Flashlights

By Nate Livsey

Author’s Note: I wrote this piece about 8 years ago. I’ve grown and changed in a lot of ways, but in a lot of ways I’ve stayed the same. This can be a heavy piece to read, so please be sure you’re in a good state of mind beforehand. TW: suicide, self-harm

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I

On the night of October 23, 2014 I very nearly drove my car into a highway barrier in order to end my own life. 

As someone living with bipolar disorder, life can be difficult. My specific type of bipolar disorder is one where I rapidly cycle from manic phases to depressive phases, sometimes within weeks, sometimes within days, and sometimes within hours. The Nate you meet at 11 AM might be a completely different person from the Nate you pass on the street at 4 PM. The one thing that keeps these phases in check and manages my moods are my medications. Say what you will about pharmaceutical companies and conspiracies about mental health, but I know for a fact that if I did not take my medication on a regular basis I probably would not be writing these words. On October 23, however, I had been in the middle of a manic phase for quite some time and felt that I did not need to take my medication and did not need to do anything to combat the feelings and moods I was in and swinging to and from. 

Thursday night is game night. It’s my favorite night of the week and I look forward to it every week, because it is a way to hang out with friends, blow off some steam and do something I really enjoy—playing nerdy board games and card games. This particular night wasn’t any different from others. I had a fairly rough day, but other than that I seemed to be fine. I was playing a game of Magic: The Gathering and by the end of the night, roughly 11:30 PM, after losing the game, I noticed something about my mood. It was like someone had flipped off a light switch, with everything in my mind going from being bathed in light to being covered in utter darkness. Despair filled my thoughts, and I resolved that the only logical, correct course of action to end this suffering would be to kill myself.

When I had taken it upon myself to end m life, I was not thinking rational thoughts; that irrationality can be one of the most terrifying feelings anyone can experience because there is absolutely nothing you can do to change how you feel. You can’t will yourself to feel better just as you can’t will a brain tumor to go away. When you are at such a low point in your life that you can’t see any reason to go on, your illogical mind concludes that suicide is not only the only option, it’s the best option. 

I was driving up Tallulah Avenue in Jacksonville, Florida. I started playing some music on my phone; in fact, it was the collected discography of one of my favorite bands, The Front Bottoms. As the first song, “Flashlight” was playing, I started crying inexplicably. There was no reason to it, there was no trigger or event that set this event in motion, but I immediately started bawling my eyes out. I approached the on-ramp and saw the car of one of the guys I play games with, and, not wanting him to see me cry, I managed to hold off the tears for a few seconds until I could get on I-95 South to begin the 30 minute trek home.

That 30 minutes was the longest 30 minutes of my life.

II

There’s a point on I-95 that splits into I-10 and I-95, and at that split there is a large steel bridge-like construction. I believe it’s called the Myrtle Avenue overpass, and it’s interesting because it’s basically a bridge that doesn’t go over any water. However, before you reach the “bridge,” there is a median of sorts, a barrier that starts the split of I-10 and I-95. 

As I was driving past Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway, I thought, “I’m going to get into the left lane, drive as fast as possible and crash my car into that barrier and that will be how I end my life.”

I kept driving, The Front Bottoms blasting through the car speakers and tears running down my cheeks. As I got closer to the point where I knew where I was going to end my life, I started thinking, oddly enough, about who would be at my funeral.

The only reason I did not drive my car into that barrier was the image of all the people who would attend my funeral popped into my head. I saw my mother and father and my brother all standing in front of a casket, and it struck me enough to dissuade me from my current course of action. However, that was not enough to stop the desire for suicide within my frantic, irrational state of mind. After passing through the overpass without having driven my car into a barrier, I still felt like I should kill myself. I still felt that wrenching despair that comes when you feel that you are no good and that no one will ever want you.

I passed Riverside and as I reached the St. Johns River and the San Marco Boulevard exit, I felt a distinct impression in my mind that I should pray for the strength to get home.

III

I am a religious man. I try to live true to the standards of my beliefs, and I wholeheartedly believe in the power of prayer. At the point of no-return, I felt the loving care of my Heavenly Father that I believe saved my life.

But I didn’t believe it then. I kept on driving, ignoring the impulse to pray, thinking that I can do this, I can get home just fine going 80 miles per hour and wanting to kill myself. I don’t need any help.

“You need to pray,” the voice echoed in my head.

“No, I don’t,” came my reply.

“Turn off the music and pray,” the voice came, a little stronger this time.

“Okay. Maybe it will work.”

I hit the power button on the stereo, silencing the music, yet my anguished cries and tormented sobs continued as a soundtrack for the drive home.

My prayer was a simple one—it was not eloquent in utterance nor was it flowery in language. It was a simple “Heavenly Father, please help me get home safely.”

At this point I was just passing Wolfson Children’s Hospital. Suddenly, after repeating my prayer, my cries started to taper off, my sobs lessened, and my tears ran dry. Into my mind came these words:

You need to get off the highway.

“No, I don’t,” was my immediate gut reaction. I was still focused on my course of action to get home on the highway and I felt as if nothing could keep me from this plan.

You need to get off the highway.

It came again, this time a little more insistent and louder.

At this point, my irrational mind changed course and started to listen to the voice. 

“Okay, maybe I do need to get off the highway,” was my thought. “What’s the quickest exit I can take to get off the highway?”

Emerson. Emerson Street is the closest exit and you know how to get home from there.

I got past the construction on 95 near downtown and suddenly I was a mile from Emerson Street. My intense, overwhelming thoughts of suicide had abated and, although I was still crying, I could now drive a little bit more safely. 

I approached the exit and took the off-ramp onto Emerson Street. I don’t remember much else of the drive home other than eventually arriving home and falling into bed.

IV

There aren’t many times in life that people struggle with thoughts of suicide or self-harm. After looking it up, the average in the United States is 12.5 people in every 100,000. That figure, however, does not report the staggering amount of people who suffer from suicidal thoughts who do not act on those thoughts. I am one of those people. You could be one of those people. Your brother, sister, father, mother or best friend could be one of those people. Your pastor, or your boss, or your fun-loving, jovial buddy who makes all the best jokes and couldn’t possibly be depressed or suicidal could be that person.

The point is this: mental disorders are real. Suicide is real. Depression is a crippling disease that plagues so many for so long that they think the only way out is by taking their own lives. I will say to you that it is not the answer, and it never will be.

Suicide is only an option because those who commit it feel that they are literally out of all other options. However, that is never true. When I was suicidal, I recognize now that I was not in the correct frame of mind to be making a judgment on whether or not I should live, but at that moment I did not know. It is my firm belief that had I not thought of my funeral and who would be there, I would not be alive right now. I was able to crawl out of the darkness that enveloped me because of the love I know that my family and friends and God have for me. 

So, what can we do?

You can love. You love everyone with every fiber of your being, and then when that love is exhausted, you love some more. You tell your friends that you love them. You send them random texts and call them at random times just to catch up and see how they’re doing, what they’re doing, how you can help them and, most importantly, how you can be a better friend.

At the end of the day, we are all responsible for our own actions. We cannot, in the face of our Creator, blame others for our shortcomings and failings. We can, however, when asked the question, “What did you do to show your love to others?” hopefully answer with a few of the ways that we showed our love. Perhaps then we will see how much of an impact we left on others, both remembered and unnoticed, because that is truly why we are on this earth—to return to our God having left his creation a better place and his sons and daughters better people while we were at it.