Fallen Angel Rising
by
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They say “that which does not kill you makes you stronger.” As I lie here waiting to die, I know “they” are wrong. I mean, I’ve been through much worse than this before, and none of it killed me. Even now, I try to think of what actually “killed me.” There wasn’t any one major thing, just a combination of little things. I don’t think I can even put it into words. And at what point does it kill me? Was it yesterday when I made the decision and wrote the note, was it today when I swallowed all three bottles of pills, or will it be in a few minutes when I fade off to sleep? I’m really not sure.
I never expected to be here. To be perfectly honest, I’ve always thought of depression as a character flaw rather than an illness. I’ve never even been able to comprehend how or why someone would choose to take his or her own life. In my 17 years as an Emergency Medical Technician, I’ve seen many suicide attempts. Most of them seemed to be either a cry for help or a ploy to make somebody else pay. I mean, really, if you have a bottle containing 1,000 pills and you’ve taken 10 of them and then call 911, am I really supposed to believe you wanted to kill yourself? I confess. I was very judgmental. I was irritated that people could do something so damned stupid. At least, that’s how I used to feel—right up until the last few months.
One thing is certain: I’m getting it right. I knew which drugs to take, and I took a lot of them. I knew that if I were to fail, my problems would be so much worse than they are even now. That’s why I had to wait until today. Had I done it yesterday when I really wanted to, the sheriff’s department would have sent a squad to check on me when I didn’t show up for work at 4:00 p.m. Today—Sunday, December 7, 2008—is the beginning of my weekend at work. Nobody is expecting me anywhere for two more days. By that time, my problems will be over and I’ll no longer feel this kind of pain.
I hear my mother on the answering machine. She’s begging me to pick up the phone. I can’t do that. I’m already fading. If I answer the phone, she’ll know. Why is she so frantic? She can’t possibly know. I was very careful. Nobody knows.
I hear my next-door neighbor yelling my name. It sounds like she’s in my house! I know I locked the door. Why would she pick today to use her key and come into my house? I hear her scream, “Call 911.” Things start happening so quickly. I’m not sure what’s going on. My friend and colleague Brad is in my face yelling, “Bridgette, it’s me. It’s Brad.” Duh!
I know it’s Brad. I just don’t know why he’s here. I also know that if Brad is here, then Sgt. Margo is on the way. Crap! Now everybody’s going to know I’m crazy! At this point, I know I told Brad and anyone else who would listen to “get Kyle.” Brad promises he will—and I believe him.
Somehow, Kyle will make this all better. He’s my closest friend on the sheriff’s department and one of the best people in the world. By now, I’m beyond caring that this request will only fuel the rumors that we’re having an affair. Fortunately for me, Kyle’s wife is a wonderful woman who’s very confident in his love for her and takes the rumors in stride.
I can’t comprehend how anyone who’s ever met Kyle would believe for a second that he would cheat on his wife. That’s not how he’s built; that’s one of the reasons I trust him explicitly. That’s why we became friends. He is one of the few guys in the department that I trust not to have ulterior motives in befriending me. He’s the rock. A former firefighter, EMT, and paratrooper, Kyle’s now our firearms instructor and SWAT team leader. I just know that if anyone can fix this, Kyle can.
I know my best friend, Christine, also is here with me, but I’m not sure how or why. (I have a vague recollection of leaving her a voicemail saying I am sorry, but I knew she was on a conference call and wouldn’t get it until after I was gone.) I see the EMTs from the local rescue squad, many of whom I’ve known for years. They are also telling me I know them. After this, I remember nothing.
I opened my eyes and saw a blue wall. As I tried to figure out where I was, I realized that a tube was down my throat and that I wasn’t breathing on my own. It all came rushing back. I thought to myself, “Son of a bitch. I’m still here!” As I looked around, I saw my mother on one side of my bed holding my hand, Christine on the other, and my father and three of my brothers sitting against the wall. They were all crying. “What the hell?” It never occurred to me that people would actually care if I were gone. Why didn’t it occur to me? I’ve always known how much my family loves me. Why was I so certain that they would all be better off without me? How could I possibly have done this to them? It had made such perfect sense for a week. For the last few weeks, or even months, suicide had seemed like a perfectly logical option. It felt like the right thing to do. I would no longer be a burden on anyone, and I would be at peace. Now, I can’t even imagine what I was thinking; and yet, a part of me still wished I would just drift back off to sleep and not wake up again......
The next thing I knew was that I would be taken downstairs to the “Mental Health Unit” on Tuesday afternoon. I was on a Chapter 51 Emergency Detention. This wasn’t possible. Only crazy people get chaptered—and I was not one of them! As they wheeled me down the hall, I was sobbing. I begged my family to just let me go home. Although the practical me knew it wasn’t possible, the desperate me wanted to believe we could all just pretend this never happened. “I’m not really crazy. It was just temporary insanity! Can’t I have a do over?”
I was downstairs lying on a cold, hard bed in the psych ward. Alone. Crying. I didn’t want to be here! I wanted to go home. The staff came and told me that I was required to attend the “group session.” Like I really wanted to go and talk to a bunch of crazy people! Didn’t they realize I just got here? Couldn’t they just leave me alone?
How would I explain to anyone why I am here? I didn’t even understand it. My life hadn’t been all that traumatic. In fact, compared to most people, my life had been really good!
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About the Book
This book was written to inspire hope and to begin healing for those experiencing adversity or who have wounds to heal. I hope that my words help you gain perspective on the past and avoid the mistakes I’ve made as you go forward on your journey. I now view every single experience as positive because adversity brought me here—to this place where I can help you heal your life. This book is dedicated to:
• Rape victims—When they tell you it wasn’t your fault, it is true! No matter what choices you made, the instant the word “no” crossed your lips, all should have stopped. Whatever happened after that was not your fault.
• Those suffering from depression and/or PTSD—As a society, we need to do more to remove the stigma of psychological illness so that more people will seek the help they need, before the situation becomes desperate.
• All fibromyalgia patients—We must continue to advocate for a cure and not settle for lifelong symptom management. When we put our voices together, there is nothing we cannot accomplish.
• Those who want a change in their life—Whether it’s a divorce, an illness, or any other issue that has you feeling “less than,” you can change your circumstances.
• Anyone who has had, or is having, thoughts of suicide—Know that suicide not the answer. I am an example of that. If I’d not seen that “dark place” and lived to talk about it, I wouldn’t be writing this for you today. I would never have known life could be this incredible.
About the Author
Bridgette C. Kent wrote the beginning of Fallen Angel Rising while going through darker days than she had ever imagined possible. As she wrote, she often felt no hope of overcoming the obstacles being thrown in her path. As she struggled with severe depression, stigma, chronic illness, loss of mobility, the loss of her home and more, Bridgette didn't know if she would ever find her way out.
Having been blessed with "the perfect family," and what many considered "the perfect life," Bridgette seemed to have it all. To those who knew her, Bridgette was a bubbly, outgoing overachiever. She began performing in water-ski shows at six years-old, won her first water-ski championship at 11, played many school sports, and stared in her high school theater and musical productions. Bridgette went on to excel in a number of different careers never stopping long enough for doubt to sneak in. The one place she didn’t excel was relationships, but that didn’t bother her all that much.
In 2008, at 37 years-old, Bridgette seemed to have it all. Having been divorced for 9 years, she was now a fit firefighter and EMT, driving her dream car, living in what she called her “Fairytale Cottage,” and she had just started what she thought was the “perfect job” for her. She was a 911 dispatcher. With an active social life, Bridgette wasn’t worried about finding “the one.” She was too busy enjoying what she had. Then, the train began to derail.
Bridgette spent much of 2008 trying to ignore the signs of clinical depression. As an EMT, she’d always been judgmental of those with mental illness. She was sure there was another explanation for her sudden need to sleep all the time. It had to be the new work schedule. As time went on, Bridgette became even more frustrated with herself. Why couldn’t she get more done? Why did she feel sad? Why couldn’t she just “change her thoughts,” as she’d always suggested others do? She began to pile self-loathing and judgment onto her already damaged psyche. Late in the year, Bridgette sought out a psychologist, and finally started on anti-depressants. It was too little too late. On December 7, 2008, Bridgette attempted to end her life. She would have succeeded if not for the miracle known as “Mother’s Intuition.”
For the next few years, life would only get harder. After her attempt, Bridgette battled the stigma of that suicide attempt, was harassed out of her job, diagnosed with a chronic illness, became home-bound, and lost her “Fairytale Cottage.” Forced to move in with her brother, Bridgette saw no hope for a future.
After living with her brother for just a few months, Bridgette realized that she no longer wanted to live as a victim. She remembered some books she’d read years earlier by Dr. Wayne Dyer, Alan Cohen and others. These books all taught a principle called the Law of Attraction. Knowing the power of these teachings, Bridgette picked them up again. As Bridgette began to heal, she reflected on the things she’d written during her dark days, and decided to keep writing. Fallen Angel Rising began to emerge, so did Bridgette. The writing had served to show her the past in ways she’d never seen before. She identified patterns and beliefs that she’d never been consciously aware of, and began to heal. As we heal our past and our inside, the outside healing begins as well.
Today, Bridgette is no longer home-bound. She walks without a cane, and leads a full and active life as an author and motivational speaker. She is a member of two Toastmasters International Clubs, works with the National Speakers Association, is a member of the Wisconsin Council on Mental Illness, and advocates for those with both mental illness and chronic illness. Bridgette is living proof that all things can be overcome. There is no adversity that is greater that our own desire to give back.