On a beautiful, sunny morning in February 2021, I left my house with the intention of hiking to my favorite spot along the oceanfront trail. And I was going to jump to my death.
I remember wondering. hah How long does it take to fall to the ground? 3 seconds? Four? Other than that, I didn’t think much about logistics. All I knew was that I wanted the pain of my existence to end. I didn’t want my family to have to deal with me anymore. I wanted to quit everything. Not feeling anything. That there is nothing.
“Did you have a plan?” the triage nurse would ask me later that day. I said yes, but by then my thinking was clear enough to realize it wasn’t well thought out. I didn’t tell the nurse about this, nor did I tell her about any other plans I had. Or driving your car into a cement pylon along the highway, or waiting until nightfall and drinking a glass of gin and overdosing on sleeping pills.
Of course, looking back, I see that my thoughts that day were illogical. There’s no guarantee that you’ll die from hitting a steel tower, and even if you survive a traffic accident, it’s likely to be a bigger burden on your family, and no matter how hard you try, you don’t have to take sleeping pills until night to die. there is no.
As I arrived at the spot I had chosen for the jump, my illogical thoughts were interrupted by a flash of clarity. My kids and I often hiked to this spot together. A sandy expanse atop a sandstone cliff, it offers 180-degree views of the coastline, the waves crashing on the shore, and the vast ocean that meets the sky on the horizon. That was where I insisted on stopping for a “zen moment”. Stand there, close your eyes, just listen for a minute, then open your eyes and think about how big the ocean is, how small we are, how interconnected, beautiful and peaceful we are. That was everything.
That day, the place didn’t strike me as beautiful or zen, but I remembered that it was possible and that I would be ruining this place forever for my children. I noticed. Maybe it’s not just this place. Maybe hiking. sea. Perhaps the concept of peace and connection.
As I stood there shivering, I suddenly remembered that my death would probably be damaging in a more dramatic way. I may leave emotional scars on my children that will never heal. This was enough to prevent me from continuing to the end. It was enough to keep me hugging the inside of the trail until I started climbing over the cliff.
And just as I was about to reach the end of the trail, I saw my best friend walking towards me with arms outstretched. What are the odds? I thought, before realizing she was there for me. “Wait a minute,” she told me. She called, waited, and then said, “I called.”
I eventually learned that after I left that morning screaming at my husband without my cell phone, my husband called my daughter, and my daughter called my best friend. To help my husband find me. The search area was wide and included more than a dozen trails. I thought the only thing I was lucky about was that she chose the path I chose.
When I told her this while waiting for my husband, she said, The universe wants you to be here. ”
I nodded, but didn’t believe her. The universe didn’t care in the slightest. I said out loud, “Really, but it’s okay.”
“No,” she said firmly but considerately. “Not you. You’re not okay, but it’s okay.” Her voice slowed. she took my hand. “But we need to do something. We need help getting you back to normal.”
So, about an hour later, I ended up making the most difficult phone call of my life. I sat in the backyard and called. I was tempted to hang up, I wanted to lie again, I wanted to say, “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” but then I remembered my best friend’s words. My voice trembled. Tears flowed as I admitted that I wanted to die. I had a plan and was ready to do it, but I didn’t. That I came home.
The triage nurse listened and then asked, “Are you alone?”
“No,” I said. “My husband is here.”
“Are you still suicidal?” she asked.
“No,” I said again. “It’s different this morning.”
“It’s different this morning,” she said somewhere between the statement and the question. “Let me be clear: Do you still want to end your life?”
“No,” I said, then repeated it even more firmly. “But I can’t live like this anymore. I need help.”
“Okay,” she said. “What’s going to happen? Within a few hours you’ll get a call from a social worker and a psychiatrist and we’ll help you. But, and this is important, if you decide to take your own life, you can always contact us. You need to call or call 911.” She paused for a moment, then said, “There’s someone on the other end of the phone 24/7.”
Photo courtesy of Anastasia Zadyk
It was then that relief came. The burdens I had been carrying for decades began to be lifted from my body. Even though I’ve been saying “I’m fine” for longer than I can remember, I haven’t been fine for that long. I didn’t realize that I was carrying a burden of depression and anxiety everywhere: in my lungs, head, shoulders, heart, legs.
Within a few hours, I was presented with options, instructions, and wishes. medicine. Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Talk therapy. meditation. Yoga. Over the next few months I tried them all. And slowly, from time to time, something began to change.
However, it was not all smooth sailing. The first two drugs prescribed had no effect. The third one worked incredibly well, but caused a very rare side effect that almost killed me. This was a lesson in itself. When I became more physically ill than ever, I realized that I no longer wanted to die.
Eventually, my doctor and I found the right combination of medications. I used CBT techniques to reframe my thinking. I stopped waking up at 2am every night to record my mistakes and wallow in deep self-loathing. I started writing about that journey and talking about it privately and publicly. on social media. In the article. On the podcast.
“What would have helped you on a sunny day in 2021?” a podcast host recently asked me. I thought about this. I said, “That’s a good question,” to give me time to think. It was Good question.
What helped? When I asked myself this question, the answer came to me. Sure, I had lost hope when I left home that morning, but mostly I felt alone.
“If my husband had said to me that morning, ‘What are we going to do now?'” I started. “I’ll call the emergency line with you. I’ll be with you. You’re not alone.” I paused and then said, “I’m with you. You’re not alone.” I know he wanted to help me. I also know that he didn’t know what to say or do. ”
I understand this. I’ve been in his position. Many times. In 2002, when I learned that a dear friend of mine was buying new underwear for her children every week because she was too depressed to do laundry, I was perplexed and didn’t know what to say. I was afraid to visit. When my 18-year-old daughter told me in 2010 that she had been suffering from depression for at least two years, I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. When my nephew tried to commit suicide in 2012, I didn’t say anything because I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing. This is common when we talk about mental health and suicide.
People care deeply. They just don’t know how to help. But like many things in life, we can learn, especially if we seek it out and point in the right direction.
Along these lines, I recently learned that the 988 hotline provides support not only to people suffering from mental illness, but also to people with mental illness. Family, friends, colleagues, community. This is true for many organizations, including: National Alliance on Mental Illness, National Institute of Mental Health and American Foundation for Suicide Preventionamong others. They recognize the need to educate people about the signs of mental illness and suicide and know what to look out for.
On a sunny day in 2021, I am truly lucky that my best friend is there to tell me exactly what I want to hear. “I need help.”
The gift of that day was learning that in your worst moments, when you want it all to end, that one person who is there can change everything. If one person listens and knows what to say, we can find the way to the other side of nothing – to something. Hope, meaning, love, belonging, gratitude. All of that. To life. For everything.
With knowledge, compassion, and empathy, I can be that person for someone else. You can too.
If you or someone you know needs help, call 988, text or chat. 988lifeline.org For mental health support. Additionally, local mental health and crisis resources can be found at: don’t call the police.com. If you are outside the United States, please visit: International Association for Suicide Prevention.
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