JAYNE

PHOTO BY RANDY BACON

JAYNE

“The Will To Go On”

I started having signs of depression and suicidal ideation around the age of 10. I had heard during a television program that people used street drugs to block their emotions. It was then, I started dealing with my pain by using drugs and self-harming. I stopped going to school when I was 13 and my substance use increased. I prayed to god to take my life. I went back to school at 16 and became a daily drinker. I would sneak a few beers after school and would binge drink on the weekends. I finished high school and started college. It was during my sophomore year that I became a mother to my son Nathan.

This is when my relationship with alcohol and drugs started to conflict with who I wanted to be. I wanted to be the best mom possible and there were several times that I did not meet my own expectations. I certainly never wanted my son to experience the pain that I did as a child. Recovery was strongly suggested to me. My life and my son’s life improved tremendously when I started practicing a life in recovery. My son once said to me, he was so happy that I was sober and wondered what would have happened to him if I did not have recovery in my life.

As Nathan grew into adolescence, he shared with me that he thought he was depressed and had started to consider self-harming. There is a long history of depression and substance abuse in my family, so I was very concerned about him.

Nathan ultimately graduated high school and was off to college. I was so proud of him. I did have concern that as a young freshman he might get overwhelmed. My advice to him was, “If you ever feel sad or feel like self-harming, go to the counseling office on campus. There will be someone there to talk to.”

A few months into college, I received a call from a social worker at the University hospital. Nathan had taken my advice and went to the counseling center, where they asked him to fill out a form. Nathan filled it out honestly, was he depressed? He answered yes. Was he thinking about self-harm? He answered yes. Had he considered killing himself? He answered yes. As my son waited for someone to talk to, two campus police officers showed up in the waiting room. They handcuffed him and took him to the hospital for a 72-hour hold.

We never heard him cry for help again. That was the last time my son ever asked anyone for help. He never again felt comfortable saying “I’m not feeling right. I think I need help. Can I talk to you about it?”

After graduating from college and before my son could start his employment as a Nuclear Medicine Technologist, he needed to complete his Missouri certified board exam. He had been studying all weekend. He shared with me that he was very nervous about the exam. I tried to reassure him that it was going to be just fine. I brought him a glass of water, an orange and a bag of chips. I hugged him. I told him I loved him. I told him I was proud of him and how happy I was to have him home from school. That was the last time I spoke to my son. The next day I found him with his head hanging loosely in a tie from the closet bar in his room.

Mental illness had taken my son’s life. His death was like living through my own death. He was my everything. With him gone my suicidal thoughts returned. I did not and still do not want to live in a world where my son does not exist. I tell my story because I want people to know that there is hope even in the darkest of days. It is with the help of my doctor, my medications, my therapist, my husband and my higher power that I have the will to go on.