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.
I am a middle aged white guy living in the suburbs. I have done well for myself but I have a head full of bad wiring that sometimes contributes to poor decisions. This is a blog about me and my demons. My demons are depression and mental health challenges. I have made some epic bad decisions along the way so I find it helpful to write them down and reflect on them. If someone else reads my blathering and finds it helpful, cool.
Wednesday, June 26, 2019
Friday, May 31, 2019
The slippery slope of depression…
Unless you have some other type of serious mental illness such as schizophrenia, its not likely that the urge to kill yourself happens out of the blue one day. Normally, it begins with depression and a gradual descent into very negative thinking. Your thinking becomes very black and white, there are no shades of grey. You have a hard time not assuming the worst in everything and as the depression gets worse, you begin to experience paranoia. No, not the type where you are thinking that the TV is talking to you, although that is a real thing and those suffering from schizophrenia often are dealing with that. Odd that I mention schizophrenia twice(ok, now it’s three times) in the same paragraph. I happen to have some experience with that, but that’s a later post.
Anyway, getting back to the paranoia; it becomes a real problem when you are getting deeper and deeper into depression. You begin to assume that every hushed conversation is about you. Every time my boss had a meeting with someone in her office and she closed the door, I began spinning, thinking that it was about me and that I was about to get fired. At home, every time my wife was on her phone texting someone, I assumed that it was someone that she was having an affair with. My kids were telling their friends how much they hated me. All of these were completely false, but they were my perception and perception is reality. It becomes a rabbit hole where things just get worse and worse.
Ok, but did something trigger the depression in the first place?
Guys experience depression in many different ways. For some, it could be a significant life event such as the loss of a loved one or a job. It could also be brought on from financial stress. It can also be due to stress at work or health problems. Many of these reasons are the same as women but guys tend to hold it all and not share their stress. Women tend to be more relational and seek out support from others. Guys, not so much. Well, for me, it was a little bit of stress from work. But the primary reason was pretty stupid, I stopped taking my antidepressants.
One of the other reasons many guys experience depression is that they are born with some bad wiring. Thats a bit of an overstatement but the general idea is that I was born as being predisposed to depression. Basically, I dealt with it my entire life. However, I wasn’t diagnosed with it until I was 42. Once I was diagnosed, I began working with my doc to find the right antidepressant for me. I learned that Prozac did nothing for me, Wellbutrin made me want to bite everyone’s head off, and Zoloft was the lesser of all evils. Why lesser? Well, it did help me to feel better, but it took my ability to orgasm away entirely. And that is not an insignificant thing. See, it doesn’t take away the libido (it didn’t for me, anyway) just the ability to get, um, get your rocks off. But the positives outweighed the negatives and I knew that I needed some help. So 100 mg of Zoloft was my daily routine for 5 years. Until it wasn’t.
The insidious thing about antidepressants is that they kinda lift the clouds and help you see things more clearly. They don’t magically make you feel happy, they just help you to see things as they are, not as dark as you think they might be. So as you begin to feel the effects of them, its possible you may decide that you no longer need them. And you slide back into depression. Well, for me, I waited 5 years to stop taking them. I would miss a day here or there but thats no a big deal. I will take it tomorrow for sure. And one day becomes two. And two days becomes a week. And then a week becomes, “I don’t fucking need them anymore“. This was how the Spring of 2017 went.
In June of 2017, I realized that I wasn’t well. I was able to identify some of my negative thinking. I didn’t really see the paranoia and I would not have been able to identify the black and white thinking, but I knew that I was on edge. I began to think that my family would be much better off without me. That I was more of a burden than anything else. That I was a complete fuck up and no one would miss me if I was gone. My wife and I were having fights over stupid shit almost daily. I was detaching and isolating myself. I was miserable at my job and I didn’t feel that I was contributing anything there. I had this gorgeous motorcycle that I found no joy in riding, even though it was less than 6 months old. So I knew things were not good. But I also felt that I could justify how I felt, that it wasn’t all in my head. That the pain I was feeling was real. That the misery I was experiencing at work was genuine, and not my imagination. That the fights with my wife were her fault, not my own negative thinking.
So I am going to start to tie this together with the actual event when I tried to blow my head off next time. My point to this post was to (hopefully) show that depression is gradual and there are plenty of things that happen before acting on the urge to leave this life. Its a slippery slope and once you start down this path, its hard to regain your footing. Don’t assume that you can manage this on your own. You can’t fix your cancer or heart problems on your own, depression is no different. If you are not comfortable talking to a stranger at the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255, contact a physician. But do not put it off. Once it begins, its hard to stop.
Anyway, getting back to the paranoia; it becomes a real problem when you are getting deeper and deeper into depression. You begin to assume that every hushed conversation is about you. Every time my boss had a meeting with someone in her office and she closed the door, I began spinning, thinking that it was about me and that I was about to get fired. At home, every time my wife was on her phone texting someone, I assumed that it was someone that she was having an affair with. My kids were telling their friends how much they hated me. All of these were completely false, but they were my perception and perception is reality. It becomes a rabbit hole where things just get worse and worse.
Ok, but did something trigger the depression in the first place?
Guys experience depression in many different ways. For some, it could be a significant life event such as the loss of a loved one or a job. It could also be brought on from financial stress. It can also be due to stress at work or health problems. Many of these reasons are the same as women but guys tend to hold it all and not share their stress. Women tend to be more relational and seek out support from others. Guys, not so much. Well, for me, it was a little bit of stress from work. But the primary reason was pretty stupid, I stopped taking my antidepressants.
One of the other reasons many guys experience depression is that they are born with some bad wiring. Thats a bit of an overstatement but the general idea is that I was born as being predisposed to depression. Basically, I dealt with it my entire life. However, I wasn’t diagnosed with it until I was 42. Once I was diagnosed, I began working with my doc to find the right antidepressant for me. I learned that Prozac did nothing for me, Wellbutrin made me want to bite everyone’s head off, and Zoloft was the lesser of all evils. Why lesser? Well, it did help me to feel better, but it took my ability to orgasm away entirely. And that is not an insignificant thing. See, it doesn’t take away the libido (it didn’t for me, anyway) just the ability to get, um, get your rocks off. But the positives outweighed the negatives and I knew that I needed some help. So 100 mg of Zoloft was my daily routine for 5 years. Until it wasn’t.
The insidious thing about antidepressants is that they kinda lift the clouds and help you see things more clearly. They don’t magically make you feel happy, they just help you to see things as they are, not as dark as you think they might be. So as you begin to feel the effects of them, its possible you may decide that you no longer need them. And you slide back into depression. Well, for me, I waited 5 years to stop taking them. I would miss a day here or there but thats no a big deal. I will take it tomorrow for sure. And one day becomes two. And two days becomes a week. And then a week becomes, “I don’t fucking need them anymore“. This was how the Spring of 2017 went.
In June of 2017, I realized that I wasn’t well. I was able to identify some of my negative thinking. I didn’t really see the paranoia and I would not have been able to identify the black and white thinking, but I knew that I was on edge. I began to think that my family would be much better off without me. That I was more of a burden than anything else. That I was a complete fuck up and no one would miss me if I was gone. My wife and I were having fights over stupid shit almost daily. I was detaching and isolating myself. I was miserable at my job and I didn’t feel that I was contributing anything there. I had this gorgeous motorcycle that I found no joy in riding, even though it was less than 6 months old. So I knew things were not good. But I also felt that I could justify how I felt, that it wasn’t all in my head. That the pain I was feeling was real. That the misery I was experiencing at work was genuine, and not my imagination. That the fights with my wife were her fault, not my own negative thinking.
So I am going to start to tie this together with the actual event when I tried to blow my head off next time. My point to this post was to (hopefully) show that depression is gradual and there are plenty of things that happen before acting on the urge to leave this life. Its a slippery slope and once you start down this path, its hard to regain your footing. Don’t assume that you can manage this on your own. You can’t fix your cancer or heart problems on your own, depression is no different. If you are not comfortable talking to a stranger at the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255, contact a physician. But do not put it off. Once it begins, its hard to stop.
Friday, May 17, 2019
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.
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.
Labels:
depression,
male depression,
mental health,
suicide
Location:
20112, USA
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