22 A Day

The number 22 has a dark reputation associated with it. 

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SPEAKER_01 0:23

From the Whiskey Niner One Studios, welcome to Doc's Boneyard. Before I get to the question, I'm going to throw out the mantra. It's a safe zone, but not a comfort zone. Just want to give you a heads up that this show is going to get real. So here's the question. What does the phrase 22 mean to you? Now, while you mentally chew on that bone, I'm going to take a pause for the cause and pay some bills. I'll be back in a few minutes. Scotty S-C-O-T-T-I-F-R-A-S-D-R-C. Scotty Frazier band on Facebook. Hey everybody, it's Doc from Doctor Overyard. Hey, listen, if you're in the Fakeville North Carolina, especially around Fort Bragg, and you're looking for that hard to find military bad acidity gear, what you gonna see my buddy George is super back military surplus. He's located just outside the 6477 Cat. He has a wide variety of patches hatch tactical gear, you name it. Doc sent you. So I'm back. Now, for the question, what does 22 mean to you? Well, for the uninitiated and non-veterans out there, 22 is the approximate number of veterans who commit suicide every day. Now, there's no truly accurate statistics out there, and to be quite honest, the numbers vary with whatever reporting source you go to. But 22 is more or less the accepted number, so hey, if it ain't broke, you get the message. So everything in this show was personal. And these words are probably the most brutally honest and expose the my most raw list of nerves. Over my time battling with PTSD, I become a suicide survivor twice. There's some yeah it's been said three times, quite frankly, I only remember two. Now, this isn't something I'm overly proud of, but I would be doing myself a huge disservice if I didn't talk about this dark chapter of my recovery. Like I said, some of the details are not really clear. I was kind of having a break from reality, so to speak. According to my wife, the process of hanging myself in the bedroom closet. Sorry about that, folks. The rope was around my neck, and my wife broke through the door and cut the rope. Now my son was on the phone with the 911 dispatcher downstairs. So the story goes from wild, quite frankly, to bizarre. I was attempting to jump out the second floor bedroom window, and I only changed my mind because of the awning and the bushes located under the window would have stopped my fall. I ran downstairs, out the door, sat in traffic on a busy street in front of our apartment. Now, I have no idea what the passing motorists were thinking about this nut sitting in the middle of traffic. I could just imagine. Well, the next thing I knew, city police officers were picking me up and putting handcuffs on. I was escorted to our local emergency room and admitted for a week or so of observation. So I had no idea the psychological damage I'd done to my family, and quite honestly, I really only got a glimpse recently when my son, my oldest son, talked about his experiences on a show that we called Sins of the Father. So were my reasons or what were my reasons for wanting to commit suicide? Well, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I got tired of being in pain. It was a never-ending pit of darkness, and I just quite couldn't see a tangible way out. I was on ten different mental health medications at the time. And the VA was feeding the problem instead of getting to the root cause. So if I was on that many meds, why was I feeling suicidal? Right? Well, the fact of the matter was none of that shit was working. Pardon my French. I was a mental vegetable. I was getting real good at exchanging CO2 for O2, or vice versa. O2 to CO2 sounds better. And that's not really much of a purpose. So I didn't leave the apartment. The blinds are always closed to ward off potential threats from the outside. And well, you know, the list goes on and on. Was that an excuse? Well, it depends on what side of the fence you're on. On my side, there was virtually no hope that I would ever reach a state of so-called peace. The demons were just too strong, and I hadn't been shown enough tools in my mental toolbox to successfully fight them. Hey, I admit it. Now it's important to understand the mindset of one who sees no way out of pain and misery for themselves. They believe that the world would be a better place without them. Hey, been there. They're so tired of fighting every day for something that just seems unattainable. They want to spare their friends and family the pain and hurt that their issues are causing. Let me be straight. I will never judge someone who makes the decision to take their own life. I've been there and it would be extremely hypocritical for me to say otherwise. I understand it because I lived it. The side that the individual doesn't realize is what pain it would cause the ones left behind. And let's face it, there's the unanswerable question the why that will never be answered because the one with answers would no longer be there. So I attempted suicide once again, but this time it's going to be suicide by cop. My living room was full of police officers with weapons drawn. One police officer, I won't recognize I won't mention his names, because he's still on the job. I'll just call him Bob. Bob told me that he was a combat veteran himself and pulled out his VAID. And well, I gotta say it allowed me to trust him. He talked me down and cuffed me, and we were off to the races again. He saved me that day. He could have easily fired his service weapon, and I believe he genuinely understood what I was going through. Again, I was admitted to the behavioral mental health unit until I was stable and had a huge change in meds. I was there for about a week to ten days. When I was no longer in danger to myself, I was released to go home. The meds I were on in the hospital were quick acting, and they allowed me to stabilize my behavior. There is something about being in a locked ward that makes you appreciate your ability to do as you please. You have little say in anything. You eat when they tell you, you sleep when they tell you, you get the message. When I was interviewed by the nurse doing my intake screening, I told her that I just saw people as targets and considered considered shot placement when I looked at them. The look on her face said that she wasn't used to dealing with veterans. And quite frankly, we don't usually suffer from psychotic disorders in this kind of mental health setting. Now, of course, aging veterans with brain injuries can develop conditions that alter their perception of reality. You know, I'm talking about like the early onset of dementia, Alzheimer's, and basically for a veteran of my age at the time, no, that wasn't an issue. The group sessions were geared for education of medication and the consistency of taking them. I didn't have a problem with that. I didn't feel good to the point that they were not needed. No, hell, I know I needed them. When I was asked to participate, I tried to explain that my problems were combat related and not the byproduct of some organic problem. And it was like talking to a brick wall. Quite honestly. No habla English. We don't speak warriorees. Hey, you think that with the veteran population of a town that I was living in, they would have had more experience. Sorry about your luck though. So I just sat in the back of the room and kept my mouth shut. I only spoke when I was asked a question, and I kept the answer as short as possible. Look, those people didn't get me, so there was no point of trying to something that they would never get. Movies, yeah, they can do a fair job at capturing a visual representation of what war looks like, but the emotional and spiritual can't be replicated on the screen. It just doesn't happen. It's got to be experienced. So this went on for the time I was in the psych ward. I felt like a convicted felon. If you haven't been in a secure facility, well, there's nothing like being unable to have the opportunity to move freely. Need I say more about that? Talk about your truck triggers running amok. Patients roaming the halls with their own reality, which didn't coincide with what was actually going on around them. Oh yeah. The sudden outbursts were particularly entertaining. Nothing like standing someone who suddenly starts screaming for no logical reason. The day I was allowed to leave was a mixed blessing. I was relieved at having my freedom back, but at the same time I was reluctant because of the fact that the VA was still on a fishing expedition with my meds. Now the stuff I got from the hospital did make me feel better. I was stable and not a danger to myself. So I chalked this experience up to been there, done that again. And so the battle continued over years. Well, eight years to be exact. That was the end of the suicidal attempts. Now, I would be remiss if I didn't admit to occasionally thinking about suicide, suffice to say, that it's only a passing thought, and I have no real plan or intent to act, so to speak. So one of the precipitating factors in my suicide attempts was the ongoing battle with my severe depression. Due to the nature of my PTSD, along with the chemical changes in my brain, i.e., the dopamine and serotonin levels have decreased, these factors made me more susceptible to the downward downward spiral of depression. I know it sounds like I'm reading this, but I actually had a prepared script, so just kinda bear with me. My last hospitalization was in October 2017, after my doctor did what she described as a dump. Now, what I mean is I was taken off all mental health medications. Hmm. This happened in August, and it took about seven to eight weeks to fully have all the meds out of my system. And again, I was taken for taken to a non-VA facility for stabilization, and new meds were initiated. Went at the hospital, they asked me why the VA had done this, and I didn't have an answer. So I said all this to say this. I'm still on meds that regulate my mood. However, the dosage and frequency are modified. December 28th was a day that I got my life back. I call it my alive day. That was my rebirth from the chains of PTSD. It started with me saying to myself, Pardon my French, fuck this shit. I'm tired of feeling this way. I often describe my transformation in three steps. Duck bones three-step transformation progress. Step one, decide. Look, I know it sounds simple, and if you're not ready to commit to it, you're just not in the right place to your journey. And to tell you the truth, it's perfectly normal. You know? That's okay. You can't make someone make the decision for you. But step one is to decide. Step two, have a plan. I know this sounds fairly simple, but you know, our pal Murphy likes to show up at the most inopportune times, and hey, well you know to say more. Look, the fact is, you have a plan, you take out what doesn't work, you stick with what works, you tweak it, you do whatever you have to do. Just be the booger and pick it. Step three is the scariest damn part of all. It actually makes the first two steps easy. But do it. Execute. The only person with your answers is you. Now sure everybody's got opinions and will inevitably say, Well, you should do it this way, you should do the you know what? Everybody has an a-hole too. Okay? Need I say more? So, as I was trying to say, the fact of the matter is that these steps are only as complicated as you want them to be. Hey, look, I'm a simple dude myself. You know, keep it simp it's stupid. Keep it simple, stupid was written for me. Look, that's how I do things. I am guilty of analyzing things to the point that I become anal. But it still comes to execution. Okay? Do it. If it doesn't have the desired effect, you do it till you get it right. This is me personally. I hate the word try. To me, it's the colossal cop out. Let's say you want to run two miles, you get to the track, you look that distance, you sit on the ground, lace up your running shoes, you take one step on the track, put your hands up and say, I tried. No. No. I know it sucks, it's repetition, but any motion with forward, reverse, sideways, upside friggin' down is motion. Now like I said, I've been there, I've done that. I turned a negative chapter into a positive. Now, what do you look for in someone you may think is contemplating suicide? Okay, isolation. That's the flashing neon big ass lightning bolt. And if you know somebody who's becoming withdrawn or isolated isolated, this may be a sign. Lack of interest. Oh, this is huge. If you ever notice a NASCAR sports fan used to really be into the races or the games, and now they couldn't care less. Hey, it's a red flag. Severe depression. Deep sadness that doesn't resolve itself over a specific time period. Now there's variations to how long, but you get the message. You're sliding down that slope, and you just have to pay attention. Giving away prized possessions. If they have a favorite fishing pole or a game system or a car, and suddenly they don't want it anymore, come on now. Something's going on. Saying things like I wish I was dead, or the world would be a better place if I wasn't in it, or even association with things related to death. If you know someone who's showing these warning signs, the first thing you need to do is find out if they want to hurt themselves. Now, this is a taboo subject in our society, and there's only one way of finding the answer to that question, and that's asking them directly and non-judgmentally. You can start the conversation off with like, uh, you know, hey, is everything okay with you because I noticed? You know, it's okay it's okay with to tell you what you picked up on. Yeah, they may answer, well, yeah, fine, and they may not be ready to talk about it. They may just say no, or they may open up like a garden hose. You won't know if you don't ask. It's okay to ask them if they ever had the idea, if they have a plan or an intent to kill themselves. Now, some people will take the do you want to hurt yourself approach? No. Be direct. Do you want to kill yourself? Some people use cutting to relieve the tension. Suicides a tad more well, you know what I'm trying to say. Suicide attempt doesn't necessarily mean the person wants to die. And quite frankly, a lot of times it's just a call for help. They don't know how to say, hey, I need help. And quite frankly, in our society, it's taboo to ask for help. Now, the flip side of this coin is the ugly truth that if someone sees that there's no way out, and suicide is the only option, there's not anything you can do. If they made the decision and they're sure as hell committed to it, the coulda-wulda-sulda thing doesn't work. Unfortunately, we can't save them all. The goal is to pay attention, do what we can, and support the ones left behind. So, while in large part, the war is behind me. The show is dedicated to those who were in that situation for whatever reason. With the way things are in the world and the pressures of social media, I felt the need to put out my experiences again. Now I did a show years ago called Suicide Solution that also covered this taboo subject. And even though it wasn't comfortable or trendy for me to talk about it, you know, it still happens every day.

SPEAKER_00 23:30

He sits on his bed with his gun in his hand. He thinks his life is over. He can't understand. A bottle of whiskey and some pills in the drawer. He doesn't wanna hurt himself or hurt anymore. Why must it be this way? Just think it all over and listen to the words I say. You There are so many people five with a Dem brother, let's beat this together too. She picks up the clothes and falls on the floor. She finds a crumbled letter just behind the door. Begins to eat it with tears of her eyes. A horrible feeling takes over its eyes. He puts it away.