It was around age 55 that I went through a very difficult time. I tried to od several times. After an emergency visit to my doctor, to tell him what was going on, I decided to self admit to the only facility in my area. It was a nice, new place, with one hallway to 6-8 men's bedrooms with a common bathroom, and another similar wing for women.

It having been in operation for only a few months, there were glitches that needed to be resolved, especially with staff.

I stayed there for six weeks, around ten times the usual stay. I knew that if I left I'd be dead within a week, so I stayed until I felt sort of safe.

That was in November and December of 2005, and I'm still alive. That's thanks to my support system - my wife, my faith, a revolving door of therapists, a psych service dog and a bunch of good doctors.

Calling a suicide help line wasn't anywhere near my line of vision. Why would I call someone to have them try to stop me. It just seemed totally irrational to me. But, of course, I wasn't using my rational mind during those times, so what seems rational to a suicidal person is just the opposite of what most people would call rational.

Now, 14 years later, I am in a much safer place. I retired after the suicidal portion of my life, at 55, moved to a new place close to medical professionals, and live on ten acres 7 miles from the nearest town, but an hour away from the city where there are every kind of specialists and a good hospital.

Medications and therapists keep my mental state stable, though I don't have a therapist right now. The last one was really good, but he moved away after just one year. I felt somewhat devastated and I still miss him a year later. The hospital hired a new therapist, and I saw her for a few months, but I couldn't establish a rapport with her, so I stopped seeing her. Unfortunately, the therapists that work for the hospital are the only ones who accept Medicare. Living on Social Security doesn't allow for what amounts to luxuries, like therapists.

I've been, as I said, medicated to keep me stable, but what is stable for me would most likely be fairly depressed to others. Being stable means that serious depression and anxiety, etc., are really just under the surface, and I'm told that I am a professional at wearing a mask.

But back to suicide helplines. When I'm in a suicidal bubble, calling 911 or 988 is dumb to me. I don't want anyone to know that I'm swallowing a bottle of opioid or antidepressant or Clonazepam or whatever pills I have access to. I want to be left alone as I put myself out of my misery. Thankfully, it's been a long time since I was in that state. I still think about it but it's not a compulsion.

I agree that our country needs a more accessible mental health system. The small town nearest me is sorely lacking. There's more help in the town that's 30 miles away, and even more in the city that's 50 miles away, but they might as well be 1000 miles away as far as my budget is concerned. So, I tighten down the strings on my mask and keep on forging ahead.

Jim