The 22nd. December. And Finding Reasons to Stay.

 (I wrote this last year, but it could have just as easily been written this morning. The only real difference is, I'm now working with a therapist to keep my depression at bay. But it never really goes away completely. If this sounds like you, I'm right here. Talk to me. We'll battle whatever the fuck demons required to make sure we are both still standing come the sunrise. Please get help. We can't lose you.)

Today is the 22nd. On this day each month, I share a post about the high rate of veteran suicides. But this month isn’t like all of the others. So it seems fitting that what I’m going to share today isn’t like my usual posts, either. I’m going to talk about some facts, some truths, and some action items.

First, the facts. And they’re not good. Every single day, approximately 125 Americans die by suicide. That means there is one suicide death in the US every 11.5 minutes. On average, each suicide touches more than one hundred people, with 15-30 considered severely affected. And here’s one more timely fact. Despite Spring and Fall being the times of the year when death by suicide increases, New Year’s Day is the holiday that sees the highest number of suicide attempts.

And there’s more. For every suicide death, there are:

• 4 hospitalizations for suicide attempts
• 8 emergency department visits related to suicide
• 27 self-reported suicide attempts
• 275 people who seriously considered suicide

The exact numbers change slightly depending on the study cited, but this isn’t about a percentage point or a rounding average. It’s about the humanity behind the numbers.

And here’s some truths. Even the most well-meaning of us can easily miss the signs that a loved one is thinking about suicide. Sometimes we are occupied with our own stressful thoughts and the everyday demands of life and we just don’t notice. Or we might get a sense that something is off, but when we ask, our concerns are brushed off with a simple, “oh, no, I’m just tired from work,” or “I’m good, just swamped at school right now.” And if we are really worried and we press the issue, a friend or other loved one may just flat out lie to us and deny there is anything going on at all.

We recently lost a beloved entertainer to suicide. He was described as talented, handsome, successful, loved, and celebrated. And last week, a young activist working with the Human Rights Campaign died by suicide. He was known for his compassion and his dedication to helping the vulnerable and the marginalized. By all accounts, both of these individuals were living wonderful lives surrounded by caring friends and loving families. And yet, none of that was enough to save either man from their own suicidal ideations.

Here’s my personal truth. I am in a lifelong battle against depression and anxiety. Some days are better than others, sure. But some days are truly horrific. When it’s really bad, it feels almost like I can’t breathe. I am sad and hurt and mad and overwhelmed. My emotions churn inside of me to the point that just one more thing feels like it will be my undoing. My depression tells me that I can’t do anything about all the bad things surrounding me while my anxiety fuels my need to fix everything all at once. Yeah, it feels as fucked up as it sounds.

And there’s more. Those same voices that pile on one bad thing after another also lie when they convince me that I am alone in all of this. I know that my friends would drop everything to rush to help me if I would only tell them what is happening when it is happening. I know that cognitively, I mean. But emotionally, when I’m in that spiral, I don’t believe that. Instead, my brain tells myself whatever fuels my emotions.

• Why be kind of depressed when I can bottom out?
• Why be only a little sad when I can replay every horrible moment of my life and be gutted?
• And why feel a little lonely when I can be the guy whose friends wouldn’t really like him at all if they ever really knew him?

And here’s one last fucked up truth. I promise my friends that I will reach out to them if I ever find myself in such trouble that my suicidal thoughts are becoming ideations and actual plans. But I won’t. Because even before I pick up the phone, I run the whole conversation through in my mind. And if they were to ask, “John, are you thinking of harming yourself?”, I know that I would answer, “no, of course not, I’m just having a really tough time.” And since I know what I would say, I don’t call them. I don’t drag them through my own nightmare. I just let myself go as low as I need to before I take a deep breath, stuff it all back down in my little shame and guilt compartments, and pick myself up and walk on.

Do I worry that one day my low point will be so low that I can’t come back? Yeah, sometimes. And for my own sake, I hope that I would reach out then. Hard to say for sure, but I think so.
So what is the point of all of this self-disclosure? One of the things that grounds me is feeling like I am helping somebody else. I’m a helper-junkie, for lack of a better term. So I share just about everything that bounces around in my head in hopes that other people struggling with similar challenges will take comfort knowing they aren’t the only one. And putting this stuff out there candidly and without embarrassment may just empower someone else to do the same, to let other people see more than just the surface smiles. Things really do get better outside the comfort zone, right?

And finally, the promised action items. I should start by saying that writing all of this out like this has me thinking that it might be a good time to get myself a little more one on one time with a therapist. Living with depression and anxiety does not also have to mean being miserable and an emotional wreck beneath the happy, shiny surface. So that’s on my own to-do list.

Bigger than me, though, are some good to know things that may help someone else. The CDC has a lot of great information, and here are two of the simple things to be aware of:

What to Watch For
Individual, relationship, community, and societal factors may influence the risk of suicide. Know the suicide warning signs including:

• Feeling like a burden
• Being isolated
• Increased anxiety
• Feeling trapped or in unbearable pain
• Increased substance use
• Looking for a way to access lethal means
• Increased anger or rage
• Extreme mood swings
• Expressing hopelessness
• Sleeping too little or too much
• Talking or posting about wanting to die
• Making plans for suicide

How to Get Help
Safeguard the people in your life from the risk of suicide and support them:

• Ask. Be direct.
• Keep them safe.
• Be there.
• Help them connect. You can start with the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (call or text 988, or chat at 988lifeline.org).
• Follow up.

(I’m not going to go back, read what I wrote about myself, and edit it to something watered down and safe. Honesty and full disclosure are more likely to help me and others, so it all stays as written.)

This Very Hard, Very Awful Week

There is something complicated that happens when you learn that a loved one has lost their battle with depression.

You feel shock and then a sadness because they are gone.

You feel guilt, wondering if there was something else you could have said or done to help them hang on.

And if you're me, who struggles with my own depression, the next thing you feel is fear. What if I am not strong enough and one day, that same battle takes me, too?

I'll be candid. I'm not handling this well. I move between the guilt over not saying enough of the right things when we spoke to make him stay and the sadness that sometimes there isn't anything to say to change someone's mind and fear my own depression will be what takes me out someday. Either way, it all just leaves me with a sick feeling in my stomach.

Goodbye and safe journey, Scott. May you finally be free of the pain. May you finally know the peace that has eluded you for so long.

As for me, I'm clinging to this life I have with every ounce of strength that I have. I am being open and honest with friends so they understand when I am having a bad day. I am taking a mood stabilizer to help mitigate the emotional highs and lows. I'm in counseling, seeing a therapist and finally making a real effort to move on from the trauma of my past.

In other words, I am not going to quietly accept my fate and leaving this life by my own hand. Oh, no, that will not be me. I am doing everything I can to convince the me struggling that life is always still worth living. Because I have so much still to do.

Life is so, so good. And I want to stick around for it.

Lucky No. 7, or "Long Miles, Many Tears"

It's been three days now since the end of my Rock 'n' Roll Marathon weekend, and I'm still walking around on sore legs and blistered feet. There's much to tell, so here goes...

Friday afternoon, I headed down to the Expo to pick up my race packages. It felt a bit odd, honestly, being at such a big event by myself. It was yet another reminder that I need to make more of an effort to find local running buddies. But that's a post for another day. This is all about this past weekend.

After finally getting to sleep after midnight, I woke at 4am and headed out for my 5K. I found parking right at the start line and settled in for a quick nap before the race. Soon enough, I was at the start line ready to go. Weather conditions were overcast and cool and perfect for the run.

The run was nice, a little time in my own head as I enjoyed the scenery. But it got way better towards the end when I ran into a new friend that I had just met earlier at a screening of our documentary, From Fat To Finish. I ran into the finish line with her and her friend, and then we took the mandatory finish line photo sporting our new bling.

After that, it was a lazy day of napping, snacking, and counting down the hours until the full marathon.
_________________________

And then, it was Sunday morning. I parked in the same place as the day before, took the same nap, and was ready to go again. I got a text from a high school friend who was running the relay with her husband, so I hurried to the start line to get a picture together. It was great to see her (Hi, Brenda!) and I'm proud of her for running the relay.

While I was waiting for the start, I found myself standing behind this guy in the bathroom line. I have no idea what his story was or where his journey started, but these words written on his back were an inspiration for me and, I'm sure, so many others on the course later.

(If you have never run in a large event, make it happen. There are so many amazing people with inspiring stories and smart, clever, funny, powerful messages. It's incredible.)

I started in Corral 14, so it took me about 30 minutes to actually get started on the course. I wasn't sure how I was going to hold up over the 26.2 miles, so in the back of my mind I was already considering making a course-change to the half marathon. But that wasn't until mile 8.1, anyway, so I had time to decide.

The first few miles were fun. I saw this sign on the course by mile 1 and I tried to remember this as I ran. This marathon wasn't going to be a PR and it was going to be tough, so I knew I needed to find something all along the way to motivate me. Celebrating every moment kept my mind busy and my heart happy.

For me, running a full marathon in San Diego was a bit like an episode of "This Is Your Life." It started in Balboa Park, where so many of my training runs have been done. I ran by the old 6th and Penn Theater, were a play I wrote with a director friend was produced. I ran all through Hillcrest, past many local watering holes where I have enjoyed countless laughs and good times.

For those who don't know, Hillcrest is the "gayborhood" of San Diego. The folks here are truly amazing. And on race day, they did not disappoint. I even stopped to make sure I got a picture with my tribe.

Later, crossing the 5K mark, I started the run into my own neighborhood. I know every mile of these roads, since they are the same roads I run on all the time. I didn't even need to look at my GPS watch, as I knew the distances from corner to corner and street to street. It felt a bit odd running here with 30,000 running buddies out on the road with me. Fortunately, the North Park and Normal Heights communities were out in force, cheering and encouraging all of the runners along. My neighbors made sure that everyone felt welcome, and that made me even more proud to be one of them.

Past mile 5, though, I came across something that I wasn't expecting. It's known as the Blue Mile, and it's a section of the course dedicated to the memories of our fallen military men and women. Placed alongside the road are individual signs that each feature a photo along with the name, age, and date that the hero was lost to us. I first saw this memorial when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in 2013, but I had no idea it was going to be part of the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon.

I made it a point to walk through this part of the course, choosing to slow down and see each and every one of these servicemen and women. I wanted to read their names, look at their faces, and truly see them. They deserved at least that. Afterwards, past the signs, there was a long line of American Flags, all held high and waved proudly by the Wear Blue: Run To Remember organization members.

By this point, tears were steady streaming down my face. I made no attempt to hide them, and I was hardly the only person on the course reacting the same way. It was a solemn moment for all of us, and I believe we all felt grateful to be part of such a beautiful tribute. It was truly an honor. Little did I know that the Blue Mile wasn't quite done with me, yet.

Me on Adams Ave, mile 6.5

After passing the relay exchange area, I made my way towards mile 7.71. It was my favorite spot on the whole course... my own home. My husband was there cheering on the other runners in front of our house, and seeing him really lifted my spirits. I dashed in to use the bathroom, change running shoes, and meet up with my friend, Tammy, who had agreed to pace me for several miles along the course.

Tammy wasn't running the event, and she made it a point to NOT take any of the water or other runner support along the course. She was there to keep me company and I was so glad to have her with me. She was such a highlight of the day. The next six miles went by so much faster with the company, and before I knew it we were crossing the halfway point up in Presidio Park.

On the way down the hill from the park, we struck up a conversation with another runner. Her name was Sheri, and we found out that she was running the marathon in honor her son, the late Corporal Adrien Vaughn Lenk, USMC. She had never run any event... ever... but she felt called to this marathon and just decided that she was going to do it.

Me, Sheri, and Tammy at Mile 15

The three of us continued to chat as we made our way through the next couple of miles, and then Tammy was done and left Sheri and I to finish the marathon. We paused for one last moment to capture a photo of all of us together.

(Thanks again, Tammy, for being my running buddy for those important miles. Being out there alone would have really, really sucked. You made it that much easier for me to actually finish this thing.)





As Sheri and I ran on, we had a lot of time to talk. I had noticed that her son's name was on the back of her shirt, and I let her know that I recognized that name from one of the signs on the Blue Mile. She knew I was telling the truth when I described the picture of him on the sign.

Cpl Adrien Lenk, USMC

Cpl Lenk's sign on the course

The conversations we had were private, but she has given me permission to share that her son was not killed in combat. He took his own life in January 2015. His war wounds weren't physical, they were emotional, and he was every bit a casualty of war as if he had died in combat. Sheri is currently working on developing a non-profit dedicated to helping save other military servicemen and women from the pain that took her son away from her.

The next miles were difficult, but running with Sheri was a constant reminder that others have endured far more than sore legs and blistered feet. She and I laughed (a lot), bitched (a little), and helped each other keep putting one foot in front of the other. By mile 22, the blisters had completely taken over my feet and each step was so painful. But I was too far in to stop, and we just kept going.

The long, slow trek up Highway 163 towards Hillcrest was the worst of the course, and we were both so happy to top that hill and finally get to the downhill stretch. We walked - ambled, more accurately - but we kept moving.

Soon enough, we were into downtown. As we turned north onto 5th Street for the very last two blocks of uphill, we were met by several members of Sheri's Wear Blue: Run To Remember family. After a brief chat as we walked, one of the ladies told me that they wanted to send me a Wear Blue shirt of my own, with Adrien's name on the back, in appreciation for my doing so much to help Sheri through her marathon. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was fighting back tears as I gratefully accepted that offer.

Funny thing, though. Sheri later referred to me as her Marathon Mentor. She really has no idea how much she helped me. Had I been alone, I would have likely quit any of the several times I felt beat down. But with her by my side, I knew that there was no way I would quit. If she could do 26.2 miles for her son, I could certainly stand by her and be her Marine in his absence.

At the finish line, I got a chance to meet her other son, Julian. I didn't know it at the time, but I had already run right by him earlier on the course. He was a flag bearer back on the course at the Blue Mile.

Adrien wasn't there with us physically as we ran those miles, but he was there in spirit. And I know that he would have been so proud of his mother and her determination to finish this marathon. She said that he was her inspiration, but really, she and the other Wear Blue family and friends were all inspirations to the rest of us.

Corporal Adrien Vaughn Lenk, U.S. Marine Corps

Dedicated to preventing soldier/veteran suicide, homelessness and providing information for successful transition from military to civilian life.

I finished my seventh marathon on Sunday, but I feel like I gained more than miles and medals. I was given the opportunity to honor a fellow Marine. I had the privilege of escorting her through thirteen miles of heat, sweat, and pain, all so she could stand up at the end and say, "This was for you, Adrien."

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Running continues to bring so much to my life. And just when I'm down and thinking that I've had enough, it allows me to cross paths with an amazing woman on a powerfully important mission.

Sheri, thank you. Thank you for the company. Thank you for the motivation. And mostly, thank you for sharing your son with me out on that course. And whatever I can do to assist you as you take the next steps to honor Adrien, know that I will be there.

Running makes things happen. Trust me, I know.

This Is My Depression.

de·pres·sion

 noun \di-ˈpre-shən, dē-\

: a state of feeling sad

: a serious medical condition in which a person feels very sad, hopeless, and unimportant and often is unable to live in a normal way

It sounds simple enough. Depression is the state of feeling sad. But that doesn't begin to explain it. Depression is so much more. And this is my depression.

It's subtle in the beginning, like a shadow appearing just out of the corner of my eye. I have a vague awareness that I'm off, somehow, but it's nothing concrete. I just don't feel like myself, exactly. And this may last an hour or a week. There's never any consistency to it. And there's no obvious trigger, either. It can come after a great experience, a horrible loss, or nothing memorable at all.

The next stage is much more noticeable, to me and to other people. I become easily irritated, snapping at everyone around me for no reason at all. Interruptions, changes to plans, even simple requests bother me. I know my reactions are unreasonable, but that isn't enough to snap me out of my mood. It's like watching a slow-motion car crash but being unable to do anything about it.

And then, it's on me. Completely. Perhaps I'm driving my car home from work. Maybe I'm sitting watching television. I might be in the middle of a long run somewhere. Or even surrounded by a group of friends.

It's difficult to describe the darkness that envelops me. It distorts everything. It changes the way I interact with everyone. And the worst thing of all, it separates me from the very people who are best able to help me fight it.

I feel alone. I feel like a failure. And I feel like a fraud. The more people reach out to me, the more I want to pull away.

"If they only knew who I really am, they'd be gone."
"They're all connected and I've never been part of that group, not really."
"I know they talk about me when I'm not around. I know they judge me."

Depression is wicked that way. It plays on every insecurity, every weakness. It takes a small sliver of doubt and turns it into a wall I can't get around. And I do what I can to silence all of those voices, drinking too much, sleeping all day, or busying my mind with nonsense. Whatever it takes to shut the negative off.

I respond physically, too. I stop running. I stop exercising at all. It all seems pointless and I have no energy, anyway, so why bother? Instead, I became sluggish and lethargic, my body matching my mood.

The spiral effect is horrific. Emotionally, I feel like I am all alone, so I don't want to connect with friends. I don't connect with friends, so I feel like I'm all alone. Physically, I have no energy so I don't workout. I don't workout, so I have no energy. Both of these things fuel themselves. And they become never ending cycles.

Sooner or later, this all passes. Like a storm cloud, it remains just long enough to make its presence known, and then it's gone. But the damage remains. And each round, it gets harder and harder to make amends with friends, get back on my workout schedule, and fully recover emotionally.

I do it, though. I fight my way back each time. I make a plan to get back on track with healthy eating and working out, and that helps. I create long-term goals and short-term strategies to reach them. And I reach back out to one friend at a time, sometimes explaining what has been going on and other times just putting it behind me. But connecting pulls me back into my life. Because the only alternative is to give up, to give in to the depression. And that's a step too far for me.

So why write all of this up? What is the point of sharing all of this with everyone?

Because writing it all down and posting it may help other people understand what I am going through. Maybe they'll be able to help others in the same situation. Heck, maybe other people experiencing the same dark moments will feel better knowing they aren't alone.

Mostly, though, I share it to remind myself that dark days are not the end of the line. There is an other side to this, and I just have to keep moving forward to get to it.

There isn't anything rationale or reasonable about depression. It is brutal, powerful, and sometimes overwhelming. But it isn't fatal as long as I see it for what it is, a temporary problem that I will survive.

For those reading along who struggle with the same feelings, I encourage you to speak up yourself. Tell your loved ones what is happening. The more they know and understand, the more likely they will be to recognize the symptoms and be there to help you through your own dark moments.

If it all feels like too much, and you don't trust yourself to find a way through, reach out for help. There are hotlines. There are volunteers. There are family members and friends. There IS someone out there who knows what you are dealing with and can help you find your way through it.

Suicide is preventable. Call. Text. Speak up. Shout and scream if you must, just don't give up or give in.

You matter. You are loved. And we need you to stay.

Of Hooks and Tethers and Folks On Belay

Recently, I wrote about my own issues with depression and anxiety and how often suicide crosses my mind. More importantly, though, I shared that the thought is only fleeting. I have so many reasons to work through the dark times and keep on moving forward.

Right now, though, I'm talking specifically about the tools that give me strength.

Hooks. Tethers. Folks on Belay.

Hooks. You see them hanging near swimming pools. If someone is in trouble in the water and needs to be pulled out, the Shepherds Hook is the safest way to help rescue them.

The hook allows the person outside of the pool to reach the swimmer and drag them to safety without requiring them to also jump into the water. Simple and effective.

Tethers. Usually attached to a harness, a tether is a line that secures someone to a safety connection. Most commonly worn by workers on power lines, in trees, or up on bridges, the tether gives the person the freedom to move about while reducing the risk of injury should they stumble and fall.

In rock climbing, the term "on belay" refers to the person who maintains a hold on the climber. If the climber loses their grip and begins to fall, the line draws taut and their descent stops. In other words, the person on belay is the safety for the person climbing, and they can only fall so far before they are stopped.

Each of these things help keep a person safe. It would be foolish to swim without safety devices nearby, work at heights without safety equipment, or climb by yourself. And it's equally as foolish to go through life without emotional hooks, tethers, and someone on belay.

So what do all of these have to do with my blog about suicide? It's simple. In this life, because I have opened up and shared my feelings honestly, my friends understand what I'm going through. They know that I will have dark days now and again, and they are prepared to help me handle them.

More importantly, those friends and I have talked candidly and made promises to each other.

"I promise that I will talk to you before I do anything stupid to myself."

"If I feel overwhelmed and out of control, I promise to tell you and you promise to listen without judgement."

"I promise to be there for you, any time of the day or night, if you need me. Say the word and I'll be there."

Does that really matter? I mean, in a time of complete depression, is anyone really going to give a crap about a promise they made to someone else? Maybe. That's something, right?

And speaking for myself, the answer is yes. Many, many years ago, when I was in my darkest moment, it was a promise I made to someone else that kept me from taking my own life. When I made the promise, I really didn't think that I would honor it if things were truly bad enough. But when it came right down to it, and everything was going wrong in my life, the one thing that mattered was that my friend knew that I wasn't a liar. So I called. And I'm still here today because of it.

My advice to you, if you have felt yourself struggling to find reasons to hang on, is to secure hooks and tethers and get someone on belay. Speak to trusted loves one and tell them what is going on. Let them know that you need them and that one day, you may be in crisis. And believe them when they tell you that they are willing to do whatever it would take to keep you safe.

Make them a promise. Ask them to make the same promise to you. And together, know that you have one more reason to keep fighting no matter how bad things might seem in that moment.

Trust me, friend. I've got you.

That Suicide Could Have Been Me.

This wasn't the post I planned to write this morning, but sometimes life makes other arrangements, right?

Last Friday, I shared a post on Facebook about a man who was missing. His wife was concerned because he had been depressed and had left without saying anything to her. This morning, I learned that his body was found in a park near his home. It appears that he committed suicide, leaving behind a grieving wife and children.

I will start by saying that I never knew him nor do I know his family or friends. He was a stranger to me. His death could be just another story that I glance at and scroll on by. But it isn't.

His death hits me hard because it could have been me.

Just writing that last sentence gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. But I share it because it's true.

Ready for some more truth?

I think about suicide often. More specifically, I find myself so overwhelmed by everything in my life that I find myself imagining a way to make it all stop. I just want everything and everyone to go away, to stop asking and needing and demanding things from me. Everyone's individual request seems minor to them, but piled one on top of another, it gets to be too much.

Add to that my own unrealistic expectations. I'm in a documentary about weight loss and fitness, so I'm a failure if I gain weight or skip a run. I'm a founding member of a non-profit, so I'm a failure if I can't find a way to help everyone in need. I'm nearly fifty years old, so I'm a failure if I'm not financially secure at this age. On and on the list goes, a litany of all that is wrong and terrible about myself.

When that happens, my mind goes to dark places. Instead of thinking logically and prioritizing the things I can and cannot do, I respond emotionally with an all-or-nothing mindset. And since I can't do everything, I immediately feel like a failure. And right behind that, my desire to escape it all.

Be clear. When I say, "I think about suicide often," I'm not saying that I consciously work out a plan to kill myself. It's more a passing thought, like, "damn it, enough already." But it's still something that concerns me.

Cognitively, I know everything that I should.

• Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
• I'm not alone in dealing with anything in my life.
• I am loved and appreciated.
• My death would cause terrible harm to those I love the most.
• I don't want to die. There is so much more I want to experience.

But knowing something in my mind doesn't change how I sometimes feel in my heart. And all of my life, I have struggled with that conflict. And quite likely, I will struggle with it for as long as I live.

So why am I sharing all of this now? Because there is great power and comfort in learning that we are not alone. Knowing that someone else struggles as we do, that someone else understands our pain and our fear, that can be enough to give us the strength to carry on.

I know that sharing this blog will upset some people. Am I really okay? Should my friends be worried that my thoughts may one day become my actions?

I'm fine. Not every moment, not every day. But in this life, I am fine. I am surrounded by more love and true friendship than my teenage self could have ever imagined possible. I have people I can call in times of crisis. I have resources to assist me should I find myself spiraling out of control. My plan so far? Surround myself with the very best people I can find and try to live up to them. And sometimes, that just means clinging to them when I don't have strength of my own.

I am okay. In fact, most days, I'm awesome. But if standing up and sharing my truth helps one other person find their own strength, fine. Here it is:

I am a happy person with a great life, and yet sometimes I feel so overwhelmed that I just want it all to stop. And in those moments, it would be easy for me to forget that my sorrow and pain are only temporary. Instead, I seek out the best in my life, the friends and other loved ones, who help me shake off that darkness and find my way again into the light. Instead of hiding away, I cling to those in my life who give me strength. And I survive.

When I read this back, I am sure that I will find a hundred things I wish I had written differently. But I'm not editing this. I'm not going to make it perfect or polished. I don't even know that it will make any sense. But there is one thing I know to say clearly:

The only thing worse than feeling overwhelmed is believing we are the only one feeling that way. If any of this sounds familiar to you, and you are struggling and feel lost and alone, there is help for you. There are anonymous hotlines that you can call. There are websites you can log into. There are friends and family begging for you to call.

And there is me. I get it. I've been there. And some days, I'm there still. So I know what you are going through. And I know what it takes to survive it.

You matter. You are loved. And we need you to stay.

Life. It's worth living.

Twenty-Two

Did you know that, on average, twenty-two veterans commit suicide every single day? The numbers are as shocking as the deaths are horrifying. We must stop this epidemic.

TWENTY-TWO 

Twenty-two of you will make the choice today

To make today

The last day.

You've sacrificed so much already

Perhaps it is selfish of me

To ask this of you too

But --

I don't want you to live

In pain

Out of your mind

In anguish

Blinded by dark things

You can't unsee

Deafened by wordless screams

You can't unhear --

But I do want you to live:

To continue to fight

To continue to breathe

To continue to be.

See, I've stayed at your present address

The smells were different

The sounds were different

The furniture was a different style

And the walls

When they were mine

Weren't decorated with the same images as yours are

But it was the same

Unspeakable

Undescribable

Unending

Stuff as yours.

It brought me to my knees too.

What has made someone like you --

Someone as strong as you --

Huddle in the darkness like I have

Arms wrapped around the nothingness inside

Breath sucked in through clenched teeth

As every scar is redrawn in blood and fire

By memories of ghosts and smoke

I cannot imagine.

But you've sacrificed enough already

Please

Please

Don't do this.

Give us

Give me

One more day

To help make it right.

"Some 8,000 veterans are thought to die by suicide each year, a toll of about 22 per day, according to a 2012 VA study. The VA acknowledged the numbers might be significantly underestimated because they're based on incomplete data ...."

11 November 2013

(c) 2013 Sarah J. Fuhrman