When all you have is hope.

When you have PTSD things can get ugly. I know life can be hard, it is for all of us sometimes. But even in the easy times life can still be ugly for those of us suffering with PTSD. Even on the brightest of days, on the coolest of summer afternoons, we are plagued by the terrible 'truth' of the world.

The 'truth' that there is evil in the world. We can be walking in the park, and see children running, jumping, loving life, and that is when the truth hits us. That ugly voice comes o' callin'.

"How can they be so happy, there is someone chained to a pipe somewhere, having God knows what done to them, in some psycho's basement."

This is the voice that starts the feelings of self-loathing, of depression, of anger. This is the voice others do not have. You instantly realize that what you just thought was a terrible thought to have. You begin to doubt your sanity, you question your morality, you blame the world for giving you that voice. Your jealousy of others happiness brings forth a wave of depression.

Whatever your event was, whatever it is that refuses to let you live a normal life. The death of a loved one, rape, abuse, combat, whatever it is that is what the voice will remind you of when you see others happy. Happy and ignoring the 'truth' you see.

This is when we are in need of the greatest gift, and the great resource humanity has ever discovered.

HOPE.

I know it's about as rare as finding an earth-like planet in our nearest neighbors solar systems. And I know it is hard to hold on to it, I struggle with it daily. I know the feeling of sitting there brooding over all the darkness in the world, trying to focus on the good. Trying to have hope. I know how easy it is to toss hope away, and bask in the sadness that wants to take root in your life.

But I also know hope. Hope hasn't always been my best friend. For a long time, I was without it. I relied on those around me to have it. I needed them to have it because I lost it. I couldn't even start to find it because I forgot it existed. After my last suicide attempt, the one that was the closest I have come to dying on my own, I didn't just find it. It found me.

As I lay there, the cool wind blowing on my face, the hot sun baking my skin. The fire in my stomach from all the whiskey, and itching in my veins from the pills. There was a light. Not a warm light. Not an inviting light. It wasn't even scary. I welcomed it, I thought it was death. It wasn't.

It was every good thing I had ever experienced in life. The birth of my son, in crystal clarity. The way his little hand reached up for my finger and squeezed so hard his little nails left an imprint in my finger. I felt the same tear I shed, in that moment, again and again as I lay there dying. I felt his body in my arms. I felt how frail he was when I was standing in the hospital room, alone with him. His first hour of life I held him, again and again I lived this moment.

Then it began to fade. His weight in my arms drifted away. His warmth was gone. That first smile was falling away. That is when I found it. My voice.

I said no. No to dying. No to the pain. No to losing hope. No to all the terrible things I know are in the world. No to losing my happiness. No to losing the good in the world.

My dad has saved my life. My son has helped me find hope. It is my job to hold on to life, and never lose hope. I can not fail, will not fail.

Dad, I thank you, and I love you. To my son, you are always in my heart, whether you read this now or years from now I will always love you. I am alive because you, both of you.

Do not think suicide can help anything. It can't, it makes things worse. You are not alone, together we can win. Connect with me or your family, or one of the hundreds of organizations out there. Connect with anyone there are so many people willing and wanting to help. You are not alone, I promise you.