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.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Saturday, November 2, 2019
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Loving Jesus doesn't cure depression...
This morning, I saw this article in my news feed and was struck by it, Megachurch pastor in Southern California known for his mental health advocacy died by suicide.
I am the son of a preacher and have my own opinions of those that serve in ministry. But it is a good reminder of the pain of depression. He spoke for years about his struggle with depression and mental illness. For someone in his position to bring it out in the open is fantastic. I have to hide behind an anonymous blog to do it so I admire this guy.
But the line in the article really struck a chord with me "Loving Jesus doesn't cure depression". Truer words have never been spoken.
Often, I read some bullshit article about how going for a walk or getting coffee with a friend will help you out of depression and while that may be true for mild, periodic depression, you wouldnt suggest that for someone with cancer. Someone that lost a job or a loved one, sure. But someone struggling with serious mental illness, they need real help.
Talk to a doctor, a nurse, or a teacher. Someone you trust, and I am not referring to the bartender. Or call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.
Don't do this alone.
I am the son of a preacher and have my own opinions of those that serve in ministry. But it is a good reminder of the pain of depression. He spoke for years about his struggle with depression and mental illness. For someone in his position to bring it out in the open is fantastic. I have to hide behind an anonymous blog to do it so I admire this guy.
But the line in the article really struck a chord with me "Loving Jesus doesn't cure depression". Truer words have never been spoken.
Often, I read some bullshit article about how going for a walk or getting coffee with a friend will help you out of depression and while that may be true for mild, periodic depression, you wouldnt suggest that for someone with cancer. Someone that lost a job or a loved one, sure. But someone struggling with serious mental illness, they need real help.
Talk to a doctor, a nurse, or a teacher. Someone you trust, and I am not referring to the bartender. Or call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.
Don't do this alone.
Friday, August 9, 2019
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 26, 2019
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.
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.
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.
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