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Many of you may not know, but my wife attempted suicide in 2020. And I blame myself. We had a lot of upheaval in our lives at the time with kids going to college, moving to Fort Drum, selling our house in NC, just lots of things. When she started to spiral, it made me angry. She was obsessed, completely paranoid that she had made a mistake on our income tax. She was peeking out the curtains, convinced the FBI was coming to arrest her. No matter what kind of proof I showed her that she had done nothing wrong, she couldn't be helped. And rather than be sympathetic, I became frustrated. I just thought she was overly worrying, and I never recognized she was in a mental health crisis. Went to work one morning. Talked to her on the phone at about 10, and she told me she transferred some money to my son's account. Nothing unusual. Told me she loved me before she hung up, just like a million times before that. Around 1300, my daughter called me and asked me if I had talked to mom today, that she had been trying to reach her for a couple hours and had gotten no answer or replies. I initially dismissed it.
It started to eat at me and after about 10 minutes I headed to the house. When I got there it was dead silent No activity whatsoever other than my dogs jubilantly greeting me. I started yelling for my wife, thinking maybe she fell in the shower and couldn't get to her phone or something. I found her in the spare bedroom, in the bed, breathing but very shallow. She had eaten an entire bottle of prescription painkillers that her brother, a doctor, said should have killed her in under an hour. They were my pills. I had taken two of them, there were 30 total so she took 28. There were individual suicide notes for my kids and I(I never read any of them, and never told my kids about them). I called 911 immediately and was told to perform CPR until paramedics arrived. The NYSP arrived first within a couple minutes. They pulled me off of her and one of the officers took me downstairs. I was questioned like I had committed a crime. About that time paramedics arrived. They got her stabilized and took her to the hospital. When I got to the hospital, they put me in a separate room and I was first visited by the chaplain. Between him and the doctor, I was convinced she had no chance. I called her parents, my kids. I was destroyed. How did I miss all of that? What the **** is wrong with me? I stayed at the hospital until around midnight. I had to go to the house and meet my in-laws who left for NY immediately. While I waited, I killed about a 6 pack, couldn't stop shaking. When the in-laws arrived I was questioned as to how this could have happened. I never felt that low in my life. They weren't blaming me, far from it, but I was blaming myself.
Got a shower and went back to the hospital around 3. They had her pumped full of charcoal and something else to counteract those pills. She was intubated and on a breathing machine. She woke up later that afternoon. She was committed for three days under NY state law. When she came home, everything seemed normal for a little bit. And little by little, she started to spiral again over the same stuff. I had her committed over memorial day weekend that same year. She was in there for about four weeks. I would call to check up on her and she wouldn't talk to any of us, me or my kids. After about two weeks she called my daughter. She didn't want to talk to me, said she couldn't trust me. After about three weeks she agreed to talk to me. She had started going to the group therapy and they put her on meds. She's been basically normal ever since. To this day, I can't leave the house without worrying.
Now, she has monthly mental health appointments. They consist of a phone call, they ask her about her weight, blood pressure and if she is still doing ok on the medication. Lasts all of about two minutes. It's a joke.
I tell you all of this because to this day I feel like had I lost her, it would have been my fault. Instead of trying to figure out what was going on and try to get her help, I became angry, frustrated and convinced she was just completely overreacting. If you ever encounter this, take it seriously. I didn't, and it cost me and the rest of my family. It's been an incredibly hard lesson.
If any of you ever needs to talk, reach out. I may not have the magic words to make things better, but I'll listen. I'll listen for as long as it takes. I failed once, but I won't fail anyone over this sort of thing ever again.
It started to eat at me and after about 10 minutes I headed to the house. When I got there it was dead silent No activity whatsoever other than my dogs jubilantly greeting me. I started yelling for my wife, thinking maybe she fell in the shower and couldn't get to her phone or something. I found her in the spare bedroom, in the bed, breathing but very shallow. She had eaten an entire bottle of prescription painkillers that her brother, a doctor, said should have killed her in under an hour. They were my pills. I had taken two of them, there were 30 total so she took 28. There were individual suicide notes for my kids and I(I never read any of them, and never told my kids about them). I called 911 immediately and was told to perform CPR until paramedics arrived. The NYSP arrived first within a couple minutes. They pulled me off of her and one of the officers took me downstairs. I was questioned like I had committed a crime. About that time paramedics arrived. They got her stabilized and took her to the hospital. When I got to the hospital, they put me in a separate room and I was first visited by the chaplain. Between him and the doctor, I was convinced she had no chance. I called her parents, my kids. I was destroyed. How did I miss all of that? What the **** is wrong with me? I stayed at the hospital until around midnight. I had to go to the house and meet my in-laws who left for NY immediately. While I waited, I killed about a 6 pack, couldn't stop shaking. When the in-laws arrived I was questioned as to how this could have happened. I never felt that low in my life. They weren't blaming me, far from it, but I was blaming myself.
Got a shower and went back to the hospital around 3. They had her pumped full of charcoal and something else to counteract those pills. She was intubated and on a breathing machine. She woke up later that afternoon. She was committed for three days under NY state law. When she came home, everything seemed normal for a little bit. And little by little, she started to spiral again over the same stuff. I had her committed over memorial day weekend that same year. She was in there for about four weeks. I would call to check up on her and she wouldn't talk to any of us, me or my kids. After about two weeks she called my daughter. She didn't want to talk to me, said she couldn't trust me. After about three weeks she agreed to talk to me. She had started going to the group therapy and they put her on meds. She's been basically normal ever since. To this day, I can't leave the house without worrying.
Now, she has monthly mental health appointments. They consist of a phone call, they ask her about her weight, blood pressure and if she is still doing ok on the medication. Lasts all of about two minutes. It's a joke.
I tell you all of this because to this day I feel like had I lost her, it would have been my fault. Instead of trying to figure out what was going on and try to get her help, I became angry, frustrated and convinced she was just completely overreacting. If you ever encounter this, take it seriously. I didn't, and it cost me and the rest of my family. It's been an incredibly hard lesson.
If any of you ever needs to talk, reach out. I may not have the magic words to make things better, but I'll listen. I'll listen for as long as it takes. I failed once, but I won't fail anyone over this sort of thing ever again.
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