A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Dancing on the Razor's Edge: How to Save a Life

Legal notice: This chapter is largely historical.  I really was borderline suicidal as a teenager.  I was often severely depressed.

Point 1: I survived.

Point 2: Do not repeat my mistakes.  Most importantly, if you need help, then please get it.

Yes, I understand that some situations really are dangerous.  I am not a lawyer, a doctor, a psychiatrist, a policeman, et cetera.  For this chapter, I am merely a survivor.  Period.

Whatever else I am elsewhere in this book, right now (as I am typing this on my computer's keyboard) I am as much myself as I have ever been.

If you are harboring any thoughts about nobody caring about you, then know this:

I care about you.  Straight up honest.

You are not a "mistake" and neither am I.  Understood?  If naught else, I was born for this moment.  You too have purpose.

October 17 - 18, 2023: Brother Macbeth Raymondovich

(Presently, I rather consider myself a monk.  It's my touchstone and my safe place.  You know?  Like my very own, invisible teddy bear?  I can carry it anywhere.  If I ever lose it, then I'll know how to find it again.)

~•~

Part 2: My heroine, my friend

We routinely extol the virtues of imaginary heroes.

Real-live heroes honestly care.  As a teen, I may have owed my life to a kindergarten student.  I remember her entire name decades later, but not how to spell it.

Let me clarify this:

•  I definitely owe her my life.  I'm simply unsure what grade she was in.

She's the primary reason why I didn't attempt to commit suicide.

Problem: I was a depressed teen with undiagnosed autism (probably something like Asperger's syndrome).

The school system let some different grades out at different times.  For a while, my high school bus schedule matched that of one or more of the lowest grades.  I'm not sure why, but one little girl befriended me.  I never saw her except on the bus ride home.

Seeing my friend was the primary, positive thing I clearly attach to that part of my life.

First of all, depression plus suicidal thoughts are a horrible and scary conjunction: ouch 🙁.  This greatly troubled me, so I hatched a detailed, 2-day plan — an experiment, if you will.

Objective #1:  To bring myself to the verge of death.  [A really, really bad idea.  Simply hideous.  Ok?  Trust me: do NOT do this.]

[EVER]

This required careful timing so medical intervention could save me.  [Again: bad idea.]

Objective #2: To send out an utterly undeniable SOS.  I wanted to be hospitalized.

And I didn't care where!

[Stop.]

[This is where I can sympathize with feeling that one can't tell anyone how messed up a situation is.  There were things going on in my family that shut off certain kinds of communication with my parents.  Add in being often painfully shy, depression, fear, and undiagnosed autism...

[I was scared and confused.  So...  I get feeling isolated, even in a crowd and/or at school.  Even in one's own family.  True: I'm not you and you aren't me.  I don't know your situation, homelife, school life, workplace ... whatever.

[I am a survivor.  I have a police record.  I have been involuntarily committed.  I have lived in a psychiatric group home.  I have a college degree.  I am a military veteran.  I have slept in the torpedo room of a nuclear submarine.  Hence, in a way, I have slept atop of a pile of bombs — each one potentially capable of sinking a ship.

[And I have been literally stark-raving-mad.  So, no: I don't know your situation.  Right now...  This right now...  As I am typing this...  I am merely a survivor.  Perhaps just like you or somebody you know.]

****
After all: we have all survived something.

****

[Back to my 2-day "experiment."]

Objective #3:  To forcefully eradicate my suicidal fantasies — like an emotional vaccine.

(I wanted to live.  I wanted help.  The fact that I was obsessing about suicide scared me.  I felt that I would get no help ending my torment unless I forced the issue.  This how emotionally disconnected I felt — and with my own family, no less.  I was desperate.  I felt that if I didn't act decisively, then I would die.

(Even so, my plan was extremely dangerous.  I cannot emphasize that enough.)

[Arguably, it was a truly weird idea.  Hopefully, this chapter will be all of the "emotional vaccine" that you'll ever need.  My best advice is still this: get help.  Get advice.  And live.  Survive.  Dare to thrive.

[You are not alone, Ok?  I'm rooting for you.]  (Although, you might not want to go so far as sleeping in the torpedo room of a nuclear submarine.  🙂)

Well, I set my plan in motion.  Step.  By.  Step.  Like I've already stated, I wanted to live.  I wanted help.  I wanted support.  Most of all, I wanted to stop being a danger to my own survival.

DAY #1: Preparation.

Here is where I ignore many details, on purpose.

On the bus ride home, my friend sat next to me.  Neither of us spoke.  Her worried expression, however, worried me!

Yet, the plan remained in motion.  Replete with writing a "suicide note."  (A rather odd thing, since I wanted to live.  So...  Maybe it was a, "This is why I'm doing something so stupid and dangerous," note?)

Day #2: Lunch time.  Time to commit myself to the last steps.

Instead, I walked to a safe place (the high school library).  I wanted to double check my final preparations:

Including that cursed "suicide note!"

Well, I'd paid too much attention to detail!  I'd sealed the note inside of an envelope!!  And I didn't have any spare envelopes!!

(This part I got right.)  Ok: checklist.  In a safe place.  A logical reason to pause my plan.

Then I began considering who I was about to hurt:

A)  The suicide note's intended audience.

B)  My family.

•  But, most importantly, my little friend.  I did not want to hurt her that much.  I could not do that to her.  She was my friend.  I was her friend.  (I often have trouble remembering names, even for a day.  I still remember how to say her full name.  And it has been decades.)

There's no way she'd understand.  And hurting her that much was inexcusable!

My conclusion:

•  I had come as close to death as I needed to.

So, I -marched- myself to the nearest boys' restroom.  Then I scuttled my plan...

Including throwing that unopened letter into the trash — where it belonged!

VICTORY!!

I was quite proud of myself.  Bonus: my mood dramatically improved for most of the next few years.

Psychologically, the worst was yet to come — and it was hideous — but I'm still alive!

~•~

Conclusions and afterthoughts:

1)  Justice is the purview of kings and queens, but vengeance belongs to no mortal.

2)  Loving your enemies confounds them!

3)  Dare to love yourself.  You are absolutely amazing!  Trust me, Ok?

Life = Victory