“This isn’t happening. I’m not here…In a little while I’ll be gone. The moments already past.” – Radiohead
Hope had left me, I felt as if I was living on borrowed time that wasn’t even mine to have. The worthlessness I felt, it consumed me in ways that left me empty; hollow. It was a cold lonely New England night. I had spent the evening snorting lines of coke and trying to drink myself into nothingness; but the hatred and shame I had for myself only seemed to grow that night, with the more coke and alcohol I consumed. I found myself alone sitting at the wheel of my black and purple 1994 Ford pickup truck. As I sat there contemplating how my life had become such a cyclical sideshow, a polluted cesspool of toxic emotions and pseudo temporary spiritual highs through chemicals. My thoughts drifted to that dark place I tried so often to avoid throughout my life, they would return like a bad friend whom you never knew if you could trust, but somehow found yourself enthralled by their presence and attracted to their attention to only be left frightened and unsure of the relationship’s outcome. They appeared to come at the most desperate and loneliest times in my life. This is where I would often find my thoughts revisiting my own death and my own participation of the act of taking my own life. I found myself sliding deeper into the abyss of thought consumed by its siren call to complete the deed and erase myself from this life so I would not have to feel and so I no longer would be the burden to my family and friends I often was. The battle was once again upon me as I drove my pickup carelessly through the streets of my hometown in the early hours of the morning. The thought of taking my life scared me, as it always did, but the allure of my pain ending was hard to deny. As I raced along through the back roads trying to sort this out, a battle I had been waging since I was a child. With no care of putting myself as well as any innocent individual, seemingly wandering the night, at risk. I realized I was heading to my parents’ home, a possible subconscious attempt to seek out the last and only thing that gave me a sense of comfort and stability; I can only assume. The coke and alcohol could not ward off the deep shame I felt due to the pain and disappointment I had become to them. It was time. I needed to end my life right here and right now. I remember a complete abandon of care for anything fall over me and I drove my truck head on at 55 mph through a fence and directly into a tree, totaling my vehicle to where I was unable to get out, but my face had broken through the steering wheel. The impact broke my front teeth that had ripped through and completely tore off half of my bottom lip. But there I was toothless, bloodied, face broken and alive, alive. Sirens surrounded my car, people yelling to me from outside my vehicle. The emptiness and shame remained and the only thought I had, was not how grateful I was to be alive, it was how I had failed yet again to take my life and that through it all death even rejected me.
I would go on to treatment several weeks later to a long-term program in California and begin the path towards my recovery, self-acceptance, and self-love. But the road was not easy, and it had not been without its own internal battles. Even in recovery I was plagued by the dark thoughts of taking my life and once at 5 years sober sat at the end of my bed with a gun in my hand contemplating once again my own demise, but fortunately through nothing short of divine intervention was able to pull myself out of the deepest of the deep.
I have been fortunate in my own journey to have been in remission from this type of depression for well over a decade, but at times I do fear its subtle return and its crippling grip. The CDC reports that the suicide rate in the United States has increased 24 percent between 1999 – 2014; it is the highest recorded rate in 28 years and continuing to climb. The data is showing that increases in completed suicides has increased across age, gender, race and ethnicity. So, what is happening why are we not alarmed by the number we are seeing? Why did I not feel comfortable talking to people about my thoughts and feelings of hopelessness? I had attempted suicide 3 times, but never had much of a conversation about this due to religious and cultural perception on the topic. In more than half of all suicide deaths listed in 27 states; individuals had no known mental health condition on record when they ended their lives. So, what was their story? Were they like me and scared to come forward based upon shame and stigma?
We have finally begun to address substance use disorders in this country, we still have much to do, but we have begun a public dialog on the subject and you really have to be living in a cave to not know of someone who has been directly or indirectly effected by the opioid epidemic. Rightfully, the opioid epidemic has gotten a lot of attention and social advocates and groups are popping up everywhere to address the matter. My only question is that in 2016, 42,249 individuals died of opioid overdoses and we have declared this pretty much a national emergency to where the President and politicians are beginning to make policy and take action to address the matter. Yet 45,000 individuals died of suicide in the same year, 2016, and we have seen no outcry to address what I believe is a national tragedy. Where the stigma for those with addiction appear to be improving are we still holding a huge stigma around those with mental health especially the most vulnerable? I mean my history is attached to both as a recovering heroin addict with a history of depression and suicide, so both are equally important to me. Especially looking at the numbers trending upwards should be frightening to us with children. As the second leading cause of death for those between the ages of 15-34 is suicide. For every completed suicide in the United States there are 25 suicides attempted; over 123 suicides a day happen. So why are we allowing so many live in such pain without opening up and beginning a dialog about this topic to help give those in such a dark place some hope in light through our friendship and stories. As a man in recovery I have never had a problem discussing with people openly my past addiction to heroin and alcohol and my story of recovery, but I had for well over 15 years been very hesitant to share by story of mental health recovery and my history of past suicide attempts.
There is hope, connection is the key. As when I look back at these times in my life I realize it was the disconnection and apathy to it all. Being high on drugs and alcohol made it easier for me to disregard any feelings toward protective risk factors to help me out of the state I was in and being numb on chemicals made it at times easier to follow through with the attempt. As I had mentioned before, I had even found myself 5 years in recovery pretty close to the edge, but at that time I had been consistently on a regiment of prescription drugs that at the end of the day left me apathetic to life and disconnected from anyone, making it much easier for me to follow through with any suicidal act I had been planning. We know that the studies show more suicides happen while individuals are on prescriptions drugs. I have been off any medications for over 14 years, and it has made all the difference for me in my life. Anyone on medication looking to come off of them should always do this under the direction of their doctor.
I am hopeful that with the direction we have taken publicly to overcoming the stigma to addiction that we in time will do the same with mental health, but do we need to wait for the numbers of suicides annually to continue to increase unnecessarily? Until then we individuals in recovery from our own mental health need to be more transparent, more of an advocate for those still stuck in that deepest of the deep. They need your story of hope and redemption, they need you so they to can recover, they need you today; as you and I may need them tomorrow.
The MixTape Diaries 