This is a personal letter from Two Feet explaining what happened on July 31st. Please read it, and accept the invitation at the end of this post. Suicide Stops Here.
This is what happened.
TWO FEET·FRIDAY, AUGUST 31, 2018
On July 31st I tried to kill myself. After coming home from dinner, I swallowed what remained of my clonazepam prescription, drank half a bottle of Jack Daniels, cut my writs, got in a bathtub filled with water, and passed out. It’s a miracle I’m alive. And I’m thankful for it.
It’s still not exactly clear to me why I did this. Like any human action the reasons for doing something are not always easy or possible to identify. At least not real reasons. I’ve been told that sociologic studies have shown that some people who commit suicide may not even be aware of their own motivations. And that’s because it is emotions not rational thought driving the desire to die. I don’t know if I’ll ever know exactly why I did what I did.
I do know that as an artist I always set the highest standards for myself, but like everyone I questioned my work and what I was doing, and was self-critical. If I were operating normally I would have accepted my analysis of work and used it to improve. But I came to question whether I was fulfilling my own expectations. My fans seemed happy and encouraging, but I felt unsure about what I was producing. My lack of certainty began to torment me. I didn’t want to let anyone down. Didn’t want to fall short of the standards I’d set for myself. I do know that this led me to become increasingly self-critical. Which in turn led me to reject my own creativity and the music I was writing. Without being able to accept my own work, I felt inadequate and worthless. Which nobody wants to feel.
On top of this, during the preceding months, I came to feel increasingly overwhelmed and trapped. People were demanding things from every aspect of my life, both professionally and personally. I had increasing obligations that had to be met. I had previously been diagnosed with schizophrenia (which turned out to be the wrong diagnosis) and had been taking a medication known as antipsychotic for this condition. But it wasn’t helping. Almost every day I felt more and more anxious about not being able to fulfill what was being demanded of me. Especially because much of what was expected from me didn’t meet my own standards. The inability to deliver this led me to feel incredibly guilty. And anybody who has experienced feeling terribly guilty knows it is a painful, horrible feeling. Since the medication wasn’t working I turned to alcohol and other drugs to kill the pain.
I remember thinking sometime this past May that I wanted to stop taking my antipsychotic but by that time I felt so isolated I didn’t know how to express my feelings to anyone, so I stopped on my own accord. I substituted medicine with illicit drugs and alcohol. My touring schedule was hectic and I hated it. I would frequently be accosted by fans while walking around festival grounds and as my social media presence grew so did my anxiety. I felt unworthy of the attention. I never felt comfortable. I was making money now, and everyone said I should be happy, but it didn’t matter to me because I hadn’t started playing and writing and producing music to make money, but because it was what I wanted to do. It was the only thing I felt I could do. And yet I wasn’t happy. At this point I was totally lost.
I started thinking of suicide as early as June as my mental state started to collapse. Even though my song “I Feel Like I’m Drowning” was headed for number one on Billboard Alternative and I played on Colbert, I was in a downward spiral. I canceled festival performances (like Electric Forest) and radio shows and tried to relax. But I couldn’t. My life seemed to be flying wildly out of my control. It got to the point where I would drink all day and wake up feeling nauseous and sick. But at the same time, I had to drink and take pills to function at all. I had to kill the pain. This all culminated somehow with the idea that in order to kill the pain once and for all I had to kill myself. Which I attempted to do…
In the hospital I was diagnosed with “bi-polar disorder.” A distinctly different diagnosis from schizophrenia. I was prescribed a new drug. After about a week of medication and therapy I began to feel better and was subsequently released. I’m now in therapy.
Mental illnesses are strange phenomenon. Unlike diabetes or cancers where one can isolate and identify the cause of the problem, there are no definitive markers other than the person’s behavior. And even a person’s behavior can be difficult to decode by professional therapists, friends, or loved ones. Many people think that committing suicide is only something that people do when everything is going badly, not when everything is going well. But that’s a misperception. Think of how many people we have recently lost whose lives, judged from the outside, seemed to be great successes. People don’t realize that while your record is number one on alternative radio, your life may be one of pain and depression. The warning signs of depression—excessive drinking and use of illicit drugs—as I’ve learned, can be ignored by yourself and those around you. And the more you try to cover up your “self-treatment plan” the more isolated and dangerous you become to yourself. Especially when rather than reaching out for help you continue to hide your pain out pride or shame. I’m lucky to still be here.
I’m still inspired to continue doing what I love. That doesn’t mean I’m “cured” it just means I’ve come to some understanding of what led to me to do the “unthinkable.” I now have a new medication plan and a therapy goal that I’m working towards. I’m also working, at the same time, to better evaluate my feelings and the demands put upon me. The narrative of the story I pursued on my own ended badly. And I don’t want my story to end just yet. I have a renewed sense of energy and purpose. I want to continue to make great music.
Regardless of the progress we’ve made in openly discussing mental health issues there is still a stigma attached to them. I was embarrassed to reach out, and tried to “treat” myself through drugs and alcohol. My recent experience has showed me this doesn’t work. If you ever find yourself in a position where life seems to be closing in, like I did, don’t hesitate to call out to others, seek help. No matter what. It may save your life.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number
1-800-273-8255
It is for people like Bill Dess aka Two Feet, and Chris Cornell, and Chester Bennington, and Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, and my friend Red and millions of others why I am so passionate about spreading awareness, sharing education and resources about suicide prevention and I am asking you to join me and Team 101WKQX in the Out Of The Darkness Chicagoland Walk in Grant Park on September 22nd. Text JOIN to 312101 to walk with us, and text DONATE to 312101 to make a 100% tax deductible donation to support the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.
