09/21/2022
September is “Su***de Prevention” month. The gravity of the topic alone bears a weight that can be felt by mere contemplation. I think of the words “Prevent Su***de” and I am drawn to the questions “What brings a person to this point? Can we stop what drives them there?” There are so many factors that influence thoughts and motivation for self harm. If I can play even the smallest part in making a difference and saving a life I gladly would.
I have shared in the past Victor’s remarkable story and the crossing of our two paths on Facebook. In honor of Su***de Prevention Month I am sharing it again. Before the end of September I will post an update of where he finds himself today. I hope you enjoy.
Life or Death?
Original Post February 2020
Part One:
Sometime ago I joined a social media group offering support and encouragement for people who have who are grieving, recently lost a loved one to su***de, or who are struggling with depression themselves. Since joining I have often been struck by the courage and strength of those who have faced hurdles and heartaches I feel blessed to not know. On occasion I will comment on a post offering support or encouragement, but frequently I remain silent because I don’t know what to say, or it has already been said by others.
A month a ago while scrolling through social media as I sat waiting for a meeting to begin, a post at the top of my feed caught and kept my attention. It read in part: “I feel like I am shutting down. Like I am dying inside. Everything that is good about me is disappearing…. Every face I see that is not on a screen looks evil, twisted and demented. I mean literally looks like something from a John Carpenter movie… I don’t know how to stop it. Maybe it is too late.”
A read and re-read this post several times focusing on the words “Every face I see that is not on a screen looks evil, twisted and demented… I don’t know how to stop it.”
My inner voice spoke clearly: “You don’t know how to stop it… but maybe I do. I should message him.” Then logical side of my brain whispered: “Just exactly how do you get a someone to listen to or trust a complete stranger? How do I pull this off without being seen as a salesman or con artist?” “How crazy, wacked and improbable will it sound?”
The conversation inside continued, batting back and forth the merits of speaking out, and the challenge of being heard and taken seriously. In the end both sides agreed: I have to say something. This man sounds desperate and he posted on a su***de prevention page. “Maybe it’s too late” echoed in my head. If there ever were a time to speak up it was now. And so I posted:
“I’ve read many of your posts. You have a caring heart. I am sorry you’re feeling this way. You said ”Every face I see that is not on the screen looks evil, twisted and demented.” If this is truly the case you very well may be experiencing visual distortions caused by a specific area of the brains (the fusiform gyrus) inability to process light. The experience could be very unsettling and upsetting. Distortions can usually be stopped by filtering out some of the areas of the visible spectrum. Backlit screens have a different quality of light, which is why faces on screens remain more typical. If you want more information PM me.”
As I clicked send I began to hold my breath and wait. If he responded I needed to be able to share enough to inform, and hold back enough to not overwhelm him or seem like a “salesman”. I wasn’t in this for a sale. What followed over the next three days were hundreds of text messages and a clear plea for help.
He told me how on Saturday, feeling depressed and beyond hopeful, he had gone into his garage, stuck a hose into the tail pipe of his vehicle, closed the other end in the window. Having secured everything with tape he sat down in the seat, started the engine and waited for sleep and for the pain of it all to end. Hours later he awoke, the tape had fallen to the ground, the hose laying limp beside it. He was alive.
Perhaps he was meant to live, but why? Confused and unsure he went inside. Morning came and it was then he discovered that every face appeared distorted, demented, and evil. The looping question “Am I alive or did I die and am stuck someplace in between?” played in his mind, an ever tightening circle of questions and self-doubt until the fear of it consumed him. “If I am not dead, are they here for me? Have I committed the ultimate sin and now they are waiting?”
He was terrified and desperate, but the demonic twisted faces did not go. They were everywhere, and nothing made sense. Unsure where to turn or what to do he posted to the group in a final plea for help.
More than 1,300 miles away, I sat waiting for a meeting to start, scrolling through posts and our paths crossed.
Hundreds of messages and texts would follow between the two of us. As we wrote back and forth the change from fear and desperation to wonder and hope were reflected in his words. My mind began to race with a sense of obligation and growing concern: What next? To some extent I felt I would be playing with fire. I truly thought I could help, but if I couldn’t there would be disappointment for us both with huge implications for him. This man had already tried to commit su***de. If I failed to help could he remain standing under the weight of such disappointment? One thing I was certain: I needed to move forward with a great deal of caution and so the preparations began.