Before my entire life went down the pan and got flushed away into the sewer never to be seen again, thoughts of suicide hadn’t entered my life. Sure, like lots of us, I’d get depressed from time to time, but it would pass soon enough, and the drinking wasn’t yet the problem in life that it would later become. I just drank a bit too much is all, like a lot of people do.
But after my move to Australia and as my drinking got steadily worse, within short order I found myself going to the GP a lot and asking for something to calm my steadily growing, and increasingly unbearable, anxiety. Valium or Ativan are the usual cookies of choice in these matters, but many doctors are cautious about handing them out, as they’re highly addictive too. You can quite easily exchange the bitch for the witch, or even marry up both together, and then you really are fucked. My GP (Dr Bruce!) was understanding and professional and, when I broke down sobbing hopelessly during one appointment, quickly wrote me a script for Valium and told me to go and take two immediately as it was, in his view, an emergency.
He also referred me to a psychologist, who asked if my drinking was in line with my values, which was something I hadn’t considered before. Increasingly not, was the answer, in fact quite the opposite. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I found that my drinking was turning me into a different person altogether.
But the first thoughts of suicide came some time later after a particular bender had gone badly wrong, and I’d ended up in hospital. The doctor simply asked me the question: have you had any thoughts of taking your own life? Sedated, shuddering and curled up in the foetal position, I answered – to my own surprise – that yes I suppose I had. Compounded by alcoholism, life was becoming increasingly unbearable and bewildering (and this was before things got really bad). Suicide ideation, or thoughts of suicide, are one thing but the next question caught me off guard as well: ‘Did you have a plan?’ A plan for what? ‘A plan as to how you would end your life?’ No, was the answer, I didn’t. Wrist slitting, jumping off bridges or swallowing the entire bottle of Valium I had at home hadn’t really occurred to me (yet).
But the thoughts of suicide were definitely there, which was worrying considering I’d never had them before. And as things got worse and worse, so the thoughts and now the plans, began to take on a frighteningly real shape.
I once called or texted a very dear friend who lived nearby and said I thought I was going to kill myself. Not only did he call an ambulance, he also came haring round in his car to rescue me. I remember him arriving just as I was being carted into the back of the ambulance and grabbing my hand and saying everything was going to be ok and to think of my son and hold onto that thought. The police told him that I was found stark naked and dead drunk, passed out on the floor of the veranda.
On one of my more recent visits to hospital, I ended up being effectively sectioned, after I said I was going to swim into the ocean and keep swimming until I couldn’t anymore. I meant it as well. I recall that it was a beautiful day, and the beach and ocean looked sublime, shimmering in the midday sun. Just swim Nick, I thought. Just swim.
My only concern was that the lifeguards would come charging out with their jet skis and helicopters and rescue me. But as I had these life-ending reveries, I was approached by two police officers who carefully took my bag off me, reassured me that everything was okay and that an ambulance was on its way. I’d called a Salvation Army rehab centre in a state of acute distress, who’d correctly identified where I was and called an ambulance for me. Such is the nature of blind drunkenness and, at the same time, non-judgemental human kindness. Who knows if I really would have swum to a watery doom that day, but the feelings were strong and anyone who is repeatedly thinking about or threatening to kill themselves is already at serious risk.
For those of you worried by reading these words, rest assured that I am fine at the moment. I’m sober, recovering and thoughts of suicide are far from my mind. But to even be confronted by them at all is one of the most frightening things I’ve ever experienced, as I’m sure it is for anyone in a similar position. But somewhere in there, my survival instinct must have kicked in and I’d made critical calls for help. If you ever experience anything even close to that, or worse, don’t hesitate to do the same: call an ambulance, the police, a friend, message me, anything. Just talk it through and help of some kind will come, as it did for me.
One day at a time.
Lifeline Australia: 13 11 14
Lifeline New Zealand: 0800 543 354
Samaritans UK: 116 123
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline USA: 1-800-273-8255
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