988, know this number.

In case you haven't heard, there is a new number to call for the Suicide Helpline; 988.  Make a note of it.  Even if you don't need it, someone you know might.

Every 11 minutes, someone loses their battle with their demons and ends their life.  This selfish act leaves a walk of heartache and tragedy for others to clean up and come to terms with.  If you thought you were gonna get a sympathetic ear on this one, you are mistaken.    

This is a national pandemic that needs to be treated as such.  We are losing too many people that have lost hope and need help.  We cannot wait on this and need to devote resources to this.  It's not just our youth but people of all ages.  

I was 47 when I tried to kill myself.  Men kill themselves almost 4x more often than women.  Over 48,000 killed themselves in 2021.  This shit is serious.  

The Buddha once said, life is suffering.  So right about now, someone is saying hell yeah.  Suffering means we are experiencing difficulty.  It means life is hard.  Well, depression is hard.  But you know what else is hard?  Self care.  

Yeah, thats right, I said it.  

You gotta make it a priority.  You gotta get uncomfortable.  Maybe that means calling a doctor or a therapist.  That isn't easy.  

We often hear suicide is selfish and I would agree with that.  But it's also hard.  Considering how to harm yourself is not easy.  Trust me, been there.  But so is picking up the phone and asking for help.  We gotta choose our suffering. 

Working out is hard.  Being fat is hard.  Which do you prefer?  

Ok, just to be clear, I am not at all minimizing this stuff.  But when we are at our lowest, the view is not pretty.  It is on you to change the view and that is hard.  So do one thing. Just one thing, dial 988.  

That, my friend, is self care.  You got this.  

Shopping for therapists

I will be completely honest, I am all for working with a therapist.  I know alot of guys, well, and alot of women, are not comfortable working with a therapist.  It's often viewed as being weak and not very valuable.  Well, I think that is complete bullshit.  

But here is the thing; I hate finding a new therapist. 

The first thing is the finding one and making an appointment can take an act of congress.  COVID is kicking just about everyone's ass so getting on someone's schedule will take some patience.  You are not the only person that is coming apart at the seams.  One other thing to know is that they don't all take insurance and some will work on a sliding scale.   Thats a nice way of saying that they will work with you on price.  Don't be surprised if its gonna be a month or two or six before you see someone.  But once you are on their schedule, you are golden.  So don't flake it off and decide later that you don't need to do.  You are full of shit, you need to go.  Besides, if you flake, you just wasted someone else's opportunity to get help, so don't be an asshole. 

Ok, you finally have an appointment and you are there.  Think of this an an interview, you need to get to know them and see if its a good fit.  I once met a therapist that brought her faith into her counseling sessions.  Fine for some folks but not this kid.  She was fired.  Ok, not retained is a better way of saying it.  Another was clearly a Trump fan and that wasnt cool with me.  She didn't have a MAGA hat or anything and I dont recall what she said exactly, but it chilled the vibe. You may disagree with me but thats ok.  It was my interview, not yours.  The point is, you need to feel safe with the person you are talking to.  

But be careful here.  You need to be honest with yourself and not look for reasons to scratch this one off the list.  Are you just making shit up to ensure that its not a good fit?  

Next, its time to talk.  And I mean, really talk.  I look at therapy as a time for me to lay out all of my cards and she helps me see what I have in my hand.  I may think that I have nothing but an outside perspective is good for connecting dots.  Don't make assumptions about what is or isn't a big deal.  Let your therapist do their job.  And for the love of God, be honest.  Most therapists that I have worked with have done a great job of being non judgmental.  They are professionals. And they have likely heard worse than you so just let it all out.  

Fair warning, if you tell your therapist that you want to hurt someone, you should know that she/he might have to report that.  I don't know the specifics but if you make a joke, they may laugh it off.  If you have a plan, that might be a different conversation.  

Therapy sessions are a single point in time. You will do the real work in between those sessions when it is just you and your thoughts.  So make the most of the hour you have with a therapist.  It is best to emotionally vomit and let her/him help you clean it up.  Get it over with so you know what you need to be thinking about until the next session.  

It would have been a relief...

This is a really hard post to share but its an important one because its about the trauma that others suffer from when someone they love tries and/or kill themselves.  

About a month or two after my unsuccessful attempt, we went to see our marriage counselor.  A side note about her, she is the greatest counselor I ever met.  She has helped me more than any other person on this earth.  You will be lucky to find a therapist half as good as this woman, but I digress.. 

We sat down in Jennifer's office and began to tell the story.  We had been seeing her for about 6 years because of the impact that my depression had had on our marriage.  I talked about what was going on and what led me to that point.  I was pretty upfront about the fact that I had stopped taking my antidepressants.  She then asked my wife what her thoughts were.  She talked about her fear and how it impacted everyone in the family.  I totally got that and I realized just how selfish of an act it would have been.  The fallout and collateral damage would have been significant, to say the least.

But then my wife said something else that shook me.

"It would have been a relief if he had been successful".  

She was crying when she said that and it came from a very emotional place.  Her feelings were very raw and I get that.  She went on to share how it felt when she arrived at the scene and that they wouldn't let her see me.  And that seeing 20 cop cars scared her because they were adamant that she not be allowed anywhere near me.  Then she talked about walking into the ER and seeing me alone in a room, in handcuffs with a cop standing outside the room, as if I was criminal.  How she knew I had been struggling over the past several weeks but had no idea it would get to this point.  

She paused and collected herself and then said that she and the kids would have been forced to move forward but now they didn't know what to do.  That they were uncertain what to say or do around me.  That I had shaken everyone to their very core and no longer felt any sense of emotional safety with me.

I have tried every which way to make sense of that one and I still struggle with it.  Yes, things had been hard for us.  I have never been a picnic to live with.  My depression had a major impact on us and I was not always my best self.  I have owned that.  But this one stung quite a bit.  I was not myself and I was imploding.  

And then I realized that it wasn't just about me.  I had been so consumed with my own hurt and emotional fog that I failed to see the situation through anyone else's eyes.  When you are seriously depressed, it is nearly impossible to think of someone other than yourself.  And I don't say that in a mean way, you just can't see through someone else's eyes.  When the dark clouds of depression come over you, all you see is darkness and 2 feet in front of you.  Now, as I was beginning have some distance from the event, I was able to have some perspective.  And it wasn't good. Well, it was the mess I created.  

Did my wife want me dead?  No.  But she didn't know what to do or say now.  She wasn't able to just snap her fingers and say that everything is so much better now because I wasn't dead.  There was a mess to clean up.  My children were traumatized by have 4 cops cars show up at the house and being told by a complete stranger that their father was trying to kill himself and they needed to know if there were more guns in the house.  My wife was trying to make sense of how quickly everything fell off the rails and she was sitting in the ER with her husband in handcuffs.  Hell, now she even had to figure out how to explain to friends why I was "unavailable" for a week while I was sitting in a psych ward.  Not exactly a light topic of conversation. 

Depression is not something to take lightly.  You cannot do it alone.  And you will leave a terrible mess behind.  If you think you won't, you are wrong.  People love you, more than you realize.  Ask for help. Suicide is probably the most selfish thing you can do.  You aren't going to fix things, you will make matters worse.  There is a new number to call; 988.  You can also text it.  You can learn more about it here at https://988lifeline.org/.  

Someone give a shit about you.  Believe it or not.  

Triggers...not that kind of trigger.

For the longest time, when I drove by the parking lot when I tried to end it all, I used to get really anxious.  I could feel my heart racing and want to climb out of my skin.  I wouldn't call it a panic attack but I would definitely get nervous and not feel good.  My therapist pointed out to me that it was a trigger.  Triggers can be a place or a thing or a song or even a person.  For me, it was commuter parking lot.  As I would leave that area, things would settle and I would go about my day.  

So one day, I decided to face my trigger by driving back to the parking lot and parking in the same spot that I did on that terrible July day.  It was warm, not quite as warm as that day, but warm enough. I turned off the car and sat in the silence and listened to my body.  Everything was quiet, painfully quiet. I could hear the blood pumping through my veins.  I could feel the hairs on my arms stand a little bit.  I closed my eyes and could see the police cars surround me.  I could see the massive SWAT vehicle park itself directly in front of my little Chevy Malibu.  I was able to see all of the guys get out of their vehicles and set their weapons on me.  

At that moment, I was back at that very day.  It was almost a year later and yet, it felt as if I was still in the moment.  I began to feel my shirt sticking to me with sweat, as my heart was pounding to keep up with my breathing.  I began to relive the phone conversation with Theresa and felt the anger when I realized that she had contacted the police.  I felt the sting of the sweat getting in my eyes as I wiped the tears from my face.  I could sense the dread again as I came to realize that none of this was going as planned and I had made several key mistakes. My choices were dwindling and none of them good.

Then I noticed the smell of fresh cut grass.  Within seconds, I heard the growl of a poorly tuned lawn mower getting louder and louder.  I opened my eyes and was back in the present.  While the step back was incredibly uncomfortable, for me, it was necessary.  I needed to walk through each moment of that day to remind myself of how fortunate I was that I called the Suicide Prevention Hotline.  And that Theresa kept me on the line while the police tracked me down.  I had to remind myself of the look of sadness in my wife's eyes when she walked into the emergency room and held me.  It was probably the worst day of my life.  And probably the best day of my life. 

It's a little easier for me now.  I can drive by that parking lot and not get worked up. It's not a trigger for me. I admit, it's not my first choice of places to go hang out, but it no longer has that hold over me.  I needed to take back my control over that place.  It was a little easier for me than for others who's trigger may be a person.  I had the ability to have some control over it.  I could choose to go there or avoid it. Not everyone is so lucky with their triggers. 

I guess if you are aware of a trigger, get some help facing it and staring it down.  There is often a feeling of helplessness that goes along with depression.  Recognize the things that you can control and work on those things.  Don't do it alone. Find someone that can help you along that battle.  Sometimes, you just need someone to sit with you and hold your hand.  

Depression is a bitch and I don't say that lightly.  Don't let it own you.  Reach out to the Suicide Prevention Hotline if you need to talk to someone,  800-273-8255.

Whats your trigger?  

Asking for help

 This has to be one of the best ads I have ever seen:

Here is a another good one:

As a society, we have made up this stupid notion that being strong means not asking for help.  It's just plain stupid.  I don't get it.  Because we can't see our emotions, they aren't real?  But a broken leg is somehow different?  

I can see the bone sticking out and since I am not an orthopedist, I better go talk to one.  

But lack of expertise in how the mind works is somehow different?  The person that has gone to school for eight years and has been working in the field for even longer doesn't know more than me.  Um, thats not really correct.  

I normally wouldn't pitch or promote something but I think this one is different.  Go check these guys out; https://www.betterhelp.com

 

Someone else's definition of success...

I have a feeling this is going to be one of those posts that I will delete in a few days, after I look at it with a clearer head. 

I am not in a good place today.  I am realizing that at 52 years of age, it's probably time for me to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.  And yet, I am further from knowing now then when I was 18.  In fact, I am farther from knowing.  I have been successful but I am starting to realize that I have been using someone else's definition of success.  

I had to take an EQ assessment for work which is an emotional intelligence thing.  It measures how I see myself and how I connect with the rest of the world.  I scored quite well on empathy but my measurements for how I see myself were...not good.  Apparently, getting beaten up at work for 4 years has an impact on you.  Who knew?  Ok, I guess I knew but I didn't realize just to what extent.  The report went on to say pretty clearly that I am not in thrive mode, rather, survive mode.   It said alot of things but the bottom line was not good.  

It's hard to ignore things when someone holds a mirror up to you and points out that massive zit on your face. I would like to say that ignorance is bliss but I have to be honest, I knew that the zit was there.  Having said that, I wish that I was blissfully ignorant.  I think I have been pretending for awhile that things are good.  Things are not, I am not well.  I am having a hard time finding joy in my life.  I see every day as the same.  There is little to look forward to.  I often ask myself what makes me happy and I can't seem to land on something.  

Somedays are worse than others.  I work from home and I hate it.  I don't get to socialize or collaborate.  I was remote before COVID came along and actually, COVID helped because then everyone else had to be intentional about connecting with others in a virtual world.  I was no longer the odd man out.  But I still feel lonely.  There are some days when I don't talk to anyone.  I hate it.  But I have to accept the truth that even on a good day, I am not finding the joy in my life.  The good days just suck a little less.  

Before the report, I didn't feel good but I wasn't in a terrible place and I guess thats part of the problem.  Unless I am planning to suck on the end of a gun, I tell myself that I am fine.  And that is not the case. I am overwhelmed right now and I am not sure why.   I just feel alot of despair and that is not a good thing.  

I do not have a plan to kill myself but I would not be sad if a bus fell on me.  Thats what the smart people in coats call a "passive suicidal ideation."  Not enough to get me locked up for three days but clearly, not a good thing.  If you are feeling that way, something isn't right.  

Ok, so I am going to make a commitment to you and the numerous bots from Russia and China that are reading this that I am going to speak to my wife about this. I am going to say something tonight.  I need to think about what I am going to say so that I don't just start bawling like a 6 year old girl.  I doubt she will be surprised; I am not good at playing poker.  I guess I will just give her a heads up and ask for her perspective.  

I will check back in a couple days and either give an update or pull this down.  

Bad day

Today, I had a bad day at work. Nothing catastrophic, but a bad day. I got jumped by my boss, who I think is feeling heat from her boss. You know how this goes, shit always rolls downhill. 

I have had quite a few bad days recently. Actually, quite a few bad months. Maybe it’s time for me to look elsewhere?

For a brief moment, I considered checking out. And then I immediately thought of how that would impact my family.  One of the great gifts of my attempt a few years ago was Theresa asking me who would walk my girls down the aisle.  Go back to one of the other posts where I share that one.  That has stuck with me.   Make no mistake, suicide is selfish and only thinking of yourself.  So you need to occasionally remind yourself of that.  

Depression sucks. It just plain sucks. It’s not like breaking your arm and everyone wants to sign the cast. (Do they still do that?)  I had Covid last year and was getting calls and texts from friends and family.  No one ever knows what the hell to say when it comes to depression. 

Hope you're feeling better soon?  

Soap box moment; please stop with the cut and paste posting in Facebook about how you will put on a pot of coffee and sit with anyone that is struggling with depression. Its a nice sentiment but its such bullshit. You wanna help someone?  Reach out to someone you haven’t heard from in awhile and ask how they are doing. Don't just wait for someone to ask for help.  Its like watching someone down and waiting for them to ask for help.  It’s not someone else’s job, it’s yours. Be proactive.  Ok, I am done.

I guess my point today is to be mindful of how your actions will impact others.  Suicide is permanent.  You take the easy way out and let everyone else pick up the pieces.  Thats pretty crappy.  I know life is tough, believe me.  But will this matter in a year?  Will the shit you are dealing with today still be a problem?  Yeah, sometimes it will still be.  But don't make a permanent decision for a temporary problem.

And for the rest of you, stop with the cute little bullshit about how you will always be there for your friends in need.  If you really mean that, pick up the phone and reach out to someone that you haven't herd from in awhile.  Say right now what you wish you had said if you were standing around someone's casket. 

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.  

My greatest fear...

So let's talk about something other than me trying to blow my head off for a bit, shall we?  

I am about to turn 51.  Typically, at this point in life, one begins to look in the mirror and assess what has transpired the past 50 years.  I have a beautiful wife and wonderful kids.  I have done well for myself and have many nice toys.  But its fair to say that no one will be erecting libraries in my honor after I am gone.  

I often  think about my grandfather that I barely knew.  He fought in WWI and lost half of his face in Belgium. He laid on the battlefield for three days before he crawled off, over the bodies of his buddies.  He then walked a few dozen miles to find help.  He was then flown back to the states where he spent a year at a hospital in Baltimore before being sent back home in the midwest. To say he was a badass would be an understatement.  

I have very hazy memories of him.  I think I was 4 years old when he died.  As I got older, I learned more about the hard life he experienced when he got home. What we now know as PTSD that many soldiers deal with, he was branded as "shellshocked".  And back then, it was not well understood or accepted. I had such admiration for this man that I barely knew.  And while I share his story with my children, they do not have the same connection to him.  I suspect that when I am gone, he will be nothing more than a few faded photos hidden in albums.  But almost 50 years later, I still think of him.  

I have a morbid fascination with cemeteries.  Always have.  Let's be clear, I did not spend my teenage years dressed as a goth, spending my free time in them.  No, I just enjoyed the quiet,  Anyway, whenever I pass by one, I cannot help but consider all of the lives that each stone represents.  That stone represents someone's father, mother, son, daughter, uncle, aunt, etc. Some stones are massive and others are more modest.  There are untold stories beneath each one, that will never be told.  It's kind of like when you look at a photo filled with people who were living full and possibly exciting lives.  And now, they are nothing more than a small card with their image.  

I am beginning to realize that my greatest fear is for my life to pass unnoticed.  I did not fight in the Great War.  I did not invent anything. My name will never appear on the big screen.  And for the most part, I am ok with that.  Raising three girls to be strong, independent women who value themselves is quite an accomplishment.  The fact that none of them are swinging from a pole is a win for me.  Sure, there will be plenty of therapy sessions that will focus on the impact of my poor decisions but who doesn't have those sessions with their therapists?

I am not sure how to reconcile this one, other than to acknowledge that someday I will be just an image in a year book and a name inscribed on a stone.  Yeah, I know; I am caring too much about something that is completely out of my control and giving this way too much thought.  But this is my show, I write it.    

Anyway, not sure what my point is for this post.  Perhaps its to document what I have been thinking lately.  I hope that in a year or two I will re-read this and say how fucking dumb this is because none of it matters.  But today, it matters.  

How to change a tire.

I still have alot of bad days.  Days when I wish that I would have been successful in the parking lot a few years ago.  Not really serious, just pondering how things would have turned out.  And sometimes, those days turn into weeks and I am find myself in a very dark, lonely, and familiar place.  And then the thinking  becomes distorted and you start making sense out of nothing.  

Recently, I had several of those days strung together.  So it was about a week of sitting in my dark hole.  At some point, probably by day three, my thoughts drifted into wondering how much better everyone would be if I was gone.  Then it begins to gain steam and you start thinking about how it could really work.  How your wife would have a huge pile of cash from your life insurance. And don't just assume that because you have life insurance that it will pay out if you kill yourself.  It doesn't always.  

Anyway, by day four I was in a very bad place.  It was probably day six or seven in July a few years ago by the time that I went out and bought the gun so the slide begins picking up steam after day three.  Unfortunately, you tend to lose the ability to step back and realize that you have been on this ride before.  You can only see a foot in front of you so forget about what lies ahead.  Its all about the hurt you are feeling at the moment.  

Its weird how well you remember certain moments in your life with absolute clarity.  Part of the reason that I started this blog was to help me remember the moments of that July afternoon in the parking lot.  I never wanted to forget how badly I hurt and the mess that I created as a result.  Some of the moments have grown a little fuzzy over the years so I want to retain those memories.  The event I am about to share is seared into my brain like nothing else that I have ever experienced.  

I work from home and was sitting at my desk.  When I am in a bad place, I don't get much work done.  I daydream alot and have no focus.  That was definitely going on.  I was actively thinking about how much better off my family would be if I just drove out somewhere and finished the job.  I had it all figured out about how much cash my wife would have and how she could start over.  How my children didn't need me in their lives.  Total stupidity but thats where I was.  And then I got a call.  

It was around 2 in the afternoon when my 17 year old daughter called.  

"Dad, one of the tires on my car blew and I am on the side of the road.  What do I do?"

"Where is the car?  Are you in a safe place from the road?"

"Yes, I am on a back road and there is no traffic."

"I am on my way."

Thank God for being able to track your kids on their phones, I was able to find her right away and shot out the door.  I am not an overly religious person but I have never felt the presence of God as much as I did at that very moment.  I felt as if God had just hit me with a 2x4 to remind me that my family does need me.  I was a little sick to my stomach as I drove to my daughter.  If I was gone, who would she have called?  Yeah, she may have called a tow truck, but at 17, I doubt she would have come to that decision right away.  

I got there and made it a point to have her change it with me giving instructions over her shoulder.  I tightened everything up after she was done and she was on her way home within 20 minutes of me getting there. 

I could no longer deny the fact that my family needed me.  Not just because I could change a tire or financially provide, but also because I made great french toast.  Because I told the best dad-jokes. Because I would regularly explain why Empire Strikes Back is the most important film in the entire Star Wars films.  My family needs me not just for one reason but for many.  And for me to take myself out of the picture would be incredibly selfish.  

If you are hurting and having a tough time seeing the bigger picture, dont' go it alone.  No matter what you may think, someone gives a shit about you.  It may not be someone you expect but that person is out there.  And you are needed.  Call Suicide Prevention 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. 

Welcome to the psych unit

My intent of this post is to simply share my experience and memorialize it.  Since there are about two people who have read my blog so far as well as several thousand Russian bots, I am just gonna tell it like it was.

As I set out that morning to do what I intended, it never dawned on me that I make not be able to do it and there would be aftermath.  If you are suicidal, you are not thinking clearly and the depression makes it nearly impossible to see past your nose.

After the several hours in the ER of being asked if I was still thinking of hurting myself and what insurance I had, I was finally taken into the psych unit.  This is where it just got weird and surreal for me.

When I was in college, I wanted to be a psychology major.  I wanted to help people and all of that crap.  So I got a job as a behavioral health tech in a psych unit of a medical hospital.  It was a really interesting gig where I assisted people receive electric shock therapy (fascinating and has a totally undeserved reputation), help move patients unable to help themselves, and tie people into beds who needed a shot in the ass.  And by shot in the ass, I mean a shot of thorazine or some other medication so they stopped trying to hurt me or others.

Really incredible experience but it helped me see that I didn't want to work in psychology.  A lot of the people in psych units as you likely are aware) experiences a horrific amount of trauma and I had a hard time letting that go.  And working with the kids was especially difficult.  But that is a story or another day. Anyway, I did that for 3 years until I got a degree in art.

So back to being moved into the psych ward as a patient.

Psych units are pretty drab places, not high of the hospitals list of places to invest in. They are typically pretty sparse so there isn't much for someone to hurt themselves with.  The hall is lined with furniture is huge so it can't be picked up and thrown.  But there are lots of copies of last weeks newspapers and Better Homes and Gardens.  As well, as a 2 year old copy of Sports Illustrated.

I was greeted by a young lady who took me into a small room to get vitals and run down the rules. As if the humiliation had not been enough that day, the hits just kept coming.  Why was it humiliating?  I couldn't tell you. The young lady was nice.  No one was bugging me.  But I was almost old enough to be her dad.  I had been in her very same position 30 years earlier.  I knew the drill. I just it was the realization that I was no different from anyone else that I had ever taken into a small room and gotten a set of vitals and asked if they were still thinking of hurting themselves.

It was now around 6 pm and I had not eaten all day.  Or had much to drink and since I had perspired several gallons so far that day, I was getting pretty dry. I asked for some water and she quickly got me a small tan pitcher filled with crushed ice and water and a styrofoam cup.  Once she gave me the water and the schedule, she asked if I wanted anything to eat and I said no and rolled over on my metal frame and thin layer of cotton, pretending to be a bed and mattress.  I then slept for the next 12 hours like I hadn't slept in years.

I went out to the day room and met my new housemates.  It was a large room with big ugly chairs around the walls and tables in the center.  There was a television up near the ceiling tuned to some home remodeling show. There were about 12 people in the room of various ages.  I was not the oldest nor the youngest.  I found a seat against a wall and began to soak it all in.

After a moment, a young latino man sat down next to me.  He introduced himself as Melvin.  I shook his hand and immediately got nervous.  Why?  I have no idea.  He was a bit rough and had a tattoo under his left eye.  I guess because I really don't run in circles with folks that have facial tattoos.  I was much bigger than Melvin and its not like the psych unit is a type of fight club.  I guess it was just the fact that someone approached me out of the blue.

Melvin asked me why I was there and I kind of grunted that I had a heated discussion with the SWAT team.  That immediately got his attention.

"No shit?"  I think I knew that throwing the SWAT team in there might get a good reaction and Melvin did not disappoint.  "What happened?"  By then, a large woman walked to the center of the room and said good morning.

"I am nurse Helen and I want to go over a few things for our new folks.  We start every day by discussing our goals for the day, get vitals, and then we go to breakfast and begin groups.  We do not spend the day in bed, we need to see you and we need to see you participating.  Your involvement, or lack thereof, will be shared with your physician."

Well, she seems pleasant.  

Everyone then went around the room saying a goal they had for the day.  For most, it was attending a group or speaking with their doctor.  I found it to be condescending.  Just say something that they want to hear.  She got to me and asked what my goal was for the day. I looked at her blankly and said I had no idea.  She looked at her clipboard and then back at me.  "You just got here last night?  We can skip you for today.  But be ready to share a goal for tomorrow."

Tomorrow?  Oh hell no.  I better be gone by noon today.  

She then moved on to Melvin, still sitting next to me who gave a goal of talking to his social worker.  After she finished going around the room, everyone got up and began filing out.  I didn't know what was going on so I stay seated.  Melvin had begun walking towards the door, turned and asked me if I wanted to get breakfast.

Not too sure that I am gonna see an omelette or carving station but what the hell, so I got up and followed.

Ok, more later.  I recently learned that someone else is actually reading these who, I do not believe to be a Russian bot so welcome to my head.

What hurts today may not hurt tomorrow

When I was a kid, I would fall off my bike and rip up my knee. Sometimes it was me being a smartass and other times, it was a friend not looking where he was going and running into me. Hurt like a bitch. Sometimes it was a small one, about the size of a quarter and other times, it was the size of several dollar bills laid along the side of my leg and thigh. The road rash had caught up with me once again. If it was during the school year, I had to figure out a way to put my pants on without letting the fabric rub against the area until the scab was strong enough to protect the raw patch. But if it was summer, I could let it air out until the area dried up and scabbed over. But in either case, after a day or two, it would dry up and feel better. A week or two later, I could proudly look at the new scar with great admiration for myself that I survived such a harrowing experience.

Well, as we grow up, the experiences grow with us and so does the road rash. Today, my road rash looks quite different from when I was a kid. It doesn’t appear as raw skin, bleeding profusely. It can appear very differently or not even appear at all. Sometimes my hurt is self inflicted from being careless and other times, it was something out of my control. But in either case, it hurts. The hard part is remembering that much like a skinned knee, the hurt that I am feeling as a 49 year old guy will go away.

The bills will get paid. The fighting will stop. The bullshit at work will go away. I am not for one second suggesting that all of these things will go away easily. Bills go to collection and cars are repossesed. Divorces happen. People get fired. Not suggesting that things don’t get worse, for one second.

But I am saying that at some point, the rain and the clouds will part and the sun will come out. It has to. Even if it’s a brief bit of sunshine, it does come out. At some point, the road rash will scab over, regardless of how bad it is. I have to remind myself of that one quite often. This too, shall pass. 

Below is a link to a really good article about losing sight of this. Our distorted thinking makes it difficult to keep this in mind and we fall prey to black and white thinking. We start with the “always” and “never” and idealize a false reality by saying “if only“. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/psych-unseen/201806/suicides-most-dangerous-cognitive-distortion 

Skinning our knee hurts. Losing a job is horrible. Being humiliated by our bosses is demoralizing. Being part of a failing marriage is heartbreaking. Facing a legal crisis can be overwhelming. But at some point, just like the clouds, it blows over and its in the past. Do not let these moments define you.

And then someday, you can look back and remind yourself of how much stronger you are for making it through that storm.

If you wanna talk...

After I threw the weapon out of the car window, I got out and walked towards the swarm of SWAT guys with their guns pointed at me.  I guess so they could shoot me in case I tried to shoot myself.

Anyway, the offer that I had been talking to kept yelling at me to stop and turn around with my arms up in the air.  I wasn't in the mood to take his instructions since I knew that this wasn't going to end with me going home.  I walked towards him and he kept asking me to slow down and keep my arms up where everyone could see them.  I had sunglasses on and the tears and sweat was making it hard to see.

The female officer who I spoke with on the phone met me halfway between my car and the SWAT truck.  She said that for the safety of the officers, they had to put me in handcuffs and put me in the back of a squad car.  So I guess the one positive out of all of this was that I finally was able to answer to these stupid quizzes on Facebook that I had, in fact, been in the back of a cop car.

I am a big guy and cop cars are not exactly designed for comfort for the large man.  Alright, small guys, too.  You ain't rolling in style in the back of a squad car.  I was kind of laying on the seat as I could get my legs in otherwise.  As I mentioned on an earlier post, it was really hot that day and the black plastic seat nearly left me with third degree burns.  But I was glad to no longer have a dozen guns pointed on me.

As the car went through the parking lot, I saw more squad cars than I had ever seen in my life.  Honestly, never seen anything like it.  There were probably a dozen cop cars.  I was exhausted and wasn't all that pleased at the turnout for me so I put my head down on the seat for the rest of the ride.  I think there was only one officer in the car and he didn't say a word to me.

We arrived at a local hospital and I was led out of the car into an exam room.  Of course, the two dozen people in the waiting room had the good fortune to see the police bring a large man in handcuffs through the ER.  I am sure they were excited to see something like that and I was sooo happy to be part of their big day.

They kept me in handcuffs while I was in the exam room.  I said that they were really uncomfortable and the officer said that they were necessary for their safety as well as mine.  My patience was wearing very thin at that point and I began to remind him that I had been very cooperative and this was getting pretty ridiculous.  Before he could respond, a nurse walked in and began taking vitals and asking what brought me in.

After the nurse finished, she pulled the officer into the hall and spoke.  When they finished, he said he would take the cuffs off as long as I remained cooperative.  While I was relieved, I wasn't ready to fall at his feet in gratitude.  He took them off and I began to enjoy blood flow to my hands again.  He then stepped back into the hallway, making certain that he was able to see me at all times.  I simply sat there with my head in my hands, wishing that I had had the balls to do what I had set out to do.

After maybe 20 minutes, another officer came in with the original one that brought me.  They were switching out or something.  This new guy could not have been more than 22, with blond hair and peach fuzz on his chin. He mentioned his name but I wasn't really listening.  The only thing I did hear was the threat of returning to handcuffs if I tried to leave.

This time, the young officer stayed in the room with me and attempted to make small talk.

It sure is hot out there.  That humidity is killer.  

Ah huh.

Since I was not really in the mood for small talk, there was a brief moment of silence.  And then he said this:

You know, if you wanna talk about what got you to this point, that's cool with me.  

I lifted my face from my hands and looked at him.  I was a bit bewildered by this statement and unsure of what to say.  Should I say something polite or tell him to shut the fuck up?  I opted for no response.

Well, I will be out in the hallway if you need anything.  

I had to hand it to him, he was much more polite than the previous cop.  But I had a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that some 20-something year old might have an inkling of where I am in my life.  While he was certainly well intentioned, it was not helpful at that moment.

Anyway, it was soon after this that my wife was brought into the room.  I am going to save that for the next post.  This post was more about me remembering the day and some of the surreal moments.  Again, this was an awful episode in my life and I cannot stress enough the importance of reaching out to someone if you are feeling that your only option is suicide.  Don't try to go it alone.

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.

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.