Knowing how to be "helped"? - Conquering Suicidal Depression

About 6 months ago. I was curled up in my bed, asking God to take me home, I was done...

How many of us out there have ever considered suicide? How many veterans a day kill themselves? Recently, a presidential candidate named Vivek Ramaswamy raised an alarming statistic. He said that in his research, nearly 40 veterans kill themselves every day, up from the common statistic of 22 a day. Adding further to this narrative that something is wrong, and that we (the collective whole) are missing the mark.

I remember my first time on a gun range in basic training in Fort Sill, Oklahoma. It was a cold winter day, sun shining, slight breeze from left to right. I was waiting anxiously for my turn to practice my riflemen skills. I had never shot a gun before, much less an assault rifle. I remember my drill Sergeant yelling "Wilcoxxxxx (said with amplified emphasis on the last few letters, as was custom in those days as a private) GET IN THERE", he commanded.

The first time I ever shot a rifle, (poof) I hit the dirt. Next few shots, missed left, missed right...I felt so embarrassed. "Surely I couldn't be that bad", I thought. I tried adjusting the sights, and shot again....same result. At this point, the Drill Sergeant yelled at me, I must have been doing something wrong...He grabbed my rifle, fiddling with the back end, and handed it back to me.

"This is my rifle, this is my gun". A colloquial expression now, garnished from the hit movie "Full Metal Jacket". Only, in this instance, my gun didn't shoot so straight. After careful inspection, I noticed the back-sight was wobbling. The rear aperture on my rifle had wiggled loose after years of use and abuse. Only, I didn't know how to ask for help. I was too nervous in the service.

Metaphorically speaking, I have struggled in the past with asking for help. I kept shooting (trying so many jobs, relationships, and hobbies), but I always struggled to hit the "mark". Divorced, separated from my kids, rejected by my family, no hope, no future, just hopeless. And then I did something I do not normally do. I started preparing myself to be "helpable". What does this mean?

I felt afraid asking for help. But more so, I did not know how to act helpable. I blamed my prior providers. I blamed my ex-wife. I blamed the Army. I blamed the VA. I blamed my government. I blamed my parents. But nothing ever fixed my sights. For a man like me with a very traumatic, polarizing childhood, I had a wobbly aperture, for sure. My parents were alcoholics, come from generations of alcoholics. Yeah, my mom was nuts, literally. But no matter how much I blamed, nothing helped me with my sights.

For the first time in years, curled up in my bed ready to die. I asked God for something I really had never asked for before. Lord, show me what is wrong with me, and help me become helpable. For me, it meant replacing my rear sight completely. Because no matter how many times I kept shooting, I was always missing the mark. No matter how many times I tried to adjust the sights, it still wobbled. I asked God, to begin showing me what in me was broken, and fix it!

I may not have all the answers to veteran suicide. I only have my own. I had to take accountability, and make the proper steps to align my sights on the goal. Full restoration is what I am after, and it's a call to daily action. I am on my journey. I participate in my own recovery. I take responsibility for my choices. I am an active part of my own path to healing. Whether that is kick-boxing twice a week, going to church on Sundays, praying every day, reading the bible, signing up for Ketamine therapy through the VA, joining a program called Warrior Rising (for veteran entrepreneurs), the steps are small, but certain. I am healing, one word, one video, one prayer, one step at a time.