“We all fall down” Part 1 by Bob Perks

Marianne (my life, my love, my best friend) and I

My friend:

What I am about to share with you is extremely personal.
But I felt the need, an obligation to tell this story. Through
the many years I’ve written for you, “my friends I’ve never met”
I shared everyday struggles, personal challenges and observations
of a beautiful life I live.

Because of the nature of this, some of you may decide to leave
my list. Others may find peace in it because you’ll connect in
some way to my experience.

In all my years of writing and speaking I always opened my heart
and my life to help others understand they are not alone in their
struggles.

I have to write this story in two parts. The second one will be sent
tomorrow. I ask that before you come to any conclusions you give
me the chance to share the entire story with you.

Let me assure you all is well and my life is even more on track
than ever before. I hope you’ll understand because…
“We all fall down”
By Bob Perks
You may remember the childhood rhyme
although in different variations depending on
where you grew up:
“Ring around the rosy
A pocketful of posies
“Ashes, Ashes”
We all fall down!”

We would hold hands and circle around until
we got to the line…”We all fall down.” Then we
dropped to the ground laughing.

Well, it’s true. We do all fall down at some
time, perhaps many times in our lives.
The point is we all get back up again.

Through the many years I’ve been writing
for who I lovingly call my “friends I’ve never
met,” (you), I’ve always written openly about
the good times and bad in my life.

Recently I was attacked and criticized by
two “good Christians” who found my work
garbage and “self posturing.” They saw
no value in my telling you the good things
I do to fulfill my mission to “touch the world
one person at a time.” They never gave
credit for my talking about the bad.

I was told they were going to use my message
and reply in an upcoming meeting as being
a good example of a bad Christian.

They are the self righteous, who in the name
of God, scour the internet to destroy those
who don’t think the way they do.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I hear from others periodically
and then they move on to beat someone else up.
Although I do take it personally, I have always
been able to remain focused on what I believe God
wants me to do and how He wants me to do it.

What I am about to share with you is about that
truth…”I take it personally.”

I have come to realize that I carry the weight of the
world and haven’t been able to put it down accept
to catch my breath. I see pain in the faces of
the innocent victims of war. I see an obituary of
a young person in the paper. I see the joy filled
faces of loved ones reunited with their soldier
family member. I read messages of despair
and fear from my readers. I get messages of
hope and thanks from people who tell me one
of my stories “Arrived at just the right time,”
or “I think this was written just for me.”

All of that is my reason to keep writing for you.

I struggled with whether to tell you this story. In fact,
when it was happening I didn’t want anyone to know.
I was ashamed.

Now, God has urged me to be as open about it as
I have always been in my work.

I have an underlying depression and have for
most of my life. It serves to slow me down,
sometimes, stop me in my tracks, but it also
helps me to be in touch with my emotions.

Those emotions come out in my work. I am sensitive
to how really big little things are and sometimes
lose sight of how little big things should be.

A few weeks ago, when we had a snow and ice storm
pass through my hometown, I spent hours trying to
clear the ice off our driveway. Unable to use the snow
blower, I had to do it in three parts using an ice chopper
and shovel.

Without going into very personal details, I will say that
months prior to this day, I had been slowly crashing.
Family issues, the fact that my book would not be reprinted,
the closing of my online store and loss of income,
my dependence on one friend for a source of income,
and finally, and the biggest issue of all, was the fact
that my wife needed another operation. We were reliving
the fear of a return of her cancer, all of this made me feel
helpless and without influence or purpose in my life.

At the end of the day, I was beaten down mentally and
physically tired from shoveling.

I took a medication called flexeril for my back pain and
then after calling my wife I took a 1 mg xanax.

“I’m tired. I need to go lie down,” I told her. I never do that.

Apparently I took more. Time passed and when I awoke
I was stumbling, falling and pretty much incoherent. I ate,
kept repeating myself enough to add to the concern my
wife already had, then went back to bed.

I have absolutely no memory what so ever of the next day.

I did, however, call my doctor to tell him I was considering
suicide. He urged me to go directly to the “crisis center”
at the nearby hospital.

“I’m really too tired, Doc,” I insisted.

“Promise me that when your wife comes home you’ll tell
her about these feelings.”

When she walked in the door I did just that.

I believe that the influence of the meds lowered the
veil of my secret depression enough to speak the truth.

“I have been praying each night that God take my life,”
I said.

I talked about family and how worried I was about them
and felt helpless in finding a way to protect them.

I went on to explain that I was using the new treadmill
to an extreme in hopes that I would have a heart attack
and die.

“Knowing God, he’d turn that around and make me healthier,”
I joked.

We spent the evening together after dinner and I promised
her that I would indeed seek help at the crisis center.

I found out later that I had spoken with my good friend Nathaniel
for about 25 minutes. He is a most remarkable man of God.
Early in the day his cell phone rang, when he answered it one of
my recorded Power Minute messages played. He knew that
God wanted him to contact me. It was confirmed when he received
the following email from me on Thursday. I have no idea how it
slipped through “spell check” this way:

“Nathaniel,
at today eat five o’clock call doctor to admit that suicide is
promirnrnt in my mind.

This is serious stuff,
pleas pray for me, lastnighet I was aIwas pouncing off
rhe wals. literrally. fella few time.

Don;’t rememnber anythng,

Plesse pry for me. I lost mypurpose.”
(end)

I found that email in my sent box a week later.

The next day I drove myself to the center with the sole
purpose of beginning a process of finding help. I just
wanted to talk to someone and schedule appoinments
for on going therapy.

That was the plan.

The next thing I knew someone was asking me over and
over again, “Are you willing to voluntarily commit yourself?”

I was shocked and appalled at the idea.

“No!” I said time and again.

“One last time…Are you willing to voluntarily commit yourself?”

“No! I drove myself here. On my own. I just came to speak with
someone.”

They called my wife.

My story of events and reasons for coming there did not match
the real story she shared.

Remember, I had no memory of Thursday at all.

My wife arrived at the crisis center. I was frantic,
feeling like a caged animal and all I wanted was out.

“They want me to commit myself,” I said.

She replied, “I know.”

Pausing for a moment in what felt like slow motion I asked,
“You didn’t sign the papers did you?”

“Yes. Honey, they said it was the best thing. They said you might
hurt yourself.”

My wife had committed me under what they called a 302.
involuntary commitment. If she didn’t they would have
sought a court order.

I blew up. I was beyond rude, arrogant, cruel and horrid.
I had no idea where I was headed or what would happen
to my future.

My entire world came to an abrupt halt.

Before I realized it I was in an ambulance, they had me
remove my laces on my sneakers, my belt and all personal
items.

I was committed to a mental health facility.
(to be continued tomorrow. Please promise me you’ll stay and
read the rest. It may change your life.)
“I wish you enough!”
J
Bob

I encourage you to share my stories but
I do ask that you keep my name and contact
information with my work.