Ryan A.
Photography by Margeaux Edwards
Before reading this letter, we'd like for you to know it discusses Ryan’s experience with suicidal ideation. If you think that reading about this will be triggering for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic, such as Dana's or Caroline's letter. If you're reading this, your feelings are valid.
If you're reading this, know you are loved, valued, and most importantly, you matter.
Growing up I had what most consider a normal life, both parents worked, and we lived comfortably. I won't lie, financially I was privileged, but emotionally I never got my needs met. So many times I remember my parents coming home from work and telling us to cook, clean, do everything around the house, and just leave the four of us to our own devices. Buying us video games and toys so they didn't have to spend time or attention on us. For them, work came first and we came second.
My mom served twice overseas in Iraq, and my dad was in Bosnia for a short time. Both made careers from the military. The good and bad from that have seeded their way into my life. I distinctly remember laying on my bed one night when I was eleven years old confused. My mom always yelled at us constantly and it felt like a fight always, so it was confusing for me at such a young age when she left; I was almost happy there wouldn't be any more conflict. Yet crying in my bed missing her was the strangest feeling. Shortly after that deployment in 2011, she got out, but the effects the Army had were long-lasting.
For a long time, I've “faked it ‘til I made it.” From the outside, I look so accomplished, commissioning active duty in 6 months, working a part-time job, earning my bachelor’s in MIS, being president of multiple clubs, and being active in my community. Yet very few know how many times I've almost walked off that ledge. How many times I didn't think I would make it. How many times I was fighting to get through the next hour, the next meal, the next day. Men aren't supposed to show emotions; subconsciously at a young age our emotions are suppressed and we don't know how to let them out, and for me often I had to figure it out on my own. I've lived with depression for at least the last six years, the first instance was in high school. I remember to this day sitting in my room crying, not understanding why my brain worked the way it did, and deep down I knew that if I left the house that night I wouldn't have ever come back home. Fortunately, I had some amazing friends who were able to call and talk to me. Little do they know how much of an impact that had.
This was the first of four instances, three of which happened in the last eight months. So many days I couldn't get out of bed, times when my anxiety immobilized me for hours, and worst of all shutting everyone out of how I really felt. No one saw the pain and heartache because from the outside I looked okay, but inside I was falling apart. The breaking point for me came when it was a sunny day out, I was at the top of the hill with the water tower that oversees Pullman, considering taking my life and I just cried, crying for about 20 minutes uncontrollably. Again that night my friends wanted me to go out and see them, and I really do think that without them, I wouldn't be here today writing to you.
I'm writing this today to you, nervous and scared to speak about something so guarded and vulnerable to me, sharing my emotions so that you can see that there is a way and there is hope. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and I am so proud of everything you have done and have yet to do. You are loved, you matter, and I can't wait to hear your story and see all the things you accomplish in the world.
[Author Name], Washington State University
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