Life is weird. Have you ever had something happen that changes the trajectory of your life? Or perhaps something happens that makes you question a decision you made or a decision you might take. Almost like someone or something is watching over you or nudging you along a certain path. An event in your life that makes you wonder if you are part of someone’s Truman show. Almost like the writers of your life put in a plot twist at the end of a season to keep things interesting. I had two events in 2019 that could be described like this.

I want to recall the second week of school from my previous blog post. That Tuesday I had a disastrous therapy session before having to return to school for Meet the Parents night. I shared with you that on that Thursday I cried on the way to work. I was upset with myself because I was all talk and no walk. The thing I wanted the most was to die, yet here I was trying to better myself. I was going to therapy and had finally acquired a job. But for what reason? I was trying to do my best at work, but with every day that passed, I felt more exhausted and more depressed. My “medication” was no longer effective. Was it because of the added stress of work? Had it just been a placebo? Was I gaining a tolerance to LSD? Thoughts would flood my mind. Why was I going to work? To acquire money that has no value to me? Money doesn’t make me feel better. Money doesn’t make me happier. However, I need money to continue living. But I don’t want to live anymore! I don’t want to get paid in dollars. I want to be paid in happiness. A part of me is wanting to get better and taking the steps necessary to accomplish that goal. While another part is just wanting to end it all because existence is too much. I felt like these two parts of me were at war inside of me trying to gain control of my body and my actions. Is it too much to ask to just feel normal?

“A part of me is wanting to get better and taking the steps necessary to accomplish that goal. While another part is just wanting to end it all because existence is too much. I felt like these two parts of me were at war inside of me trying to gain control of my body and my actions.”

After work on Thursday of the second week of school, I went to Home Depot to buy 20 feet of ¾ in. manilla twist rope. Just in case one day I had the balls to end my suffering. It took three different employees to “cut” the rope (they use some electric apparatus next to the selection of ropes to burn off the required length from the spool). While we were waiting for the third employee to arrive (since he was the one that knew how to operate the apparatus), one of the other employees asked me what I was building with the rope. I lied by saying that my friend had asked me to pick up the rope after work for him and that I wasn’t sure what he was building. Eventually, I got my rope and paid for it at the front of the store. After concealing the rope in my work backpack, I sat in the parking lot thinking about what I had just done. After a short amount of time, I composed myself and got ready to make my way back home. As I was about to leave, my friend/co-worker sent me a text message saying how crazy it was that tomorrow was Friday and how quickly the first two weeks of school had gone by. All I could think about was how long I could keep this up and if I had the strength to make it until the end of the school year. I was already exhausted. But what choice did I have? I needed that job because I had failed at finding a job outside of the education field. I needed that job to keep paying for my therapy and to continue living. I had no other choice. I returned home ready to sleep my troubles away. Once home, I stashed the rope underneath my bed.

The next day was Friday and the day that my classes took their first quiz of the year. As you might recall, I cried on the way to work again that day. My day was fine besides the problems in 4th and 8th period. When I return home, I try to sneak into my room quickly in hopes of not encountering a family member. However, my mom was in the living room and grabbed my attention with a sense of urgency in her voice. She tells me that someone from New York had called her and was looking for me. Something about a donation for cancer. I immediately know what she was talking about because a few years back I had registered at DKMS as a potential bone marrow donor after reading someone’s story on reddit. I tell her that I know what it’s about and thank her for relaying the information. I got on my computer to see if I had gotten an e-mail. I call them, but there is no answer since it was already pretty late. I then sit there staring at the e-mail dumbfounded as I remember what I have hiding under my bed. The day after I buy a thick-ass rope I get a fucking e-mail from the bone marrow donor center I registered for 7+ years ago telling me I could potentially save someone’s life. Never fucking tell me the odds. That weekend I spent a big portion of my time thinking about what transpired on Thursday and Friday. I also mention it to my friends when we go out for drinks Saturday night. Sunday I spent most of the day grading papers and practicing my speech for Monday.

The following Monday is the day that I talk to 4th and 8th period about their quiz grades/behavior in my class on Friday. During lunch, I call DKMS and talk to one of their representatives. He explains the two bone marrow transplant methods and the entire process if I get selected as the best candidate. He informs me that I have to complete this super long medical questionnaire and if I had time to do it right then. I asked him if I could fill it out and e-mail it back to him. He says that was fine, but that I would have to be on the phone while he reviewed it. I assured him that I would get it done as soon as possible and hopefully be in touch with him before the end of the day. But as you already know, my principal asks for my resignation at the end of the school day. And I scramble to get all my grades in the gradebook before I leave the teaching profession for the second time of my life. Hopefully, this time for good, but not by choice.

The next day I filled out the medical questionnaire as soon as I wake up. Then I call the representative again. We go over all the questions together. I am completely truthful, but do not say that I am using LSD to treat my depression. A vast majority of the population would not react positively to hearing that statement. I mention the problem/pain I have with one of my testicles and assure him it is nothing serious and only flares up when I lift heavy things. I also mention that I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) in February of 2019 and that I took bupropion for five weeks. He is a lot more worried about that and says that he needs to talk to his doctors and that he will call me back in 15 minutes. A little bit more than 15 minutes later he calls me and tells me the doctors said I can’t be a candidate because I am taking antidepressants. I clarify that I am not taking the antidepressants anymore and that I stopped after five weeks because I disliked the side effects. He says he will call me right back to check with the doctors again. About 10 minutes later he called me to say that the doctors said since I had been diagnosed with depression in the past year that I can’t be a donor for a bone marrow transplant. He also said that they would be taking me off the registry list for a full year. I wish him good luck and thank him for his time and we hang up.

Afterward, I sit there thinking about how getting diagnosed with MDD prevented me from donating bone marrow. If I had been diagnosed with MDD 5 years ago, which is when I believe this depressive state started, does that mean that I could be a bone marrow transplant candidate now? What about 10 years ago? Or 15 years ago? Shit, I didn’t fucking realize that I had depression until a little over two years ago. I don’t feel that the type of depression I have is just going to disappear one day. Or that one day I am going to wake up feeling better. Or that all the therapy in the world is going to make me think differently about life and that I will be able to see things differently. This depression is here to stay for the foreseeable future. My depression isn’t caused by trauma or because I broke up with my ex-girlfriend or because I miss living in Korea or because I’ve been unemployed for almost 3 years. I just found it kinda funny that putting a label on my depression kept me from potentially saving someone’s life. I feel like the stigma surrounding depression, suicidal ideations, and mental health, in general, is still rampant in this world. Stigma prevents people from seeking help. We need to do better as a society.

I let myself process what just happened and convince myself that those rules were probably put in place because of some reason. I then turned my attention to the e-mail sitting in my inbox from a lawyer at my teacher’s union that I had just received a couple of minutes ago. They had replied to the email I had written them the previous night over the situation with my teaching job. Over the next few days, my lawyer and I communicated back and forth. We finally met with each other the following Tuesday. And as you already know… I didn’t get my job back.