That time I was suicidal; working through the whys

After years of working to prevent people from taking their lives. Years of talking about the selfishness of suicide, I was close to adding to the statistic. In my mind I was doing the right thing. My wife of 23 years deserved whatever benefits I could give her; benefits she wouldn’t get if the divorce she was leaning towards went through. Stupid I know. Jumping on the grenade isn’t noble, it’s still killing yourself, but now you leave behind someone who has to live with the knowledge that it was done for them.

The truth of the matter was that I was at a crossroads in my life. A 23-year marriage fell apart and my last support was gone. It was embarrassing. Is embarrassing. Both that I needed help, and that I was leaving a failed marriage. I felt I had failed everyone, even God. Being honest, crossroads is a simple term for the tornado/hurricane/duststorm etc that had became my life. My soul. I was disgusted with myself. I didn’t see any other option. Then as I opened the bottle of pills I got a text from my kid with a simple “I love you,” and I couldn’t do it. In that moment I feared the things I would miss more than failing at life and marriage. I called the VA help line and checked myself into the hospital.

The next two weeks were tough. Everything was shifting and I had no control over any of it. I barely had control over myself, mostly what I ate. I struggled to fix myself. I couldn’t. I struggled to understand. I failed. For the longest time if I had a thought of ending my life, I would easily bounce to something else, it wasn’t hard. Now I was dwelling on it. I hit the worst lows I had ever seen. Mentally I was broken. In those moments I realized I needed help, desperately.

I checked myself into an inpatient facility for a 90-day program working on PTSD. I needed the time away; I needed the intensive everyday work that it provided. The first 30 days were hate filled horror. From within myself. I railed against life. I wanted to quit. My emotions were everywhere; I cried. I yelled. I wanted nothing more than to just run away and never face any of this again. For some reason I stayed. I dredged the depths of my soul for purpose. I looked for all the rot that I could find within myself and cut it out slowly. As much as my friends and family supported me (even the staff were amazing), it was from afar and I was by myself in this fight.

Mental Health work isn’t easy. At the end of the 90-day program I was still a work in progress. Since then, I have stumbled. I have fallen. I wish I could say that I have no issues now, but I do. The biggest difference now is I know what to do when I mentally fall. I have tools to help myself get out of the hole. I am glad I am still alive. That in joy in and of itself is a good thing.