Justin Lall

Playing at the club recently, I’ve had to field the “What happened?” question just about every round. I had a few standard replies which I varied for the sake of sanity including:

“You don’t wanna know.”
“You should see what happened to the other guy!”
“Long story…”
“I didn’t give my partner his ruff!”

I could have just told them the truth, but that would cause more questions and/or pity when really I just wanted to play bridge, so it seemed unwise. However, I didn’t want to lie either. Finally I came up with something funny…

“It was bridge related.”

This amused them because they thought I was making a joke about the card game, and it amused Greg because he knows what actually happened. I’ll keep giving this answer until I get sick of it, then I will just live-spam them with a link this this website.

After the jump, I was rushed to Bellevue Hospital. I was amused to find out later that I was admitted under a pseudonym; they were worried about the media bothering me. I still have the bracelet that says Al Bine.

I had broken two vertebrae and five ribs. I had no internal bleeding, and needed no surgery at all. I would have no long term damage. Time would heal my wounds. In the short term I had lost some feeling in my fingers, and had to wear an annoying neck brace to prevent me from twisting my head. I was unable to walk for about a week, though they said it would be several. The estimate they gave me for wearing the neckbrace was 3 to 9 months, though I now suspect it will be closer to 3.

I had to go to the Bellevue psych ward for 3 weeks, though they told me it would be 4 to 6. I was able to clear my head a little and hopefully get on the right meds. I met a lot of interesting people there, but that is for another post.

The worst thing that happened was missing the Houston nationals. I hadn’t missed a national in 5 years, and was really upset to let down my partner and team. They were all really understanding, and got Vince Demuy to replace me.

I also had to miss Kevin and Cata’s wedding. Kevin is a great friend and my bridge partner, and Cata is one of my closest friends, so it’s really sad to miss their wedding. However the flight to Chile where they are getting married is too long for me.

I also moved back to Dallas with my dad for a while. I think it’s a good place to chill out and get my mind and life sorted out. I hopefully have a long life ahead of me, so even though I miss New York right now I know that Dallas is the right place for me right now. Maybe in a few months I’ll be ready to move back, but for now I’ll just take it one day at a time.

Considering I jumped 150 feet and landed on my back, I really have nothing to gripe about. It is a complete miracle to have no long term damage, and not even very much short term damage. I really am going to use this as a learning experience and turn it into a positive thing.

Hopefully I’ll be blogging for another 60 years!

I want to die.

I couldn’t stop thinking that. It seemed irrational, I was living my dream and had everything going for me.

Still, I wanted to die.

This had happened before. I had gone to the Brooklyn Bridge with the intention of jumping about a year ago. I couldn’t do it, I was too scared. Since then I had thought about the details; where I should do it, what I should wear, what I needed to do to succeed. I knew when I was ready I would have a plan in place.

That cold, obnoxious morning of February 17th I felt ready. I wore a short sleeve shirt and normal shoes (I always wear sandals) and headed for the bridge club. I didn’t want to miss my Tuesday game in case I was once again too scared to jump. It was kind of like a safety play. I played terribly, left quickly, and headed for the subway.

It felt like a long ride. The Brooklyn Bridge was the last stop on the 6 train. I was trying to prepare mentally for the task ahead of me. I was forcing myself not to think of my loved ones, to only think about how bad I felt, and how bad I would feel for the rest of my life. I was forcing myself to be strong, and do what was hard.

Jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge is tricky, it’s not like what you see in the movies. The pedestrian walkway is in the middle of the bridge, and about ten feet below is where the cars are. There are small bars going across over the top, but you can’t really walk on them. I knew where there was a bar to walk over that had handles on the side. I could climb onto one of those bars by using a bench as a stepping stone.

I got off the train and walked to that spot in the middle of the bridge. I sat on the bench waiting for my moment, a time when there weren’t a bunch of tourists around me. I especially didn’t want to do it near children.

Finally my moment came… and I couldn’t do it. I started walking away in disgust; disgust at myself for being weak, and disgust that I would have to continue living. I told myself to go back and wait again, and when my moment came to do it without hesitation.

Another moment came and I pounced. I took off my jacket so that it wouldnt break the impact, climbed up, and ran forward so that I couldn’t change my mind. I never looked down until I had made the jump. I screamed as I fell, desperately grabbing for something. There was nothing to hold on to though, just the cold air.

I fell 150 feet with 1 goal, not to land on my feet. I succeeded in that goal, hitting the water on my back. They say that falling that far and landing on water is like hitting concrete, and that’s certainly what it felt like.

As silly as this sounds, once I was in the water I was trying not to drown. Survival instinct kicked in and overpowered the pain. I was holding my breath and floating in the water. I wasn’t screaming because then I couldn’t float. I couldn’t feel my hands, and I couldn’t tell if my clothes were on. I thought I might be paralyzed, but I knew that it could also be hypothermia. I was just hoping someone saw me so that I could be rescued. Funny how your perspective can change so quickly.

After 5 minutes a helicopter came. I waved my arms so it could see me; obviously I wasn’t thinking too rationally at this point. It kept flying over me so I knew it did see me, but its wind was blowing water into my nose. I had no idea what its plan was, it felt like it was trying to drown me rather than save me.

Eventually I saw the small floating device in the water that it was pushing towards me with the wind. Very skillful indeed! I held onto it until a boat came and pulled me up.

I simply said, “Help!”

I’m bipolar.

What that basically means is that sometimes I feel really good and sometimes I feel really bad. These mood swings are unrelated to my environment. They just happen. Luckily there are great medicines available to help bipolar people have more stable moods. However, at the age of 17, full of all the wisdom in the world, I made the decision to stop taking my medicine. I was feeling numb on meds and rather than try to find a new one, I decided I could handle the lows for the rest of my life.

That is why I am writing this post. I was so very wrong and arrogant, and I don’t want anyone else to make the same mistake. You can’t just deal with diabetes, and the same is true of bipolar or depression. Don’t arrogantly assume you have more control than you do, and don’t be too proud or ashamed to take medicine.

I understand now that if I don’t take medicine I will eventually kill myself. It is not the only thing I need to fix my problems, but it is the most vital. I am lucky enough to have a second chance, and hopefully I will learn from my mistakes now. Hopefully you will too.

“You jumped off a bridge? You jumped OFF A BRIDGE?!”

This was the reaction of many people upon learning that I had jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge in February, even if they didn’t say it directly. And who could blame them? I mean it’s a euphemism, it’s not something people really do. Certainly not someone living their dream in New York with everything in the world going for them.

However, that said, the fact remains that I actually did it. That leaves one obvious question.

Why?