Saving a life

July was a difficult month.

It opened with my boss and many others leaving Microsoft through the voluntary retirement program. We knew things would get chaotic, but I am still very new on this team and did not feel well-established. His boss left on a two-week vacation a few days later.

I didn’t have Fourth of July plans, which was totally fine as I had an anxious dog. But I got sad when I realized I’d probably not be alive for the 300th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration.

I finally found an amazing woman on Hinge. I won’t name her here for privacy, but we’ll call her Miss Hinge for now. Our first date opened with her telling me she just wanted fries, no meal, and me telling her I always order mac and cheese. The server asked our orders: “I got this,” I said, “she’ll have the mac and cheese, and I’ll just have fries.” We giggled over that and many other things for hours that night, and we still giggle today.

We spent hours on the phone, and then I watched a man enter a coma as she sat in her car unable to see what was going on. This was just outside my front door, and I still see his blood on the street. Please drive safe; that man may be dead now. He was crossing the same street as me in the same direction, just 9 seconds behind me. Yes, I timed it.

Lindsey Graham died suddenly overnight, which doesn’t affect me personally, except his legacy is controversial to say the least, and I took it as a reminder to make sure I’m always doing good things. Always.

I helped plan an event at a local venue, and then that venue didn’t open on the day of our event. We pivoted, and things went fine, but it was not a fun problem to solve.

At this point, I was stressed out, and asked my doctor for time off work. She noted that such a request would be difficult to accommodate, and suggested we increase my antidepressant dose instead. So I did that. It was the first change in 3 years.

Wynonna bit someone. This was the second bite ever under my care, and also the second bite in 70 days. Both victims are fine and have my contact info in case anything changes. I am fully responsible and working to train her extensively. There were many ignored warning signs in both cases that I am taking much more seriously. I am sorry. I chose to introduce her to a dog sitter the day after the bite (oh, she also ate a whole pizza after biting that person, same day), and it went extremely well. But I couldn’t bring myself to inform this new sitter about Wynonna’s past, and I felt very guilty.

John Mumaw, known as JohnM on The Dispatch, died suddenly as well. The Dispatch community, including myself, grieved. He was well-respected by many. We had strongly disagreed when we first met, but he welcomed me to the platform when he signed off for the day. I grew to appreciate his contributions. He was only a year older than Lindsey Graham.

Then two idiots shot at each other in Seattle Center, killing at least three people. I was not there, but I had been there two months earlier for a similar festival. I brought my dad. He commented on the significant police presence. They could’ve killed my dad, and I cried a bit.

I called 988 for the first time in years, and there were significant technical difficulties. There was a five-second delay between my speech and hers, and nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do. Nothing.

That evening, I told Miss Hinge, at that point very much my girlfriend, that I loved her. Why wait? I know many answers. None of them satisfied me. So I stopped waiting.

Oh, and I still haven’t been paid for my disability in May. Despite many, many followups through calls and emails, Microsoft still owes me about $10,000. I have savings, but, like, hey, please pay me. Thanks.

And don’t even get me started on the Catholic guilt that hit me like a freight train as I entered a new physical relationship. It’d be manageable if the PTSD from past sexual assaults wasn’t also smashing into my psyche simultaneously.

Over this past weekend, I read a short story, and it heavily involved someone dying by suicide. I realized I could die in the same way. “Scary thought, scary thought.” Over the next 24 hours, I realized I could die in an even easier way. “Oh, very scary thought.”

As someone with PTSD, I was informed that my mental health care provider had extra care, and I had an appointment with a care navigator at 10 AM on Monday. He was a licensed therapist and a mandatory reporter in case I had thoughts of suicide. I was at work in-office and had already scheduled an “important quick sync” with a trusted coworker and my interim boss, who I also trusted. I didn’t know what I’d say at that meeting. But I was happy to learn that my care navigator was a licensed therapist. This was a surprise, and I eagerly told him about July. I told him in even more detail than I told you. He asked me if I had thoughts of suicide.

“Yes.”

Any plan of suicide?

“Yes.”

Do you think you’ll carry out that plan in the next few days?

“Probably.”

I am nothing if I’m not honest.

He urged me to go to the ER immediately and offered to stay on the line as I did so. I told him I could make it to my one o’clock meeting to tell my boss, then I’d go afterward. I wasn’t sure I’d go afterward, and I was just spewing a bit to get him off my back. I was scared. I was not honest. We talked a bit more, and he agreed to call me at two o’clock to make sure I had checked in safely. He then emailed me some info about the best ER to go to, which was nice.

I did great work for an hour, and then it was time for lunch. But it was smoky out, so I stayed in while the team walked to a different building. I scheduled some more appointments: dentist, cardiologist, physical therapist. I ate some peanut M&Ms. And then it was one o’clock.

The three of us met in a small room, and I don’t remember how I started the conversation.

“I had a call today with a therapist, and he urged me to go to the ER immediately.”

OK, maybe I do remember.

“Okay.”

“So, I’m going to be doing that, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better worker, I know it’s been a very rough start for me here.”

“I would worry about that, like, eighth.”

“You made the right decision to get help.” There were three of us in the room, remember.

“We’ll figure out work stuff.”

“I know you will. He urged me to go right away, so I’m going to call the Lyft now.”

“Okay. Next time a doctor tells you to go to the ER immediately, don’t wait to tell me.”

“Yes, well, I’m—I’m an—OK, the sentence is ‘I’m an adult,’ but I appreciate your point.”

I packed up my things, and they walked me outside. The smoke had cleared a bit.

We waited. A red car rolled up, and rolled by.

“We’re waiting for a black Toyota.”

“I’m not good with cars, but that looks like a red Nissan.”

He wasn’t wrong. I laughed heartily. Nervously. It was quiet.

“The worst part,” I said with tears in my eyes, “is that there’s no reason.”

One of them reminded me of his personal mental health concerns: “there’s no rhyme or reason with this stuff.”

“I’m glad you’re getting help.”

A gray Toyota arrived. Close enough: it was my car.

“You’ll see me again,” I said as I shook their hands and walked away.

I did not inform the Lyft driver of the situation, so he dropped me off at some random entrance. I asked info for help to the ER, and they said it was their policy to walk patients there in a wheelchair in case they needed it. So I walked alongside an elderly woman rolling an empty wheelchair as we chatted about my mental health.

“You’re in good hands here.”

I checked in for a comprehensive mental health evaluation for thoughts of suicide. They said they’d be with me shortly. There were maybe 30 people in this large waiting room. After a few minutes, I realized I could just walk out. I could walk out and never be seen alive again. After a few minutes more, they called my name. That was quick.

I recounted my July to a few medical people, and they put me in scrubs and said they’d take all my belongings away for my safety. Someone needed to feed Wynonna, and I was planning to ask Miss Hinge. I had already emailed the front desk of my building with that basic info. I asked to keep my phone for a bit for that reason.

“Of course.” They left my belongings in my room, and there was always at least one medical person doing something or another to me. After a bit, they needed to take my things, so I asked to call Miss Hinge.

“Hi, Miss Hinge.” (I don’t actually call her that. And I don’t know how I started the call.)

“I’m in the ER for mental health.” OK, maybe I do know. “I need you to feed Wynonna tonight. The front desk is already informed.”

“OK. I’m going to worry about you.”

“That’s healthy. I’m not going to apologize.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The call was short. More was said, but I’m too close to crying as it is.

Then my things were gone, and I was alone in the room. But I was not lonely. I was being cared for way more seriously than I had ever imagined.

Suicide is a strange and alien disease. Someone, apparently very healthy, walks into a room. “I’m in love,” he says, and he means it. “I have more money than I ever wanted, and I give much to charity. I pray to God and He has shown me He is real and cares for me and the world. I am healthy, and I am solving the few problems I have with my dog. I have a dream job, fixing some of the most important technology on the planet. And they let me work whatever hours I want. In my free time, I fix some of the medium-est technology on the planet, and they pay me even better than my dream job, and although there are no benefits, I let me work whatever hours I want, because I’m the boss, actually. My family is safe, and so am I. Everyone I know is doing well enough, as far as I can tell.” (I do not know the man who entered the coma.) “And I am happy solving problems and playing games and telling jokes.

“And I plan to die today, or maybe tomorrow.”

“Thank you for telling me. I can help you.”

It does not make any sense. Why do they care?

It makes plenty of sense. If that man does not receive care, he will die. Maybe he is stupid and crazy, but no man should die for such small flaws. He should receive help. Something is wrong inside him, just like something is wrong inside a cancer patient. A different disease, but a real one. A different treatment, but still a helpful one.

I was enrolled in intensive outpatient care within minutes of my social worker placing the referral.

Miss Hinge was able to visit me and we rested together for a while, chatting and giggling, or maybe it was quiet. I don’t remember. But I was happy.

She drove me home and Wynonna went crazy to see both of us. She is such a silly dog. I love her so. And I love the dog too.

I informed the dog sitter of Wynonna’s past, and she was still happy to follow my suggestion of meeting Wynonna alone. It went perfectly, of course. I am nothing if I’m not honest. Except, well, I’m still a pretty cool guy even if I’m not perfect, I guess. We’ll get there.

I have been recovering for nearly sixty hours now. I have spent a lot of time with Miss Hinge, and a lot of time with my dog, and a lot of time in therapy, and a lot of time informing my loved ones. I have been too busy to be sad, and even when I rest I am too tired to be sad. I am being cared for. I haven’t felt cared for in a very, very long time. It feels good. It feels like I don’t have to save the world tomorrow. It feels like I don’t have to do much of anything to deserve love. It feels like it’s OK to have flaws, OK to ask for help, OK to relax. It feels like I might just be safe.

I would ask you not to worry about me, but I know such a request is almost always made in vain. I ask instead that you remember how well I am cared for. I have a family that loves me, professionals that are supporting me, and more loved ones that are eager to help me. I have everything a man could possibly need. I had that three days ago. But I know I have it today.

If you are in the United States and you have thoughts of harming yourself or others, please call or text 988 for support. For other regions, refer to list of suicide crisis lines - Wikipedia. You are not alone.