Summary
This is a story about my life. It is a life that starts out as an ordinary kid, later successful at school, but then turns into a very troubled childhood. I am struggling with mental illness until a miracle drug transforms my life. It is with this drug that I graduate and start out a successful career that takes me worldwide. The career later ends with me getting sick again. However, it is not over and there is promising hope that the best may still lie ahead.
Snippet from the future
I am working in Texas, at a microchip design and manufacturer company that employs over 30,000 people worldwide. I have been notified that my engineering employment is ending for months now. The team that I am in is being dissolved. Months before my employment is ending, my upper manager, who is based in Germany, calls me and tells me that he needs help with a project and asks if I would be able to fly there for a month. A month is the most he can give before he must file a lot of paperwork. I think about this as the call is ongoing. My employment is ending and I still haven’t found work. Maybe this opportunity will help me find some employment in this company. I accept his invitation.
I have been to Germany with this company about a half dozen times. Our company has an office location there with a large team of office and factory workers. They are nice people, and a little different than the workers in the Dallas, Texas worldwide headquarters that I am based in.
I am in the third week into this assignment and the work is going smoothly. A secretary has been talking to me and asked me a couple times if I had done any sightseeing around the area. Outside of work, I have been spending the time mostly in my hotel room. I promise her that I would visit a museum in Munich, which is close to where we are, this weekend. There would be no further weekend available, as after this one I am flying out.
Friday evening, I start to do some research into how I am going to make the over 20-mile trip to the neighboring city. I plan on walking to the local train station and taking a train to Munich. I am hoping to find the times the trains are going and the money that I need to have.
In Munich I plan on taking a bus to the museum. I need more research on which Museum I should visit.
As I continue to work on preparing for tomorrow’s trip in the hotel, I hear a voice. It sounds like the tone of a young boy, coming from mid-air. “You are going to be banned” he says. I think about this. I ask him “For what?” “For what you are planning on right now” he responds.
Early Years in Ukraine
I was born in Ukraine in 1981. My family was not poor, but not rich either. I am the middle child with two brothers. I remember those early days spent with my parents and brothers.
Couple of close calls and these would not be the last, happened in those early years. First occurred in a hospital. The doctor gave me an overdose of penicillin. He did this, of course, unintentionally. I was put back in the child ward. A man who happened to be passing by saw a child who had turned blue. He quickly alerted the nurses, and I somehow was resuscitated.
The second one I remember. Must have been about 4 years old and was sitting on my bed and had a newspaper with me. I had matches and lit the newspaper on fire, playfully. I figured that I could put the fire out. Well, I was failing. Very fortunately, my mother happened to be working outside, and happened to look through the window and see the fire that was starting. She quickly ran inside and put it out. She didn’t think much of it, but as I think back on that moment, she was a lifesaver.
Some of my better memories in Ukraine are time spent with my grandfather. He worked hard jobs but had a nice, loving, caring personality. I would steal his bicycle and take it for trips around the village. Later as we were preparing to move to America, us brothers were sitting on a bed with him and we would ask him to tell us stories. He told us the Little Red Riding Hood story. He turned on his radio and tuned in a channel. The language sounded unintelligible. He said, “This is English and soon you will be speaking like that”. “No, we won’t” one of us replied. Those days were the last times we would be with him personally. After we had been some years in America, he and his wife would pass away. Before that time, we would write letters to each other.
1990: Arrival to America
We arrived in America in 1990 to Rochester, NY. We moved in with a sponsor and I started second grade. I don’t remember studying English. I just picked it up. Soon we would rent our own apartment. In fifth grade I was in the advanced section of the class. The elementary years were pleasant and fun.
In middle school I would encounter my first bully. He was black, in special education and must have needed more of a teacher’s attention. The problem was that he was quick to be aggressive. One time as the gym was ending, I was taking my time and happened to be the last one there in the locker room – with him. He approached me and started making fighting moves. He eventually punched me. I was not the fighter back in those days, and just stood there. I was scared and started crying. His demeanor changed. He seemed like he couldn’t believe that I was crying. So, he walked away.
His bullying, however, was not over. It seemed like he was getting pleasure being aggressive and getting into fights. Most of the problem was that he was on my school bus. One time, I just could not take it and left the bus at school and walked home. Another time, me and my brother got into a big fight with him on the school bus. I believe that he got suspended for that.
The pressure was building and I wonder why I was not more communicative to others around me. As I recall I said nothing to anyone. This would prove to be a character that I would have as I got older, keeping my problems to myself and not talking about them. Communication, more communication was needed, I would hear it from my father later as much more worse problems would happen, and later my feedback in the workplace. I have been known throughout my life as a quiet person. In general, this has been true.
With the bully, just as it seemed I could not take much more of the pressure, our landlord raised the rent and my parents moved to another place. We were no longer on the same bus.
New Apartment
At this new apartment some of my more fun years would pass by but later there was the beginning of troubles. We loved bicycles and would ride them everywhere. To garage sales, to stores, to parks. Basically, all around the city. We would play football with the neighborhood kids on the open field.
I applied and got a job as an afternoon edition paper delivery boy. It was a good source of income. I would periodically knock-on doors to get extra subscribers. I would also start lawn mowing around the neighborhood and again this would involve more knocks on doors. This was not a problem and people were more friendly in those 90’s days.
I remember that I decided to get a new lawn mower one day. The one I had (I believe that I found discarded) was not good enough for me. So, I walked almost two hours to get to the store and then again back, but this time in the rain, with the brand-new lawnmower.
These were the healthy years of my life. The good years. Later would come the days of what I now call “tribulation” days. Multiple serious suicide attempts. One time as I lay sick in bed, I tried to figure out where did I go wrong. What decision that I could have changed that would have kept the good days going.
There were two events in my life, that I determined, that were bad turns. The most important one was a self-hurting sexual addiction that I developed. No, it was not girlfriends. I never had any. It was masturbation. Every time I would feel guilty, but I would not be able to stop the next time from happening. It would continue through the years, and I believe led to the mental illness and the troubles that would follow.
The other turn was not so obvious. But my father later said the troubles started after meeting this group of people.
High School
I believe this happened in 9th or 10th grade in high school, so I decided to buy myself a radio. I had some money and went into a store where an old man was selling a used Panasonic radio. After some haggling, I walked out with it.
I would listen to it periodically. Generally don’t care about the advertisements but this time I heard an advertisement and decided to attend a presentation at the local community college. I visited the presentation. He was a traveling preacher for the Seventh-day Adventist church. He did not identify as such in the beginning. I must have gone through at least 7 or more presentations, riding on a bike to get there and listening to the slide show for an hour or two that had about a hundred people. Eventually it led into a local church.
The major takeaway from their teaching is that they believe that Saturday is the holy day of rest. They believe in the Bible but consider Ellen G. White as a prophet. I would read her books and started to really believe their teachings. My memory is sparse here, but I remember them picking up me and taking me to their church. My parents were not supportive of this. But I still managed to “escape”.
One day as I was reading Ellen’s book, I became sick. I started to hyperventilate. My father came home and found me in distress. He eventually called the ambulance and they took me away. I stayed in the hospital for a few hours and was let go. This was the first hospitalization that I would have and be one of many later.
I remember going through very painful days. Wondering why I couldn’t be happy like my brothers.
First Employment
Due to my good grades, I was able to find work through my high school. It was at a local government office. I sold them on my good computer skills, which I had.
I enjoyed working on the computer. With my own money I bought a compiler at a local computer store, which is a computer program where you write in human readable language and the compiler translates into what a computer can understand. I wrote many programs. For example, one where I would put into it a writing of some sort and it would create a dictionary. Others for finding words in puzzles. I had a grand program in mind that would manage my money, but I was never able to complete it.
I got the job at the small government research office. They showed me what to do. They were very nice people. As they left me to do my duties in front of the computer, I quickly realized that something was wrong. I was not able to concentrate on the task. I had trouble remembering what I was told. The frustration built-up. Why was I not able to perform a simple task? I was not feeling well.
First Suicide Attempt
A thought occurred to me commit suicide during those few short days. The work was not the problem. It involved simple repetitive tasks. I remember taking an entire bottle of sleeping pills. I got on the bike and started driving to the pharmacy. Bought another bottle there. I don’t think I took those. The plan was to drive to the park. I must have not wanted my parents to discover me unwell at home.
I remember driving in a haze on the bicycle. Then only and last memory of me stumbling around the park like a drunk man. Then waking up in a hospital.
That day, a man happened to be wandering the park and went out of his usual way and saw somebody lying deep in the bushes. It was fortunate for me that I was noticed, because it seems as if I was not obviously visible.
I spent two weeks in a coma. During this time, the Seventh-day Adventist person who I befriended and was taking me to his church visited me. I don’t know how he knew that I was in the hospital. The most likely way was that maybe I made it into the newspaper and he found it out from there. My father was there when he visited and was upset at him. I didn’t see him there, I was still in the coma. After that hospitalization I lost interest in that group and never saw them again.
I am not blaming them for this event. Likely it may have been a coincidence of events. Or they just were a trigger to this, that was going to happen one way or the other eventually. As I look back at the time I spent with them, I don’t see anything that was necessarily harmful. They were good people.
One thing that I have not mentioned is that I was a very religious person early in my life and continued throughout. As I recall, the main thing in my thoughts was to be saved and go to heaven. As I was going through “tribulation”, the emotional pains, I was trying to find salvation in the teachings of Jesus.
I would like to give an example of how my thoughts were in those days. Here is a verse that I was thinking on that was not helpful. I misunderstood it.
Mat 16:25 For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.
I desperately wanted to save my life. But as I understood this verse, it was a paradox. I had to lose my life to save it? But that is the best of what I was able to make of this verse. Decades later I realized that Jesus was saying that if his disciples did not compromise his teaching and were martyred as a result, they would be saved. But again, I never talked with anyone to understand this verse. I kept the troubles to myself.
Remember one time when I was going through a painful afternoon, and I was spending time in the dark basement of our house, I called a school Bible study friend to pray for me. I didn’t say why and hung up. This was rare for me. As that season in my life started to happen, I stopped going to the Bible study club.
I woke up in the hospital. I see my father beside my bed and he is crying. “You are jumping up from your bed. You are saying you are on a spaceship to heaven.” I didn’t remember myself saying that. He went on to say, “There is a reason that God saved you”. That would not be the last time. And yes, God was trying to save me. Only recently I believe that I understood the reason.
As I lay there in the bed, a doctor came by and talked with me. He asked me if I wanted to go to their child psychiatric ward. To this day, I am surprised he gave me an option. I thought about this and said yes.
At the child psychiatric ward, the psychiatrist put me through various tests. Some multiple choice answers. Others were looking at a drawing and telling the nurse what I saw in it. At the end he told me that the tests revealed what he thought. He said that people have an id, ego and a superego. I had an overly large ego. I didn’t answer him, but my thought to that statement was “Oh, he is weak for wanting a lesser ego”. That was my ego response!
While I do struggle with pride and an ego, I don’t think that was what was causing the problems. He asked me if I was hearing voices. I had, in fact, a day earlier as I was spending time with my mother, I very faintly, but in high-fidelity, was hearing people screaming. I asked her if she heard it. She did not. I told him about this.
Other than this, I thought I was doing well. The doctor prescribed an antipsychotic drug called Risperidone. It is used to treat schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.
I was kept in the hospital longer than I wanted. The doctor kept me there and I was getting frustrated. Eventually I was discharged.
Back at home, I started to see a psychiatrist. Somehow, the psychiatrist allowed me to stop taking this new drug. I am not too sure of the details. I didn’t care for it and wanted this. However, and maybe because of this or maybe not, as I don’t really recall well this time, I started to feel bad. I felt like my spirit was being torn from me. Was feeling much worse.
I remember a scene, where I was sitting with my dad outside on our porch. He must have noticed me getting sick. He was crying, asking me what was wrong. “Do you really want to go to the hospital again” he asked me. I did not answer. I don’t think I said much then. But as I thought about that question, the hospital looked like a good place to be.
Second Suicide Attempt
My thoughts became increasingly focused on suicide. It must have not been longer than three months when this morning came. My father and mother left the house and I was left with my younger brother. I left the house and started walking down the street. In the distance I could hear the screeching brakes of garbage trucks as they were making their morning garbage collection. As I was walking down the street, I heard a voice (this was unusual for this time) asking me, “Do you know what this will do to your parents?” I didn’t care. I crossed a street and walked into another neighborhood. I spotted a garbage truck and a man that was collecting garbage bins. He was working the truck alone.
I approached from the opposite side. He saw me, didn’t care much, emptied the bin and started to go behind the truck to start driving it to the next stop.
This was a serious suicide attempt. I have trouble putting the next events into words. As the few seconds elapsed, I was outside his field of view, I knew this was the moment that I was waiting for. As I contemplated the event, I heard another voice or just a thought saying, “Just do it”. Before he was able to start the truck moving, I quickly ran across the street and laid down in front of the rear wheel. I was near the center of the street. He walked to his truck on the sidewalk side.
Couple of details. The truck, fortunately, had only one rear axle. These days, I mostly see garbage trucks with two rear axles. Maybe this means it was lighter. However, it looked like a normal size garbage truck to me.
While I did this mindlessly, I positioned myself such that the wheel would drive over my upper body, my head was not in its path. I was not trying to be safe, this seemed like the way to go.
I don’t remember exactly what grade that I was in when I attempted this suicide. It was probably ninth or tenth grade. I was not overweight; I was really thin back then. I mention this to say that this was working in my favor. A smaller body has a better advantage in this scenario because the truck does not need to be lifted a lot.
As I lay there, the man did not seem to have noticed. He must have been going through his normal routine.
The truck starts to move. It slowly starts to drive over me. I feel the intense weight on my body. I also feel a feeling of doom that I have never felt before. It drives over me and I am still alive and conscious.
The feeling of doom (likely what people feel when they have a heart attack) was due to the severe compression of my heart.
How did I survive? There is only one explanation. I happened to place my hip just in the way of the tire. The hip took the weight of the truck, protecting my upper body.
Somehow the driver now realizes that there was an accident. Very fortunate that he continued to drive until he was clear of, for obvious reasons. He stops and runs out of his truck on the sidewalk side.
“What did you do! What did you do?” he is yelling as he is running around the truck to me. He comes around and sees me. I don’t like the situation and decide to get up and run back home. I get up on my feet but can’t stay up and fall. He looks at me in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything.
Another garbage truck driver that was waiting for the light at the end of the street facing us, probably seen what happened, has arrived on the scene.
I lay there on the street. An ambulance arrives. My left forearm is bloody. The tire must have clipped a piece of it, taking some skin with it. The paramedic cuts off the shirt and starts treating the wound.
They take me to the hospital. As about four personnel start to work on me in a room, they are making up a theory that I had a seizure and fell under the truck. I feel guilty and speak up. “No, it was a suicide attempt”. The room grows quiet and everybody leaves except a physician. He asks me questions and we talk about the last hospitalization and the medication that was stopped.
After many tests and x-rays, they find that I have a broken wrist, bruised heart, and a fractured hip. I am put in a psychiatric ward. Rochester, at the time, had about four hospitals with psychiatric wards. I have been to most of them, some multiple times. This hospital was not that busy and would later close. I was the only one on the psychiatric ward. This was not fun. Nobody else would join me there throughout my stay.
They did not keep me long. I don’t remember if I was left on any medications, but if I was, I was not supportive of them at the time. I would spend the rest of my high-school days off them.
They did not keep me long. I don’t remember if I was left on any medications, but if I was, I was not supportive of them at the time so I would spend the rest of my high-school days off them.
I was struggling in high school; my grades were mixed. Remember a French teacher’s feedback was that “Putting in the effort but finding the subject matter difficult.”
Didn’t resort to dramatic suicide attempts as I mentioned here ever again. Graduated high school, but I was not feeling well at the time. Remember not paying attention and missing the graduation rehearsal. Drove my bicycle to the place, not in time and it was empty. For some reason I was angry at the principal. I was not stable, and I missed the graduation ceremony.