Josh’s Story
“…and I’m still here” is a phrase I have held onto for years. It’s something that comes across my mind when I am in a hard spot. Fortunately, I have not been in a place like I was back in high school when I had a failed suicide attempt.
My senior of high school was a hard year for me. My mental health was not good at all, and I was the only one who knew this because I hid my struggles so well. I mean, some people like my parents and close friends (my youth pastor and his wife) knew something was going on…
Looking back now, I know there were many factors involved that led me into the depression I was experiencing.
the loss of loved ones
break of up a girlfriend relationship
the music I was listening to
not seeking help or not knowing how to seek help
keeping the struggle hidden
letting religion hinder help
anger issues
All the reasons above snowballed into each other.
Let me paint the picture a little more.
Trigger Warning
Depression
During this timeframe, I would lock myself in my room and sulk heavily in silence. This usually happened after school at home and before bedtime. My parents worked normal business hours, so I was home alone many of the times, with the exception of my brother.
The time in my room was heavy. I’d sit in the middle of the room, on my knees, face to the floor, in a pain similar to when you lose a close loved one. I’d plead for why I felt such a way, but there was no answer. I didn’t know why I was going through such a dark time, but again, I hid this from the outside world. I didn’t want anyone to know what was happening, nor did I think anyone could help.
Close to the attempt stage, I would write notes but destroy them.
I got to the point where I didn’t want to deal with the pain anymore and began contemplating suicide. I remember a couple of nights I took a knife to my wrists but didn’t want pain in that way either, so I would back off.
Side note: I remember my Latin teacher from a couple of years prior, for some dumb reason, explained to my class that when slitting your wrist, going horizontal isn’t the best way, cutting vertical up the wrist with the vain was the quicker way to bleed out…[I can’t stand even typing this out]. It’s so wrong in so many ways, but guess what? When I put the knife to my wrist, guess what direction I started at?
I wish I had known better. I would have pushed to get that teacher fired and also asked if he was okay. Why would you bring that up to a class of teenagers?
Escalation / Attempt
Again, I didn’t want pain or to go out in pain. Pain was part of the problem. So one night, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I tied a belt to my closet rod, looped it around my neck, and dropped my weight down. I thought I would cough a few times and let myself go, but I blacked out instantly.
My family was in the living room and heard a pounding sound. There’s no telling what it was and my parents thought I was hitting the wall or something like that. For context, I had anger issues and would find things I could pound on without being destructive.
Whatever the sound was, they went into my room to check on me. My mom described seeing my legs outside of my closet, turned the corner and saw me hanging there. My dad and brother came in, my brother cut the belt, and I was on the floor with my dad trying to get me to wake up.
This moment felt like something out of the Twilight Zone. If you can picture the first-person view, eyes blinking, blurry, and trying to understand what is happening. I heard my dad’s voice begging for me to wake up. I saw him over me, and once I realized what happened, I broke down crying.
I felt shame. I was embarrassed. I didn’t mean for it to happen (this time). I imagined later on if I would have kept trying to hang myself, just like I kept putting a knife to my wrist. How would things keep escalating?
The police came to my house and talked with me in my room. I remember questions like…
Do you know what happened?
Do you know what you were doing?
Are you going to hurt yourself again?
Are you going to resist coming with us? Being told I could go with them willingly or would be forced to go.
So I responded with, “I don’t have much of a choice…”
3 Days 3 Nights
My dad and I sat in the back of the police car. I remember not having much leg room; I’m a tall guy. We pulled up to the entry to a behavioral health center, where I spent three days and three nights. It wasn’t until later in my counseling degree studies and career, a decade later, that there were regulations about only being able to keep people for a certain amount of time. I think I fell into this case with the time period.
During my time at that facility, I was visited by my parents, pastor, and youth pastor’s wife, Becky. My youth pastor, Justin, would have been there, but he was dealing with some health issues of his own. My youth pastors meant a lot to me and still do. They took me under their wing.
Some of the visits were good, and others were not. Pastor Ken could have stayed home. He came in with statements and questions, “You know what the Bible says about suicide, right?” I asked him to just leave.
However, Becky and my parents were there daily, trying to learn how to help and understand me. At the time, Becky’s time there meant the most.
The facility staff was friendly, and the nurses were caring. The first day was hard. I didn’t want to look at anyone. Any strings to my clothing, like shoes or hoodies, had to be removed. The door had to be cracked open at night and was checked on every hour. To this day, I have to have every door shut in my room at night. My OCD, and maybe I could consider this response as PTSD, kicks in if I know the door is open.
An activity related to Thanksgiving has always stuck with me. It could have been part of my healing. To help me focus on the good things, they let me shoot hoops in their courtyard. Each day, I made progress.
I was put on meds. I didn’t really like this part.
I remember getting frustrated.
I made it up in my mind that I didn’t belong there. I would do whatever it took to go home so I could move forward. I didn’t want to stay what felt like being stuck. As long as I was there, I was not going to be able to move on. My spirits were getting better. In a way, this whole experience was a reset button.
Even though I was improving, I was still irritated at the doctor. He would only come in and ask a few questions at each appointment. I would ask when I could go home but wouldn’t get an answer.
In my last appointment with him, I was blunt and told him I was ready. How can you make any judgments when you’re not spending any time with me? Ask the nurses! I’m better; they are the ones who are with me all day. That day, I was released. I still take credit for standing up for myself to that doctor! LOL. Do you remember the regulations I mentioned about keeping patients for so long? I don’t know if that was a factor, but I think my words worked, too!
My healing journey was starting…
For the next several weeks, I was on meds and counseling. I didn’t like being on meds. I didn’t want to be dependent on drugs for how my mental health was supposed to be. I wanted to be in control of that. Looking back, I do think the drugs helped balance things out. My attitude was a big factor, too! I was ready to move on. I didn’t want to linger in what happened.
During this time, I informed a few friends of what had happened. I felt like they deserved to know.
Ironically, the advice and counseling I got said I could just tell people I was sick. I didn’t have to tell anyone. Keeping things to myself was part of the problem. Even though some people knew at that point, I was still struggling inside. I felt like I was still hiding how I was doing.
Fast-forward to the summer. Youth camp at Student Life Camp. IYKYK youth camp is emotional and vulnerable, and this time was no exception. It was a mile marker in my healing.
*as I’m typing this, I’m shaking a little walking down this memory lane…in a good way:-)
One of the sessions as a church group, Beth was sharing how she had a friend at school that was talking about taking her life. She didn’t know what to do about it. She was in tears sharing. I remember making eye contact with Justin. After that meeting, I pulled Justin to the side and said I think its time to share what happened. He asked if I was sure, and I was.
The next church group time we had together was after service Justin teed up the time for me to share. With everyone’s attention and the support of those who already knew, I shared my story.
My intent was to let Beth know a perspective from someone who had a failed attempt. The difference was I didn’t let anyone know, but her friend reached out to her. I gave some encouragement the best I knew how at the time.
After the time of sharing was done, individuals in my group came up to me showing love. It was that night I had my first sense of freedom.
The last morning of camp, Justin led an activity we have done in the past. He usually carried around a nine inch nail which represented a nail from Jesus’ crucifixion, and we would pass it to someone saying an encouraging word to who we were handing the nail to. This year he didn’t have the nail with him, so he asked us to draw a cross on the person’s arm. If someone has a cross drawn on them, outline the cross around that cross.
That morning my wrist was full of crosses. I meant more to people than I gave credit to. I’ll never forget that time. I hold onto the belief that when we open up about our struggles it can lead to freedom and allow someone else to begin their freedom.
I’m thankful that even in my hardest times of life, I don’t revert to suicidal actions.
The night of my failed attempt, it was nothing short of a miracle that I am still here.
For some reason, I am still here.
There’s some sort of purpose of why I am still here.
Even if I don’t know the purpose, there is one.
…and I’m still here.
-Josh
P.S. There’s more to this story that I want to share in the coming days. Lessons and experiences about my journey as a suicide prevention advocate. But this is my story. The foundation and context to this project.
Please Note: I am not a licensed mental health professional. This blog provides information for awareness purposes only and should not be considered a substitute for professional advice. If you are struggling or in crisis, please seek help from a qualified professional or call emergency services.