#WorldSuicidePreventionDay - September 10, 2017

I think sometimes I try to lie or fool myself. I can’t help it. I also do not know why I do this. It truly confuses me. On my best days, I tell myself I have this depression thing figured out.

That’s a lie.

I feel I understand my illness. I have done a lot of reading and thinking. I am careful to trust my thoughts. They can be deceiving.

I think back.

It was December 2015. I am all by myself living in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. It’s before I went to a doctor and to the hospital. I recall putting the vehicle in the garage. As I got out to go to the house, I saw a hose. Just a simple vacuum hose. Black and coiled up. I can still see it. It was dusty and short, but long enough. I can still remember the thought I had that followed. Instead of thinking (or not thinking) that the hose may belong to a vacuum or where this vacuum may be, I thought this. “I have everything in front of me right now to end this torture that I don’t understand.”

That thought led to my second thought, well, more of a question, “Who will find me dead?”

I can't quite determine what prevented me from doing that.

I reflect on that critical moment in my life. I then close my eyes and envision what my life would have been if I did hook that hose up to the exhaust.

First of all, there would be no life. I wouldn’t feel or think anything.

Of course, it would have affected the people in my life more. I think of my parents. Their son killed himself and they would not know why. They would have buried their first born. I also believe that I would be less of a burden in their life. They would have had their time of grieving then wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. This was a common thought during my times of thinking about suicide. It is a hard thought to get rid of. My illness makes this thought seem logical. All the points are valid.

I honestly, not because I want to, but because sometimes I struggle with my thoughts, think that my son would be completely fine without me. He would not understand what happened to me at his age, or any age for that matter.. Here is how my mind justifies this claiming thought; if I killed myself, how would that be any different than me leaving and not be in his life at all? My thoughts make me believe it would be more cowardly and make me less of a human being by being alive and never seeing him as oppose to killing myself.

I do not try to have these thoughts. I cannot avoid them or pretend they do not exist. These are the types of hurtful and damaging thoughts that create a network of tormenting ideas or beliefs.

Then how would my friends be? They would be fine. Being gone would hurt at first, but they would be fine. It’s simple as that. I am sure they would miss me. Life goes on, but not for me.

I often think of that moment seeing the hose.

Ironically, as I write this, it is a day or two before #WorldSuicidePreventionDay.

I was so close. So close that I almost wrote a lengthy suicide note.

If I wanted it bad enough, I would have done it.

But something stopped me.

Some people ask me, “Why didn’t you do it?”

To be honest, I don’t have a clear and concise answer. All I know is I did not kill myself, so to me, it doesn’t matter what actually stopped me.

Maybe it was my son, my family, my friends, or none of the above. I do remember a few tears, though. Leaving them all behind made me sad, but at that point sadness and being numb was what I was accustomed too.

The reasons don’t matter in this situation. Just the result. The result is, I am still alive.

So much has happened and so much time has passed since that day in 2015. I still find myself searching for the answer that prevented me from killing myself.

As I said a few sentences ago, I do not have the ‘distinct’ reason. But I now have an idea of what was a part of saving me.

The word is etched into my skin.

Hope.

Hope can be defined many ways. I like this definition, “Grounds for believing that something good may happen.”

Hope comes in many forms. Some believe it is not a physical thing. Maybe I believed that once as well. Then I see my son and everything he has become. That’s hope in the physical form.

Emotionally, hope can be everything to a person. Hope could be a thought or feeling. Hope is also very real to me. “Hope is the dreams of a waking man.” (Not my words). Hope has made me smile, laugh, and cry.

Hope is being in a psychiatric unit in southwest Nova Scotia not having the will to take a drink of water or a bite of food because life seems pointless, but still being able to breathe. Each breath breathes hope.

Hope is having your parents come visit you every day in the hospital or calling you every day just to hear your voice to know you’re still alive.

Hope is sharing your struggle with your friends and have them stay by your side, no matter what kind of mess I may be in.

Hope is hearing from complete strangers that they also have their troubles and that I have helped them by not giving up myself. That I have inspired them to ‘keep on keepin’ on’.

Hope is the main ingredient for battling suicide. For me, hope came in many forms. It will be different for each person. It doesn't matter what form it may take. It is important that you have it.

Personally, I am a big believer of hope because I have seen its power first hand. I was at the bottom of the pit by myself. I lived in the darkness and suffered through a lot of my life, to no fault of my family, friends, or myself. And you may not know when you will find hope. You may not even know you found it, like I did that day in the garage. It's like a relationship; it doesn't matter who finds who first, it matters that you found each other.

Having depression is like being in quicksand, it slowly sucks the life from you. You may be able to fight it and keep your body from being devoured by the Earth. But once you feel you are getting out of the quicksand, it immediately reminds you of the power that it has to suck you down again. And so, it does. Suicide is quitting when the quicksand keeps dragging you down, and you let it.

Hope, on the other hand, is continuing to fight, no matter how many times that quicksand may pull you down. You decide if you want to fight your way back to the surface. You claw and scratch and kick for every inch and every breath. That fight inside of you? That is hope burning inside of you. Hoping that there is something better ahead. Hoping that if I can get out of this quicksand, life will be there for me. And so, it shall be.

The moral of the quicksand reference? I sometimes battle hourly, daily, weekly, monthly with thoughts of suicide in some way. Some days are very hard. I am down. But I have decided to keep fighting and not giving up. Hope guides me and gives me strength.

I hope to see my son graduate his first year of school.

I hope to fall in love someday.

I hope I can work a job that I love.

I hope I can repay my friends and family for holding me up while I wanted to fall.

I hope we win our first game of the hockey season.

Regardless of the magnitude or importance of the ‘hope’, they all give me purpose and a meaningful life.

I have many hopes and I will not realize any of them if I give up.

I decided to not give up. So, can you.

As long as you have a breath, you have hope. 

Find your hope and never give up.

Hope prevented my suicide from becoming a reality.

Happy World Suicide Prevention Day!

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness."

                                                            - Desmond Tutu

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith