The Day My Life Blew Apart

Read Time:4 Minute, 51 Second

By Martin

Before I start, I warn anyone who’s reading, from this part onwards, there will be a lot of very dark writing. I shall be writing about wanting to harm myself, about why, where, and how. If that might trigger something for you, then please stop reading. I don’t want anyone to be affected negatively by what I write, but I need to write it.

The Day My Life Blew Apart

The day my life blew apart

I don’t know how you define a breakdown; when does it start, when does it end? I know I’d been spiralling downwards for months, but, one day in early September, the spiral turned into a sheer drop.

It started like any other day. I wasn’t feeling so good as normal, but I had no idea what was about to happen. Things had been happening all year, but I was just about managing to hold it together. I was already on antidepressants, not doing well, but managing to function.

I was at work and had two phone calls, two little conversations that tipped me over the edge of something. I’d lost control of myself many times over the previous months, thought about ending my life numerous times, but this time was different, very different.

I was out of control in every sense. Screaming, shouting, swearing, pulling at my hair, digging my fingernails into my hand. I’m not sure if I was crying exactly, more just making an awful lot of noise. I knew I had to get out of the office, I knew I had to be somewhere else, anywhere other than there, anywhere other than somewhere.

The engine roared as I sped down the hill

I picked up my dog Ralph, put him in the car, put him on the passenger seat where he always sits, put his lead on him, which keeps him in place, locked up the office and started the car.

I get to work along a private road, about half a mile long, up the side of a hill. The engine roared as I sped down the hill. This may sound silly, but it is relevant. I drive a VW Golf R32, a small car with a 3.2 ltr V6 engine, and it’s very fast, and very loud when driven hard. An automatic gearbox means you just put your foot flat to the floor and it goes, like fuck. I used to call it suicidally fast, but I don’t call it that any more.

Saying this isn’t me bragging. I’m trying to explain how that power, that noise, that speed, was and sometimes still is an extension of my anger and my hurt. When your mind has lost control of itself, when the thoughts are racing, pushing the accelerator down hard and hearing that big engine roar, hearing the gearbox drop down two or three gears, everything about it both reflects and amplifies those feelings in a way I can’t properly describe. As much as I love my car – it has brought me so much joy – in some ways I wish I hadn’t bought it.

I thought my friend would understand

I got on the slip-road onto the motorway, and pushed my right foot down hard. My phone rang and I stabbed the button to pick it up, and a voice filled the car. The voice of one person who I thought could help me, would understand what was happening to me. I screamed at him and told him I was going to kill myself. I ended the call. He called again and I sobbed and asked him to leave me alone because I couldn’t take anymore and just wanted to die. Minutes later that person blocked my number, days later changed his home number, and has spoken to me I think twice since. The only person I thought could help me cut himself from my life.

I was driving at about 125 mph. I had no intention of ever reaching home. All rational thought had left me. Any comprehension of what my actions would mean for others on the road, for my family, or for Ben, had gone. I just wanted the pain to stop. Right there, right then. I knew all I had to do was turn the wheel hard and the car would tip over, and in the blink of an eye it would be over, everything would stop.

My dog saved me

Something made me look to my left, and down just a little, and the most gorgeous face was looking up at me with his tongue hanging out. To this day, to this very moment, I truly believe I was seconds from rolling that car, but those dark brown eyes made my right foot lift up. I said out loud, and these are the very words, ‘You can’t kill Ralph.’ I repeated those words over and over for the entire rest of the journey, about ten or fifteen minutes, until I switched the engine off on the drive. I just kept saying those four words over and over and over, not in my head, I actually spoke them to myself. Ralph had saved my life, and not for the last time.

I got in the house, said goodbye to Ralph and got back in the car. I wasn’t going to be coming home.

That’s enough for now, I don’t want to write any more for now. I may post another entry later, but it won’t be a continuation of that day. That’s something else I need to write down, but maybe later. That day can rest now until the urge comes to write more about it.

Reproduced with permission, originally posted on justscrewedupme