I was living recklessly. Every day, I was drinking, smoking or using drugs. I tried using these habits as tools to escape my state of depression, but they only made it worse. I also had an unhealthy diet, which was causing my Crohn’s Disease to deteriorate further. I needed to end things, and put a stop to the misery I found myself in.
I hated myself. I was in a downward spiral, waking up each day with a new series of regrets. I was taking steroids prescribed by my doctor while also drinking heavily, and this caused me to have major mood swings. I found myself getting into arguments with friends and colleagues, and blowing situations out of proportion. One such occasion on a work trip abroad was the first time I seriously considered killing myself.
I’d had a disagreement with a colleague while we were out drinking very late one night. It was just a drunken misunderstanding over a relatively trivial matter. The following day, myself and the colleague in question patched things up.
However, the dispute had upset other members of the team who were also present that night, and caught the attention of senior management, who decided to make an issue of it. They warned me that they would start a disciplinary procedure against me when we returned to the UK.
So that evening, I stayed home in my hotel room while everyone else went out drinking again. I just wanted to keep myself away from alcohol and potentially volatile situations. Instead I found myself alone with my thoughts, unable to escape feelings of self-hatred and self-destruction.
I climbed onto the window sill of the top-floor hotel room that I was staying in. I wanted to jump out and kill myself, but I couldn’t go through with it. I kept thinking of the impact that my suicide would have on my family. I felt that they would be devastated by my act, and would struggle to deal with the trauma. I spent nearly four hours agonising over it, trying to force myself to jump, but in the end I couldn’t do it. So I stepped back off the ledge, into my room and into bed.
Yet for the following weeks the feeling of despair only grew stronger. I continued in my reckless ways, overindulging in drugs, alcohol and other destructive habits.
A few weeks later, I was at an after-work party getting drunk, and this was one of the times that I had also tried cocaine. I left the party very drunk and I was starting to come down from the high. I felt miserable.
I was on my way home, at Piccadilly Circus tube station, and I thought to myself: “Should I jump in front of in the train?”
I was thinking about it as the train was nearing. I could see its headlights in the distance when suddenly, I lost my balance and fell onto the rail track. I landed on my back and felt a surge of electricity from the track all the way down my spine.
I was confused. I wasn’t sure what had happened. I didn’t know whether to get up or just lay there and let my life come to an end.
Then, a lady in a white coat stepped down off the platform to help me up. With her assistance, I got up, and out of harm’s way. I thanked her before quickly moving on. I was so embarrassed. I now think of her as an angel who came down to save me.
The next morning, when I woke up, I wasn’t actually sure if that incident at the tube station had even really happened or whether it was all a dream. I was so wasted the night before that everything was a blur. But as I got up out of bed, I could still feel the pain of the electric shock down my spine, and I realised that it was all too real.