Time for Me to be FEARLESS

Estimated read time: 14 min

Trigger Warning: This post discusses topics such as suicide, suicidal ideations, and self-harm. If you choose to continue reading please do so at your own discretion.

Usually when I sit down to write a post I think of some silly event from my past that, hopefully, elicits a smile across a reader’s face if not a laugh. This ain’t going to be one of those posts, but please do read it because part of why we created this blog is that we are serious about saving lives.

Every time I have a doctor’s appointment. A nurse asks me a series of questions, and we both know I am supposed to say “no.” (I’m not sure why I am supposed to remember if I have fallen in the past year, but whatever.) I play the game; she never looks up from the computer. So far I have been able to answer the questions, honestly. If I were asked the same questions 10 years ago I would have lied.

And, if you were to ask me if I ever thought of killing myself, I have a few standard answers.

“I love myself too much for that” or “And deprive this world of me? No way.” Sometimes I will simply say, “No.” All lies.

The truth has been hard for me to face because I have thought of killing myself. I have also wished I would just not wake up. For a brief period, I would burn myself or punch solid objects to relieve frustration. I also drank gallons of alcohol to drown my feelings.

I am better now. I know ways to cope with feelings, and I have different plans in place should I become depressed or overwhelmed. Reaching this point to took time and effort for me.

Honestly, I have spent most of my life ducking conversations that include suicidal thoughts, and me, but it is time for me to stop running.

The truth is that on more than one occasion during my 28 years of active addiction, the thought occurred to me that if I just killed myself, everyone in my life would be better off. I never attempted to follow through on the thoughts, at least, not seriously.

Still, three of the moments stand out crystal clear to this day.

The first, and still very vivid, memory comes from the 16-year-old me. I had shrank away from playing sports, failed to keep up with my gifted diagnosis in academics, and given up completely on my dream of being a musician in a rock band.

I was a skinny, French-horn-playing, JROTC-member, nerd. The one thing I had that kept me from being completely ostracized from teenage society is that I could drink – a lot. I drank on every occasion I could, so that at least occasionally, someone knew my actual name wasn’t “geek” or “string bean.”

Unfortunately, on my way to alcoholic stardom, I made a mistake. One of a series, I am sure, but this one was a doozy. I got drunk before band practice and was too drunk to march. My parents were summoned and my drunk ass was put to bed after a lot of yelling and me wishing I could literally disappear forever.

The next morning I was rudely shoved out of bed to begin what would be an incomprehensibly embarrassing day for my parents, who were both educators, and a tortuous realization that booze may not be my friend.

The thought occurred that I could end all of what was about to come by retrieving a shotgun from my closet and blowing my head off. I had a selection of three shotguns in the closet and the shells were there, too, just feet away from where I sat on my bed.

I’m not sure to this day why I didn’t. But, I can say the fallout and embarrassment from that one stupid act still follows me. I was never again “nerd” or “string-bean.” I had become, and for some people still am, that dude that got kicked out of band for being drunk. (Had it been a rock band, it would have been cooler.)

The end result was that I swore off drinking. It was a promise that would last almost a month, and when I think about it, that was a long time for a drunk like me.

I would have loved for that to be the one time that alcohol, fear and depression led me to think of ending my own life. However, seven-years later, depressed and drunk, I decided that if I just kept drinking and didn’t stop I might not wake up. That was the entire plan. Just keep drinking.

Like so many of my plans in active addiction, it failed miserably. I woke up on the floor with my head pounding, and the remains of a bottle partly soaking the carpet beside me. I was filled with shame and embarrassment that doubled when I remembered that I had called a friend shortly before I enacted my plan and left a message on his answering machine. The message was a slurred sentence that I would either see him the next day or not see him again.

He was pulling in my driveway as I finished cleaning up the floor. We talked and I assured him he misunderstood what I had meant. To his credit, he didn’t trust the response and insisted we went go out for breakfast. Sitting in a Waffle House, we laughed, talked and I soon forgot what seemed so insurmountable that drinking myself to death seemed like a good idea.

I didn’t even fake like I would stop drinking this time. I just kind of muddled on through emotional upswings and downswings. I never sank that low again, but as time and my drinking wore on, a new thought would often cross my mind.

I was a 38-year-old teacher, basketball and cross-country coach. I had the two-story house, with the pond in the backyard. I was married with two children and probably on the outside looked to be successful and happy. What couldn’t be seen was the stress of the jobs, the expenses that seemed to keep growing and an increasing hatred of myself.

One day, on the way to work, I started thinking that if I drove fast enough, and pretended to miss a curve, I could slam straight into a tree. My death would mean a good insurance payoff to keep my family out of debt, and no one would know it was a purposeful act. I started to take my seatbelt off as I accelerated, and second thought crept in, what if I didn’t die. The thought of being paralyzed or left in a persistent vegetative state was enough to keep me on the road, and by the time I got to work the thought seemed incredibly short-sighted.

The thought of dying in a car crash never fully left my brain, but I also never again came as close to trying it. Instead, I did other things.

I would consistently beat myself up mentally. I would drink heavily in the hopes that a depressant would ease my depression. I would drive fast with music blaring in the car speakers. I would punch brick walls, but I kept it all to myself.

I never did tell anyone about the battle going on inside of me. Most people thought I was a happy person. I smiled a lot, loved to tell jokes, and tried to be kind to everyone I met. I was like a duck swimming across a pond. On top of the water, everything seems smooth and grateful, underneath the water the duck is kicking furiously. My outsides in no way matched my insides.

Fortunately, that changed when I finally decided to go to treatment. I found others, who like me, had a problem drinking and, at times, thought suicide to be the only way out of it. I rarely share my own story and struggle. It pales in comparison with stories of others, and, at times, I still feel completely embarrassed when I think back to those days.

What I have begun to realize is that I need to talk about my mental health struggles more often. Instead of fearing that I will be viewed as abnormal or “a nut,” I need to be a part of normalizing mental health and addiction as treatable diseases. By telling my story, I may be able to reach someone who is in the midst of a similar struggle today.

Considering that I talk to many people who are trying to get sober or are sober curious, it is extremely important—especially when it comes to suicide.

The statics of suicide are grim. Over 50 percent of suicides are associated with dependence on drugs and alcohol, and at least 25 percent of people with alcohol or drug addiction commit suicide, according to a compilation of studies.

That means 1 out of 4 people, who are like me, kill themselves before they get the help they need. I suspect the numbers of alcoholics who, like me, think of suicide and make a plan they never enact, is a lot higher. It might be in the 90-percent range.

The statics for young people might be even worse. More than 70 percent of adolescent suicides are associated with drug and alcohol use and dependence. Suicide is the third leading cause of death for people ages 13-20, which falls squarely in the range of students I teach.

In my teaching career, I have had to be on-guard for signs of suicidal thoughts, ideations, and self-harm. Several times in my career, I have picked up a discarded note, seen a few deep scratches in a student’s wrist, or have seen a different look on a student’s face that has led me to pull them aside for a conversation. Often, I have found a depressed teenager who had been planning to take his or her own life.

And, my experience has not been limited to helping students.

Despite my own thoughts of suicide as a teenager and training, I received so I would be able to spot warning signs in teenagers, I almost missed the signs in my own house.

At different times, both of my sons have been so depressed that the thought of no longer existing seemed like a relief. One went so far as to hatch a plan to commit suicide when he was in middle school. To an extent, things seemed as normal as they could in a dysfunctional, alcoholic household. They managed their grades well. They seemed relatively happy, but there was something different enough that I thought to ask them directly. Fortunately, both of them spoke honestly about their feelings and we were able to afford and take them to counseling.

Although it is not always the case, reaching out to someone who is contemplating suicide and having a frank conversation often starts a road to recovery. In my case, just knowing that I was not alone, and could speak freely about my own struggles made a world of difference.

As a teacher and a person in recovery, I have to be ready when the time comes to have these conversations, and just like helping a newcomer, I have to be honest and direct.

If I suspect that someone might be depressed or contemplating suicide, I ask that person directly in a private conversation.  If I have a rapport with the person, I ask if they are feeling okay or might point out that I had noticed something different. If the conversation leads to depression, I gently ask a question.

Usually, it goes something like this. “Do you want to kill yourself?”

There is absolutely no point in beating around the bush or fearing that I may trigger someone to decide to kill himself or herself by asking directly. Plus, I don’t want anything implied by my word choice to indicate there is a right or wrong answer to my question.

If I were to ask a loaded question like, “You don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?” The respondent could imply that a yes answer is the wrong choice. Also, a person who is suicidal could answer “no,” and do so honestly. I may not want to hurt myself, I might just want to kill myself.

Waiting for someone to come to me and freely say they want to die is akin to waiting for an alcoholic to turn down a drink in front of him. So far, I have never seen it happen. I need to be the one who makes the first step and be supportive no matter the answers.

I currently keep a list of places people can contact if they choose to not talk with me or let me guide them to professional help. I know that I don’t know everything, and I may not be there when the low-point hits. Just like my friend who did not pick up the phone, there are a bunch of ways people miss the signs that someone is planning to commit suicide.

Still, the more I can do to put a road block between the thought and the act, the better chance I have to help someone find reasons to live. That, to me, is the most important thing I can do.

In one of the trainings I attended on suicide prevention, three suicide survivors said that even as they made the attempt to take their own lives they wanted someone to stop them. One young man, who jumped from a bridge said that no one even spoke to him as he rode a bus to the bridge or walked to his jumping spot. He said that if ONE person would have started a conversation, it would have stopped the attempt.

His statement forces me to act when I see people that I think may be in trouble. I don’t always want to have a conversation, but I do it anyway. Most of the time, I am wrong, but I still get to show a person that someone cares.

I have learned also that I need to reach out when I know that I am the one headed for trouble. I don’t want to wait for my brain to convince me that I would be better off dead. I talk about things that are bothering me as soon as I can.

Fortunately, I am married to a wonderful woman, person, who also stays on top of her mental health. My wife and I often “check-in” with each other when we see something may be a little off. Having someone who cares if you’re doing okay makes problems seem less difficult to solve, and nothing ever seems insurmountable.

I am happy to say that so far in sobriety, the serious thoughts of suicide or self-harm have disappeared. I do sometimes let my anxiety overtake me and begin to feel depression set in, but I reach out. Even if I am not sure of the cause of my feelings or that I’m not just having a moment, I let someone know before it gets worse.

Just like my drinking, I know depression can get worse, and I know where it leads for me. I don’t have to fight that battle alone anymore and I refuse to.

We all have times in our lives where it seems like nothing will ever go right again. During those times, it is important to have someone we can rant to, vent to, and cry with. If you feel lost or need help, reach out. I may not be the best person for you to talk to, but I can assure you that I care and you don’t have to go through whatever it is alone.

If you or someone you know has suicidal thoughts, ideas or practices self-harm, please check the resources below for more information or ways to help others.

Resources:

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA)

National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI)

Click Here to view a directory of Peer 2 Peer warmlines available in your area!

To reach crisis prevention through text, Text HOME to 741741

In the event of a crisis call the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988

OR

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255

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