I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream

(Note: today's post discusses matters such as depression and suicide. Please proceed with caution if these topics may have a triggering effect. If you are in crisis, please contact someone: a close friend, family matter, a therapist, or even the crisis hotline by dialing 9-8-8 in the US. You're much too important to leave this world. Never forget that.)

Throughout my life, I was picked on, bullied, ignored and the like for most of it. Growing up, kids always found a reason to make fun of me: too skinny, too short, too fat, too nerdy, too unfashionable, too flamboyant, too quiet. And the list continued.

When experiencing this, especially in the 90s, nobody ever tells you that it's nothing wrong that you did but something wrong that the others are doing. It doesn't help whenever you try to confide in an adult, they're no help whatsoever. 

"Just ignore them," "what are you doing to make them do that," "nobody likes a tattletale." I heard them all and so I stopped going to adults. Just swallowed whatever pride I had and took it.

The times when I did strike back, I'd end up in trouble for beating the bullies up. They'd cry, say they didn't do anything and my parents would chew me out for starting trouble.

So, I stopped fighting back altogether. I started to accept that this was my lot in life. I was a loser, I would always be a loser. Maybe it would be best if I wasn't here at all, right?

No, that can't be true.

Could it?

Thoughts of depression and suicide for me started creeping in once I reached high school. The first time I considered it was my senior year.

I'd spent all day on the road at a conference for kids to learn about mass media. I get off the bus back at school and immediately board another one to a football game that night. Despite being a senior and the most experienced kid on the team, I didn't start that year. Our new linemen coach didn't like me and pushed the kids of his friends (we had a very undersized sophomore as our starting right guard. Maybe 5'8" and 180 pounds. His main qualification was his dad had grown up with the new linemen coach).

So, I'm standing on the sidelines and notice this girl with whom I'd been talking up in the stands. She's holding hands with another guy; they can't stop smiling and laughing, plus their hair's a mess. You can guess what they'd just finished doing together.

The game ends and the bus drives us home. We pull into the parking lot and my car is covered in toilet paper. That's when it starts raining. To make matters worse, the culprit is sitting there in their vehicle to see my reaction when I get back. It's one of my best friends. He drives off when one of my teammates goes to check on him.

So, I clean off my car and start driving home; tears now hitting my cheeks as much as the raindrops are hitting my windshield.

I decided on that drive home to end things. My dad had plenty of hunting rifles and ammo. I'd wait until they fell asleep, load one of them and pull the trigger.

When I got home, they were still awake and had some mail for me. I had received several letters from colleges to which I'd applied. Every single one accepted me. I know now that just about every acceptance letter sounds this way but it meant everything for me to read them say "it would be a privilege and honor for you to attend our university."

That was the lifeline I needed: the proof that I'm worth more than other people (or even myself) think I am.

Sadly, this wasn't the last time I considered suicide.

Anytime I was lucky enough to have a girlfriend growing up, I'd be the one to be dumped. I didn't handle them well either: lots of tears, lots of texts begging for them to take me back, and lots of terrible thoughts when they refused.

I felt the same way when my ex-wife and I had just started dating and she dumped me to try one last time with her then longtime boyfriend. I was so depressed that I couldn't sleep or barely eat. That was the first time I tried therapy but I refused to take medication and I don't think I took it as seriously as I should've either.

While she did come back and we not only got married but had our daughter, things just went downhill between us.

Between my inability to handle her issues at home, my own insecurities, my ballooning waistline and the usual stressors of being an adult, the thoughts began to return.

The breaking point was when I lost my job. I was working in a hospital and had recently switched departments. I still had access to my old department and checked their area to see if any patients would be coming to us. While I was open and honest about why I was checking a different department's patient list, I was suspended and then fired.

So, I'm 30 years old, married to someone who doesn't seem to love me, just had a child less than a year before, we have mounting debt issues and I just lost my job.

I hit rock bottom. I believed that my wife would leave me and I'd never see my daughter again. Sensing I was in crisis, the HR person gave me the number for the mental health department for our hospital and I set up an appointment with a different therapist.

I spoke with them and my wife for nearly an hour before we agreed that I should spend time in the inpatient facility for my own protection. I wound up spending five days as a patient and it was the best thing for me. Together, the staff and I set up a therapy plan and found me medication to help.

When I went home, the first thing my wife said to me: "why did you send your mom to check on me? What, did you think I was stupid or something? You didn't think I could take care of myself if you weren't here?"

Then she hugged me. Coldest hug in my life.

After that, I kept up with therapy and also seeing a psychologist to make sure the medicine was working (it was). Eventually, I got to the point of handling my stressors that I didn't have to go to therapy regularly and the medicine was down to just as needed (I still see the psychologist every 3-4 months).

I know I'm fortunate in that regard. Not everyone is able to recover to a point of "normalcy" like I did.

However, I won't sit here and say "I'm cured" because they're isn't one. All you can do is monitor things and manage them moving forward.

I don't stop thinking about where I was and continue to work on making sure I never go back.

If you're on your own journey and feel like you don't have anyone there for you, just know that's there's always someone who cares for you. Always. And know that I love you and appreciate you all. Please never give up on this world or the people within it.

😘❤️