My first time going to the hospital after a suicide attempt was in 2014. This attempt was not even close to my first attempt. It was however the first time I asked for help.
Operator: “911 what are you reporting?”
Me: “Im a Veteran and I am trying to kill myself. I think I want help, if it's not too late.”
Operator: “To late? What did you do?”
Me: “I’ve taken a bunch of pills and chased them down with about half a bottle of Gin.”
Operator: “Where are you?”
Me: “Im at the Economy Lodge Downtown.”
Operator: “Help is on the way, can you tell me how many pills you took?”
Me: “I took about 20 Tramadol 50MG and 10 Ambien 10MG. I’m starting to get sleepy, Im scared I wont make it.”
Operator: “Help is almost there, I need you to keep talking to me okay? You said you were a Veteran what branch did you serve in?
Me: “I served in the US Marines.”
The Ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital.
I don't recall much after that moment, my next memory is about 20 hours after arriving at the hospital. I awoke to the rhythmic sounds of the heart monitor and blood pressure machines. I quickly realized I was attached to the bed. I could not move my arms or legs. I had lots of tubes coming out of me, along with an I.V. One thing for sure, I did not know that at this moment I was about to make one of the most impactful choices of my life. I decided, no longer to be held hostage by my thoughts and feelings. I deiced to get help!
I did not know that I was about to start a journey. A journey that many have traveled, but never traveled by me. It seems odd to say that because I have been a patient of various therapists since 2008. I had always kept the sessions low key, talking just enough about my problems but never talking about the real issues. Why would I talk about the real issues? What could that do, except for bring up painful memories of the past. The beatings and sexual assaults as a child and as an adult. The random mood swings of being happy one moment and then depressed the next. No thanks, I'll keep my garbage to my self! Yet as I laid in the hospital bed, waiting to be transferred to a near by VA Hospital, I realized that it is this garbage that is trying to kill me.
My qualifications are not degrees from prestigious schools or seminary (not yet anyways). Nope, my qualifications are the fact that I wake up everyday, determined to live today, today. I have PTSD and I am bipolar, yet despite the overwhelming, nagging feelings that this game of life is rigged against me. I press forward each day. When I awake I have to figure out how intense is my depression. Or do I have a short term break from that asshole and get to enjoy life? Next, I check in with the other members of the emotional roller coaster club. Finally I look at my calendar and review what I get todo today. The way I see it I killed myself in 2014. The rest of the time that I have here on our planet is not mine. My time belongs to someone else. My time belongs to Jesus Christ! He is the one that kept me alive! I get to do life instead, of having to do life. All because I chose to dump my garbage. I chose to be honest and open in my counseling sessions. Counseling sessions I was already going to. After all, Im only hurting myself if I keep holding onto this garbage. My journey is not over! If anything it is just beginning!
I hope this was encouraging to you. I thank you, for reading my first story. I joined this site to start writing a book about my experiences as a christian that has mental health issues. Any possible monies that I may earn from this website will go to making that dream a reality.