Monday, October 5, 2015

The lady in the middle of the road


Today, I witnessed something that ripped my heart out. Something that tugged at a very sensitive string.

As I was driving West on Lakeshore Blvd., just past Cherry Street heading towards Parliament to go pick up Izzy-Breezy (one of his many nicknames) at daycare, I spot a person lying in the middle of the road 200 meters down. OMG OMG OMG! Did this person get hit? As I slow down and get closer, I see a person, lying face down, covering their head with their arms. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. The clothing and stature did not indicate one way or another. It didn’t matter. As I got to their level, my heart told me this person wasn’t injured, this person was lying there voluntarily hoping an eighteen-wheeler wouldn’t see them and end their life.

I stopped the car, put my flashers on, and dialed 911. The police quickly said they were on their way, and I went and sat next to the person on the ground in the middle lane. At this point, I could see this was a woman. Her entire body was tense and shaking like a leaf. Other cars had stopped, along with an eighteen-wheeler, which was facing her in the middle lane. Our cars shielded her from oncoming traffic, which was now relegated to a single lane.

My heart was hurting for this woman. What happens in one’s life for her to think the best and only option is to lie into oncoming traffic and wait to get hit?

The police arrived and I stepped away to allow them to do their work. They tried to get her up, but she was not responding, neither with words or movement. They eventually forced her up. She covered her face, I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her sobbing uncontrollably. Again, my heart broke. Her pain was palpable.

They got her into the police car and told me they would get her help. I still hadn't seen her eyes. I didn't know her name. But I so desperately wanted to reach out to her. I wanted to bring her to my house, and make her feel safe, and like someone cared. I wanted to take her hand and say, “Come, let me help you. You’re not alone”.

23 years ago - on September 17th – I lost someone close to suicide. My cousin shot himself in the head at the age of 25. It crushed me, and left a very significant scar on my soul. It is part of the fabric that makes me. I don’t talk about it almost ever, but I still think about it. Every. Single. Day.

I remember the traumatic part, the part that gave me nightmares. The part that took me to a very dark abyss. His death was a violent one, one where he was not recognizable by the time he reached the hospital the afternoon he was found. The one where a few days later, we went to his apartment and saw the gun he used... and the puddle of dried blood on the hardwood floor where his brother found him.

I remember the guilt we all felt.

[Daniel had been diagnosed a few months (or was it a year?) prior. He came home from an appointment with his treating doctor this one day - it was a Thursday – went up to his apartment for a ‘nap’, and ended his life.]

Could we have done more? Could we have stopped it? Maybe. In other circumstances, perhaps yes. But with the minimal tools and knowledge my family (aunt, uncle, my mother, etc.) had at the time, could they? I was 17 and yet that burden was heavy. He had asked to speak to me the days before he left us. I procrastinated; the truth was I didn’t want to see him psychotic. It hurt me and terrified me, frankly. It took me to a dark place. I was a kid, I didn’t know how to handle that.

How I wish I ‘d spoken to him...

I remember trying to imagine the pain he felt, for him to think this was the better alternative. Daniel was a creative, a thinker, an introvert. He was incredibly intelligent. He read constantly. He was cultivated. He was opinionated. He was different. He was an old soul. If he were here today, oh the nights of drinking wine and smoking butts by the fire we would have together. That brings me comfort. And sometimes, I feel robbed. Robbed of what could’ve been of our friendship.

I’ve had some dark times in my life. Times when I simply could not see how I would dig myself out of the black hole I was in. I came close, I flirted with the thought of the thought, but ultimately, suicide was not an option. Not to mention, seeing as I'm the biggest klutz in the history of the world, I would probably butcher myself and miss the spot. Regardless, I never felt that there was anything that could happen to me that couldn’t be handled, dealt with.

I try to imagine the despair of not seeing any other option. The pain must be crippling.

I don’t have any big statements to make about this. Simply that today took me there.

To the lady in the middle of the road, I want to give you a hug and tell you that you are worth it. That there are people around you that can help you. That there is always another way. Always. I hope you find support. I hope you find hope again.

If you yourself or someone you know are exhibiting signs of suicidal behaviour or suffer from depression, contact your local CAMH or Suicide Distress Centre.

Please get help. You're not alone. Don't write your own ending.


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