About my absence · 3:26am Dec 25th, 2017
I've been around for a bit. I've seen some things, done some things, and I've got my fair share of regrets.
I have enjoyed writing as an outlet, to get these feelings out of my head and onto a page so that I can inflict share them with you.
I've always been a staunch supporter of mental health, and have offered my share of advice and guidance to those that have sought it whenever I can. I have always considered myself to be tough, mentally and physically. My resiliency in the face of adversity has always been a point of pride for me, and I was certain that there was nothing that could ever break me.
I was wrong.
I was horribly wrong.
I'm not here to seek out sympathy, or attention. I hope that I can help somebody with the tale of my suffering, to keep somebody from making the mistake I almost did.
The events that led to this are extremely personal and shameful, and they have legitimately traumatized me in a way that nothing else in my life ever has. I will not go into them. Mistakes were made.
What is important, however, is where I ended up. Out of shame, guilt, despair, and a self hatred the likes of which I've never before felt, I nearly made a choice that would have devastated many people.
I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, with a gun in my hand. There was a round in the chamber, a 9mm hollow point. A really good round, made by a great company. They expand reliably in adverse situations, great for home defense. I sat there, with the gun in my hand, slowly flicking the safety off. And back on. And off again. And on again. I had my finger on the trigger, I had a plan. Place the muzzle right in the crease where the throat meets the jaw, angle it back about 45 degrees, try to be sure I hit the brain stem. No use pulling the trigger if there was any chance I'd survive, right? Oh, and are you ready for the kicker? I'm certified as a suicide interventionist. I am actually trained to help people in this exact situation, and yet I couldn't help myself to literally save my own life.
I flicked the safety off again.
This was it. This was the lowest point in my life. The point at which I couldn't see past my failures, my mistakes... the love that I'd lost... everything came crashing down at once, compounded by chronic depression that I hadn't even know I had. All I could see was despair, but I'd found a way out. I could stop the pain. I could make it stop. I had the power to stop the pain and to punish the one that had hurt me. To punish all those that loved me.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I felt the gun being torn from my hands, and then it was over. I had nothing. No power, nothing at all left inside me but pain and sorrow and regrets. So I did the only thing that I could, and I wept. What else could I do? I wept until no more tears came.
The next morning, I sought help. It is because of this that I am still here today to write this post. With therapy, and some medication, I have begun the process of healing.
The events that brought me to this point, and some of the things that I learned later, have traumatized me. I'm not using that term lightly, I assure you. I've spent nearly a decade in the military, and in that time I have met and gotten to know some people that have seen and done things that would break lesser souls. I have seen trauma and its ugly scars upon the mind. It is with full knowledge of the weight of the word that I say that this experience has traumatized me. I used to scoff at the "snowflakes" who couldn't walk through the streets without being "triggered."
Never again.
I now know what it truly means to be "triggered." If you think it's fucking funny, it's because you have no motherfucking idea what it's actually like. Burgundy trucks, Wisconsin, lakes, storage units, certain names...
Some of you might know what it's like to see or hear or feel or smell something that makes your pulse race and all of your muscles tense up as you break into a cold sweat... and maybe you know how hard it is to try and explain this to other people.
Maybe, you can catch yourself and try to regulate it before anybody notices. Maybe you just internalize it as a seething rage, brimming on the edge of boiling over at the slightest provocation. Maybe you've been called an asshole, or a bitch by someone who has no fucking clue about the battle raging inside of you. And all you want to do is to feel normal again, but you can't because you never know when you're going to turn a corner and see the things that you wish you could unsee. So you're always on edge, looking for what's going to dredge up the memories this time.
I know I'm not perfect. In fact, I am a deeply flawed individual. I have personality traits that I loathe, and that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to overcome no matter how much effort I put into them. One of the hardest things I've ever done is to face the ugly thing in the mirror and realize that somewhere along the way I lost touch with the person that I though I was, the person I could have been if I was better. And what was left in the mirror was the horrendous creature that had strayed from the light of day for so long that if I ever did emerge from the pit I've grown to call home, the light would burn the flesh from my bones.
But that's what I need.
I had to lose everything I held dear in order to see the truth of myself. When the windows were thrown open to let the light of truth spill in, it burned. I'm ashamed of who I am. Of who I have been. Of the things I have done, and of the things I didn't do. I hate myself, but this is a different sort of hate than the one that put the gun in my hand.
This is the hate that does not rage inside like an inferno, consuming everything in its mindless hunger for destruction. This new hate was more akin to an oil lamp, carefully tended each moment of the day. This hate is just enough to light the way to getting better, towards a positive future. If I fail to carefully manage it, it will either go out and leave me wandering aimlessly in the dark, or worse, it will grow out of control and become the all-consuming hate that craves nothing but destruction and death.
It is a fine line to walk, and I've messed up a few times. But I was able to get back on track.
If you are out there, and this sounds like you, then listen up. I'm going to share the things that have worked for me, and hopefully it will help you too.
- Get help. If you are seriously considering suicide, fucking tell someone. There is nothing in this world that will be made better by your loss. Do you have a plan? Have you made preparations to follow through? Like getting a gun, or buying rope or whatever it takes to carry out your plan? Tell someone. Let them help. The only reason I am here today is because somebody saw my pain and cared enough to intervene. If you don't have someone, find someone. Just, please... get some help. You can do this. If I can, so can you.
- Get out and make some friends. I don't care how, just talk to people. On the internet, in a bookstore, in a church, on tinder, grindr, whatever floats your goat. Talk to people. Tell them your story. Share your pain. Each person you share the pain with lessens the amount that you have to carry. Sure, you can leave out details and facts that you're not comfortable sharing, but the more you get out the better it feels. Trust me, it's cathartic.
- Set some goals. Some of my goals were to save money each month. Don't buy stupid things. Be honest with people (which is harder than it sounds). Do one act of active love per day. Be a better listener. It doesn't matter what your goal is, even if it's as simple as taking a shower, brushing your teeth, or even getting out of the damned bed. Do something. Anything. Write it down and then cross that motherfucker off the list.
I'm still fighting. I'm not out of the woods yet, but I'm starting to hope. I hope that this has helped someone out there to find the courage they need to make a positive change.
I love you all. I just wanted you to know this. Please, get help.
For whatever it's worth coming from a random stranger, I'm glad you're still alive and kicking.
I myself have been there. Glad to see someone else on the road to healing. If there's anything this stranger from the upper Midwest can do to aid in that healing, feel free to give me a shout.
Here's hoping you're still doing well 4 years in the future.