This post talks about my suicide attempt in 1998. There are no details about how or where, on purpose. If you're struggling right now, the help box on this page has numbers you can call or text.
In 1998 I tried to take my own life.
That's the whole sentence, and it's all I'm going to say about the event itself. Not how, not where. People sometimes expect the details in a post like this. I've learned that the details don't help anyone, and the guidelines written by people who study this agree. Australia's Mindframe, which works with people who share their own stories, specifically warns against too much detail. What's useful is what came after.
So, is there life after a suicide attempt? Yes. I'm writing this in my mid-fifties. Many people who survive an attempt keep living for decades, and some of them, like me, end up doing things they couldn't have pictured at the time. It's not automatic and it's not a straight line. A past attempt is an important risk factor for suicide, according to the World Health Organization, so getting real, ongoing help afterward matters. But "afterward" can be a very long time.
Why I'm telling this at all
I went back and forth on writing this post. Mostly out of shame, if I'm honest.
What tipped it was something in the WHO's 2023 guide for anyone who talks publicly about suicide (Preventing suicide: a resource for media professionals). It says that widely shared stories of suicide deaths are followed by more suicides, while stories of people getting through a suicidal crisis can lead to fewer. That second part landed. If there's even a small chance that someone reads this at 3 a.m. and decides to call someone instead, the shame is worth it.
What came after 1998
Here's what I want you to see. Every single thing on this list happened after 1998. In 1998, none of it existed, not even as an idea.
- In December 2003 I co-founded a web agency, Raincity Studios, in Vancouver. It grew to have an office in Shanghai too.
- From 2015 I built a dive operation in Indonesia, trying to do it sustainably.
- I wrote a book on ChatGPT that hit #1 in Amazon's AI category in 2023.
- I write fiction, design games, take photos.
- I've been off cocaine and heroin for sixteen years.
- I found out I had ASD, at 50, which finally explained fifty years of feeling like the weird one.
- I have a partner, Sandra, who has been beside me for the last fifteen years.
I'm not listing it to brag. I'm the last person to brag; I usually run from success. I'm listing it because the guy in 1998 was sure the story was over. He was wrong by a couple of decades and counting.
It wasn't a montage
I don't want to sell you a movie where the guy survives, the music swells, and everything's fine.
The years after were messy. There was depression. There was substance use. There were the robplosions, the blow-ups that a friend gave a name to. Before any of that, right after the attempt, I'd checked myself into a psychiatric ward, voluntarily, for about a month, which I wrote about in I checked myself into psychiatry. There was a breakdown during the COVID years that led to the autism diagnosis.
And honestly, right after 1998, I didn't feel saved or transformed. I felt ashamed and tired. Hope came later, and in pieces.
What actually helped
Not one thing. Looking back, these are the ones that mattered most for me:
Asking for help, more than once. The voluntary admission was one of the hardest and best calls I ever made. Getting help isn't a one-time event. I had to keep doing it.
Getting off the drugs. Sixteen years without cocaine or heroin. Whatever else is wrong, my head is mine now.
Understanding my own brain. The autism diagnosis didn't fix anything, but it explained a lot of the exhaustion and the shame. It's easier to be kind to yourself when you finally know why things were so hard.
Therapy. Including the uncomfortable kind, where somebody points at the pattern you've been avoiding.
I still have bad stretches. I'm not "cured" of being me. But I don't think about 1998 every day anymore, and some days I forget the date entirely.
If you've survived an attempt
First, I'm glad you're here. I mean that plainly.
The shame you might feel is common. It doesn't mean anything about your worth. A few things I'd want someone to have told me:
- Keep your doctor in the loop, and keep going back. A past attempt raises the risk later, so follow-up isn't optional, even when you feel better.
- Make a safety plan with a professional: your warning signs, who to call, what helps. Keep it on your phone.
- Tell at least one person in your life. If you don't know how, I wrote how to tell someone you're thinking about suicide.
- You don't owe anyone the story. Not the details, not the why. Share what you want, when you want.
If you love someone who survived an attempt, read how to help someone who is thinking about suicide. And look after yourself too.