🌫️ The Tunnel

This is hard to name, so I am naming it softly. In my memory I revisit a time when I felt myself slide into a kind of tunnel vision— a narrowing of sight and choice. I sensed other presences there, too—spirits, observers— but at the time I barely noticed them. My body seemed to be crossing a line that the mind could no longer command.

Then, strangely, all the pain and worry vanished. Everything turned soft and fuzzy. I felt good—still aware of what was wrong, but numbed to it. My thinking sharpened in a frightening way: perfect recall, perfect focus, the ability to map outcomes with crisp clarity. A great calm arrived, like the low hum of something unavoidable drawing near. I told myself, It’s over for me. And I believed it.

Part of me stayed to watch, as if I’d left eyes behind to witness. I wondered: if another person were here, what would I recommend to them? I searched for an answer and found only silence.

In that state, when the time comes, you can be strapped and chained to your seat by fear, and still the calm will untie you. It feels like choice, but it’s not. It’s a current, and it carries you.

🪄 The Card I Couldn’t See

Things happened quickly. Part of me tried to “help” by ending the pain. Part of me tried to pull me back. It was as if I carried a magic card in a pocket I couldn’t find—something that could save me but stayed invisible until too late.

Then—like a thunderclap—fear and feelings returned. Control snapped back into my hands. Not everyone around me was so lucky. Some spirits came looking for help, and I had no answer. The next day, one of those spirits lost their body, their dreams, their friends—never to return. The observers I keep in my heart asked me to tell this story for the ones who can’t.

🧭 What That State Really Is (As I Lived It)

When I say “suicide is not a choice”, I don’t mean people lack responsibility or dignity. I mean that, in certain states, the capacity to choose is hijacked. The mind narrows, the body’s alarms tilt the world, and an uncontrollable impulse takes the wheel.

• It feels calm and peaceful. But not peaceful—calm like the eye of a storm. That calm can be a danger sign.
• It feels “clear.” Options appear mapped out, but the map is false. It leaves out tomorrow.
• It feels inevitable. Like a something approaching. That sensation is a symptom, not truth.

Note: In that state, thoughts about alcohol came to me—it can suppress the brain’s control centers. In those moments, your grip on choice can shrink to almost nothing. My conviction is simple: never touch alcohol. Ever. Even if someone who doesn’t wish you well offers it. 

🤝 If It’s Not “Choice,” What Helps—Right Now?

Something immediate helps. It has to be embodied—grounding in the physical world while support arrives. When a wave like this rises, it can feel perfectly calm and perfectly “rational,” and it can override tricks or barriers.

• Stay in-person and don’t go it alone. If you can, keep someone with you, or go to someone. If someone is with you and you’re worried for safety, call your local emergency number. Do not leave a person alone if you believe they’re in imminent danger.
• Presence over restraint. The surge can make self‑restraints useless; relying on them can be unsafe. Focus on steady presence, simple conversation, and removing immediate dangers while professionals are contacted. Avoid physical restraint unless guided by emergency professionals.
• Ground the body. Cool air, water, fresh air by an open window, slower breathing you can mirror together, feet on the floor, a hand to hold.
• Keep the world simple. Lower lights and noise, put a glass of water in hand, stay close. Minimize access to substances and obvious hazards.

Let’s be perfectly clear: when you feel it coming, white‑knuckling alone or relying on tricks (like tying yourself up) won’t reliably protect you; the mind can find a way around barriers. Connection and rapid support are safer than isolation.

This section shares a personal perspective on first steps and is not a substitute for professional advice.

💛 For the Ones We Miss

Some we couldn’t reach in time—I was still too young and too weak to do anything. Chester—you're always in our hearts. We hear you. May your memory become a lantern that keeps others here.

🫶 If You’re in the Tunnel Right Now

Write and seek help from others—just write and write. Send a message that says, “I don’t feel safe with myself.” Ask someone to stay with you. Keep reaching out; many small tries can add up to one answered call.

Also try to understand what’s causing it. My cause was heat. My body was overheating and didn’t know. A last‑moment bolt of clarity arrived: I poured water over my skin, turned on every fan I could, and lay down on shaded ground to cool. If you suspect heat illness, move to a cooler place, sip water if you can, and seek medical help immediately.

Other drivers can be systemic and large—economic stress, isolation, collective harms. We need to learn to identify patterns and prepare knowledge we can use when needed.

🏛️ Long‑Term, Country‑Wide Adjustments

If this state can hijack choice, then prevention must be built into culture, policy, and public space:

• Substance‑risk literacy. Honest education about how alcohol and drugs affect impulse control; absolute alcohol‑free world.
• Extended support windows. Crisis response that stays with a person for days or weeks—not hours—so the current can slow.
• Practical care first. Food, water, sleep, and safe shelter prioritized alongside therapy and spiritual care.
• Community skills. Basic training for families, teachers, and employers on how to sit with someone in crisis and connect to help.
• Gentle tech. Reduce predatory designs that amplify despair; promote tools that nudge us toward connection, not isolation.

📜 What I Learned

• In certain crisis states, person can be hijacked. That does not make you weak—it makes you human.
• The body and mind can trick us with a false clarity. Don’t negotiate with it alone.
• Immediate support should be embodied and present; long‑term support must be patient and practical.
• Some triggers are environmental (like heat). Others are social and systemic. All deserve care.

🕊️ A Gentle Closing

My experience was unplanned. Heat, exhaustion, overwhelm—the body can misread the moment and rush to protect us in ways that endanger us. I survived. Many don’t. Too often, those who return with stories are ignored, and the knowledge doesn’t spread.

So here it is: When it happens, it is not a choice. It is a current. And currents can be redirected—with time, touch, practical support, and a community that refuses to let go. May we build these adjustments everywhere, for everyone.