The following stories have been kindly donated to us by the individual. They have been added for inspiration to others who might be suffering.

(More coming soon!)

My Story - By Rose Savage.

My name is Rose and I am 50 years old. I live in Portland Oregon. As a teenager and young adult growing up in Chicago, I suffered from clinical depression and had an alcohol and drug problem that lasted well into my 30's.

I attempted suicide on more than one occasion. It is just by the grace of god and my son's father that I am here. The last time, I took 19 Phenobarbital that I was prescribed to control seizures and downed them with a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was in the ICU of a hospital when I woke up. My son's dad called the Ambulance and administered CPR on me. After I was ok, I was admitted to the psych ward and went into rehab for both alcohol and cocaine abuse. I went to counseling and signed a "No Harm" contract with my doctor.

That was 17 years ago. I ended up joining a suicide grief support group because a lovely young lady who was the love of my now 19-year-old son's life killed herself. She was into the drug culture but had cleaned up along with my son shortly before she killed herself in December 2006. I know because of my own experience that there were underlying factors. But we are survivors both of the attempt and out loved ones suicide.

If anybody feels like they want to give up, get help please. Suicide is so final and costs so much to those left behind emotionally. It is the ultimate way of dealing with the pain that some people deal with, but there are other ways. Counseling, rehab, therapy… All of these do work.

Here are some facts about suicide. It is the third leading cause of death among young people aged 15-25 in the United States and Oregon ranks tenth in the nation among death by suicide. I am asking anyone who reads this, don't be another statistic, be a survivor. Find a group that deals with depression or other mental illnesses. Knowledge is the key to surviving and getting help and with knowledge and education; we can prevent this pandemic that is called suicide.

Inspirational Stories shared by those who suffer -

Annie’s Story

I was 17 when I first started using drugs, just weed, used to hang out with my friends after school and we’d get high for something to do. It seemed harmless. I came from a good background, loving parents, two siblings, lived in a nicer part of town. After I graduated I moved to California and met some new friends who smoked weed. Same thing, seemed harmless. Some of my new friends were taking other drugs though and drinking a lot. It wasn’t long before I started drinking a lot too. Vodka was my choice of drink, sometimes I would mix it others just drink it straight. After a while I became dependent on the weed, and not long after that the alcohol. Morning noon and night I smoked, couldn’t wait to get home and light up the joints I had already prepared. Next thing I’d be attacking the vodka.

Then one night I went out with my pothead friends and was offered cocaine, I was told it was different kind of high, so I did a line, fifteen minutes later I did another line. The next night another, and still wanted more. It can only take one time to want more! That following weekend I bought a ¼ of a gram which gradually progressed to a gram and a ½, I then realized I had become addicted to cocaine, along with the weed and alcohol. I would wake up in the morning put on a pot of coffee then draw out two lines of coke. Throughout the day I would snort it every hour, tweek all day, then smoke weed and drink my vodka at night to bring me down.

After a while it made me paranoid, I was on high alert much of the time, and became severely depressed. But I needed it, craved it, and like my crack head friends I had to find a way to get more money to buy the drug, it wasn’t cheap, but I needed it more than I felt I needed air. Fortunately I had a good job that paid well so I worked more hours to cover my addiction. I didn’t care about anything other than having enough money to buy my fix.

The people I knew who were not in my financial position resorted to stealing, I remember my friends boyfriend breaking into a car to steal the CD player. Now I was hanging with people who were stealing from others, breaking the law. I never done that, but I was breaking the law by snorting cocaine. I didn’t care though, like I said I needed it more than air. I was addicted. I was on cocaine for fifteen years, and for an eight month period I was buying and snorting an 8-ball every day, that’s 3.5 grams, which is an insane amount, enough to OD. I hated it. I used to go to bed every night praying that when I wake up I wont crave it anymore. Every night I did this yet would wake the following morning drawing out my lines.

Over time my nasal septum collapsed from all the snorting and I had to have my nose operated on. So I have a hole in my nose now, as well as heart problems, but I am lucky I didn’t die. It controls and ruins your life! For many years I was numb to everything and everyone around me. I wasn’t living I was existing for my fix.

My depression worsened to the extent that I tried to kill myself. I landed up in the psych hospital and this was the very beginning of a long road to recovery. I fell off the wagon a few times. I went into rehab for 28 days, then a sober living home for 2 months. I’d stay clean for a week but because I was sharing a house with a friend who was still using I would scope it out. I was attending NA and AA meetings and still snorting. I was a fake. I lied to my friends, my family, and friends at the AA meetings who were congratulating me for being clean. It had to stop. I was dying inside and if I’d of not stopped I would surely be dead today.

So I tried another sober-living home, this time I stayed for four months and started living my life according to the twelve step program. I just celebrated five years of being completely sober. Sober from cocaine, sober from weed, and sober from alcohol. I feel as though I had lost many years of my life due to my addiction. I am now happy, I can function, and I live for me not my fix.

Everyone is who they are - By Kathy.

I wanted to do this story because I know and you all know there are many of you who put your selves down. You know what though. Many of us children like me I am 15 have illnesses and diseases. We of course suffer but try to pull through. As many people don't know though is that there is a way through life we can talk it out we have friends and family. But most of all do you know who we have all the time? God and Jesus. They are always there for us to pray to. We have each other going on hand and hand. So please those of you who next time feel like you need to put your self down take a few minutes to stop and think of how lucky you are to be here on Earth with your mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, brothers, sisters, and friends. Thanks for listening remember disabilities or not we are all equal in each and every way possible from children to adults. BEST WISHES TO ALL OF YOU AND IN THE WORLD GOD BLESS.

My Story of Depression - By Steve.

In 2005 my life became so overwhelming that I tried to kill myself.

I had just turned 50 and was having problems in my marriage. I had quit my job, my finances were a mess and I was ostracized from my family. My life had become extremely stressful and all of these issues became a “perfect storm”. My inability to cope with what was going on in my life led me to believe that I had only one way to solve my problems.

I had isolated myself and refused to share my true feelings and thoughts of suicide with my wife, family and friends. Those close to me knew something was wrong, that I was depressed, but they had no idea of the pain and anguish I was going through, nor the lengths I would go to stop the pain.

I was so depressed and even checked into St. John’s twice, but that was not enough. The depression and darkness were too much. I felt that taking my own life was the only solution. I developed a plan and about a week later checked into a hotel and took a lethal dose of Valium.

I survived the overdose through the intervention of a Higher Power. There is no other explanation. I have no doubt anymore that there is a reason and a purpose for our existence.

I do not know the correct title: God, Divine Spirit, or Higher Power. Whatever the term, I am alive because of something much greater than myself.

I was alive, but the problems were still there. I was so fragile, but I turned my life over to a dear friend and he led me back. I went back to the doctor and we changed the medications. I was still depressed and lonely and I was very, very scared. I was not able to live my life day by day; I could only live it minute by minute. But I got better.

I wrestle with depression and anxiety every day. Every morning, when I open my eyes, the darkness is there and it is a constant companion. I am now able to manage it better, but it is with me every moment, almost like a second layer of skin. Instead of trying to fight it, I wrestle with it. If one technique doesn’t work I switch to another.

I am living my life today because of my family, friends and my Higher Power. I am a better husband, brother, friend and person because of what I went through. I still have terrible days. I still get depressed and I still get angry. But I am thankful I am alive.

The story of the Acorn - By David Nowlin.

While standing over Brydan's (my son)grave (which I did almost every day) and getting angry with God, I felt like I could not go on with life. This was the worst that I had ever felt. "Why did my son die? Why did my ex take drugs that killed him? Why was I not told about her going to the hospital so I could see my stillborn son? Why was I not told about the funeral?" (I have since forgiven her for this, I am serious, she is forgiven.) I was wallowing in my own sorrows for over a year after I knew where Brydan was buried. It took 17 months for me to get that, so I was a little beside myself with, don't know what. 17 months to get closure enough to start getting closure.

One day I looked up from his grave and saw a large Live Oak, a statue of Jesus, and a Water Oak. The live oak was on the left, then going up a slope the four foot statue, then the water oak. The trees were about twenty yards away. I started to talk to the live oak as if it was God. I asked that tree many questions about life and "Why".

More than one time with tears in my eyes I asked "What did I do to deserve this, all the suffering I have had in my life, all the fighting of tide. Why are you doing this to me?" The tree did not answer. Stupid tree I'm talking to you, damn it this is serious. The tree still wasn't talking. One day I asked Brydan the same questions. I then knew in my heart that I was to give the unconditional love that I have for my son and give it to other people, EVERYONE! Maybe the tree wanted me to find the answer, an answer that I could not get from others.

With that answer, I knew that I was not going to fight the grieving and hurting that I live with. I was going to live for my son. This was the first step. I finally felt relief. I was not going to keep bringing my knife, not to a gun fight, but to a world war. I knew I was going to be ok. No more fighting the tide. The war to me is what I think others are thinking about me (kinda asinine). I was not going to worry about others and their problems that did not effect me. I was going to be Dave for the first time, not a worrier of others. (That part is important, because if you are reading this you are probably doing that) What other that I did not, and would never know thought of me did not matter. (There I said it again)

Almost overnight I felt better. And one day I noticed that my face felt funny, ands so did I. Then it hit me, the 17 muscles that I never use were working. I WAS SMILING!!! The more I smile the better I felt, the better I felt the more I smiled. (Another important thing to remember) SMILE. Smile like you just passed gas in an elevator and stepped out.

So that is the story of Faith and Love.

Hope is a fickle old woman that will wait for you and listen with much patience. When you think you have asked the unanswerable question, she will tell you in one sentence what you asked, not always what you want to hear.

She told me (water oak) to stop and look down and see the little acorns that I drop. All I ask in my life is for two of these little acorns to grow to be might oaks like I am. One to replace me, and one to pay it forward. I know what hope is, If I can make a difference in one persons life and they pay it forward, then my work here is done. I almost never know if what I have said or typed is paid forward, so I try do help everyone that needs it and to spread the love my son has entrusted to me. Big job.

Lucky for me, there are many, many, many oak trees in the south. One in my back yard about 30 feet high and 60 feet around. I always have my reminders of Faith (oak trees), Hope (acorn I carry with me), and Love (the feeling in my heart for all who are reading this).

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My Life (such as it is) - By Marie Rader.

May I start by stating first that this is just a story of my horrible childhood typed in an attempt to help improve my mental health. You see, I have been carrying such heavy baggage around with me from the age of 4. Not exactly what every 4yr old wants to achieve. When my biological father abandoned my mother, younger sister, and myself at the age of 3 1/2, A very large hole had been left in my heart. Mom moved in with a new boyfriend when I was 4. Things were well for a little while, until one day he chose to follow me into the bathroom. Mom was at the grocery store and he was left to care for sis and I. She had gone down for her nap so he knew that he had a wide opening of free time. Free time for him became play time for himself, torture time for me. This first 'session' he only touched me. He told me, however under no circumstances was I to tell anyone what he and I were doing. That was our time. I was special. I was his favorite. I was going to be taught how to be a perfect little girl. He told me that if I told anyone, then my mother would hate me because I was his favorite and not her. He said that she would want the police to come and make me live my life in jail because she would be too ashamed of me to look at me anymore.

That's a very terrible thing to let any child feel. Could my mother really ever hate me? Well, it seemed to be kinda true when she would question me at times about different things. She seemed to have a different attitude towards me. Now I know that was probably just in my head from what he had told me. That I was imagining it to be true out of fear. I no longer wanted to be a favorite. I no longer wanted to be a good girl. If this is what rewards were like, no thank you. But then he threatened me that if I did not be his favorite, then he would make my sister his favorite. NO WAY! I was never going to let that man touch her! He never did get to her for I jumped hoops of fire to keep her away from him. I would make excuses for her not being around, and always tell her to never be in the house alone with him. Also, whenever he would take us to the parks or driving, I told her to always be the first one out of the car. To this day, unless she is driving, she is out a little before the car actually stops. I guess I did my part too well.

When I was 8yrs old, he and mom went out one night and our normal babysitters were not available. Two young adult female babysitters were to watch us this evening. When it was close to bed time, they took my sis and I to the bathroom together. I didn't think anything odd at first for my sis and I often bathed together to save hot water. The odd, sick feeling came when they locked the door and put my sister on the counter top. They pulled down our panties and again, NO WAY! I had not worked so hard protecting her from the monster just to have someone else come and do the same things. I began kicking, biting, screaming, and scratching. When I was loose and before the other one knew what hit here, I had the door unlocked and pushed my sister out the door. I screamed for her to run as fast as she could to the neighbor and call mom right away. Just as she got out of the doorway, the girls had a hold me and slammed the door with them and me in the bathroom. I went to a different place in my head. I don't remember what all they did to me; I just remember the feeling of shame, and wanting to vomit. My whole body hurt by the time my mom arrived at the scene. I can't even remember if the police had been called. I do remember my mom at their door trying to get at them. I heard her threaten to kill them. My stepfather even threatened them.

Now that was ironic. He was doing worse than they had done, and on a regular basis, yet he was angry with them?!? How could he rationalize this behavior. Maybe to him they had spoiled me like meat that's been tampered with. I was in a very bad frame of mind before my 9th birthday, and when I was explaining to my stepbrother what had happened that night, it slipped about his father. NO relief came my way still. My stepbrother began making do all the things to him that I had to do for his father. This all continued until I was 10. My stepbrother and stepsister were with their mother and had told her about what their father was doing to me. The day the police came, I shall never forget.

One police car and one plain burgundy car had pulled up in front of our house. I grew instantly sick to my stomach and knew why they were there. They stopped me from running into the house to be by my mother's side. The female said to stay outside and keep my sister occupied while they talked to mom about a few things. Within minutes I knew that they had told her. Not by instinct did I know, but by the worst, blood-curdling scream I have ever to day heard. It haunts me still at times in my dreams. They took my sister and I away immediately after that scream, not allowing us to even get a hug goodbye.

Two years of foster homes and physical abuse by her next boyfriend have also left their scars on my life. I sought help on the 1st of October 2007. I walked to the ER while having a breakdown, and have been pro-active in getting rid of my heavy baggage. I no longer will accept carrying this baggage everywhere I go. I will no longer be haunted by the ghosts of my past. I stand up today and shout in the face of my past and scream," NO MORE!" No more will you defeat me! No more will you haunt me! No more will you make me feel like a monster! No more will you make me feel inferior. I am a butterfly with new wings!