Many of you expressed an interest in knowing more about Erik, including his suicide attempt several months prior to his eventual death. As hard as it is for me to re-visit the experience, perhaps the details will give clarity to the pain from which he suffered.
In the wee hours of the morning, Erik came into our bedroom carrying a metal clipboard and wearing a broad grin on his face. He was so bubbly, not what you’d expect from someone determined to take his or her own life. I asked him whether he was okay. After all, it was around three in the morning. Excitedly, he exclaimed that he was with his ex-girlfriend, Allie, and my deceased sister, Denise. He went on to say that he could only see Denise’s head and torso, because she had not yet learned how to manifest arms and legs. I asked him what the clipboard was for, and he said that is what he uses to communicate with them. At first, I thought he was just sleepwalking, but clearly things were not right. So, I jumped out of bed, and asked again what was going on. I glanced at the clipboard and saw nothing but illegible chicken scratch. He repeated the story with even more exuberance than before. I took his pulse (not sure why) and noted that his heart was racing like that of a frightened bird. Quickly, I led him to his favorite couch, fetched my stethoscope and finished a cursory physical exam.
“Erik, did you take anything?” I asked. Then he admitted to swallowing an entire bottle of an ADHD medication known as Provigil, then went out to sit in his pickup truck to wait for death to rescue him. He said that after a while, he was concerned that we might not find his body right away, and with the notorious heat of Houston summers, he felt this was not a good idea. He goes on to say that he was unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time before coming to that conclusion and returning to the house, clipboard in hand.
Of course I called poison control and his psychiatrist. Both advised me to stay awake and monitor his vital signs, but they assured me he’d be okay. I asked the psychiatrist to admit him, but she explained that this was not necessary, because now, they usually treat them in a home setting–kind of like a residential lockdown. Still, I was skeptical.
So I lied next to him for hours, checking his pulse frequently. Every once in a while, he’d sit up and hold hands with Allie on his right and Aunt Denise on his left, telling them how much he loved them and how glad he was that they were both with him. After several hours, his heart rate was normal, and his “delirium” cleared.
I had heard about near death experiences and, despite my inherent skepticism about such subjects, I wondered if he had actually died in his truck and returned with Allie and Denise. Surely they had guide him back to life and into my bedroom.
The next day, Rune asked him why he tried to take his own life and Erik said, in a matter of fact tone, “Because I don’t want to be here.” Rune replied, telling him to look at what he has in his life: all the creature comforts and family and friends who loved him deeply. He agreed, if only to appease his father.
Like many Lightworkers and Indigos, Erik never felt like he belonged here, and no amount of love and camaraderie could overcome his profound sense of loneliness. For us, perhaps it was a preparation for things to come, in spite of his weekly visits to his therapist and his psychiatrist. It also was the first real dent in my shell of skepticism.
I would edit this, but I wince at the thought of reliving the experience one more time. It’s probably littered with spelling and grammar errors.
Here’s a photo of Erik and his beloved truck:
In tribute to Erik, I’d like to post about what our precious Erik has meant to each of you. If you can email me those thoughts, I’ll compose it into an entry. I’ll keep the names anonymous unless you say otherwise.
Much love to all.