Why have the Demons returned?


In the early part of March of 2015, the pressure, the flash-backs, and life in general became too much to handle. As my wife sat watching television, I slowly walked into the room and grabbed a handgun that I keep by my recliner. I slipped out the back door without her knowledge and went outside and sat behind one of my utility buildings……gun in hand. I probably sat there for 10 minutes pondering my fate. I placed the gun on my temple, finger on the trigger, safety off. I guess I sat there a minute, then just as I pulled the trigger; I snatched the gun away from my head, but not before it discharged about two inches above my head.

I had chickened out; this was not the way I wanted it to end…. oh, I thought so in the beginning moments; but I could not go through with it. For some reason God had intervened, but I still had to face the consequences of my actions. My wife had heard the gunshot and came outside to see what the noise was. As she came around the building; she saw me sitting there with the gun on the ground…….note: she is from England and has never been around firearms. She was scared beyond comprehension and she asked “what did you do?” I answered that I had just tried to kill myself, calmly got up, walked to the car and left.

I drove over to my parent’s house and I had turned my cell phone off, which was out of the norm for me. After repeated attempts to contact me, my wife called John, a good friend of mine who in turn called the Sheriff’s Department. They tracked me down by calling my parents and the next thing I knew there was my friend along with two deputies. I was informed that since shots were fired during the suicide attempt that they had to take me to the hospital for evaluation. I knew both the deputies and asked that they please not handcuff me in front of my parents; I was not going to give them any trouble. They agreed but I was to go with them immediately. John assured them that he would take me to the hospital, anything to not have my parents see me get into the back of a patrol car. I had calmed down considerably by this time so John took me to the hospital and I checked in under a 10-13, which I assume is the code for suicide attempt.

The next 72 hours were filled with anger, rage, and humiliation. I was placed in a room under guard, with all my clothes and personal belongings taken away from me. I was given a blue paper suit to wear which later led to the Papa Smurf jokes! I could not even go to the rest room without a guard and was told that if I lashed out and caused trouble I would be restrained. After a long night, the morning brought even more humiliation. A deputy sheriff arrived to take me to a psychiatric ward in a hospital in Savannah, Georgia normally restrained by handcuffs and leg irons. I assured the deputy that I would not be a problem because I did not want to be bound like a criminal. This was my first time in the back of a patrol car and the 50-mile ride seemed to last forever, and this was a ride that I did not enjoy.

Arriving in Savannah, I was taken to a “locked down” ward and placed in my room which contained only a bed and no window. Again; all my belongings are taken from me and I am surrounded by people in worse mental condition than me. The next 48 hours I am told when I can shower (under supervision), when to eat (in a room with all the other patients), and not allowed any contact with the outside world. I will say that the staff was exceptionally friendly and tried their best to do what was in my best interest. The nights were creepy with people yelling, so I would shut my door to escape the noise. I had to undergo hours of sessions with psychiatrists and therapists, reliving the failed suicide attempt. Let me assure you; this was not a vacation getaway at some posh resort, this was a strictly controlled environment, similar (I guess) to being in jail.

I was finally released to come home and the therapy and counseling began. It took about a month to come back to some sense of normality with the help of professionals, the love of my wife,the strong support of my friend, John, and my motorcycle club...U.S. Military Vets M/C' all who have traveled down some of the same roads that I have traveled, just a generation apart. It does not matter what war or conflict a soldier has served, we have all been down the same road and we have faced some of the same demons, making the bond between all of us very strong and very unique. If a person has not served, they will never understand.

@Copyright 2018 by Phil "Country" Crowley

Author's Note: I dedicate this page to my wonderful wife, Denise; whose strong love and support has helped me rise out of a deep hole of sadness and despair. I love You !

"Pain is temporary. Suicide is permanent..I am a survivor."

Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or click on the SUICIDE PREVENTION LIFELINE Link below for help.....DON'T TRAVEL DOWN THIS ROAD ALONE.