A cry for help: What it’s like hitting rock bottom
Ray Thomas left his family farm in South Australia when he was in his 20s and moved to New Zealand. He has always loved writing short stories and watching sport. He married an amazing woman 16 years ago and they both retired three years ago. They love family life, travelling, spending time in their large garden and fostering young children.
Slowly and methodically I locked all the doors and windows, and carefully closed all the curtains. I turned off all the lights. I wanted to give the impression that the house was empty.
I then took all types of painkillers I could find in the house and washed them down with water. This continued until I could find no more pills, and my body could take no more fluids.
Feeling totally relaxed, I then calmly lay down on a bed and drifted off to sleep, hoping never to wake.
I have heard people say, largely those with little or no experience or knowledge of depression, that people at this stage must be mad, or words similar to that.
Obviously I cannot speak for others, but for me personally, this was the first time for several tortuous months and years that I felt totally at peace with an absolute clarity of mind. I was sad because, for me, I felt there was no other possible solution.
I knew what I wanted. It was very simple.
I wanted the mental torture I had endured for many years to end. I simply couldn’t take it anymore.
Later in the night, I woke up feeling drowsy, extremely bloated and angry and disappointed that I had failed to achieve what I thought I so desperately wanted.
Looking back however, did I REALLY want to die that night, because there were other options available? As much as I wanted my life to end, I didn’t want to die in pain, so taking pills seemed the “easiest option”. Was it simply a cry for help?
If successful, I knew that once my mother found it, it probably would have shortened her life. She had cancer, so the shock of my death probably would have been too much for her.
I knew my family would quite rightly be angry with me for causing mum’s death. I knew they would be sad, for a short time, but felt they would soon get over it, and I would be quickly forgotten.
None of this mattered to me. I felt desperately alone.
Yes, (in hindsight) I was extremely selfish but my rationale was simple. I wanted the pain to stop, and I could see no other alternative.
If a person has some kind of obvious “physical” injury you can immediately see and sense their “physical” pain.
Usually there are no obvious outward signs of knowing when a person is experiencing inward “mental” pain, so to an outsider, you have no idea of what that person is feeling.
So why write this story now? What was my background that led me to believe there was no other way to end my suffering?
To begin with, many decades ago, the world was a far different place as regards “mental illness” when it was rarely discussed or understood.
Fortunately, in these modern days of enlightenment and the excellent work of many experts in this field, particularly Sir John Kirwan and many others, it is now OK to discuss depression more openly.
However, despite the best efforts from a large number of well in-formed experts in this field, suicide rates appear to be climbing, among people of all ages, which is very sad and tragic.
Maybe by sharing MY very personal story it may (hopefully) make a difference to at least one person, I can only hope.
My early childhood was no different to most people.
I had siblings both older and younger, and two parents who clearly loved each other. There was never any violence in the house, no alcohol of any kind, just a normal type of family.
Dad was financially an excellent provider. We, as a family never wanted for anything. We went on annual family holidays, which were always the highlight of the year. New (Holden) cars regularly appeared in the garage, together with the latest tractors and farm machinery.
However, emotionally Dad was never there for me, for reasons I never understood.
In my younger days I described him as “distant, a large shadowy figure with no clear outline surrounded by a powerful yellowy light”.
Although I loved to sit on a tractor all day, I was not the slightest bit interested and had no desire of learning how to service it. I much preferred to be working with the sheep. Like most farmers, he could make or fix anything, but again those sorts of things did not interest me.
Mostly, we did not share similar hobbies or interests. Sometimes I would try to please and be accepted by him, but felt I could never meet his high standards, so quickly gave up.
The one common interest we, and most of the family shared, was sport, but here again there were difficulties.
Before taking up lawn bowls, Dad was an excellent cricketer, and I think he hoped I would follow in his footsteps.
While at high school I tried to play cricket, but because I was virtually hopeless at bowling, batting, and fielding, I soon accepted that unfortunately, cricket was not for me, so quickly returned to playing tennis which I much preferred, as was better at.
Our relationship was not all doom and gloom and he did have some great times, but that’s another story.
Maybe if I had felt accepted the way I was, our relationship and what was to follow years later could have been totally different. No-one really knows.
In my latter years I began to understand his upbringing and the reasons he became the man he was, which helped a little. I have tried to accept that he did the best he could, because for men of his generation were almost always strong and stoic and rarely showed emotion.
Largely because of his treatment to my older siblings, mum largely took care of me, especially emotionally. As a result, I was undoubtedly spoilt by her, much to the annoyance of other family members.
She tried her best to be both parents, for which I truly loved her. Growing up, she was my ever reliable, dependable rock. She was simply my mum.
However, by the time I had reached my late teenage years/early 20’s, as much as I loved her, I was beginning to feel suffocated by her. I knew that as difficult as it may be, I needed to get away and not live in her shadow, even if that meant possibly live overseas.
When the opportunity presented itself, I grabbed it with both hands, undoubtedly knowing it was probably not my wisest choice, but worth taking the risk.
I met an overseas woman. She was much younger than me, and in almost every conceivable way we were direct opposites.
Shortly after meeting, we began a very intensive relationship, which while mutually satisfying, could not hide the huge differences that were so blatantly obvious.
Finally, what initially drew us together eventually tore us apart.
I couldn’t blame her entirely for the break-up of our marriage. We were both at fault, and therefore were equally responsible and at times irresponsible during our time together.
One day, she was out of town visiting family and did not return that night. I phoned her to be told she was not coming home and that our relationship was over.
This leads me back to the very beginning of this story.
During the conversation I stupidly said words like “I might take some pills” because I was now feeling desperate. Life with her had not been great for a long time, but I felt that life without her would be even worse. She replied with words like “It’s OK, I checked the house before I left. You can’t do anything too serious”.
Many hours later, to my surprise, there was a knock at the door.
In my groggy and somewhat agitated state, I answered it to find two St John Ambulance staff. “We believe you may have taken some pills,” one of them said. I can only presume that despite everything we had been through, my ex wanted to make sure I was alright. We never discussed the events of that night.
They then checked me over, asked a few questions and sensing I was OK, soon left again.
Was it a case of a cry for help?
Looking back, the simple answer was an undoubted yes. What I REALLY needed was for someone to take control and HELP me get my life back on track, because I was incapable of doing it alone.
Life continued. I had an excellent job, was well respected, and always bright and happy.
Away from work, I became highly adept, of becoming what I call a hedgehog. I simply rolled myself into a tight ball, protecting and not allowing anyone to see my soft, vulnerable side. I wanted people to see my outer prickly side and would therefore keep away from me.
I was aware that I had a (mental) problem but was not yet ready to acknowledge or accept it, as I had not yet reached rock bottom.
Suddenly I again reached breaking point and again taking my life seemed the only acceptable outcome. I had it all planned.
The ONLY thing that saved my life was a miracle, which is another long and complicated story.
I was now between jobs so to occupy my time I applied for and was accepted by a voluntary organisation. This was a thoroughly enjoyable experience and I met, and worked with, some amazing people.
One day, I saw brochures about various mental health issues, and started to read them.
Suddenly I became quite excited, as obviously the time was right to explore and confront my many issues, no matter how slow and painful the recovery might be.
With a support person with me, I visited my GP, at the end of which I was told that, “Yes, there were some problems, but nothing that could not be overcome with the help of medication and counselling, both individual and in a confidential support group.”
Before attending the first group session I was absolutely terrified. The very idea of me sitting around with a group of total strangers, where we were expected to discuss openly our inner most thoughts and fears, was somewhat overwhelming.
Each time became easier, and I felt safer.
Very quickly, I began to look forward to the meetings. In many ways, they were the highlight of my week.
The meetings ALWAYS began with (part of) the SERENITY PRAYER, which we all quickly learned, and seemed a perfect way to begin…
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference”.
Yes, for many weeks I found it all very difficult and at times seriously considered walking away but realised this was my best chance to make a positive difference for the remainder my life.
For years, I had experienced times of real anger (for no apparent reason), extremely low self-esteem, deep depression and frequent thoughts of suicide.
Fortunately, the thought of turning to alcohol for solace, never appealed.
I did dabble with gambling briefly. The thought of a big win was exciting. However, before that silent, insidious disease took over and ruled my life, despite my fragile, weakened state, I was able to say “no”.
To try and describe it another way, I could clearly see myself in a deep pit. If I looked up, I could barely see a small round hole of light. I could TRY to climb out of the hole and be in the light, but was scared because that was foreign to me, and was unsure what I would be faced with. I felt much safer in the familiar surroundings of the dark and cold in the bottom of the pit.
In another way, it was like climbing to the top of a giant slippery dip. The easy part was climbing the steps to the top as I had something to grab hold of. Once at the top, the view was great, but the next stage was the difficult part. In my “suicidal days” once I began the down-ward slide there was no way of stopping until I came to a sudden and painful stop at the bottom.
With time I learnt it was safe to start on my descent, but more importantly how to reach out to the sides to stop myself from falling any further and at any time. In some instances, I was able pull myself back up to the top.
This for me was a huge, positive step on my road to recovery.
This gradual improvement and self-worth I was beginning to experience was amazing, and certainly life-changing.
I have an incredible wife, a close, loving network of family and friends. Life is good.
For me, with time and as a result of acknowledging and dealing with my numerous issues, a cry for help now means two different things.
During my dark, lonely, negative times, a cry for help meant “I think I want to die. Will someone PLEASE find and help save me from myself? I don’t know how and I don’t have the inner strength.”
“A cry for help” in my latter years means “please help me deal with the painful grief of losing a loving family member, or close friend”.
My private battles which for many years almost defeated me are under control. They will never be entirely conquered, but at least now under control.
If you are troubled by this article, experiencing a personal crisis or thinking about suicide, you can call Lifeline 0800 543 354 or Suicide Crisis Helpline 0508 828 865.