Star Chamber

*Please note before reading. This short story contains the following trigger warnings which may be sensitive topics; Suicide, mental health and self harm. Please read with caution and take care. Thank you.*

I still remember the first time I ever went spelunking, or caving as it's known. I had two panic attacks before I ever made it below ground. I don’t mean that figuratively, but literally. Heart racing, gasping for air, sweating, crying. My therapist advised against spelunking. With good reason. I was a diagnosed, life long sufferer of claustrophobia. The first of January I jumped on the “New Year, new me” bandwagon and dove headfirst into my new hobby. Doing all the research, buying the tools and equipment I’d need. Preparing myself and getting dressed in the gear was the easy part. In fact it was fun. For the first time in a long time, I felt alive.

This new challenge gave me purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning. I researched and read articles until I found the perfect cave for my first exploration. Star Chamber. It seemed such a fated name. Sections of the cave were tight, and required squeezing through narrow passageways, holding my breath before making it into the next point of the cave. At one point I had to kneel down and crouch through a slender gap before coming into an enormous, open chamber. I made it. I remember sitting cross legged in the middle of the space, trying desperately not to think about the ceiling suddenly falling in, rocks tumbling all around and burying me alive. I took a moment to breathe and I felt calm again. A peace like I’d never known washed over me. I realized it was freedom I was feeling. Freedom from fear that had controlled and puppeted my life.

From that moment I was addicted. The trek into Star Chamber became the first of many spelunking adventures. Each time, planning a more advanced venture. I went further and deeper into the depths of the earth, pushing my body, mind and nerve. The fear never fully disappeared, but after some time I noticed it shrank, becoming manageable like a chihuahua rather than a fire breathing dragon. I could control the beast. Hold it and feel it. It was exciting, and terrifying and invigorating all at once. But after several years something happened, something suddenly seemed to change. I began to feel hollow as the very caves I explored. A great chasm of emptiness opened up in my very core. Nothing could fill it. Not even the thrill of finding a new hole in the ground to delve into. I planned my last hike. I intended it to be the best swansong. One of my favorite spots would become my final resting place. I’d made up my mind to end it all. When I type it now, it sounds very shallow and vapid, perhaps even a bit dramatic. But I didn’t see it that way then.

The hike to the cave was a bit exhausting, and I would have to hike several miles through the Daniel Boone National Forest before even getting to the mouth of the cave. It was a glorious day, sun shining overhead, birds chirping, new things in bloom. I almost reconsidered, but the bottle of sleeping pills in my pocket whispered, “No turning back!” At the first mile marker, I stopped to get water when a smiling woman approached me, coming from the intersection of the trail. I recognized her. “Jordan is that you?” she called, slightly breathless. “The one and only,” I replied, instantly hating how cheesy I’d sounded. “I didn’t know you hiked here! What a small world!” said Grace, the local barista at my favorite coffeehouse. “Yeah, it is.” I said shyly as she continued towards me. “I’m actually hiking to a cave entrance!” I told her proudly, “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’ve always wanted to try spelunking! That’s so cool.” For once, I wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, next time we’ll have to meet up on purpose and hike together!”

The rest of the day was a blur. I felt frozen in the ether, like walking through the motions while being suspended in an ethereal, slow motion crawl. But throughout the day, Grace’s musical voice echoed in my mind, like a beautiful siren song that called to me and almost made me want to come back to the surface and see what more life could offer. Before I knew it I was in the heart of the cavern. My hands shook violently, stuffing my mouth full of pills, swallowing water, preparing to say goodbye, sealing my fate before drifting off into slumber. The blackness swallowed me whole, and I felt myself drifting downwards, sinking further into the abyss of loneliness. This was the end.

Suddenly blaring sirens filled my ears as I came too in the back of an ambulance with Grace beside me. Quickly removing the oxygen mask from my mouth, I whispered, “How? Why?” With a sorrowful look, she gazed down saying, “It was dark when I made it back to the parking lot to find my car, I saw yours still here and I knew something was wrong. So I called the ranger. They found you and called 911.” “You saved me,” I said thickly, voice laced with emotion. Her eyes showed tenderness and understanding, as she said, “I needed a spelunking partner,” she teased, sweetly.

It was not easy writing these words as it takes me back to a very dark time in my life. But also the beginning of my true healing journey. I learned that recovery is not always linear, and that my battle with mental illness will probably be life long. Now I live with the comfort and reassurance that I don’t have to do it alone. I’m very fortunate to have my wife by my side now, who supports and uplifts me in every way. I’m so thankful for Grace. That’s why it was so important to write this story, our story, while it’s still somewhat still fresh in my mind. Because I don’t want to get any of the details wrong when I tell our grandchildren some day.