I shouldn't be alive........
Suicide (awareness) Let's talk about it. | Vol.4 No.44
Every morning I wake up I say the same thing.
Thank you Lord for the air in my lungs and the blood in my heart. Thank you.
Preface
What you are about to read is a deeply personal journey that I’m on. It may invoke some very raw and real emotions. I wrote this piece to show that even if the cards are stacked against you or you find yourself in the deep pit of depression and suicidal thoughts begin to surface, you can fight against them. I did not write this to garner sympathy from the reader or for you to feel bad for me. Each of us have gone through our own struggles in life and mine are certainly not unique nor are they more severe than what you have or are going through. These are simply my experiences.
Twice I’ve had serious suicidal thoughts. Thankfully I never acted on them. I thank the Lord those thoughts are gone and I expect them to never reappear.
Suicide is preventable. Know that you have a place in this world. People are looking forward to seeing you again. You are loved. Find your community, seek your tribe and build relationships. Life, like Love is best when shared.
If you are having suicidal thoughts or are even contemplating taking your own life, please, please do not attempt to take your own life by your own hand until you’ve reached out for help! If you know me personally, please reach out to me and I will help. Here you will find a list of resources for help as well.
In a Crisis: Call or text 988 / or text “TALK” to 741741
Veterans Crisis Line - Call 988 then Option 1 / Text 838255
Team Red, White & Blue (RWB) - Veteran Organization - Find your community!
Surviving Childhood.
According to many studies and metrics I should be just another statistic. The likelihood of me perpetuating generational physical, mental and emotional harm and violence against my spouse was high. I was raised in a volatile household where mental and emotional abuse was a weekly if not daily occurrence. As a young child I witnessed my mother be abused by the two men whom both claimed to be my “dad”, yet never did anything beyond reproducing to earn that claim.
The emotional and mental abuse I witnessed was not solely directed towards my mother. Often times I would take the blunt force of the blame as to why my step-father’s career, life and luck were absolute shit. It wasn’t his diagnosed rapid-cycling manic depressive disorder nor the schizophrenia, no, it as me - a 10yr old boy.
Adding fuel to the chaos was the open and repeated use of illicit drugs. It’s not like I was the only kid in town who’s parents did drugs, every adult I knew except maybe my teachers were users. I remember being completely heart broken when my Baseball coach, years after I had moved on from the sport was fired from his job for cocaine use. I was let down, disappointed and heartbroken.
As if the domestic abuse and drug use weren’t enough, we lived in perpetual poverty. Using food “Stamps” and visiting the local Food Bank to receive our white label-black lettered “govt food” was common. Asking for money was about pointless and I learned from a young age that if I wanted money, I’d have to earn it myself and I wanted to earn in legally, with effort and honesty. Where that work ethic derived from I can’t name, it was just in me. I think it came from Wrestling and Baseball.
Through all of that, my mother sacrificed her health, both mental and physical so that she could give all she had to her children. As an adult I learned she went nearly 20yrs without visiting a doctor for an annual checkup and dental visits were so expensive, it was better to let them rot.
I wasn’t alone in this struggle. I am the oldest of four siblings and through all this struggle I remember helping raise my siblings, who were 7-10yrs younger than me. The horrors they went through as children and teens were worse than I ever had it, if that were even imaginable.
It was at the age of 13 that I first contemplated suicide. - This was 1994.
I was depressed and upset at my situation in life. My “birth father” was nothing except a disappointment in my life. Repeatedly letting me down and lying to me and when I did get to spend time with him, my only memories are of him drinking beer after beer of Budweiser. To this day I won’t drink it.
At 14 years old I didn’t want to live anymore. I hated my condition in life. It was embarrassing and depressing. I felt like a failure. I even remember one particular teacher telling me that I wouldn’t amount to anything. He gave me some speech about how he’d been teaching for years and he could tell which students would amount to anything and to him I was just another poor kid from a shitty town with shit parents. He wasn’t wrong.
The only thing I had going for me was Baseball, of which I was gifted and talented and I also had Wrestling. I’d made friends in both sports and with baseball I hit a talent level where other players, parents and coaches didn’t care about my poverty or home life, they simply wanted my talent on the team.
Sports and friendship saved my life.
With just a glimpse into my childhood you can see that the cards were stacked against me.
I should have perpetuated generational domestic abuse. - Yet I didn’t.
I should have been addicted to drugs. - Yet I’ve never done a drug in my life.
I should have become an alcoholic. - Yet I didn’t and even now rarely drink.
I should have killed myself at 14. (I wanted to)- Yet I didn’t - I’m still here.
The Great Escape
Things didn’t get any better going into my senior year of high-school. I wasn’t technically homeless, but I was spending more time sleeping on my buddies couches than I was at home. I started Day 1 of my senior year wearing the same clothes I’d been wearing all summer. In fact, I didn’t even have a backpack or supplies. I remember my friends mom giving me a single pen and a notebook for my first day. It was a rough start.
I failed to keep my grades above passing and this kept me from being on the wrestling team the first semester. That was it. Wrestling was done. A sport I’d done since the age of 6 was over. That first semester I spent more time drinking and skipping school than I did learning. I managed to pull my grades up just enough to be eligible for Baseball the following spring, however it was clear I’d be 1-credit short of graduating.
I failed to graduate. I failed American History not once, but twice. My graduating class was 52 people and a large group of us were considered “12-year seniors” meaning we went from 1st grade through 12th grade together. As I wouldn’t be graduating, I couldn’t attend graduation, and for rehearsals I had to sit in the stands and watch with my fellow classmate Ben, who also failed out.
Now at 18 years old I had no education, no skillset and worse of all no guidance. No teacher, counselor or parent pulled me to the side and discussed my future or what was possible.
The only person who talked to me about my future was SSG Curnutt - Our local U.S. Army Recruiter.
All I had to do was get my G.E.D, take the ASVAB and ship out.
I took the G.E.D hungover after a long night of drinking. I was the first person to finish each test and walked out before everyone else. I nearly scored perfect on all my tests. I remember thinking how incredibly easy and ridiculous the G.E.D tests were.
I took the ASVAB and did well. My GT Score made me eligible for a wide spectrum of Military Occupational Specialties (MOS). I wanted a job I couldn’t do in the civilian world, so I joined as a 13B - Cannoneer. I wanted to blow shit up. On another note, after completing training I realized I needed different MOS, so I reclassified to 13R - Radar Operator thanks to having such a high GT score.
All I really cared about was getting three hot meals a day and a paycheck.
I’ll join your damn Army, but only if I get to Jump from Airplanes and get out of Idaho.
“No problem young man, sign here” - SSG Curnutt.
I finally made the great escape from Idaho. I had no intention of ever going back.
WAR
As it turned out I was really good at being a Paratrooper. I excelled in nearly every task given to me. I was promoted ahead of my peers, attended military schools and before I was legally allowed to buy a beer I was a Jumpmaster at 20yrs old. I was responsible for other peoples lives and conducting the oversight of Airborne Operations. It was a lot of pressure, but I loved it. It was the first time I felt like I found my calling in life. A purpose.
Four years after enlisting I found myself invading Iraq with the 82nd Airborne Division. It was after this deployment that I was on the verge of suicide, yet again.
You are here for the Army, the Army is not here for you.
This was a common understanding as a Paratrooper. The Army did what it did and we did our best to execute the mission and tasks at hand. For me this meant four months invading Iraq before they shipped me back home. It was an abrupt movement, a shift of reality so fast I couldn’t full comprehend what had happened.
In less than 72-hours I went from full combat in Iraq with Snipers, Direct Attacks and Convoys to turning in my weapon to the Arms room at Fort Bragg, NC.
One of my leaders dropped me off at my house before heading to his wife and family. I walked into an empty house. My girlfriend had left me (for good reason) and most of my stuff was piled up in the middle of the living room with a rank odor that smelled like urine. To this day I’m certain someone pissed on my stuff.
In less than 72-hours I went from being in Combat with my small 6-person team, doing everything together from eating, sleeping, shitting and shaving to an empty house of silence. I’d been falling asleep to the sound of a generator and gunfire for the past four months, that first night it was silent and I was alone.
I’d lost my girlfriend.
My bank account was less than $100.
Most of my friends were in Iraq or Afghanistan, still fighting.
My team was all back home with their families.
I was alone in the silence.
This was the second time I contemplated suicide.
Luckily my flip phone still worked and I called a friend who talked to me for a while and promised that he’d see me in the morning for breakfast.
I had a reason to make it through the night!
More War - More Reasons to Live.
After that horrendous night of mental torture and emotional struggles, I made it alive to the next morning. Things got better and I worked through the struggle by talking to my leaders and my friends. I found solutions to my problems and realized that life is worth living, especially for the people in my life.
After that night, life changed. I got married and my wife and I had our first child. I made some more friends through the sport of Rugby and continued to seek personal growth. I would have conversations with our Chaplains about morality and religion and the sanctity of life and how precious it is and how fragile.
I eventually deployed to Iraq two more times. My wife and I had our second child and continued building our strong marriage.
Over those subsequent deployments I was extremely fortunate and blessed to avoid injury or death on multiple occasions. I was blessed with never receiving a Purple Heart or losing anyone on my team. Not because we weren’t engaged with the enemy, but as I believe, God had a bigger purpose for me beyond being a Paratrooper.
On my third deployment I was witness to the death of SSG Sanders whose vehicle was attacked with a massive roadside IED just yards ahead of me.
I’ve eaten breakfast with fellow Soldiers only to see them be flown away, dead by lunch time.
I do have a formal diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and I find the symptoms disrupting my life at least once a week.
With three combat deployments, witnessing death, destruction and murder, I have all of the experiences necessary for becoming an alcoholic and another Veteran suicide statistic.
Yet here I am!
I’m not an alcoholic.
I’m not abusive to my spouse, family or friends.
I’m not addicted to drugs.
I do NOT want to kill myself.
Individual Relationships and Community.
My friend and retired Army Chaplain explained to me that the best and most effective way to prevent suicide in one simple statement. We must establish individual relationships and community.
I took this to heart. Having thought about suicide twice in my life, I know I have to be proactive with my mental health and emotional well being. I must create individual relationships and be a part of a community.
For many years I found that in the sport of Rugby. I love the sport and the people. However, I got older and that sport is unrelenting. Every player I know over the age of 40 eventually gets an Ambulance ride to the ER and never returns to the pitch again. For that reason I stepped away from Rugby, but I miss it!
I found Clayton Area Runners and have made some amazing and incredible friends (individual relationships), and have become part of a community that I love. The benefits of regular exercise are also an added bonus, but it’s the people and the community that I love. They really are keeping me alive by seeking new adventures in life and providing meaning and purpose.
Thank you!
There are so many people in the club that I’ve gotten to know so well and become friends with. Each of you have a place in my heart and I look forward to seeing you throughout the week. I love seeing you progress in your running, in your careers and in life. I’ve had so many conversations with so many of you, it’s hard to name you all. Here’s just a few off the top of my head.
Robert, Mike, Dave, Carlos, Dwayne, Amy, Laura, Renae, Dilon, Jonathon, Jon, Ryan, Becca, Howard, Daniela, Adam, Carrie, Tina, Shelby, Sarah, Steve, Anthony “The Rock”, Warren, Jackson, Jake, Andrea, Heather, Stan, Bette, Kean, Jennifer, Jim, Luis (fellow Paratrooper), Hank & Charles (two Marines), Tony, Wendy, Carla, Leah, Paula, Mike, Maureen, Jason & Allison, Kat, Amir……………and the list goes on and on…if I missed you, you weren’t omitted on purpose.
However, I want to say thank you to my friend Robert. He’s become a friend that I truly love. More than a friend, he’s a confidant and someone I can bounce ideas off of or simply converse about the ongoings of society or dig into the details of business operations.
My Best Friend:
My best friend is my wife, Elizabeth. She’s been with me since the very beginning and has seen me at my best and my worst. She’s supported me when everything felt like it was crashing down and celebrated the major life victories and achievements. She is my best friend, my bride, my travel companion and also the sole woman of whom I’m obsessed with. I love her and she gives me purpose to live each day.
We’ve successfully made it through 21 years of marriage and look forward to many, many more.
