#TrueStory: A lesson on surviving suicidal thoughts

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Eric. He is a MAASSTTEERRR social dynamics expert that will be talking about his experiences in the field from both an expert, and experience perspective. He's not just saying "this is how to get the girl" he's here to share his actual life stories and lessons learned from them. I only have one more thing left to say ... HIT IT ERIC !!</editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @Redolpho

I've attempted suicide multiple times, never talked about it, and by all probability should be dead or paralyzed now. My first attempts were early, when I was between the ages of 8 and 14. I would hit these deep lows and I'd run into the kitchen and grab a knife from the drawer. Quivering, I would hold the knife to my throat and press the blade against my prepubescent skin until I could feel the pinch of the edge. As I stood there I would close my eyes and imagine the release as the wetness of my blood ran from my throat down my chest. I searched for the will power to do the deed but never found it. This is not why I should be dead though. When I was 18 I went to Santa Barbara with a group of guys who hung out with my high school band. We stayed at a beach house that was home to about seventeen girls who were attending UC Santa Barbara. In Santa Barbara there are a series of gigantic houses that line the beach perched on cliffs about four stories above the sand. We had brought a gigantic bottle of vodka and I began drinking straight from the bottle as soon as we got there.  I don't remember much but the people told me that I had begun talking about how I wanted to die. I was rambling about how pathetic I was and how I saw no point. I attempted to hop the banister of the balcony a couple times to get to the edge of the cliffs but my friends stopped me almost every time. The last time I snuck into the neighbor’s yard and hopped over. Belligerent, I struggled to make my way down the steep short hill to the edge. I stumbled, near falling, about half way down before my friends saw me and rushed to stop me but they were too late. I tripped, rolled twice, and fell off the edge. For four stories my body plummeted towards the sand. Of the four people that had fallen before me that year, three had died and the other was paralyzed from the neck down. My friend who chased after me the closest saw the billow of dust and sand that my limp body created on impact. By inches I missed a big log, rocks and sticks that were scattered near the edge of the cliff. Had I been sober and tensed my body I probably would have broken my back, or neck, or something. I landed flat on my back and apparently the sand was somewhat soft. My friends ran around the front of the house and by the time they reached the beach I was waist deep in the ocean, walking into the water to finish the job the cliff and I had failed at. I was yanked by my shirt and thrown onto the shore where I broke into a flood of tears. I was apparently crying in sadness over my life that still inhabited my body, ranting about how badly I wanted to die.  When I woke up the next morning I was sitting in a recliner with only a wet shirt and underwear on. I knew something bad had happened and my hip was sore. My friends surrounded me staring at me in astonishment. I had no memory of what happened until they told me the story, and even then my memory was hazy at best. With my head held low in utter embarrassment, I walked in my ocean soaked jeans and made my way to the car. I spent the ride home looking out at the coast in deep depression and reflection, realizing how real the sadness I was burying actually was. I contemplated my life and why I had been driven to this type of drastic action. This is why I should be dead, paralyzed or a vegetable at this point. Between years 2007 and 2010 I remember being happy. In 2010 I was living in a loft in Downtown LA and I remember thinking that this is what life really is. This is what I'm supposed to feel like. I looked back on how sad I had been and thought about how I never wanted to feel that way again. I had been studying social dynamics for almost two years at this point and was dating multiple beautiful women, had a slew of friends, and was meeting new interesting people every week. I was a successful mortgage loan officer, and was genuinely happy.  It had been a year and a half since I had backpacked Europe and I was planning my next trip to Japan. Then all mortgage loans failed at once, I had to cancel my flight and my trip. The day my plane left without me I sat on the roof of my high-rise and watched the planes flying overhead wondering which one I was supposed to be seated on. That's when I felt it again. I felt something I hoped I'd never feel again. Depression crept on and it scared the shit out of me. The failure of my mortgage business was somewhat out of my hands and I decided I wanted to be an entrepreneur so I was never again out of control of my own destiny. I never went back to mortgage. That was two years ago and before I moved from my penthouse I remember feeling that deep sadness again. It led me to gaze out the window, day dreaming about running, jumping, and flying to freedom. I was determined though and wasn't ready to die yet, even though I was obviously very sad. I dropped out of college my freshman year and so I took any job I could to learn from. I flipped pitas at a fast food restaurant to work for a previously successful tech entrepreneur. I managed marijuana collective in Long Beach and co-produced at art show in Downtown LA. It led me to my most recent business with a serial entrepreneur whose last business sold for over 10 million dollars. For 10 months I worked an average of 16 hours a day, 29.5 days a month. It was an amazing education and what I had been working towards the year prior. Still, during the course of the last 10 months running our business I dealt with serious suicidal depression. This brings me to the point of this whole piece. I have been looking at the tops of buildings, wondering how high it needed to be to finish the job. It sucks. It's not that I feel like this all the time but that feeling is always lingering below the surface, if at the forefront of my thoughts. I must change this, in my short talking about this I have already met people that feel the same way. Everybody's search for homeostasis follows different routes. Some choose music, some art, some writing, some see a doctor, some a bottle and others bury it deep and pretend it's not there. This leads me to why I am choosing blogging.  I have hundreds of friends but not one I'd call my best friend. When I have successes or failures, I am usually left by myself to celebrate or wallow. I am telling you this story because you are the only person I have to tell and because I need to talk about it. I am also telling you because I don't want to die, but I don't want to live unhappily either and so much of my life I've been sad. I'm very good at faking my happiness but what is the point in that? I don't know how long the road to happiness will be and so much of my life has been encumbered by self-loathing so I feel like the road could be long. I believe in the power of being vulnerable and honest with yourself and the world. Social media is so beautiful and brings masses together to share in similar experiences. I think it has the potential to bring out the best in all of us. I think that social media, and blogging in-particular, has the potential help me heal myself.  As I take my next steps I have my primary goal in mind. I just want to be happy. The happiest times in my life are very easy to remember. When I was backpacking Europe every ounce of my soul was elated. When I am exploring myself, people and places I am happy. And when I see the smile on a guy’s face that’s just learned that they can talk to beautiful women successfully and their life can be happier, I am truly happy. I am just going to follow my nose for the most part but there is something that is pulling me like gravity. So I am going to make one more confession I was somewhat reluctant to make. I have a new dream and one that is pulling me to it like a book. I was reluctant to talk about it out of fear. Fear that if I fail, and I've failed many many times, that it would be in front of thousands of people. But fear is never a good reason to do or not do anything. Being uncomfortable is something different, I truly believe that growth begins at the end of your comfort zone, but fear is an inhibitor. So here it is... I want to ride a tandem bike for 10,000 miles across Southeast Asia, finding people to ride with me at every point possible. This trip was inspired by a guy named Dominic Gill who rode from the top of Alaska to the bottom of Argentina. The preparation for this trip will take a lot of work. I have raise and save money for the time I'm there and the gear I'll need for such an excursion. I'll also need a camera and video recorder to document the people I meet and the places I see. I don't know how I am going to do this yet but at this point it feels more like a life or death situation than anything else. I should already be dead, and although I know I should appreciate the life that I do have, I have spent much of it very unhappy. I have a long way to go and this is just the beginning. This is the first time I have talked about my near successful suicide attempt since it happened years ago. This has been a really embarrassing post to write and I am very nervous about posting it. I have another confession that many people, guys in particular, feel but never admit. I am starting to write it now and I am already crazy nervous. I should already be dead though so what else do I have to lose.   

#thatisall

If you’d like to share your stories please feel free to tweet me at @redolpho or email me at eric dot rudolph dot carrillo at gmail dot com