Part 1 - December 22nd

I've never blogged before... So bare with me. My hope is that by being as transparent as possible in sharing my story, that I may be able to help anyone else suffering from similar mental health problems as I have. I decided to entitle my blog "Chasing The Ghost" because that's often what I feel mental illness is. - Chasing something that isn't there. I've suffered from ADD, Major Depressive Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder for what I expect is the majority of my life. The Obsessive Compulsive Disorder on-set in my teens. As my blog progresses, I will share more about the magnitude of the issues and how I am finding ways to overcome them. For my first post though, I want to share a little bit of my story since I moved from Ontario to BC.

I never thought that I would end up where I did over Christmas, but there I was... The psych ward at St. Paul's Hospital in downtown Vancouver. Before I go into any specifics about the my experience in the psych ward, I should probably explain how I got there. It's hard to explain what goes through the mind of a suicidal individual, but I will try my best to recollect.

I moved to BC about 3 months ago. I don't think I was moving out here for anything in particular as much as I was moving away from my problems and life back in Ontario. However, as I quickly learned, problems will follow you wherever you go. Which brings me to the night of December 22nd. Often, when I am depressed, I find that I want to go out to a club or a bar and be surrounded by people. The problem with this is that my anxiety usually kicks in and I begin to drink. Which, when you are a depressed person, is never a good idea. The anxiety causes me to keep drinking, which further fuels my depressive thoughts. Then, before you know it, you are all alone; intoxicated, depressed and lonely. Which brings me to the Lionsgate Bridge.

It's around 3 or 4 am, I just left a bar in downtown Vancouver, all alone. I hail a cab and get him to drive me to the foot of the bridge. I climb up and decide that I'll walk to the highest point of the bridge. I get there. I jump over the railing. By this point, my BlackBerry is going crazy, because I had texted my mom and told her I was sorry and that I loved her. I decide to throw my BlackBerry into the water, some 200 feet below, I throw my wallet in for good measure. I stand awkwardly on a narrow strip below the road, barely hanging on to the railing above. Staring at the water below, I try to jump a few times, but my body does not respond. (It's kind of like the feeling you get before you jump off the high dive at a pool or something) I begin to think that the fall won't actually kill me instantly, but i'd probably drown or die of hypothermia, neither of which is a desirable death. I decide that I'll climb up one of the towers and leap from there instead. Surely a fall from that height would kill me instantly. I didn't get more than a couple of meters when a few police officers pull up and jump out of their cars. I immediately turn back to the railing to hop over and jump. But the police lady yelled to me "Please sir, don't make me have a bad night" something that I'll never forget, and that probably saved my life.

When your vision is clouded by a persistent thought of suicide you are unable to grasp actual reality. You find a way of rationalizing the things going through your mind. Things like "You are worthless, no one cares about you, no one will miss you, the world will be better off without you, etc." Needless to say, all of these things were filling my mind. In one sentence though, "please don't make me have a bad night," I realized that it wasn't all about me, and that there would be a lot of people terribly affected by my decision.

To be continued...