What's my story?

I do not have a degree in psychology or social work. I have an undergraduate degree in art and an MBA. Tell me how those two mesh and I will be eternally grateful. Anyway, I have no formal training to talk about depression and mental health, other than my own story. I am a guy, 48 years old, married with three girls. I have a great, big, beautiful house out in the suburbs of Washington DC. I have a nice car and a kick ass motorcycle. I make very good money and I think most people would say that I am pretty nice guy with my shit together.

And yet, sometime in early July 2017, I bought a gun and tried to kill myself. Not what you would expect from someone like me. The fact that I bought a gun may not seem like a big deal unless you knew me. I despise guns. I have never had a use for them and am a proud member of the gun control movement. But after several weeks of my mental health spiraling out of control, I went to a Cabella’s and bought a Smith and Wesson 357. I guess my thinking was that if I’m gonna do it, I am gonna do it right, whatever that means. I took it home a spend a few days with it, trying to get to know it and figure out how to use it. YouTube was quite helpful, so score one for social media.

 One bright Monday morning, after another fight with my wife about nothing much, I packed the gun up and drove to a secluded spot. I decided that I didn’t want to do it at home where the girls would find me and I wanted to do it somewhere outside so that no one would need to clean up after me. At least I am considerate. Anyway, it was early July and it was stupid hot. As I sat in the car, I loaded the gun and practiced holding it for optimal firepower. I was terrified of my attempt not being successful. My luck would be waking up in the ER, being told that I blew a hole in my forehead and will be going home in a week to a very pissed off family.

 After about a half hour, it became painfully obvious that I was a pussy and that I couldn’t even bring myself to pull the trigger. I wanted to so badly but I just couldn’t do it. I was disgusted with myself. I pulled my iPhone out and googled something about finding the courage to kill yourself. Yeah, no joke. I did. Well, apparently, Google is smarter than me (who knew?) and the first item was the number for the Suicide Prevention Hotline which is 1-800-273-8255.

 I’m gonna share that part of the story next time but I want to end this here. I am also going to go into the events that led up to that hot July day, but my point to all of this is that depression is real and these assholes that say depression can be beat by going for a walk or calling a friend need to go away. They are not contributing anything of value. If you have cancer or heart disease, will a walk and coffee with a friend fix things? Not likely. Men, in particular, are in a tough spot because we have been told to suck it up and tough it out. Well, that is bullshit. Anyway, this is my story. Hope it helps someone.