How I Almost Killed Myself

Without Trying To ... I Think

Photo by Stormseeker on Unsplash

I don’t mean suicide, even though I am at greater risk for suicide because of my family history. What I mean is intentionally ignoring my own needs to the point of death.

Almost ten years ago, my mom decided she had had enough. So, she emphatically expressed her displeasure in this world, by leaving it to go to the next one. To say my world was shattered is to underestimate the depth of my trauma by a factor of 10. I felt untethered. Disconnected from myself and the world. If I hadn’t had my wife, my cats, and the responsibility of my patients I don’t know if I would have survived.

What started as economic survival, continuing to work after her death, became a slow steady march into not feeling and disappearing altogether. I began to fill my days with so many patient appointments that I could only come home, collapse, drink some wine, and pass out from exhaustion.

When I started as a therapist 30+ years ago, 20 patient appointments a week was considered a “full time” schedule. The reason for that was in addition to each appointment there were phone calls, meetings, and letters to write (no cell phones or computers back than). Later in the 2000’s full time was 30 patients a week.

At my peak I was working 7 days a week seeing 60 (1 hour) patents. THIS is why I wonder if I was trying to kill myself … with work. Maybe. Maybe exhaustion was safe to feel? Maybe I was trying to “save” my patients because I couldn’t “save” my mom? Maybe my work kept me grounded so I wouldn’t give up? Maybe it’s a combination of all of them? Whatever the case, these last almost 10 years have changed me.

I literally stopped caring about myself and stopped doing any of the things that brought me joy (golf, outrigger canoe racing, art, music). I only started writing here on Substack 1 year ago with the intent to help other people “Get Through” the difficult times we are all having. Turns out what I intended for others was the last gasp of my own soul reaching for help. I am convinced I have gained much more from reading and writing here on Substack than anyone who happens to read what I write.

The vice like grip I have had on myself is breaking away. The cracks have been appearing over the last few years. I was so out of touch with myself I didn’t know what I needed. So, I kept over working until I could figure it out. Now, I am at “capacity collapse” and “empathetic overload”. I have reached the end of my ability to push myself in this destructive way any more.

You maybe asking why I didn’t “see a therapist”. I told myself I didn’t have the “time” and “I don’t want to burden another therapist with my trauma.” I knew these were bullshit excuses and avoidance. However, there was something in me that kept saying “wait” to get help I knew I needed. I was terrified that I would loose what little was left of myself. Looking back on all of this, I don’t think I was intact enough to do the work that trauma therapy requires. You can’t add on to the house if a tornado has knocked it off it’s foundation. You have to reattach the house before you can add on to it. That would have taken much more time, money, and support then I had.

I have been slowly dealing with my emotional and physical collapse in small perceptible ways. Increasing my physical activity, writing, meditating, and slowly addressing the many things I have ignored over these many years. Also, starting in three weeks I will only be working 3 days a week. My progress is slow and measured. I’m okay with that because for the first time, in a long time, I am here for it. Being present, in the moment, with my own attention focused on me.

Yay me!

If you or anyone you know is feeling suicidal please reach out to someone you trust, go to the nearest emergency room, or call 988 (in the United States). Stay, one more day. The world really does need you in it.

Take care everyone,

Peace