When I was an 18-year-old, closeted Private in the United States Army, after dealing with seemingly endless torment from superiors and coworkers that was both homophobic and racist, I waited until all my roommates weren't home, took a bottle of vodka and pills into the restroom and closed the door behind me. I didn't expect to come out alive. I wanted to kill myself, because I felt isolated, alone and shunned by my coworkers as well as by my conservative Christian mother. For me, suicide was both an escape from my problems and a solution to them. Thankfully, I have an older sister who was there for me when I needed her, and her calming voice on the other end of the phone line stopped me from making a serious mistake.
I have traveled all across the country speaking about my own experiences with suicide, coming out and "don't ask, don't tell," and there is not a single place I visit where someone doesn't share with me his or her own story about a friend or family member who has been touched by these issues. Sometimes they just want a hug, and I can feel their bodies quake with the sobs as they remember their friends or loved ones who have been lost forever.
