‘A Tsunami’: Suicidal Crisis Up Close

By DeQuincy Lezine –

(Editor’s note: Dr. Lezine attempted suicide during college, then turned his personal despair into advocacy by forming the first student-led college mental health and suicide prevention group. Here is the story of his suicidal crisis.)

Normally I tell people that you don’t just wake up one day and say, ‘‘Hey, I’m suicidal today.” No one moment, no single event, is enough by itself to create a suicidal crisis. Instead, multiple events or situations, known as risk factors, combine to increase the chances that a person will consider and attempt suicide. But one of the paradoxes of suicide is that sometimes it can seem as though it happens for a single reason. Sometimes bad things seem to happen all at once, and as the risk factors pile up, there is a moment when a person’s mental state suddenly crosses a certain threshold and the scales tilt in favor of death. I’ve always thought of my suicidal crisis as a tsunami. The colossal wave probably started as a tiny ripple somewhere miles off the coast, but that didn’t really matter during the awful moment when the sea came rushing in, engulfing my world. When my suicidal crisis finally hit, I realized that I could not outrun it and I could not hide from it, and that terrified me.

It was October 1st, and I was in my freshman year at college. On that night, I crossed the line from being a person ‘‘at risk for suicide” to one who was ‘‘suicidal.” Before that, I had made a practice of not thinking about stressful circumstances. I numbed out. There were so many feelings and memories from my childhood, both bad and good, that I had swept under my mental rug. I had squished them into a jar. I guess it was inevitable that the jar would eventually break. When it did break that night, all of the painful emotions of my past rushed in to torment me; everything came barreling down on me at once. I didn’t have the words to describe all these feelings at the time. Instead, I called them all anger. That was just a convenient label, a stereotypical male emotional response. My emotional pain was built on more than rage alone. I was also experiencing an unhealthy onslaught of disappointment, anxiety, and shame.

For starters, I felt alone. I was afraid that I would never fit in with a group of peers, that the peer rejection of my childhood would revisit me constantly-that I’d always feel that I didn’t belong. I ‘‘grew up on the fringes” socially and I benefited from that experience. But at the time, I didn’t see it that way. Instead, I felt like an outcast as a child-hurt, lonely, abandoned. I felt the same way in college and worried about not being able to cut it. Just a poor kid from inner-city Los Angeles, I’d been accepted to a prestigious Ivy League university where my classmates were the valedictorians, magna cum laudes, and ‘‘with honors” crowd. Even with good grades, I felt like a pathetic failure, absolutely worthless. The sheer weight of this inexplicable despair crushed my soul, burdening me with heartache, misery, and anguish. I couldn’t figure it all out, and that frustrated me-I prided myself on being able to figure things out. How could I be so confused?

I couldn’t think straight. Strange yet familiar thoughts were whipping through my mind.

I can’t take this shit anymore . . .

I don’t want to live anymore . . .

Death is the only way out . . .

I want to die . . .

Of course, I kept all of this to myself as much as possible-in the beginning, at least. I faked the smiles and laughs, trying my best to look like what I thought college students were supposed to look like.

The college years were supposed to be the best years of my life. I was supposed to reward my family for the sacrifices they’d made to send me to college, and become a role model for the kids back at home. Everybody had looked so proud when they’d sent me off. I couldn’t let everybody down. And anyhow, what would people think about me if I told them about my thoughts and feelings? I know what I would have thought, had I been in their shoes: I would have thought, This guy is crazy. What could be worse than that? This line of thinking amplified the loneliness. Not only did I feel terrible, but I was convinced no one could ever possibly empathize with the pain I was feeling. Nobody can understand this, I thought. They will all think that I have lost my mind. I was certain that I was alone in thinking about suicide.

Death on the Mind

Death had branded me. It was as if it had taken a blazing firebrand and scorched its dark mark into the base of my skull. At first, I believed the suicidal thoughts were a passing phase, something that I would wake up from or be able to shake off. But I soon found that the idea of dying just wouldn’t go away. The suicidal urge became a constant and unwanted companion, slowly but surely wearing down my will to live. Death sounded peaceful, like a welcome relief. I idealized it and put it up on a pedestal. I just wanted all the pain of living, all of those negative emotions, negative thoughts, and negative experiences, to cease and desist. On the worst days, my thoughts as I walked to class would go something like this:

I stop to cross the street. I see a police officer helping to direct traffic. What if he shot me? Oh yeah. Security officers at the university don’t carry sidearms. What if I got hit by a car, or maybe that tan minivan? The red hand of the crossing signal disappears, replaced by a little white walking man and a ‘‘chirp chirp” that says that for now I am safe to cross the street. Closing my eyes, I step off the curb, imagining that I am stepping off a building, but the fall is short. I look around, wondering if anybody noticed me. Of course not, they are all too busy being happy. Happy? What does that feel like? Shit. I can’t even remember. I pass a tree and think about hanging. I muse that the tree is probably taunting me, saying, ‘‘My branches will break before I let you hang from me, you freak.” The thought lingers as I enter class and attempt to concentrate on the lecture. It is difficult. Thoughts of suicide try to crowd out the course material. Come on, Quix. Concentrate, dammit. Focus. But death sounds so good.

Warning Signs for Suicide

You might wonder what signs indicate that a person may be considering suicide. Here are some that suicide prevention experts seem to agree on. The person is:

_ Experiencing dramatic mood changes (e.g., increased turbulence vs. sudden calm)

_ Expressing anger and rage

_ Feeling anxiety or agitation

_ Having a lack of purpose in life or no reason for living

_ Feeling trapped

_ Withdrawing from friends and family

_ Feeling hopeless

_ Abusing substances, including alcohol, illegal drugs, and prescription medications

_ Engaging in reckless behavior

_ Talking or thinking about suicide

Even without a degree in psychology, I knew that this was a bad sign. I looked up information on the Internet and found the Web site for a group called Suicide Awareness Voices for Education (SAVE). They listed suicide ‘‘warning signs,” thoughts and behaviors that indicate suicidal danger, including frequent suicidal ideation (the term that mental health professionals use to describe thoughts about suicide). This new information left me feeling like I wasn’t so alone-others had developed the same patterns. Yet I was despondent when I recognized the danger I was in.

The Jump

I couldn’t shake the explosive cocktail of depression and rage from the night that I snapped and intentionally risked my life by running across a busy highway. More and more, over the next several weeks, my thoughts turned to suicide. In many scenarios that I imagined, I would die in a way that would make other people ‘‘sorry for screwing up my life.” I loved my family and friends, but I also wanted them to understand the depth of my pain. Killing myself would surely tell them just how deep it was.

I even fantasized about going out in some kind of a blaze of glory, and started collecting materials for a firebomb. They sat in my closet unassembled, and when a friend asked about them, I said they were for a physics project, then got rid of everything. I guess I was ambivalent. Suicide sounded so good, but part of me really did not want to go that route. I wanted things to work out, I wanted to live, but I did not want to live with that kind of pain anymore. And in fact, nearly everyone who considers suicide has this same internal struggle between the desire to live and the desire to die. Our goal must be to tip the scales in favor of life: Solve the problems we’re facing (decrease the reasons for dying), and live a happy and meaningful life (increase the reasons for living).

Reprinted from Eight Stories Up: An Adolescent Chooses Hope Over Suicide by DeQuincy Lezine and David Brent published by Oxford University Press, Inc. © DeQuincy Lezine and David Brent, 2008. Visit Oxford press to learn more: http://www.oup.com/us/catalog/general/subject/Medicine/PsychiatryPsychology/?view=usa&ci=9780195325577

Mom Remembers a Son Who Died Too Young

By Debra Reagan –

Everyone was so excited when Clint came into our lives that beautiful day in May. While we were at the hospital the day he was born, the contractor began work on our new home. We were a young family with many hopes and dreams. Clint was a delightful child and made our family of four complete. He was very affectionate and loved the touch of those around him. Clint’s older brother, Blake, told every visitor, “He is our baby and you can’t take him with you.” 

As Clint grew from our baby to our little boy, his love for animals grew. The line in the poem, little boys are made of snakes, snails and puppy dog tails, could have been used to describe Clint. As a small boy, he could spend the afternoon outside carrying around a caterpillar so he could share it with his dad when he got home.  We purchased one hamster from the pet store and a few weeks later, we had a cage full. One of his favorite things to do when he was young was to carry a baby hamster piggyback in the hood of his sweatshirt.

We had our share of pets: dogs, cats, hamsters, a rabbit, ducks, chickens, and fish. Years later I learned the stray dog we had for 16 years, had a little coaxing when she chose our house out of all the others in the neighborhood.  Our pet population continued to grow. Later, Clint was so proud when he was able to locate an orange kitten that needed a home because his brother had always wanted one. Of course, he chose a kitten for himself also. Clint was always bringing home treats and toys for the cats.

Many years ago, while on vacation Clint’s love for fishing began. At the beach, he could spend hours walking along the water’s edge catching small fish in his net. The fish were always released for another day. We got a kick out of the time we were fishing from a pier, and Clint made it a fishing competition with Nanny. He tried to keep up with every fish she caught so he could make sure he caught at least one more.

Clint’s love for fishing continued, and a love for other sports grew. He was a team player on the school basketball team. What he lacked in skill, he seemed to make up with enthusiasm. He seemed to be able to lift the spirits of his teammates whenever he went into the game. During those elementary school years, Clint also played baseball. He found pleasure in everything connected to sports; playing, watching, and collecting cards. When he was young, he would practice signing his name in hopes of one day being a famous baseball player that would be asked to autograph baseball cards. Perhaps now he will be the angel in the outfield. 

Our son always had many good friends and they were important to him. Although Clint was not a morning person, after a good hug he was anxious to go to school and be with his friends. I think Clint viewed school as a place to spend time with one’s friends instead of a place to learn, but he liked reading and attended summer reading programs at the local library. He also excelled in spelling and became our personal spell checker.

During the high school years, Clint had some ups and downs. He ran track his freshman year and sports were still a part of his life. His enjoyment of fishing continued; although, it was during a fishing trip that he sustained a serious and permanent eye injury. This did not keep him from other activities. One summer, Clint visited Australia and New Zealand as a People to People Ambassador Representative. He cherished those memories and hoped to return to Australia one day. He was proud how he kept himself well when others on the trip became sick. The leaders of the trip had cautioned the parents against expecting too much communication from their child during this very hectic and activity filled trip. We were pleased to hear from Clint often.

We have the memories of many family activities to hold in our hearts, but they will never be a substitute for having him here with us.  Clint enjoyed many things: board games, video games, miniature golf as well as white water rafting. He also found joy in collecting items. Over the years he collected Pez dispensers and he had sizable collection of them. We learned the hard way they can be like dominoes lined up; when one fell, they would all fall.

After high school, Clint signed up to attend a community college. He had dreams of one day designing video games, but in the meantime he worked with his father at an engineering company. He considered his father his best friend. Clint spent his spare time like most young people: listening to music, playing video games, looking at cars, spending time with his girlfriend, talking on the phone and shopping at thrift shops for vintage T-shirts.

We were blessed to have shared a wonderful childhood with Clint and to have had 20 years together. But our beloved son and brother left us too soon. We miss his big hugs and bright smiles.  We miss his singing, his whistling, his laughs, and the smell of his favorite cologne. We also miss the joyous moments he brought to the family. We still look for him to come walking through the door; instead he walks through our hearts. We miss the way he filled a room and filled the house. Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote, “The presence of that absence is everywhere.”  This is very true for us also.

Debra Reagan lives in East Tennessee with her husband of 28 years and surviving son, Blake. Their lives changed forever when Clint died on August 6, 2005, at the age of 20 of an accidental overdose and bronchial pneumonia. Debra can be reached through the website she maintains for her son at www.clint-reagan.memory-of.com.

 

Our Little Lamb - Our Story

I had two pregnancies before so I knew how things should be. From the beginning of my third however, I felt something wasn’t right. I constantly feared that something would go wrong. I even asked my mom if she had ever lost a baby, even though I had never even thought to ask before. I was 28 weeks pregnant and we were at the grocery store when I realized that he had not moved that day. After some thought, I knew that he had not moved the day before. I knew something was wrong. I called the doctor’s office, and they asked if anything happened that could have changed things. I told them I fell twice the week before but I didn’t hit my stomach. They told me to go to the ER and get checked out. If all was well, I would be out in an hour or two. My mom picked up our other two boys, aged 2 and 4. That was at about 5 p.m. The nurses searched for a heartbeat, and when they couldn’t locate it, an ultrasound was ordered. I already knew he wa s gone. My husband wasn’t supposed to see the picture, but he did and there was no movement or heartbeat. The doctor told us the devastating news. I asked how we were going to get him out and she told us that I would have to deliver him or have a c-section that time as well as in the future. I agreed to deliver. My mom had to work the following day, so she brought the boys to us, and I told her the news. She asked what happened and I told her that they didn’t know. She couldn’t believe that I had to deliver. My boys went to my uncle’s and she called off of work to stay with me. I ate because I had not eaten all day. At about 11:00 p.m., they administered the medicine to induce labor. My sister-in-law visited me the next day and she snuck me some cheez-its. I had to use the restroom afterwards. 24 hours passed and nothing was happening. The doctor decided to administer the medicine vaginally. Almost immediately, I started having labor pains. They gave me demer ol and morphine, but they didn’t help. The doctor said that he wouldn’t be that big and I might not have to dilate fully so I intended to have a natural birth. After the pain intensified, I relented and asked for the epidural. The man who administered the epidural was with a c-section patient and would get to me as soon as possible. It was too late. He started to come and I told my husband to page the nurse. My mom tried to go get her, but as she went to the end of the bed, he ejected, just popped out. He was declared stillborn on February 7th, 2007. My mom and my husband started crying. When the nurses came, we told them, and they said that they guessed from my screams. My mother and I held the baby, but my husband couldn’t bear. We named him Luca Anthony Michael Borders, and called him our little lamb, because his initials spell lamb. My mom bought me a bear and the baby a bear and preemie outfit that was still too big. When the boys came, my older one held hi m but the younger one wanted nothing to do with him. The younger one wasn’t fond of the idea of a new baby. My older one understood that the baby was dead. For months after it happened, I couldn’t bear to use the word dead. My mom asked if I wanted her to take the baby’s things and I said no. However, when I arrived at our home, I couldn’t bear even to go in, so I called and she came to pick up the stuff. We returned the things we had just bought for the baby, but the burden was on my husband. I made sure that he was going to be warm and that no insects could get to him. We had a blanket that we bought for the baby that he was buried with along with his bear and he wore his preemie outfit. When they put him in the ground, I wanted to scream to stop and run away with him; my husband, I would later learn felt the same way. Many people cried, especially my mom. She told me to let it out, but I had already cried so much. My parents took us out to dinner afterwards, b ut I didnt’ eat.
Weeks passed and I was still depressed, so my mom and my husband told me to get some help. I started seeing a therapist and I still see her. I couldn’t fathom why this had happened to us and other people I felt less deserving could have their baby due about the same time as mine was. My husband’s pregnant 14 year old cousin had her son. A 17 year old who was married had her 3rd child even though she drank while she was pregnant. I cycled throught the stages of grief.
Months after it happened, he finally recieved his gravestone. There is a lamb and an angel, as well as his information on it.
When my therapist gave birth to her son 15 months after mine died, and on his original due date, I found a reason. My baby died so a couple who had trouble concieving, such as my therapist and her husband, could have a baby. I am not happy that my baby is gone, but I am happy that they have the baby they have desired. He is healthy.
This is my story and I wanted to share it.
Drs. Gloria and Heidi Respond

Dear Beverly,

We are so very sorry for your loss. Nothing in life prepares us for the loss of a baby and you were so wise to seek counseling and to continue it as long as you need it. There are so many questions and so few answers to why this happens and few words that can truly console us.

Thank you for sharing your story. We are posting it on The Grief Blog because we find  that each story touches the hearts of many and helps others bear thier grief. We have found that the burden of grief is lighter when we don’t have to carry it alone.

We infite oin us on Thursday mornings for the radio show Healing the Grieving Heart  You can find information about it and a link to it on the first page of http://www.thegriefblog.com  You might also find a number of past shows that can give you help and comfort at http://thegriefblog.com/grief-grieving-death-of-a-child/  We specifically recommend:
 Blessings,January 24, 2008
Pregnancy Loss: Our babies are just a cloud away
Guest: Diana Gardner-Williams
October 11, 2007
Coping with Pregnancy and Infant Loss
Guest: Monica Novak

January 18, 2007
Grieving the Still Born Child
Guest: Lorraine Ash

Our blessings,

Drs. Gloria and Heidi Horsley

Playing Hurt

When we got the call at 2 AM last Saturday, I hopped out of bed with the thought that anyone faced with a ring in the middle of the night would have: “Who in the world would be calling us at this hour?”

I looked at caller ID and, not recognizing the number—and seeing that it was not Nick, our son away at college some thirteen hours from home—I yawned and crawled back into bed, pulling the down covers way up over my head. Read more

Sharing Infant Death Survivor Stories

My son, Cayden passed away on Feb. 3rd in his seventh month. My husband and I are dealing with it o.k, however we have not been able to talk to anyone about it or anything. We have alot of people to talk too but none that have experianced what we have. We live in Hamilton, Ont. There is help for people that have lost young children, or babies to s.i.d.s, but our son was not a s.i.d.s. case. He died from choking on his own spit in his sleep. What I need help with is finding a web site that deals with this sort of stuff. I have searched but the sites are of no help. I would like to find a site that shares other infant death survior’s stories and has a chat room or somewhere that you can get in touch with them to talk and share your stories. Thank you for your help.

Krystal’s Bench

Dear Heidi and Dr. Gloria,

 

I wanted to send you these pictures. Krystal’s Bench is located in St. augustine, FL at the Mission of Nombre De Dios and La Leche Shrine. (About 7 miles from our house.) I am not Catholic, but chose this place because of its beauty and sacred atmosphere.

Jo Ann Webb, Krystal’s Mom

 

Time

Is Time my friend
Or my enemy
Yes, Time has washed away the sharp edges
The intensity of the pain
And provided some relief
But will Time rob me of the images
 I need to hold on to

Will it take the sound of his voice
Will it take the feel of his tight hug
Will the bright smile fade away
Along with the quick laughter
That always softened my heart

I have a place where he visits
Inside my heart and soul
Whenever I go there
He is waiting
And we talk awhile

When I move around this altered world
I feel his hands on my shoulders
As if to say
You can do it Mom
I know you can

So please Time
Go easy on me
Allow me to savor these images
It’s all that left to me now

Allow his strength and gentleness
To stay with me
And my heart to remain open
While he waits  for me

Hello Again Dr. Gloria and Dr. Heidi

Hello Again Dr. Gloria and Dr. Heidi, I wrote you both with a question concerning my indifference toward the drunk driver who killed my daughter, Krystal Duss. And my difficulty in dealing with MADD although I am grateful for all the help they gave my family during the trial. I can not deal with DUI accidents.

I would like both of your insights and Cathy’s. Just so you will know, I have been in grief counseling since about 4 weeks after Krystal was killed. I still go to counseling because it helps me. My counselor has a Phd and has been a safe place for me to go and talk about Krystal’s death, grief and trying to create a “new normal.” Read more

Dear Dr. Gloria and Dr. Heidi

I feel like I am going into the pit again. As you know, the grief is with me everyday, but I was beginning to have moments of joy and even lightness of heart. But now the Pain is overtaking me again. I try to lean into the pain, relax, breath, go for walks on the beach every day, pray, sit in silence, read, but finally the pain overcomes me and I have to retreat to the guest room, close the door and let the pain engulf me.
I actually feel such physical pain that my chest feels like it has been ripped open and my heart is lying in my chest, bleeding, and in indescribable pain. Tear flow and flow and flow. Hu ge tears that feel thick and oily, not salty like “regular” tears. I pray for the strength to be with the pain and lean into it. I cry so much that I actually wear myself out, and usually fall asleep. I then get up, it usually has been about 2-3 hours since I went into the guest room, and go downstairs to spend time with Don. It has been 3 years since Krystal died, and I still feel so broken. Monday, March 5, is Krystal’s birthday, and I will be at Compassionate Friends on her birthday. I have thought of bringing a birthday Read more

Poem to Tucker

They say you’re in Heaven
To comfort, I guess.
Don’t they know that
Your presence we miss?

In God we take solace
Each and every day,
But our loss of you hurts us anyway.

We only got to enjoy you for a little while.
Humor and laughter were definitely your style.
Your animals, Buddy, Postulio and Sushi are still here.
What they are thinking isn’t quite clear.
Our memories of you are nevcr ending.
But certainly don’t replace time together we were spending.

Remnants of you litter our house.
Not a thing has been changed
In hopes of your return.
But, somehow we know the reality of it all
And the hope in our hearts once again starts to fall.

We look to the heavens and
Search through the clouds
For images of you.
But, alas, we have found not even a few.

The men in the house keep a stiff upper lip.
Their tears are held back,
Though it pains like a whip.
Your mother grieves differently for the boy that she lost,
And her tears flow quite freely at any cost.

The pain that we endure hasn’t lost its intensity
For in our hearts you will always be.
Our lives without you will never be the same
As a year now has passed
And time has not tamed.

You will always be
OUR SWEETIE BOY
Forever loved and never forgotten.
Tucker, we miss you tremendously.

Dad, Mom, Ty, Kane, Mark, Grandma Groeger, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and Friends

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