1989
It was a windy day; the rain was gentle yet steady. The first chill of autumn sat heavy in the air.
I stood looking at the damage the storm had done.
Overall, it could have been worse; we actually made out OK.
Although, there was about a foot and a half of water where there wasn’t supposed to be any water.
The nursery was completely flooded, and I watched as trays of annuals and perennials floated along like pontoon boats out for a leisurely cruise.
The sump pump was doing its job, the excess water flowing steadily away from the plants and into the asphalt parking lot.
I stood and stared, my mind heavy with thought—the rain on my body adding to the mood.
Then I noticed something: the extension cord had fallen from safety. It was barely being held up by the delicate fibers of a cedar stake. The threads would give way if the wind picked up just a little bit.
The cord would fall.
This wouldn’t have been a big deal, except for the fact that the cord was old and worn. The exposed copper wiring was dancing above the conductive water below.
I looked at my feet. I was almost knee-high in water.
My sixteen-year-old brain thought I’ll be electrocuted if that cord falls. (I now know the fuse, hopefully, would have popped). But then I didn’t.
I thought it would kill me.
And I was OK with it. It would all end. It would be over, and it would look like a terrible accident.
People would be sad, but they wouldn’t know the truth.
That it was too much. Too much pressure. Too much shame. Too fucking damn much.
I could be rid of my skin, skin I fucking hated, and that I drank to escape as much I could.
I could die, and nobody would be the wiser.
I watched as the electrical cord swayed in the wind, teasing me with what I thought would be my imminent escape.
I started reciting the lyrics to the Metallica song “Fade to Black,”
“Life, it seems, will fade away
Drifting further, every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free.”
The lyrics felt good; this could be it, this could be my freedom. But one verse echoed in my mind louder than all the others,
“Nothing matters, no one else”
I thought of my best friend, Sean. He mattered. I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t want to feel that fucking way anymore. My brain hurt from the sudden one-eighty it just did.
Now, the electrical cord wasn’t a gift; it was a problem and a serious one at that.
I begged the wind to stop; I begged the dancing to stop. I watched with the sheer terror that comes when you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.
My life was not my own.
I couldn’t reach the cord; I was nowhere near the fuse box. I was standing in what I thought was a death trap.
I slowly backed out of the water, my eyes never leaving the fiber strand that swayed between life and death. As much as I wanted to rush, to get the hell out of there, I didn’t dare make any sudden moves.
I merely watched and thought of my friend.
With one final step, I was out of danger. I was in a place where my next thought wasn’t my last.
I made it to a place where I found something that did matter.
Friendship and connection.
I was not alone.
Sadly, this was not my first time contemplating suicide.
There were many before it and many after.
I’ve never shared this story this way, and I’m quite frankly terrified to hit publish.
Which is precisely why I have to.
It’s National Suicide Awareness Month.
Suicide has a stigma to it. It’s a taboo subject that gets swept under the carpet.
This needs to stop, and it needs to stop now.
By sweeping the topic of suicide under the carpet, we give rise to that which gives suicide its strength and power.
Shame.
Shame lives and breathes in the dark. Unless we address it, it’s an insidious disease that will eat us from the inside out.
What do we do with something that needs darkness to survive?
We turn on the light.
How do I turn on the light?
I speak light into the darkness by sharing what I don’t want to share.
I share the stories I’m scared to share because there is someone right now who feels how I once felt.
Someone consumed with shame and enveloped in darkness. Someone believing the lies that shame and desperation are telling them. Someone seeking a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
I share what I share so that person knows they are not alone.
Because knowing you’re not alone when shame is screaming at you that you are is the moment your darkness cracks.
In the darkest of skies, a single star carries the weight of a thousand suns.
It’s time we share our stories and drown shame in light.
If you or anyone you know is in a dangerous place, please contact the:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
800-273-8255
If you’re outside the US, please check suicide.org for a list of international hotlines.
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