From the Edge

October 12, 2020. “I can’t take the Remeron. My parents wouldn’t let me. My dad said I had to fix myself. That it was time for me to fix me. He said that we’ve tried all the meds. My mom was talking about all the side effects listed on the prescription paper. Everything hurts so much. I cried for a long time. I’m still crying a bit. I’m so done. It seems they’re giving up on me. I really can’t fight anymore. I can’t go on any longer. It’s like there’s no relief anywhere. No matter what I do. I have to go. I’m done with all this. I feel so totally alone, and completely helpless and hopeless.

I just keep telling my parents I’m fine because anything else will make things even worse than they already are….”

For nearly three months prior to this downward spiral, I had been physically sick, unable to get out of bed for the most part. I dealt with severe nausea, and stomach pains on a constant basis. I couldn’t eat. I could barely drink. Multiple times I went to the hospital for dehydration where they pumped a at least one Liter of fluids into my tiny body. My body was breaking down what little fat it had, as I dropped to 92 pounds while being 5’3”. This started shortly after taking a new medication, yet continued even after I stopped it. I couldn’t work for three months. One by one they had to stop my medications to avoid organ damage from lack of food and water. All of this was a contributing factor to one of the worst episodes of my life. An episode I almost did not survive.

It was a perfect storm. My depression spiraled out of control. I had already been periodically suicidal the months prior. So much so that my therapist called and suggested I go to the hospital. But my mom seemed to not want me to go. This depression I had now was so much worse. It was worse on all levels. Being sick only fueled it. Eventually, I stopped hoping that the next day I would feel better. I would lay in bed and just start crying, from the severe depression and hopelessness that was beginning to drown me.

The emotional pain I felt was indescribable. Each day, I became more suicidal. Then one day when my mom was gone and my dad was outside, I got up enough strength to go into the bathroom and attempt to hang myself, but I couldn’t make it work, so I just crawled back in bed, even more upset than before. Each passing day seemed worse. I wasn’t living. I was suffering, barely enduring each hour of each day. I grew more suicidal and more determined every hour, my brain constantly planning what I could do. I desperately wanted to get back to the building so I could just jump and put an end to everything. I longed for it. My heart ached for it. It ached from the emotional pain, and the longing to finally put an end to all my suffering and hurt. I was nervous about trying to pull off getting there, but that was slowly being overridden as the days dragged on. I downloaded the Lyft app to monitor available rides. I had to time it just right. I planned to leave the house, just walk out the front door, and take Lyft to the building from the next street over. All I was doing was waiting for the right opportunity. I had slowly accepted the “fact” that I just wasn’t going to make it, and I prepared to finally complete suicide.

I desperately reached out for help. I tried reaching out to my psychiatrist, but I wasn’t able to tell her about my attempt, because the only day she saw me, she had my mom in the room with me. Then she told me she couldn’t see me anymore due to various factors. I messaged my general doctor, and she called my parents and told them that they needed to take me to the ER to get evaluated. That ended in a shouting match with my parents and in the end, I didn’t go to the hospital. I reached out to my therapist the next day and had an emergency appointment, but she didn’t make my parents take me either, even after telling her about my attempt a few days earlier. I’m not sure how much she believed about how close to the edge I actually was. As a last-ditch effort, prior to my appointment I messaged my gastroenterologist and tried to make her see I needed help, yet when I went, on October 20, nothing came out of it. Everything and everyone had failed me. The system failed me, I reached out for help four times, and each time it eluded me. The closest I came to getting to the hospital only made the situation worse and made me even more desperate. I felt utterly hopeless. In my mind, no one cared. In my mind, I had no choice. I couldn’t live with the pain I was in any longer. The only way to end it was to take my life. The total hopelessness had sucked the life out of me until there was nothing left. I felt completely beyond help. I believed nothing else could be done for me, that there was no more help for me. I tried reaching out, but there was nothing. It felt like I was grabbing air. There was no relief no matter where I turned. Even when using the crisis text line. I HAD to die. It was the only option. I was determined to go.

Then, the evening of Tuesday, October 20, the same day as my appointment, my chance came. Both my parents were outside in the back. I was with them, shoes on, phone in hand, monitoring the Lyft app, and where about the yard my parents were going. I finally saw my chance, just as the app got down to a 5 min arrival. I took the opportunity. I mustered up the strength that I had as I walked to the front of the house and over to the next street, where I had arranged to meet the Lyft driver. I waited on the corner with my heart in my throat, frantically looking around for a car that matched the description in Lyft, growing more and more anxious by the second. I kept turning around, desperately hoping I wouldn’t see my parents coming around that corner. Finally, the car came, and I got in.

Once on the interstate, I got a text from my mom. She said, “ok, so where did you go?”. I lied and told her I was getting help. I acted like I was going to the hospital both for my stomach problems and for my mental health. I told her I couldn’t go on as I was. I told her I’d let her know when I found something out. I apologized. She asked me where I was now and if I’d called someone. I stopped responding. I wanted to go through with what I’d planned. I had to.

The Lyft driver asked if there was a particular location I was going to. When we got closer, I nervously told her to let me out in that big parking lot by the building. When she ended up passing what turned out to be the only driveway from the street, I had her stop and told her she could just let me out here. She asked me if I was sure, and I said yes. She stopped and unlocked the door, warning me about the traffic as I got out. I didn’t care about the traffic. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to do it myself. But I got out and crossed traffic normally. I walked quickly toward the entrance of the 10-floor parking garage, stopping once to look up at the spot where I would soon be standing.

I felt like every person I saw was looking at me, like everyone knew exactly why I was there. I was terrified someone was going to approach me and ask me what I was doing. It didn’t help that it was a part of a casino, and I looked younger than I was. The elevator ride to the 10th floor seemed to take an eternity. It creaked and smelled of smoke. My heart was in my chest the whole time, silently willing the elevator not to stop at any other floors. It didn’t, and the doors opened at the 10th floor. It was into the evening now, and the sun wasn’t as direct. It was also cooler, and a heavy breeze blew steadily. I walked around the corner to the front corner of the building, not far from the elevator shaft to a concrete block about three feet high that was a part of the support for the structure. Someone had carelessly left a coke bottle still half filled with coke along with some other trash. I moved the bottle out of the way. Just then, I felt a buzzing on my wrist. My heart jumped into my throat, and I panicked as I turned my wrist to see who it was. It was a friend, Denise, who I had met in an earlier hospitalization. I had been talking to her some about how I was feeling. I didn’t want to be rude, so pulled my phone out of my back pocket and answered. I climbed up on the concrete block, putting me up against the wall, which now was only about a foot and a half higher than where I was seated. 

Denise was talking to me now. I immediately regretted answering the phone. She wouldn’t give up. She had me talking to her husband as well. She was trying to talk me down, trying to get me to change my mind. I got the impression that she knew exactly where I was and what I was about to do. I wanted to hang up, but I’m not a rude person. I couldn’t make myself do it. She was trying to get me to come see her, telling me that things would get better. Her husband told his story of when he was younger and suicidal, and how he got better. They spent 20 minutes before I finally said, “I have to go”, and hung up. I got closer to the edge. Over the noise of the wind, I heard the elevator shaft move and I briefly panicked. I was very jumpy and very distraught. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t shut out the pain I felt. The voices in my head were telling me to just jump. They told me I didn’t have a choice. I leaned over the side of the building, holding on with just a few fingers. I was sitting on top of the wall now. I could see the entire side of the building I was so far over. The voices telling me to let go. Saying I had to. That was the reason I’d come, and I had no way back. I hesitated. I thought to myself, “What if I survive? What will go through my head in the whole two seconds it takes to fall? What if I regret it the second I let go of the wall with these fingers? “Just jump.”, said the voice. “Go. You don’t have a choice anymore.” 

I looked around. Wondering if anyone saw me. There were people walking into the building right below me, going about their business as normal. People were driving across the river bridge just on the other side of the parking lot. I wondered again if anyone saw me. I decided no one cared. I leaned over the edge again, willing myself to uncurl my fingers and let go. Let go of life. I had to end the pain. I sent what I thought would be my last text. I texted Denise and said, “I’m on the ledge”. No response. I was in so much pain, so tired of hurting. But those three things still had me in hesitation.

My wrist vibrated again. An unknown number. Dumb me answered it. The caller identified herself as city police. My heart sank. I was still sitting on the edge of the wall. She tried to make sure I was sitting. She was trying to talk me down. I was shaking and trembling all over. There was no talking me down.

I grew more and more agitated and anxious with each passing second. I stated to jump at every sound. I was frantically looking around, no longer listening to the officer on the phone pleading with me. She was keeping me distracted. I knew that’s what she was trying to do. I wanted to go. I wanted to hang up on her, but I didn’t know what the consequences of that would be. Just then, I glanced behind me and see two uniformed officers rushing toward me, as I was still perched on the wall. I had been talking to the officer on the phone for less than 6 minutes. I stopped talking and froze. I wanted to hurry and jump before they got to me, but at the same time I didn’t want to jump in front of them. I looked back and forth from the ground to the rapidly approaching officers. I was panicking. I didn’t know what to do. Before I could move a muscle, they both reached up and grabbed me from behind, wrapping their arms around me like you would in a big bear hug. They picked me up off the wall like I weighed nothing. Even 92 pounds is still heavy. They carried me a few steps away before setting me down, still holding on tight to me, one on each side. I burst into tears. The female officer leans closer to me and tries to console me. She said “It’s ok. You’re alright. You’re not in trouble.” They led me to the patrol car where they patted me down. I waited in the car for them to finish up. I look at my phone. Somewhere in the confusion I got a text from my mom saying “You need to get off the ledge, like now. “How did she know that?”, I wondered. “That is not getting help” she said. I texted back, “I’m getting help now, I’m sorry.” Finally, the officer got back in her car and told me she was taking me to the hospital. She said there wasn’t an EMS unit available. She told me she did 60mph in the parking garage to get to me. “How do you do 60 in a circle??” I thought incredulously. We went around and around to get down. It was a loooong way down. I asked if we were down yet. She said “No, this is the third floor. It’s a long way down, huh?” “Yeah” I answered. “And you was all the way at the top!” She replied. “I know.” I said softly.

On the way to the hospital, she told me that she didn’t know how my mom found out where I was. But she did tell me that I’d gotten banned from the property where the building was and that if I went back, I could be arrested and taken to jail. I was mad. I was still incredibly suicidal. I was angry with myself that I got stopped. I was mad at the officer, even though she was absolutely amazing, for not letting me go. I was mad at myself for answering my phone, both times. Mad at myself for hesitating. I had so many things going through my head. And the voices were berating me for not jumping. For not following through. It was horrible.

We finally got to the ER. She got out and came around to let me out and led me to check-in. When the receptionist asks why I’m there the officer tells her I’m suicidal. She said “like, legit suicide”. I was grateful to know that she didn’t think it was all for attention or something. Grateful that someone finally believed me and saw my pain. They asked if she was going to stay with me. She said she had to get back to patrol. The staff talked about what to do to make sure I didn’t leave out of the ER. I think they told the security guard at the front door not to let me out. I sat down and waited. I was so incredibly suicidal. And desperate. And I didn’t want to go back in the hospital. I didn’t see how it was going to help. Without a doubt, I believed I was beyond that. I kept looking back and forth between the door and the guard wondering if I could make a run for it and run into traffic. I was waiting for a moment when I thought I could pull it off. The officer was still there, watching me from the other side of the room. However, a few moments later she came and sat next to me. There went my chance. When they finally called me, she went in with me. They asked what brought me there. I pointed to her and said she brought me. I thought she would say something, but she didn’t, so then I had to tell them that I had been on the ledge of the 10th floor, and that she pulled me down. She told me good luck and left. They put me in a holding room, and I geared up for what I knew would be one of the longest hospital stays of my life.

It was. I was transported to a hospital an hour away where I stayed for 16 days. It was very difficult. I wanted to self-harm so bad at times, other times, I wold be overwhelmed with pain and depression that I would cry uncontrollably, my whole body shaking. I was angry at the officers for pulling me off the wall. I wished with all my heart that I had jumped before they reached me. Then there were periods of chaos with the other patients. They had me on the severe unit instead of the mood disorder unit due to space. Thankfully, I wasn’t too fazed by a lot of it, having been in places like that a dozen times before and seen a lot. I was still feeling sick all the time. The medical doctor at the hospital put me on a medication for nausea three times a day before meals, one that I hadn’t yet tried. At first, I could only eat one bite at breakfast. Slowly, I began to eat a little more each time and gradually the nausea got better.

I talked to my friend, Denise. She told me she had known where I was because she could hear all the wind, and she knew about that place already. She knew before I even told her I was on the ledge. As soon as I said I had to go and hung up she called the police. Then when I did admit that I was on the ledge, she called the police BACK and told them that too.

Being October, the weather was decent, and the staff would frequently let us outside in the small courtyard area. I took these opportunities to walk continuously around the small path to try to build up some of my strength. I knew that when I got out, I was going to have to go back to work.

I wasn’t that thrilled about the Psychiatrist I was assigned to, but the Nurse Practitioners that worked for her were pretty good, and they listened to me. One by one, carefully, they started putting me back on what had been working for me the year before, before they had stopped working, gradually increasing the doses. Finally, I began to start to feel slightly better. I stopped crying every day, and I felt the faintest spark of hope coming back. I wasn’t quite as angry as the officers that saved my life that day, and I was no longer 100% sure I would jump if I was back up there. After another week, they finally felt it was safe to let me go home.

My mom came to pick me up since it was an hour from home, and I had no car. I immediately made an appointment with my primary care doctor, to follow up with the side effects from the nausea meds I had been taking in the hospital. I told her what had happened. She was glad I was doing better. She put in an accommodation request that I wasn’t to work over 5 hours at a time, because I still hadn’t gotten all my strength back from being sick for three months. It was approved by HR.

I went back to work. I was a different person. I could actually function. Eventually, I went back to a normal schedule there. I was even able to start back riding horses at the stable, showering my love on my favorite horse, Sadie. My boss, who was also like a second mom, knew I had been trying to get a full-time position there. I went in the office one day, and she told me that she had released a position for part time key holder. I went home that night and applied. I didn’t dare ask about it. Finally, after about a week, she pulled me aside, and told me that I was going to get the position. I came home that night to a balloon and a small cake from my parents.

The COVID-19 pandemic was finally calming down. I had to cancel my vacation previously because it was at the start of the whole thing when everything shut down. Now I could go. The airline had a fare sale, and I booked a trip to spend 5 days in Phoenix and 7 days in San Diego, my favorite place ever. The date could not come fast enough. I had saved the stimulus checks form the government and actually had some money in the bank. I had been wanting a car, casually looking at the inventory in various places periodically. One morning in April, I was lying in bed on my phone, and I thought, “why not just see what they have at the dealership.” I went on the website. I started calculating payments and interest rates. Then I found “the” car. It was a new 2020 Honda Insight. I ran outside, asking my mom if we can go look at a car. She was surprised because it sort of just came out of nowhere, but I got her to take me to the dealership. I was still just looking. They told me they had just sold the car I was looking at. But they showed me three others. I fell in love with the 2021 version. I wasn’t sure I had the money. But I knew I would be so disappointed if I backed out at that point, so I signed the papers, and the car was mine. I LOVED it. My OWN car. My parents couldn’t tell me I couldn’t drive it, it was MINE. No co-signer.

I was amazed. I was so happy, so grateful to the officers that saved my life that day. Never in a million years did I think I’d be where I was. If you had told me when I was perched on that wall that in less than 6 months, I’d be promoted to management, have a big vacation booked, and be driving my very own car, let alone no longer be depressed and suicidal, I would have thought you were completely crazy. I never thought all this would ever be possible. I was finally a genuinely happy person. I was so glad to be alive and see even just the small things. It just shows that you should never give up hope. Not even when you can’t see it through the pain. It’s there. Recovery is possible.

I finally tracked down the officer that saved my life that day about a year and a half later. I saw an officer standing by the door at Walmart as I was leaving and asked if he knew a female officer and then I described her. He thought for a minute and showed me a picture. “Yes! That’s her!” I said. I told him what happened and that I wanted to talk to her to thank her. He said he understood. He texted her my number and a few days later we spoke on the phone. She was really happy I was doing well, and she had wondered what ended up happening with me. She said it made her day. I was so elated, and so glad to finally be able to thank the officer that saved me. I found out from talking to her that the reason she got to me so fast was because she was only a block away from where I was, in easy walking distance, and that most of her time getting to me (The time I was on the phone for) was spent doing circles to get to the top where I was at. She was just in the right place at the right time.