Jason, 46, from Butler, WA, shares his true life story.
My hands shook as I slid the pistol into my mouth and placed my finger on the trigger.
There was no other option but this. I couldn’t be a burden on my family a second longer.
They’ll be better off without me, I thought, my eyes welling with tears.
Every part of me wanted to squeeze the trigger, but then images of my wife, Emma, and my daughters flickered through my mind.
My angel, Jade, 13, and my little princess, Holly, nine, meant everything to me. Could I really leave them without their dad?
I groaned and lowered the gun. I couldn’t do it.
Placing my gun back in the safe, I stepped out of the walk-in wardrobe and wiped away the tears that were streaming down my face.
It was the sixth time I’d come close to killing myself in less than two months and I didn’t know how much longer I could go on.
Every evening I struggled to drag myself out of the darkness of my bedroom.
On my way to work in the police force, I felt sick to my stomach.
I was being bullied by some colleagues, but I couldn’t quit because I was supposed to be the head of the household, the provider.
Me at my police graduation ceremony.
One morning, I was in the shower when I just started weeping. I couldn’t stop. Sobs racked my body until I collapsed, curled up on the tiles, unable to move.
Just then, Emma walked in.”What’s wrong?” she gasped, rushing over.
The truth was, I didn’t know. It was nothing and everything all at once. Yes, the bullying had been awful, but that wasn’t the whole story.
Emma knew I suffered from depression, but I’d kept my suicide attempts from her.
Now, shaking on the shower floor, there was nowhere to hide.
“You need help, Jason,” Emma pleaded.
I started seeing a psychologist, and for the first time in years, felt lighter. I started looking for a new job, outside of the force, and found one working for the state government in Perth.
Every day I came home to my family, they made me feel like life was valuable again.
I’d come so close to missing out on all that.
Me and my eldest daughter, Jade.
Six years after my breakdown I went into hospital for a routine hernia operation. I was dozing in recovery when suddenly, my eyes darted open. My heart was racing so wildly I could feel the veins in my
throat throbbing with every pulse.
I rang the emergency bell and within seconds, doctors and nurses crowded around my bed.
“You could be on the way to a heart attack,” a doctor warned.
At that moment, Holly and Emma walked into the room.
Emma dropped her bags and raced over in panic. Holly screamed and started to cry.
Doctors pumped me with drugs to slow my heart rate, but it wasn’t until the next day that it went back to normal.
They assumed I’d had a reaction to the anaesthesia from my operation.
For the next three months I suffered sleepless nights. Often I’d wake up screaming, terrified something horrible was about to happen.
One morning, on the train to work, I felt lower than ever. Before I even knew what was happening I started sobbing. Here I was, a grown man in a business suit, weeping in a packed carriage.
Of course, no-one asked if I was okay. They were probably too shocked.
My psychologist told me the episode in hospital was a full-blown panic attack.
Over time, the floodgates to my past trauma burst open.
Suddenly, and with perfect clarity, I recalled the sexual abuse I’d suffered as a child, from a person outside my family, in a position of trust. I also remembered the horrific things I’d seen in the decades
I’d spent in the police force.
Autopsies, homicide scenes and car crashes haunted me all over again.
I thought about the day I was pounding on the chest of a woman who’d just attempted suicide, trying desperately to revive her. It hadn’t worked.
I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.
Two years passed and we noticed Holly wasn’t her usual self.
With Holly- we open up about our struggles now.
After what I’d been through I noticed familiar symptoms. She was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.
We did everything we could to support her, but it broke my heart to see how much she was struggling.
One day, while I was at work, I got a call from Emma. She sounded frantic.
Holly had tried to take her own life.
I raced to the hospital, willing her to be okay. I hadn’t realised how much pain my poor baby had been suffering.
She looked so small and helpless in the bed.
“Please wake up, baby,” I urged.
Her eyes rolled back in her head as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
Gradually the toxins worked out of Holly’s body, but she’d come so close to death.
The guilt weighed so heavily on me.
I’d had those same suicidal thoughts. How had I not seen that she’d become as desperate as I had been?
Was it my fault she even had them? Had I passed them down to her?
When she finally opened her eyes, I felt like I truly valued life for the first time.
It feels like I’ve found my purpose.
“We’re going to help you,” I promised her.
I’ve since become an advocate for mental health and I’m sharing my story to make sure no-one suffers like Holly and I did. I help with Sirens of Silence, a WA charity founded to help emergency workers
with mental illness.
It feels like I’ve found my purpose.
Holly and I open up about our most personal struggles and it’s only brought us closer.
My wife and daughters are my best friends and I know without a doubt I wouldn’t be here without them.
