There was a day – not long before I finished this book and sent it bumping towards the production pipeline – that I was feeling really quite good, at peace. And it was when I was going to end my life. If I had, obviously, there’d be no book in your hands now, or at least a very different one, cobbled together by a co-writer, a colleague, a friend.

            What, you might wonder, makes someone want to end their life? When there’s the feeling of “enough is enough.” But not just in a vague, everyday kind of way. It was as if I was drowning, and could barely move my feet. I’d also seen and done things in my life – as a firefighter and first responder – no one should have to see. And I’ve had some terrifying and flat-line-depressing experiences. Over and over. I’ve also been a counsellor, helping others with major issues like depression, PTSD and addictions abuse. I know they have depended on me at times, and it has meant the world to me to help people, as I’ve always been moved to do. But now their “rescuer” has had it.

            So...heading out to end my life. As the details at the end of this book show, I took steps to prepare myself...for what? Useful items to take with me in case I didn’t do “the deed,” and found all I needed was some little refuge away from home. That’s the way suicide thoughts sometimes go, back and forth, up and down.

            And sometimes when you decide to end it all – personally I can speak only for myself – you get this really good feeling. Anyone seeing me toss my backpack into my brand new 2021 Toyota Corolla Hybrid might have thought I was going off on some pleasure jaunt. I’m sure I was even smiling. Now, just think about this. It could be that some of those people – young men, women, all folks – who look peacefully happy while they pack up their car with personal belongings, might be going off to meet death.

            And I’d had this car for only a few weeks. A waste, you might think? Not necessarily, if I could manage to do “it” in a way that didn’t mar the car, even if it made a mess of me.    Anyway...I found myself driving along, singing one of George Michael’s ballads about being loved. Loooooved. And then I had a crash...and hit something. But this wasn’t the way I’d planned it. And it shook me up so much, even for just a minute or two, that I felt, I swear, some of the proverbial life flash before my eyes. The life I’d meant to end. The life I’d lived for forty-odd years. The life that was taken over, now and then, by a monster, two monsters. Depression and PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder).

            Maybe you suffer from this yourself, maybe you know someone who does, maybe you know nothing but are willing to find out...and maybe you’re a professional who would welcome a full-fledged account from one guy pumped full of medications, therapists and (mis)diagnoses.

            Join me for this ride. It may help you see why I’d decided to take that “final ride” – the one that didn’t quite work out as I’d planned. And that, I figure, is for a reason. Because my time here is not done yet.

            I’ve got too much to do. Maybe because of all my blogging, podcasts, counselling, posting – and now this book and I hope others – I’ve been called an Influencer. 

            Proper job description or not, I’ll take it. The process of getting there was a long one, and it’s ongoing. And I hope it has meaning for your own journey. We are on that journey together.

“No matter how dark our days are, fighting for your life means that you search for any sliver of light, any sign to keep going on your own road to mental wellness.”

• Jonathan Arenburg.