Some stories have to be told. This is a story that very few can recall and could easily remain in the closet with the other skeletons.
When I was a teenager, I lived somewhere that I didn’t want to be. I lived with a very sad person in a very sad home. I did every stupid thing possible to get out.
I was one of those troublemaker kids that constantly created negative energy. Fortunately a large group of people saw my big heart and stuck with me through those years.
One of those stupid things that I did involved an aspirin bottle and the threat of suicide. I had to decide, do I empty the pills under my bed or in the toilet. I chose the toilet.
I yelled out to the sad person that I was going to kill myself. I slammed the door and left the empty bottle on my nightstand.
I didn’t get an immediate response from the sad person, so I figured my latest act of stupidity didn’t work.
Until the police and paramedics bashed through my bedroom door. Before I knew it I was in an emergency room getting my stomach pumped. The pills were flushed down the toilet and the medical team was forced to find them.
The next five days of my life were spent in the Psychiatric unit. I was suddenly living my own “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
My Oldman drove down to Indianapolis to make sure I was alright.
“You got to be shitting me Moose?”
I told my dad that I didn’t swallow the pills and it was just act five, scene seven. He believed me and saw through the bullshit and drama.
My Oldman found his scared son locked up in the Looney Bin and decided it was time for me to move back home to Chicago.
After that next semester, I never again lived with the sad person, but I will always have that stupid fucking fake suicide hanging over me.
Why am I bringing out an embarrassing story that could have been locked away for the rest of my life?
Because yesterday suicide happened to someone that I know.
I met this kid in eighth grade and we hung out in the same circle of friends. We never became close friends, but we created some lasting memories that bonded us together. Our friendship reignited at the dawning of Facebook.
I made the mistake of giving this kid my telephone number. It put me on his drunk suicidal call list. A call usually received between two in the morning and five o’clock.
At first I was compassionate and supportive. Then I realized this was his routine and a handful of my friends were also on the call list.
My compassion and support became more angry and tough…
“You got to be shitting me Ramsay.!.!.!”
Well…. That call list is no longer in existence. After years of being one step faster than the demons, the demons caught up with my high school buddy.
His last suicide attempt was a success. Luckily the demons gave up the kill when a Band of Angels saved my friend from damnation and took him to redemption.
The kid I met over forty years ago. A kid that was never happy this whole time, is finally at peace.
Why did I have to tell my story of flirting with disaster?
Because as innocent as I thought it was at the time….
…It scared my parents shitless.
I got lucky, but many people that we know haven’t been so fortunate.
Every time I take an aspirin, I can hear my dad yelling, “You got to be shitting me Moose!”
I pray for my friend who is now in eternal peace and I pray for everyone who suffers from depression and dependency.
Most of us Chalkheads have someone like that in our lives.
It’s a Saturday in late July and my weather guy is telling me that it is our job to put a smile on the sun.
Hopefully the clouds give way tonight, so we can watch the full moon float across the sky.
Home is where I want to be, pick me up and turn me round…..
