No I don't believe I really wanted to commit suicide. But I was thinking of it and that is where it begins...as a thought in your head. I didn't want to die so much as get relief.  I wanted some way, any way, to stop the pain.

Now here is the humorous part if you can believe it.

I think I chose a number out of the phone book...a national suicide hotline number. You are not going to believe this but...I kept getting a message that all operators were busy and nobody was there to receive my call. Yeah...that's nice. Too many suicidal people that day...so sorry. Try again...or...not.

So I tried another number and this time, although I got a hold of someone...I could not hear them. The connection was bad. I would begin my lowly monologue..."I am feeling extremely depressed today and just wanted someone to talk to."  The response began with the other person trying to get more information, "How depressed are you?" and then the voice would trail off as I would tap the phone and yell, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" They would try again but to no avail. More than frustrated after many attempts I slammed down the phone.

At least this gave me something to do other than oust myself.

I had written to a friend about my ordeal and we came up with the following little skit. Just goes to show you humor can be found in the darkest of situations.

 "Hello, if you are thinking of doing away with yourself press one. If you aren't serious but just thinking about it press two. Hello you have pressed one so you must be serious. Our clients are important to us. All available counselors are occupied, but your call is important to us. If you could just wait to do the deed your call will be answered in the order it was received. If you have an Internet connection, you might want to check our website HelpAren'tUs.Org.

While waiting, please take our survey. If you are planning to take pills, press one. Knife, press two. Jumping off cliff, three. Jumping off bridge, four. Revolver five. Getting police to do it, six. Train, seven. Tractor-trailer, eight. Airplane, nine. Doctor assisted, ten. Phil Spector, eleven. OJ Simpson, twelve. We did not understand your selection. Press zero to return to the main menu. This is the main menu for HelpAren'tUs. Our offices are now closed. Normal office hours are from noon to 12:01, odd days of the month. If we have been able to help, please tell a friend."

Perseverance must be my middle name because I tried a third time using another number. This time...thank god...this time I got a live person and a good connection.

Frank was his name. Frank was wonderful. The man let me talk for nearly an hour. I had no idea I had so much to talk about. But it all came out for Frank. Maybe because he was a stranger. I could say whatever I wanted. That kind of freedom is a blessing.

Basically Frank used all the good therapy techniques which...I already knew but seemingly saying them to yourself...doesn't do the job.  You need that outside voice to say the right things. He told me I had a right to be sad. He told me I had a right to feel rage. He told me he could tell that I was a strong woman. He told me my loved ones would not be better off without me. He said...simple things. Common sense things. But yet nobody says these things. People want to fix you or pick at you until you come up with explanations or...they minimize or patronize. What Frank did for me was to give me permission to feel. It was okay to feel like this no matter how ugly I felt. He allowed me to retain my dignity...my humanness...and my ability to forgive myself.