“Be kind to people and don’t judge, for you do not know what demons they carry and what battles they are fighting.” Vashti Quiroz-Vega

Recently, I read a post on Facebook memorializing a veteran who had suffered the wages of war then came home and lived a life of service. He was known for his warm and caring soul. He was one who could always be counted on when the chips were down. He was beloved by all who knew him. Then the post announced that he had lost his battle with his demons. I was saddened to read this, but not shocked.

I will never claim to know the genesis of his demons, just as he could never have claimed to know mine. But what we had in common were the presence of them in our lives and the kind of havoc and destruction they can wreak on even the strongest of us. They are a deeply profound, personal reality for many and even with the best help and most ardent support available, they are nearly impossible to eradicate. For too many of us, they never really go away.

I have never been to war, at least not in the conventional sense. My demons were born of a different kind of trauma. Yet they are every bit as real, cruel, and ruthless as those of any other trauma survivor. And as with the veteran I mentioned, they can be silent to the outside world.

I began contemplating suicide when I was in my early teens. At twenty-six, fed up with the constant barrage on my head and heart, I asked myself one day if I truly wanted to live or die. My answer scared the hell out of me. So I set out to do my own personal battle with myself and the demons that were laying waste to my soul.

For many, many years I struggled, and sometimes I came perilously close to giving up. For some of those years, I fought alone, and these were the most dangerous years. Eventually I found help through a succession of therapists and doctors, and support from people who, unbeknownst to me, had cared and wanted to get close to me if I had but realized it. It was hard, intense, and inwardly gritty work fighting to hold on. Many times I had to reach deep to find the will to survive, even denying out loud the hold my demons held on me. Sometimes I honestly couldn't find the will and could only hang on, desperately hoping that the pain would eventually ease. Those were the times that I became fascinated with a gun or held conversations with a bottle of pills. Those were the times when I could almost feel the wheel of my car trying to turn toward a tree or side of a bridge. They were the times of my true darkness of the soul.

Even though it's been several years since I last felt the need to die, I am not so naive as to believe the demons have completely deserted me. They remain there, always waiting for a weak moment. But, so far, I've been able to keep them at bay with a kind of outrage that developed over the years of struggle, therapy, and self healing. Today, when I am faced with anything that threatens me, whether a threat to my health or my peace of mind, I get angry and declare that I worked too damn hard to survive to die now. Perhaps that may seem too simplistic and even laughable to some people, but this is what day to day life can hold for me. And I continue to survive.

When I read about that veteran and his lost battle, I was reminded of the dangers I had faced for so long, and what I hope is that in sharing my story it may help others to know that they are not alone, as the demons would have them believe. There are people out there who want to help. Sometimes the nature of that help is professional, as with therapy. Other times, it's simply in others letting you know they are there, even if they cannot truly understand what it is like living with that kind of darkness every minute of every day. Many find their strength through their religious faith, while others find it deep within that part of themselves that stubbornly refuses to die. My metaphorical fingers are ragged and scarred from the grip I held on the sharp edged cliff to keep from falling into the abyss. I don't count myself as lucky to have survived. Luck had nothing to do with it. It was a decision I made when I terrified myself with a very basic question at twenty-six-years old. A decision that I was too often forced to repeat, and that I probably will continue to face and make for the rest of my life.

c. 2022