Surviving Suicide

Thank you to Brainline for publishing what is perhaps the toughest article I've ever written. Lots of tears on this one. My biggest fear is in oversharing. I asked both Sarah as well as my Brainline editor if this sharing was too much, too personal.

Both gave approval.

I survived two suicide attempts as a younger man, and just a few months ago, a family suicide knocked the wind out of all of us. Almost five months later, and I'm still try to get my feet back under me.

If you are thinking in any way about self-harm, please reach out and talk to someone. Your life has value, even if you don;t think so.

Peace.

David

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Surviving Suicide

September is Suicide Prevention Month. Suicide is a topic that I dearly wish I was not so familiar with. In a couple of weeks, the calendar will remind me that it’s been five months since the suicide of a beloved family member. It’s been the longest five months of my life. Just thinking of spending the rest of my life without ever hearing his voice again brings me to tears. Some days I am able to smile at fond memories with him, but on other days, I want to scream at him at the top of my lungs: “Didn’t you ever think about what it would be like for us after you were gone … that we would carry the pain of your choice forever?”

But I am not the judge of anyone. Not only am I a survivor of someone else’s suicide, but I also survived my own two attempts at suicide. Both failed attempts — one by an intentional overdose, the other with a noose — happened while I was still in the throes of substance use disorder. Thankfully, both attempts failed. I have been a person in recovery for more than 30 years. Out of deep pain, a new life was born. This seems to be a common thread in my life as the same thing happened with my brain injury.

Time has a way of offering perspectives that can’t be gained in any other way. When I look back at the early years after my brain injury, I see a very tough chapter in my life. I can also see that, like any chapter in a well-read book, the chapter came to an end and a new chapter began.

It was more than a year after my injury that I was finally told by a medical professional that I had sustained a traumatic brain injury. Until that time, I was told that I was living with the long-term effects of a significant concussion. I was also told that it was only a matter of time until I would be “back to normal.”

To call that first year after my brain injury difficult would be an epic understatement. I was lost and confused, and people were walking out of my life with alarming frequency. Literally overnight, my personality changed, leaving my wife, Sarah, living with a stranger. I was incapable of working, and our bills were piling up. Credit cards were nearing their limits, and PTSD left me in night terrors more often than not. Wrongly thinking that I was destined to live the rest of my life in this broken state, I contemplated suicide.

Looking at where I was back then — all pain and no hope — suicide seemed quite reasonable. I longed for the end of my inner pain. More than that, however, I knew that Sarah was suffering. Her world, too, had forever changed. I saw the pain on her face, the confusion about what had just happened to the man she loved, and the concern as our life felt like it was falling apart. Though we had been together for many years before my injury, nothing could have prepared us for how difficult life would become. I wanted out.

Again, I found myself thinking about self-harm. Looking at my mental state through today’s eyes, I understand why. I know today that what I really wanted was relief from the pain — the pain that I was feeling and the pain that I was causing. I believed I was a burden to … everyone. I had lost perspective and hope.

At Sarah’s prompting, I sought help from a mental health counselor who specialized in working with people with brain injuries. I’ve learned that healthcare professionals can only help to the degree that we are honest with them. I was brutally honest with my new counselor, confiding that I had been contemplating suicide. She matched my honesty, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I was thinking about hurting myself, she was duty bound and morally bound to see that I was admitted to a facility with no doorknobs and no light switches.

She went on to make me promise her that if I had legitimate concern that I was unsafe, I would call her first, no matter the time of day or night. I promised and have kept my word. Over the years since, I have run into her and every time I give her a big hug and thank her for saving my life.

What would have happened had my early suicide attempts been successful? It’s easier to see what would not have happened. My sons would never have been born and I never would have met my soulmate, Sarah. Earlier this year, we welcomed two new grandsons into our lives, something that would not have come to pass had I not been alive.

I’ve seen both sides of the suicide coin, both as a surviving family member as well as an actual survivor. I have a deep empathy for those who think life would be better off without them, but I know that they are wrong. When you feel that way, you have no perspective; you are unable to understand that there are people who love you unconditionally and who would be shattered had you succeeded. I know today that suicidal ideation is a symptom of underlying challenges. It is a cry to be released from pain. But there is help. Please … please … if you are thinking that the world would be better off without you, be open to the fact that you might be absolutely wrong and that there are people who love you.

My cherished family member, the one we lost earlier this year, he was loved by many people. And while most called him by his first name, I did not.

I just called him Dad.

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