Special to the Waterbury Times

In 2003, I jumped out of a moving car on the highway, fully believing it would be my final act. At that moment, I was sure I was ending the pain — cutting the cord on years of emotional weight, invisible wounds, and the feeling that I simply couldn’t carry it anymore.

But life had other plans.

I was riding with a friend on a highway I can barely remember now. What I do remember is the sound of the door opening, the rush of wind, and the numbness in my body as I threw myself into traffic. I slid across three lanes — a blur of pavement, noise, and sheer disbelief — and somehow came to a stop on the far-left side of the highway.

Not a single car hit me.

I escaped with road rash and a fractured sense of reality, but I was alive. Against all logic and odds, I had survived.

I used to believe that suicide was about control — that if I could end my life, I could reclaim something I had lost. But lying in that hospital bed, bandaged and raw, I realized something terrifying and beautiful: even death is out of our control.

That day didn’t give me all the answers. Recovery didn’t happen overnight. But it did shift something deep inside me. I began to understand that my survival wasn’t just an accident — it was a second chance.

For anyone reading this who feels like they’re at the edge, I want you to know: I’ve been there. I know the quiet desperation. The feeling that no one sees you. The exhaustion that weighs heavier than words.

But I also know that feelings pass. Life changes. And sometimes, the darkest moments become the pivot points that give us a whole new direction.

In the years since, I’ve met people who carry pain in different ways. Some hide it behind smiles. Others numb it through substances, silence, or self-isolation. But one truth remains constant: you are not alone, even if your mind tries to convince you otherwise.

We often talk about mental health in clinical terms — depression, trauma, anxiety — but we forget the human element: the quiet resilience of getting up each day. The courage it takes to reach out. The strength in choosing to stay.

To the community of Waterbury and beyond: Let’s keep talking. Let’s check in on our friends, our quiet neighbors, our strong coworkers. Let’s be unafraid to ask the hard questions and hold space for the messy answers.

Because sometimes, all it takes is one person saying, “I’m glad you’re here,” to change everything.

I know, because someone said that to me — and I listened.

If you or someone you love is struggling, call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988. Help is free, confidential, and available 24/7.

Your story isn’t over yet.