It was December 2020. My son came home from the military to spend time with us, and we were very grateful to be together.

At around 5am on December 27^th, I heard a scream from my stepdaughter. I raced downstairs.

In the kitchen I saw my son on his back on the floor. He was gasping for breath, couldn’t speak, and was in and out of consciousness. I tried to keep him awake while my wife called 911. Paramedics arrived and took him to the hospital.

I went to his bedroom and found that he had thrown up all over.

I thought this was a medical event out of his control and he would be in good hands at the hospital.

By the time my wife and I arrived at the hospital, he was in the ER and was becoming aware of his surroundings. I grabbed his hand and told him he was going to be fine, and that he was well taken care of. I asked what happened, and he said he didn’t know; that he came upstairs and fell over.

My stepdaughter then texted me and asked me to call. She said she found suicide notes in my son’s bedroom when she was cleaning. My heart sank. I went back into the room where my son was.

Crying, I grabbed his hand and asked him if he had tried to hurt himself. He started to cry and said “yes.” I didn’t ask why.

I just held his hand while we both cried. I told him I loved him very much and that we would be there for him in every step of his treatment and recovery.

My son has recovered and has healed by admitting to, and facing, his own demons.

In April 2021, I embarked on a difficult divorce. It was painful for both of us.

I moved in with my brother and started to rebuild my life the best I could. I was giving it my best shot. But, the images of my son along with the death and suffering I saw over time in the military and my career in law enforcement all came flooding back.

I sank into a deep depression. I concealed my pain with alcohol and happy faces, but I continued to deteriorate mentally and physically. I thought about ending my life on several occasions until there came a point when I was ready to do it.

One night in bed, I had a 9mm at my side. I had been drinking to make the decision to end my life easier.

Sobbing, I couldn’t bring myself to bring the gun up to my head. I put it down and grabbed my cell phone and texted a dear, trusted friend who then contacted my brother and sisters.

My sister raced to the house. I told her I’d wanted to go into the shed in the backyard and blow my head off and that nobody would know. She convinced me otherwise and took me to a hospital where I checked myself in.

 I stayed for about 3 hours but couldn’t stay longer. I knew I desperately needed help but that wasn’t the place for me.  My sister knew it too and assured the mental health nurse that this was the right decision.

I remember hearing about treatment specifically designed for first responders, but I didn’t remember the name or where it was located.  I reached out to my friends for help.

Let me say that again. I reached out to my friends for help.

Within 48 hours I was boarding a plane bound for Florida to enter Shatterproof for First Responders at FHE Health. I was scared, stressed and my anxiety was in full throttle.

The Shatterproof Program taught me that it was perfectly healthy to open up about my feelings and experiences. In front of first responders from around the country I told my story and my thoughts of suicide. My fellow brothers and sisters shared their stories. We cried and embraced.

My healing had started. I was given the tools and foundation to advocate and care for myself. My journey has begun. I am facing and learning how to overcome my demons.

If you are suffering, please reach out. You can contact Alex Menas from Shatterproof at (919) 717-0915. You can also find out more information here: SHATTERPROOF@FHE First Responders’ Addiction Treatment Program (fherehab.com)

One of my favorite quotes is from Martin Luther King, Jr. “You don’t have to see the whole staircase. Take the first step.”

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