A Date to Die

My oldest brother and I were 11 years apart and shared more than the same birthday. We shared thoughts, time, vacations, movies, music and so much more that it is indescribable. Every single day I still feel the love I have for him deep down in my soul—he is buried due to his suicide on April 16th, 1993. Over his coffin, I made two promises as I was alone in the room with him. The first promise I made as I looked down at him in that coffin was that we would die on the same day and date 11 years apart—that was destiny to me and made perfect sense! The second promise, to stay sober for life, which was entirely possible with Bill W.’s Twelve Step Program—I did not even make it a year. I believe I made it sober 9 months. Oh well, it really was not important to me compared to the first promise—“my promise”. Joey, April 16th, 2004, I will be with you. The 11 years brought me so much comfort during my life—yeah, sounds insane, but true.
In 1996, my first time sober immediately brought my first 12 step program sponsor. She was a substance abuse counselor and if I would have known that I would NOT have had her as my sponsor. That was God in action. Yes, mentioning insanity above was true. Even without the drug and alcohol abuse work, she was an excellent counselor—tough and thorough (may she now rest in peace).
There are four main topics in this book: alcoholism and sobriety, suicide, mental illnesses, and self-harm behaviors. My sponsor could see through me in all four of these topics. When I first got sober on May 3rd 1996, it was three years after Joey’s suicide and I barely did one thing to grieve. One day she asked me, “Don’t you wonder why you always want to die despite staying sober and working an excellent program?” I told her I was hanging in there—something my brother did not do, and that somehow, some day, I would be truly alive and sober. I went home and received a phone call from her minutes later. I will omit the insanity I gave my sponsor and the staff at the medical hospital before I was placed in the mental health hospital that day—you can read about it in later chapters.
At this point, wanting suicide was my self-harm behavior that destroyed the majority of the thoughts of my life. My brother’s suicide opened the door for me acting out in ways I would have never thought were possible in my life. My “normal” drinking had become alcoholic (which runs in my family) and soon the ‘real’ self-harm behavior became necessary to remain sober. My self-harm behavior ranged from learning to smoke to slashing my left ankle in an emergency room. I was already in the emergency room with a cut on my hand for slamming my fist on a piece of glass (a security guard was outside my room). I cannot say how many times in my past that I firmly stated: this is my body and I can do what I want for ‘relief’. Cutting was the “ahhhh,” the adrenaline rush for me, while hitting brought a lower level of relief, but less of a chance of earning a mental health hospital visit. Over a nine year period, which began with that first mental health visit in 1999 with my sponsor, six of those nine years brought a combination of 30 mental health hospital visits and I am referring to two or three week stays, not only two or three day stays.
Actually, it was not until the early 2000’s, mostly 2009, that I was properly diagnosed. I am now so trustworthy and content with my current psychiatrist. He quickly and without a doubt diagnosed: rapid cycling bipolar disorder, anxiety (Generalized Anxiety Disorder/GAD), and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Of course no one wants to have mental health issues, but now knowing exactly what I have is a comfort and I can study to understand how I feel. I do not feel as lonely and lost
Looking back, those college years with no medication explains a lot—if not all, of my insanity. An example such as I and a church retreat friend found an apartment and then found our other two roommates in a club; enough said. During my years of working on sobriety unfortunately I relapsed a couple times. I am now carrying April 9th, 2007 as my sobriety date.
These topics envelope one another: notice above, I started with mental illness and ended with my sobriety date. I am often amazed at how I stayed sober, but the mental health hospital counselors told me how I remained sober: my new addictions of cutting and scratching and hitting. I occasionally had some positive sobriety, I am referring to sobriety without self-harm, which included me following Bill W. and the 12 steps, meetings, and hanging out after meetings. I and others in the program hung out after meetings for fun and support..
Back to the mental health, at one time I was up to 11 medications that were constantly adjusted three or four at once—causing no one to know which one worked and which one did not work. (Today I am blessed with a psychiatrist who keeps medicines to a minimum and changes one at a time at all costs.) Of course, I must admit that I made diagnosis and choosing medicines a hard job for most past doctors because of the constant cutting; they knew that the self-harm behavior had to be stopped first before medicines could be correctly adjusted.
Unfortunately from shortly after Joey’s suicide in 1993 until November 2008, I remained suicidal. Only two professionals and two at my consistent, “favorite” hospital knew about “my promise” and only one of those knew my exact date before “my promise”. Most everyone thought a desire for “my promise” was still bothering me when it was my mental health that had me stronger than “the failed promise”. I was quite convincing in lying to avoid appointments with professionals and mental health hospitals. Everything was blamed on not grieving, sobriety, and mental illness. Once I got past the anger at myself for not fulfilling “my promise”, a small amount of a desire remained for fulfilling that “unfulfilled promise”. A foreshortened future due to my “unfulfilled promise” was the preaching from outside help. My desire for suicide grew as I missed Joey more than words can say.
My mental health exploded and strangled my life to where I could barely breathe. I was able to see and feel my mental illnesses without blaming my brother. From 2004-2008 I had double digit times in the hospital—probably 15 or more of those total 30 times were mental health hospital visits from my “nine year career” until the miracle in November 2008—which I will explain later in detail in Part III. Meanwhile, after Part I, I still desired death every day of my life. I never knew exactly the time or the place, but I knew I would die by my own hands and I was always prepared.