Steven’s Story

I’ve been suffering from mental illness since I was 19 years old and serving in the U.S. Marines. Since my discharge, my symptoms have gotten progressively worse. It didn’t help that I acquired a neurological disorder in the Marines that made my hands and legs shake and destroyed my quality of life. No matter what I did, or tried, I was never able to shake the feelings of hopelessness, loneliness, sorry and constant worry. I shared these feelings with no one in fear that people would treat me differently, or that my family would not love me.

Over the years my symptoms got worse and worse. I started drinking alcohol to minimize my tremors, but this exacerbated my depression and anxiety. I was unaware that alcohol is a depressant. To make matters worse, I wasn’t sleeping. Since I was in the Marines I literally slept no longer than four hours a night. Mostly this was from anxiety, but as time passed, my drinking had a significant part in my inability to sleep. This started to affect my memory, my vocabulary, and my ability to analyze and articulate information. Still, it seemed that no matter what I tried, or what I found on the internet, I was unable to control my symptoms. My life was spinning out of control.

In May of this year everything came to a head. I became extremely depressed and suicidal. My shaking was getting worse and I started having continuous thoughts of suicide. At the time I was also going through the VA disability process. I went to my appointment for my psychiatric condition. I told the examiner that I was having suicidal ideations and that I wanted to kill myself. He said, but you haven’t yet, right? I said, of course not, I’m here. He said why haven’t you?  I said I do not want my wife to find me. He said, well there you go. At this point I thought to myself, is he saying I should find a way that doesn’t involve my wife finding me? Even if that’s not what he meant, that’s how I took it. So it was my mission to find a new way.

Approximately two weeks later the plan was in motion. I had done research and found that jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco would be the best option. Not only would it ensure success—diving off head first—but the current is so strong my body would be carried away for the sharks to feed on. To me, this was the perfect plan. It was a Monday morning. I went online and booked a one way flight to San Francisco for Saturday. Later that day I recorded a note with my phone that I would leave. I was ready. I was going to die and nobody was going to stop me, at least that’s what I thought. On Wednesday my supervisor pulled me into his office and shut the door. I asked him if I was being fired and he said no. We have the type of relationship where we always joke around and kid each other, but this time he had a very serious look on his face. I knew something wasn’t quite right.

He asked me, are you suicidal? I said no, lying of course. I said I have random thoughts here and there but nothing serious. Little did he know, that at that very point of our conversation I was thinking about killing myself.  He said ok, so I don’t have anything to worry about? I said no, of course not. So that was that.

Later that day, the Director of Human Resources stopped by my office. He said, can we chat for a few minutes? I realized we haven’t had a chance to talk. He was actually new to the position and we hadn’t really spoken up until this point so I said sure. He started with small talk then asked how I was doing. I said fine. He said I’ve heard that you’ve been stressed out lately. I said no, not really. He said, well, that’s what I’ve heard and I think it’s a good idea if you take a break. Long story short, they placed me on FMLA leave. This saved my life.

Since they placed me on FMLA, I needed a Doctor’s note to return to work. Well, I tried, but my Primary care physician refused to give me a note. She even stated on the paperwork that I’m a danger to myself and others. She said the only way she’d ever write a note is if I participated in a treatment program at a hospital. At this point, a very small part of me was interested in the program. I was curious to see if they could at least give me an idea what it’s like to actually feel good.

I started the program on a Tuesday morning. I did not want to be there. I was quiet and did not say a word. I tried hanging myself in the bathroom but was too tall. I never thought my height would actually save my life. On Thursday, one of the counselors told the group he wanted to discuss suicide. He said suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. After you kill yourself, there is no working on it or trying to fix it, it’s over, that’s it. He then asked everyone in the room to raise their hand if they had ever considered or attempted suicide. A lot of people raised their hands. He then asked if those who had attempted suicide regretted it. Every person raised their hand. A lot of the group then spoke about how glad they were that they hadn’t succeeded and that they were all doing much better. I was surprised. From that point forward, I started to view the program differently.

That following Sunday I sat down with my wife and told her everything. She listened intently. At the conclusion I asked her how she felt. She said she felt horrible that I had been suffering for so long. She asked me why I hadn’t told her earlier, and I said I thought her feelings for me would change. She said not the least bit. I felt relieved and like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It actually felt good to talk about it! That Monday I told my story to the whole group at the outpatient program. Many were tearful and many were thankful that I was feeling better. Everyone congratulated me for taking the first step to recovery.