It's ok...

Going back to that July afternoon; by now I have now had my first brush with a SWAT team and had a dozen guns pointed at me, gotten my first ride in the back of a police car, and had handcuffs on.  All in all, a wonderful afternoon of firsts.  So let's proceed to the ER at the hospital; the destination of my first police car ride.  

I think we can all agree that at that point, I was in what is referred to as "in crisis."  

I was led into the ER and passed through the waiting room.  So I guess I was getting the VIP treatment.  I was taken into a room and offered a seat.  Sitting with handcuffs behind your back is not what I would refer to as comfortable.  

An officer was standing in the doorway, I guess to make sure that I didn't take the cuffs off and tear the place up.  Actually, I kinda understood why they left them on.  When I was in college I worked at a psych unit in a hospital.  I had seen more than my fair share of guys that tried to do just that with limited success. 

After a few moments of silence, the office stepped out of the room and then came in.  He said that if I continued to be calm, they would take the cuffs off. I was reminded that this was based on my continued cooperation.  

As the blood began to flow through my hands again, I enjoyed the moment of silence.  It was several moments and quite honestly, all of the morning's events was kinda sensory overload.  It was cool in that ER room and no one pointing a gun at me or yelling at me was a welcome relief.  I was finally able to shut out much of my surroundings.  

I think I mentioned the 12 year old officer that was trying to make small talk with me during the period of no cuffs in an earlier post.  Was a bit odd, to say the least.  But the quiet allowed my mind to slow down a bit.  

And then my wife walked in.  

She did not run in and scold me or anything dramatic.  She simply knelt down to hug me.  I had never been so embarrassed in my life.  I had truly failed as her husband and partner.  I can say so with no hesitation that was the absolute lowest moment in my life.  Obviously, my thinking was still quite distorted and I was not well.  At that moment, all I could do was hate myself even more for not having the balls to go through with it.  If only I had just pulled the trigger, I wouldn't have to face this moment.  

How fucking selfish of me.  

Even though I had it all figured out so that I would park somewhere so that the family wouldn't have to deal with me and that I would shoot myself outside so no one would have to clean up, I was still so clueless about the effects.  And as I sat there with my wife holding me, and shame washing all over me, all I could do was think of how I could have avoided this moment by pulling the trigger.  

I tried to fight the tears but was unsuccessful.  I began shaking as she held me tighter.  She continued to tell me that it was ok and that we would get through this.  That she loved me and that I was going to get the help I needed.  My spiral into despair continued.  I did not deserve her and she certainly did not deserve me.  I couldn't look at her and I couldn't hug her.  I have done lots of stupid shit in my life for which I was mortified upon realization, but this was the absolute worst.  It would have been so much better if she had come in and told me what a fucking asshole I was.  But she just had to the take the damn empathetic and loving approach.  Damn her.  

I was no longer that tough guy that proudly walked out of Cabelas with a new gun.  I was a shattered man that has reached rock bottom. Actually, that guy was pretty shattered but had yet to face any of it. Well, it was now time to face the reality of my mental health.  

The point of this one is to remind you that when you are in a serious depression, it is impossible to think ahead.  The fallout of your actions is the furthest thing from you at that point.  Really, I had not yet begun to face the fallout but it was the very beginning of realizing just how selfish I was being.  I had devastated the people that I loved and loved me.  I had put them through something that no one should ever have to go through.  And not accepting responsibility for that would be the shittiest thing ever.  

Don't kid yourself, you can't do this alone.  You cannot cure your cancer on your own.  You cannot diagnose your diabetes on your own.  Talk to someone.  And dont beat yourself up once you get to the place of realizing you need help. Push the self hatred to the side, you have time for that later.  

Buying a gun

I am struggling with this one as I do not want to provide anyone with a step by step process on how to kill ones self.  But this is mostly for my befit and remembering what the head I was thinking when I did this.  This isnt to tell you how to do this, this is to show you the idiocy of what I was doing and thinking. 

If you have been reading my previous posts, you are probably picking up that I am not a fan of guns.  I had never own one prior to the one that I purchased to kill myself.  I had no idea what to look for in a gun.  I didn't really need it to have too many bells and whistles since I didn't expect to use it more than once.  Thats a pretty bad joke but its true.  

It was July 2, 2017.  A typical hot summer day in Virginia.  My wife and I had another fight that morning.  I can't say I know what it was about.  I was in a really dark place and wasn't all that pleasant.  I do vividly remember saying to her that she never considers how she makes others feel. At that point, nothing she could have said would have made me feel better and I was likely deflecting.  I hopped on my motorcycle and drove to the the nearest Cabela's to look at their guns.  At that point, I didn't really have a specific plan in mind, just that I knew that I needed a gun to make it happen. 

I am 6'2, 260 lbs and strutting in all of the swagger of someone riding a big V-Twin motorcycle.  I have a suspicion that as I approached the display case, the guys behind them figured that I knew what I wanted and it would be a quick transaction.  

"Morning, what are you looking for?"

"Um, not sure.  I guess I am just looking right now"

"OK, just holler when you need to see something."

Honestly, I had no clue what I was looking for.  I just wanted something that I could put bullets in and shoot them.  But as I looked at all of the handguns, I decided I needed something cool looking.  I guess the notion of someone finding me with a hole in my head and a lame handgun in my hand was just unacceptable.  

So I held a few, looking like a knew what I was doing, and selected a Smith and Wesson SD40.  Below is a picture of it.  Looks kinda manly and cool, doesn't it?  

If you said yes, you are wrong.  

I think it was $350 or something like that. I said that I will take it but before I could wrap up my new purchase, I had to pass a background check.  This had to be the stupidest process I have ever experienced.  

The guy directed me to a computer and had me fill out some questions.  After a few minutes, I learned that I failed the background check.  I said that I had no idea why I would have failed, I have no felonies or anything unusual.  In fact, I had a government clearance and if you can pass one of those, you sure as hell should be able to pass a gun background check.  This is where it got weird.

The guy, who I learned was a police officer, picking up some side cash at Cabela's, suggested that I retake the check and this time, I should reconsider my answers and change some.  That I may have been over thinking some or one of the questions.  He then smiled and winked at me.  I answered them all honestly.  but then went I went back and retook it, this question jumped out at me:

Are you an unlawful user of, or addicted to, marijuana or any depressant, stimulant, narcotic drug, or any other controlled substance?

I answered honestly that I had previously smoked weed.  Thinking that some weed 20 years ago wasn't that big of a deal.  But since that could be the only one that was preventing me from taking home the sweet tool of death,  I decided to say that I had not.  

And low and behold, I passed.  

How fucking stupid. 

Anyway, I picked out a box of ammo that the moonlighting cop suggested as his preferred bullets.  

And with that, I walked out with a shiny new gun and box of bullets.  Walking through the store, I felt so proud of my purchase.  I could feel all of the jealous eyes on me.  Yeah, this baby was gonna blow a beautiful hole in my skull that they would all envy. For the first time in my 47 years, I had my very own gun.  

I shoved the box in my shirt and carefully rode straight home.  I found a safe place in my garage to hide it until I would need it.  I loaded the bullets in the magazine and practiced my best Dirty Harry, feeling strong and powerful.  All the while, I knew what the purpose of the gun was.  That its one and only purpose would do the job.  

You know the drill and I do not want this to seem flip, but if you are hurting and need to talk to someone, please call the Suicide Prevention hotline at 800-273-8255.  

The people you see at Wawa...

I get up around 5:00am each weekday and drive up to my job about 30 miles from my house.  Its a hellish drive, takes about an hour and a half and two hours in the evening.  DC traffic is the devil.  So each morning, I stop and get coffee, typically at a nearby 7/11 or Wawa.


In the fall of 2018, one blurry-eyed, chilly morning, I pulled into Wawa and found a parking spot next to a police car.  Nothing unusual, just a couple of cops in their squad car, chatting.  I got out and went in to get my cup of rocket fuel to get through the drive.  While pouring, police officers came in.  One of which was the female officer that spoke to me in that commuter lot last July.

<gulp>

I am not sure that I have ever been "triggered" before so I was never certain what that meant, until that very moment.  Standing at the coffee counter, I was instantly transported back to that moment in July of 2017.  Feeling the sweat and heat of that day, sitting in my car, pressing the gun against my head.  Overcome with despair and hopelessness that rocked me to my very core.

The officers immediately walked to the coffee counter and began pouring cups for themselves.  They continued to chat about someone in their department that was requiring everyone to complete additional training that neither felt was necessary.  They did not appear to notice me soaking in everyone word spoken by the two of them, but the woman's voice was drilling into my brain.

They were chatting about someone they worked with and how they had an issue with something this person had said.  To be honest, that was about all I could make out.  I just could not take my eyes off that woman.  

As I sat in the car that July day, soaked in sweat and panic as the SWAT team began to take their positions around me, her voice was like a lifeline that I couldn't decide if I should take.  I knew that the day would not end well, regardless of what I decided.  But her soft approach was welcome after the previous officer's more direct and hard tone.  She seemed to be empathic to the mess I was in and less threatening.  I guess her approach just spoke to me and encouraged me to take the path of less bullets flying into me.  

Within moments, they paid for their coffee and were back in their vehicle.  I instantly regretted not approaching her and thanking her for her help that day.  I wanted her to know that for all of the shit that they likely deal with, her work that day was greatly appreciated not only by me but my family, as well.  

Pretty sure the people behind me are getting pissed at my slow pace.  I snapped out of the moment I was sent back to and finished up. 

I know that I will forever carry the events of that day and look forward to not panicking as the anniversary of that day approaches.  But until then, I will alway be watching for that officer as I get my morning cup of coffee.  

This isn't about anything other than the person and his family...

Last night, amid all of the Twitter frenzy about Trumps tax avoidance, there was a story that, while not getting the same attention, was getting traction.  Brad Parscale, former Trump campaign manager was hospitalized for suicide attempt.  

https://www.cnn.com/2020/09/27/politics/brad-parscale-hospitalized/index.html

I have to admit, I struggled with whether or not to share the link.  I am in no way, shape or form, a Trump fan.  And my post about this is not about Trump or a commentary on his campaign.  I am not wanting to draw attempting to Trump or the man at the center of the story.  But in reality, it's just me, you and a half dozen bots reading this blog so I doubt it's going matter much.  

First of all, I grieve for Brad and his family. Being at this place in his life and then to have it plastered all over the Internet must be a nightmare.  Right now, he and his family need to focus on him and getting through this crisis.  He isn't even out of the hospital.  And now, 64 million of his closest friends know about this.  Instead of thinking of what brought him to this place, I cannot help but believe that he is thinking about damage control for his own reputation, let alone for that turd he worked for.  Of course, I am speculating but I do remember having to get a hold of a phone so that I could explain my absence from the office without raising too many eyebrows.  I imagine that Brad may be thinking the same.  

And the news is usually playing in the day room so its not like he isn't aware that the world knows about this.  

Right now, there are some on the left that are taking joy of kicking Brad while he is down and seeing this as an analogy for the Trump campaign.  And that is wrong.  This is not about Trump.  It's about Brad and his family.  

Leave him the fuck alone. 

At some point, I imagine that Brad will make a connection to Trump and losing his job as campaign manager this summer to his current mental health.  And that is a pretty fair connection.  We tend to wrap our self identity to our jobs and to fall so hard and so publicly will, without a doubt, have an impact.  But this isn't about politics.  Its about a human being hurting in a way that can destroy oneself.  

Be a decent person and stop talking about Brad.  Say a little prayer for him and his family. 

Yeah, I'm still here...

Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he didn’t come looking for me. Maybe that cop car that went speeding through the lot didn’t see me or wasn’t even looking for me. 

It was just after noon and the temperature outside was flirting with 100. My fancy little hybrid car turned off after about 10 minutes and I may not have noticed. The radio shut off and the temp inside the car was quickly climbing.

I sat in the silence and watched a big black SUV pull into the lot and park at an angle about 200 feet from me. Several guys in black SWAT gear got out and immediately laid on the ground by the SUV in sniper positions and pointed their rifles at my car. Guess that the cop did see me and was looking for me.

Wait a second…did you just say a SWAT team just rolled up on you?

Yes, my friends, a SWAT team was called to blow my head off if I tried to kill myself. I shit you not. 

My iPhone began ringing and as I answered it, another large massive black SUV came and this time, it drove right up to my little car and touched its huge bumper to mine. Well, it sat much higher than my car so it was more like the grill filled the windshield of my little car. The driver got out and ran behind the SUV with a weapon and pointed it at me. Yeah, this is all getting a bit surreal at this point. I looked at the caller ID and knew that it was Theresa.

“You lied me to me. You said you weren’t tracing the call. You lied!” 
“What do you mean, Chris. No, I didn’t. What’s going on? What’s going on?! “ 
“Well, I got a half a dozen guys pointing guns at me right now!” 

As I said that, another SUV, a police car and a large SWAT vehicle. You know, the ones you see on NCIS or some other crime shows. About 4 guys piled out of that and took up sniper positions all around it. There were now about a dozen guys pointing guns at me as if they were about to try to take Mosul and Fallujah. How the hell did all of this happen? I just wanted to rid myself all of all of this pain and hurt and now I am staring at a scene where I would expect Denzel Washington to get out of a squad car, grab a bullhorn and begin telling me that he is the negotiator that is going to work through this with me. I guess that shit they do in the movies is legit. Except someone else started yelling at me with a bull horn.

It’s now got to be over 100 in my car. I have Theresa on the phone, pleading with me to tell her whats going on. There are a dozen guys with weapons pointed at me. I have a massive SUV pulled up to the front of my car with its bumper over the hood of my car to make sure I didn’t try to drive away. And now I got someone yelling at me, to throw out my weapon. Yeah, this is going to end well.

Someone else started calling me so I finally thanked Theresa for lying to me and told her that I just wanted someone to talk to and now I have this mess and I hung up so that I could take the other call.

“What?!”
“Chris, my name is Detective James and I am going to help you through this.” 

Holy shit, they really do say that in these situations. This time, it was clear that Detective James was a female officer and her tone was a bit more…well, pleasant isn’t quite the word, but we’ll go with that, for lack of a better word.

“I haven’t done anything wrong. I have a gun and the Republicans say that I can have that so I haven’t done anything illegal.” 

Honestly, I do not know why I had to throw in a little bit of politics there but I remember clearly saying that. I think it may have had to do with the absurdity of the situation. Someone that wants to shoot themselves being met with more guns. If you can figure that one out, let me know because I would love for someone to explain it to me.

 The detective quickly agreed that I had done nothing illegal but added she wanted to help me through this so that no one gets hurt.

“Well, let’s start by getting all of the guns pointed away from me.” 
“Chris, we need to get that gun away from you first. Do you still have the gun?” 

At this moment, you might be inclined to think that someone in this situation would be terrified. That the sight of all of those guns pointing at you might be a bit intimidating. You might also think that everything would be a blur. Well, I am here to tell you that time has a way of standing still in these moments. It did for me, anyway. Normally, when I see a cop, I immediately drop my speed and try to get a seat belt on, as nonchalantly as possible. Regardless of where the officer is, whether he/she is driving directly behind me or parking at a McDonalds, I tend to feel some sort of anxiety that I have don’t something wrong. However, fear nor intimidation were present at that moment. I was furious. Some nut case can walk around a shopping center with their gun out or some idiot can eat a burrito while their God given right to carry an AR-15 is safe but I can’t sit with a gun in a parking lot without having a SWAT team present?! But I digress.

The air inside of the car was barely breathable. My black, long sleeved shirt was soaked with sweat and my eyes were burning from sweat pouring into them. The detective on the phone repeated the question if I still had the gun. I had made it 47 years without ever shooting a gun and my first attempt was looking to try shooting my way out of this mess didn’t seem like a very feasible option. Tom Cruise, I ain’t. So as tense and stressful as the situation was, I realized that I didn’t have too many options. By now, I was livid with the entire situation and I just wanted it all to go away. This was a bad idea that had gone horribly wrong and I just wanted to forget that it happened and move on with my day. I was angry at the guys standing in front of me, pointing weapons at me. I was angry at Theresa for lying to me. I was angry at the detective on the phone that wouldn’t leave me alone. I just wanted it all to go away. 

“Chris, are you there? Do you still have the gun? Talk to me, Chris.” 

Jumping out of the car and yelling at these guys didn’t seem to be a good idea but I didn’t really know what else to do and I was just getting more and more pissed about it. 

“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Chris, we need to get that gun. Is it still loaded? Can you empty the chamber?” 

I have to remind you that I had never fired a gun prior to this moment so I had no idea what that meant, to ‘empty a chamber’ although I had an idea of what was being asked. And I had played with the gun enough by then to know how to remove the magazine. I started to think that the only this was gonna go away was if I just did what I was being asked and maybe they would leave me alone. 

“There’s nothing in it. I removed the magazine and it’s no longer loaded.” 
“OK, that’s great, Chris. Now I need you to roll the window down and throw the magazine out of the car. Can you do that for me, Chris?” 

I was just plain hot and pissed off at this point and wanted this over. I wanted to go home and pretend none of this happened. But that didn’t look too likely. And then my phone lit up and my wife was calling me.

Fuck 

Ok, enough for today. Writing all of this stuff brings me back to that day and sometimes I get too much into my head and that is rarely a good thing. The point of this post was to A) tell my story and B) remind you that once you begin setting wheels in motion, they can take on a life of their own and you can lose control pretty quickly. If you are hurting and feeling desperate, find someone that can help you. I would strongly recommend a call to 911 or the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.

But whatever you do, just know that a nap or a drink or a hit from a bong isn’t going to make things better.

Don’t do this on your own.

Find someone that can and will help you.

Don’t wait.

Who will walk your daughters down the aisle?

To be honest, I am not sure abut sharing this post as I don’t want to give away any secrets but the realty is that this is as much for me as it is for you and this is a pretty critical part of the entire day. When you call the Suicide Prevention Hotline, you are asked a question; are you military or non-military? This is an important question as it determines how much of the rest of the conversation will go. So keep that in mind, its gonna come up in a few minutes.

 I drove to a commuter lot, about 20 some miles outside of Washington DC. It was a Monday, the day before the Fourth of July, a holiday week, so the lot was pretty empty and I knew that I would have some privacy. I parked the car at the edge of the lot, near some tall bushes. As I sat in the car and played with the gun, I was struggling to find the courage to pull the trigger. I loaded the magazines and was ready to get this done. I kept holding the loaded gun to my temple with my finger on the trigger, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I reminded myself how much better off everyone would be and it was time to do this.

The plan was to call 911, tell them where they can find me and then get out of my car, step into the bushed behind me and pull the trigger. No mess and the car could be used or sold. How thoughtful of me. Anyway, it must’ve been a half hour and I was oddly stoic about this. I wasn’t emotional, I was trying to accomplish something. I was strangely removed from what I was there to do.

It was almost noon and I was getting irritated with myself. It was too late to go back on this and I needed to get this done. I know, right about you are thinking, “What the fuck? Just stop and go home”. Well, with a clear thinking person you would be spot on. I did a Google search on how to find the courage to blow my head off, hoping that maybe Wikipedia might have some sage advice for me. I might as well has searched for “how fucking stupid am I?”

The first item that appeared was the number for the Suicide Prevention Hotline. Which, in case you are wondering, is 1-800-273-8255. I stared at the number for several minutes and began to question whether or not I really wanted to do this. For some odd reason, I was quickly snapped back into reality and the absurdity of the situation hit me. This is so not me and clearly, something is very wrong for me to be in this situation. I figured, what the hell. Let’s see what they have to say. I dialed the number, 1-800 27…Oh, I already mentioned that, didn’t I? When you call the hotline, before you speak to someone, they ask you if you are a vet or not. Clearly, I was not on my game that day and the neurons were not doing their thing so pressed 1 or 2 or something to say that I was a vet. Just to be clear, I am not a vet. But did you know that every 65 minutes, a vet kills themselves? That’s 22 a day. How fucked up is that? Clearly, we have a problem that the hotline is all too well aware of.

Anyway, I was quickly put through to someone and a friendly voice asked me my name and rank. I told them that I was sorry, that I made a mistake and I hung up. Well, that doesn’t really end the conversation. Within seconds, I received a call from a number that I did not recognize. It was the Hotline telling that they received a call from this number. This time, I paused. The woman on the other end asked me what was going on. With a shaky voice, I told her my name and that I was having a rough day. But before I said anything else, I asked her if she was tracing the call or calling the police. She said that she wasn’t and that this was all between us.

 I don’t remember her name so I am going to call her Theresa. She had a very deep, soft voice. I imagined her to be a middle aged woman with blond curly hair and green eyes that hid a lot of grief. I don’t think that you can have a job where you spend your day trying to talk people off a ledge without carrying a lot of sadness. Theresa asked me what a ‘rough day’ meant and I told her that I was sitting with a gun in my hands, trying to talk myself into pulling the trigger.

At this point, I am starting to come to my senses more and more and realizing just how bad things are. Not so much about the situation, but the fact that I am wanting to kill myself and abandon my family. She started asking about the gun and where I was at. I told her the gun was on my lap but that no one is around so no one else can get hurt. I quickly become agitated by her asking about the gun, as if I was not allowed to have it. I snapped that I haven’t broken any laws. She quickly pivoted the conversation to ask about my family and if I was married or had any kids. She asked lots of questions about them and how they would be if I wasn’t around. I told her how much better off they would be if I wasn’t in their lives.

We talked for probably 20 minutes and then she asked me a question that stopped me cold; who would walk my daughters down the aisle someday. I still get choked up when I think about that. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the car. She reminded me that I had earned that right to walk them down the aisle when they get married and that based on everything that I had told her, that they would certainly disagree with my assessment that they would be better off without me.

 At that moment, I knew that I didn’t want to die and that I needed to go home. Theresa asked if there was someone that I could call to come get the gun. She wanted the number of someone that we could call together to make sure that I called someone. We made a deal that I would contact my pastor and give him the gun. But she would call me back within 20 minutes which we agreed would give me enough time to go to him to give him the gun.

 I got off the phone and I texted my wife to come see me where I was parked. She asked why and I simply said that I needed to see her. I kept thinking about what Theresa said, that it was my job to walk my girls down the aisle someday. That really stuck with me. For all of the struggles that I may experience, it was my right as their dad to be part of their special day and to be there for them.

I was beginning to think a little more clearly and about getting a hold of Larry, my pastor. I didn’t know Larry very well but I figured that as a pastor, he probably wouldn’t mind helping me out in this situation.

An unknown number called me within moments of hanging up with Theresa. A gruff, deep, booming voice came up and asked for Chris. Sergeant Thomas of the police department introduced himself and asked me how I was doing. Again, he asked for my rank and what branch I has been part of. I immediately realized how he got my number and I experienced a level of betrayal and anger that I am unable to put into words.

Theresa had flat out lied to me and ran my phone number, even though she had repeatedly promised me that she had not. I quickly told him that I was fine and I wasn’t doing anything illegal. He said that I was correct, that I wasn’t doing anything illegal but that he heard that I was possibly a danger to myself and possibly others and he cannot allow that.

How the fuck would you know that? 

I told him that he had nothing to worry about and that everything was just fine. I then hung up. It had now been less than 10 minutes since I hung up with Theresa and my blood was boiling. I began my day feeling miserable and worthless and now I was also feeling totally betrayed on top of it. Just then, a cop car flew through the parking lot.

Oh shit, that was fast. 

By the rate of speed he was going, I would have thought he was coming to see me but he went in one entrance of the lot and out the other without coming anywhere near me. The lot was pretty empty and it couldn’t have been too tough to see me, backed up alone next to the trees at the far end of the lot. Hmmm, maybe he was just patrolling the area. Things begin to happen pretty fast at this point so I am going to leave that for the next post.

While there was clearly some wheels that were put into motion once I called the help-line, there is no question that it saved my life. But the critical component of this part of the story is the realization that my family needed me. My children would someday walk down the aisle to begin the next phase of their lives and not having me there because of my own selfishness would be completely shitty of me. 

Yeah, selfish. I said it.

A suicide is a selfish act. The collateral damage is great and the scars for the survivors is massive. Its one thing for my children to lose me to cancer or a heart attack. As shitty as it would be, they would at least be able to point to something other than me for taking their father. If I truly felt that it was my responsibility to provide for them, a life insurance policy is short sighted.

Ok, so here is the other side of all of this; when you are gripped by depression, you can’t see that far ahead. I had a moment of clarity that Theresa helped me to see. Depression clouds everything and does not allow you to see things as they are. So while suicide is selfish, it is seen as the only possible solution by someone that cannot see through the haze.

The grief that is experienced by a survivor is great and overwhelming and anger is normal, but its important to know that it was committed by someone that truly believed that it was the only option. Its just plain shitty all around. That is not just an understatement, its reality. Again, if you are experiencing depression, you are not thinking clearly, regardless of what you believe. Go talk to a doctor or a trained therapist or someone that loves you. Its not time to double down and have a drink with a buddy. Alcohol makes it worse. Self care is critical at this time.

Sorry that this is such a long post.  It was kind of a big day for me.  I think it was probably one of the lowest days of my life.  But the very lowest moment was still to come.