoking platform. Will you spot me? Whatever. Yeah, yeah, I fucked up.

I think Hugo's gonna stay mad. You know him better than I do. Hugo's a sweet guy. And he cares. That's why he's out here freezing to death with the rest of us at ass o'clock. Did he... um... you know... I'm not technically allowed to ask during applications.

His sister, I think. Oh. He told me about it a few weeks back when we were at the orientation center in Utica, taking all of those super fun Building Lifelines training courses. Do you know when it happened?

Maybe two, three years ago? Jesus. It's like all the stories you've heard before. She seemed fine, happy even. Then again, they always do before they end, don't they? Nobody ever sees it coming. And he spent three years since beating himself up for not noticing what she took every effort to hide. Gotta love the classics, right? Can't save one, so you try to save some others and hope it evens out. But it never does.

Hey, Mr. Pessimist. I thought you were supposed to be the senior operator here. Where's all the rousing motivational speeches? We're not here to make speeches. These folks have probably heard enough speeches for one lifetime. We're here to listen. It's printed on the side of the tent. Well, shit. Did I ever tell you I'm dyslexic? Sorry. Not the time or place. I'm not bothered by it, really. You gotta laugh, right?

I think back when I was your age, maybe a little older. Every time I had a feeling I didn't like, I felt like I threw it down some deep, dark hole in the ground and told myself, I'll feel it later. And after years of doing this, one day I came back to the hole and found it was empty. Just dark all the way down. And I started to wonder, well, maybe they're not just gone. Maybe the hole was just deeper than I thought.

Maybe all I needed to do was close my eyes and jump in and I'd find whatever I needed down at the bottom. But in that state, what you don't realize is... There is no bottom. Right. But, of course, by the time you're deep enough to realize that, there's no way in hell you're getting back up. We all learn the hard way. It's why I always wear sweaters now. Well, maybe people don't have to learn the hard way. That's why we're here. To provide an alternative route.

Lucky for us, it doesn't seem like many people are taking the train tonight. I wasn't expecting any traffic until after midnight. It's strange. Trains run all night here. Platform never closes. Maybe a lot of people just want to leave town, one way or another. Hey, isn't it kind of weird that the platform never closes, but none of these trains have ever stopped? Huh. Guess I never noticed that. Perfect setup for the suicide capital of the district. It still isn't peak times yet.

Most of the suicides that occur here happen between 1 and 2. How many suicides are we actually talking about? Six on these exact tracks, from this platform, in the last two months. Fuck me. Can you keep a secret? Roll the dice and find out. I've manned a few different here-to-listen booths now. Portland Bridge in Connecticut, Vista Bridge, Tappan Zee. The Mayfair train station is the only one where they gave me a special briefing.

What kind of special briefing? You're not superstitious, are you? I return. Got your coffee, Liz. You're an angel. Be careful, it's hot. Just the way I like it. Hey, Hugo? Yeah? I just wanted to say I'm sorry about earlier. Look, it's a- I should have told you and Lisa about the recording from the onset. I understand we're dealing with some extremely sensitive issues here, and our communication should be built on mutual respect and trust.

I'll do better from now on. I promise. Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Really. Aw, I feel like my heart's grown three sizes today. How was the diner? Crappy, run down. Though in my experience, the uglier the diner, the better the coffee. Oof, incorrect. But it'll do. Glad we've got that problem solved, at least. Did I miss anything here? Trent was just about to tell me something spooky. Oh yeah? Well...

My lips are sealed. The suspense is legit killing me. So...

Is there a point to this story or just shock value?

Wait for it. Obviously, suicide by train isn't uncommon. We've got 12 different here-to-listen booths established at major stations across the country. But the admins told me at Mayfair station, things have been a little more… aberrant. What kind of "aberrant" are we talking about here? On the minor end, typical ghost story bullshit. Reports of dark figures lingering around the track at midnight, weird noises, sounds of crying coming off the rails. They've conducted studies.

Even people who are otherwise completely mentally healthy experience the call of the void at abnormal rates when standing near the edge of the platform. Call of the void? Sounds like a pretty sick metal band. It's a psychological concept. Sometimes people experience intrusive thoughts, telling them to jump off high ledges, leap into rivers, that kind of thing. That's fucked up. Didn't know they had a name for it. We can thank the French for that. L'appel du vide.

I... remember my sister telling me about it. She used to be a psychology major. But you said that was all on the minor end of the weirdness scale, right Trent? So what qualifies as major? Well... you guys have strong stomachs, right? I guess. Reasonably so. Okay. Goes without saying that the bodies left behind by trained suicides aren't pretty. But the bodies from this station are always missing pieces.

Like, chunks? Bigger. Whole arms, legs, heads. Sizeable sections of the torso. Maybe the pots were destroyed in the crash? Getting hit by a train would fucking obliterate you. Sure, but in that case, there'd still be pieces, right? You blow up an arm and you've still got an arm's worth of material left over. Bones, maybe some fingers, but here, it's just gone. Normally, given the time of night the suicides happen, the ones who jumped were the only ones on the platform.

So you've got some horrified train conductor shutting down the lines and calling the emergency services at 2 a.m. But it takes those guys maybe 20, 30 minutes to get down there. And at that time, parts just disappear in the dark. Animals, right? It's got to be animals doing it. Don't you think someone would notice a raccoon or coyote dragging away an entire human leg? Trevor Henderson here with an ad break. If you'd like to get early and ad-free access to Mayfair Watcher Society, consider supporting us on the Apollo Podcast app.

This episode is brought to you by Shopify. Whether you're selling a little or a lot, Shopify helps you do your thing however you cha-ching. From the launch your online shop stage all the way to the we just hit a million orders stage. No matter what stage you're in, Shopify's there to help you grow. Sign up for a $1 per month trial period at shopify.com slash special offer all lowercase. That's shopify.com slash special offer. And now back to our show.

I'll be real, I kinda regret asking now that we've just gotta sit out here. I don't want any coyotes stealing my legs. Nobody's stealing anybody's legs. As long as we stay off the tracks. I don't believe in ghost stories. It's not a ghost story. The admins told me this. It was professional advice. Sure, but the details get all blown out of proportion, you know? Like, did either of you hear about the San Frans Mila?

I think I've had enough horror for one night, man. Now, Liz, this is different. A couple of years back, people reported that if you went to the Golden Gate Bridge in the middle of the night, you might run into the Smiler, this tall, pale guy, grinning from ear to ear. You told me this wasn't horror. Let him finish. We're here to listen tonight. Go on, Hugo. Well, these days, nobody can let a sleeping mystery lie, so people went out there looking for the Smiler, and eventually they found him.

Wait, he was just a guy? Yeah, that's the thing. He was just some guy walking up and down the Golden Gate Bridge every night, grinning. But why? He actually did an interview with Vice last year. He told him that back in 2016, his brother threw himself off the bridge. And he left a note at his house saying that he was going down to the bridge, and if even one person smiled at him on the way, he wouldn't do it. But nobody did.

So now, he makes sure that everybody who walks down that bridge at night sees a smile. Aww. That's a nice story. I'm surprised I hadn't heard about it. It stayed pretty local. I've got family out there. You know, I once... Hello? I'm sorry! No, please don't be sorry. I'm Trent. This is Lisa and Hugo. Hey. Hi. We're here to listen with buildinglifelines.org. The... the suicide people? No.

Of course. There we go. Nice and easy. Rebecca.

Okay, then. How are you feeling, Rebecca? Uh, not... not good. Did you come out here to catch a train? No, no. I... I came out here to sleep. But now I'm... I'm not so sure. Sleep? Do you have a safe home to go back to, Rebecca? No, we're safe. No, we're safe. Anymore. Rebecca, I know it can feel hopeless. But I promise you,

There's always another way out. There are people out here who care for you. No, it's not like that. You don't get it. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Why do you feel that way, Rebecca? Rebecca? Are you okay? You can take all the time you need to respond. We're here for you. No pressure. He told me I could sleep here. Hey, who's he? This guy. I've known him for so long.

Ever since I was 13 years old. He picked me. Does he have a name? If he does, I don't know it. Well, what does he look like? Like a long coat, full of hands and faces. He's got a hat too, if that helps. And you say this man has been following you since you were 13? I remember the day. I remember the day I'd started hurting myself.

School was hard, bullies were harder, but they never said anything meaner than what I heard in my head every day, so my mom got me therapy sessions. Did you find these sessions helpful? Sure, sure, until he came along. He was small at first, but every so often, he'd get taller, like somehow there was more of him. Did you ever tell your mom or therapist about him?

Sure, what do you think they said, huh? Some messed up little kid's overactive imagination. That's all. Did you ever feel like he was making you hurt yourself, Rebecca? No, no, that was me. My problems. But he liked it. He encouraged it. I think... I think he can smell hurt people. He wants them to hurt more.

It's why he stopped me from sleeping. How long have you been unable to sleep? Weeks. I lost count. And every night, I'd hear all his feet walking up my stairs like a spider. And every time I tried to sleep, I'd feel all those hands on me again. Rebecca, there are shelters. There are places where we can take you to get the help you need. There are treatments, medications...

It's too late for that now. He spoke to me last night, told me the only place I'm ever going to sleep is on the tracks. But I'm not stupid. I know the train's going to hurt, and he'll enjoy that. But I'm not going to let him win. I took the sleeping pill, so I won't feel it. How many did you take, Rebecca? All of them.

Oh, fuck. Shit, shit, shit. Rebecca. Okay, stay with me. Are you okay? No, no, no, no, no, no. Fuck, fuck. Shit, okay. I'll call an ambulance. Hugo, you have a car, right? Yeah. Great. There's a hospital just outside of town. You and Lisa get her there as quickly as possible. Understand? Okay. Okay. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Please don't die. Come on, Rebecca. Come on, Rebecca. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. Call me as soon as she's in treatment.

Come on, please. Please pick up. Please pick up. Oh, for fuck's sake. Why don't you just... Mike! Hey. So, so, so sorry to wake you up at this hour, but I promise it's important. We've got a situation. Attempted suicide at the Mayfair train station booth. Yeah, yeah, we were able to intercept. Hugo and Lisa are taking her to the hospital. Overdose, if you can believe it. Yes, of course I'm holding down the booth while they take her. You'll know something when I do.

Thank you. Just thought I should let you know. Any further updates, I'll just text you and you can read them in the morning, okay? Okay. Thank you. I appreciate it. Bye. Hey. I'm Grant Palmer with buildinglifefines.org. I'm 35 years old. I'm a suicide survivor. And I've experienced suicide ideation on and off for the last 15 years. I think to say, it gets easier. Wouldn't you agree?

Fucking technology. You grow. You learn. You get better at dealing with it. But you'll still have bad days. Bad weeks. Bad months. Turn off. Sometimes even getting out of bed feels like scaling some impossible mountain. Stupid, stupid phone. I just felt something. Suicide is an epidemic. And on a national level, it's going right under us. But in building lifelines, we're not here to talk. Listen. Listen.

Hello, Trent. May I sit down? No. You're not here. You can't be. Rebecca just imagined you. You're here to listen, Trent. Listen to me. I don't want to. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? You took something that belonged to me. You owe me.

She didn't belong to you. Then who did she belong? Hugo, Lisa, they're gonna come back. What'd it do? They couldn't see you or me. We always speak alone. Why? Why? Why lead them into the tracks? What the hell do you get out of that? Ha ha ha ha!

I've been building myself out of spare parts from broken people. The rubble of so many waste. Look at all beautiful faces. Put it away. I don't want to see it. Oh, very. You'll see it closer soon enough. No, no, no, no.

I want you to know that I admire you. You have gotten so good at faking smiles, laughing naturally, even though you never get the joke. Letting everyone believe that you have some success story. A paragon, the living light at the end of the tunnel. I don't have to listen to this. Aren't you here to listen, Trent?

That's the value of our coal in your heart, after all, isn't it? People can keep casting their cancer, and you can keep hoping that one day you'll have enough raw material to build some better pit. You're wrong. It's not like that. I'm better. Yes. Born of bad blood with holes.

And maybe all those feelings you throw away will come floating back to the top like soap scone. But it's getting harder to convince yourself, isn't it? Shut up. God damn it. I don't want to hear it. You're a liar. Damn liar. Just like Rebecca, drowning in vomit in the back of Hugo's car. She won't make it to the hospital. What a waste of good.

What the hell are you? The answer wouldn't save you. You can't save anyone, Trent. You're... I... I just want to feel better. I... The cure is simple. You just need to feel the metal of the tracks against your forehead, and everything will feel... Do you promise? Or... Is you will... Like this?

Exactly. I'm here to listen. I'm here to listen. I'm here to listen. Ha ha. Five. Two. Four. Listen. Mayfair Watcher Society is based on the works of Trevor Henderson. Here to Listen was written by Henry Gally. Trent was played by John Grylls. Hugo was played by Scott Paladin. Lisa was played by Madeline Moore. Rebecca was played by Arissa Montanez.

The Stranger was played by Dean R. The dialogue editor was Daisy McNamara. The sound designer was Brad Colbrook. Music was by Matt Royberger. The showrunner is Pacific S. Obadiah. And the creative director is me, Trevor Henderson. Produced by Tom Owen and Brad Miska. A Bloody FM Show.