9/12 - Moments Away From Ending My Life

Within a week of that pivotal doctor’s appointment, I was back with Mike.

I shared about the broken sleep. The returning thought patterns. The same negative emotional cycles I had been battling since first coming to see him.

As in previous sessions, Mike was calm. Measured. Thoughtful. He had a way of listening that stabilised me. He would reflect back what he believed I needed to hear - not to fix me, but to help me navigate the maze of fears and distorted thinking I could not shake.

That session steadied me.

For a while, sleep improved. Nights became less threatening. The dread of waking at 2am with a racing mind eased.

Life continued.

Business continued to grow.

I was about to become a father for the third time.

Every three or four weeks, I would see Mike. Each time, I would feel more ordered, more controlled. Then slowly, the cracks would reappear. The patterns would return. And I would book another session.

This became the rhythm.

Around this same period, the three-year lease was ending on one of our company cars.

We had been driving a brand new £55,000 Land Rover Discovery.

I decided to upgrade.

I configured a brand-new £80,000 Discovery 5 - the new model - adding over £20,000 in extras to the top of the range model. I remember sitting there using the 3D visualiser on the Land Rover website thinking:

“I deserve this.”

I justified it easily. The late nights. The pressure. The responsibility. The stress. The growth.

It felt like a reward for endurance.

The order was placed.

Months later, it was delivered.

During this same season - at the height of business success and visible affluence - I was invited by Andre Morys, co-founder of Web Arts in Germany, to represent the UK within the Global Conversion Alliance.

A small collective of leading CRO agencies across different countries. Founders gathering annually as peers - almost like non-executive directors for one another - to collaborate and support growth.

It was an honour.

The first year, I hosted in London. We met in The Shard. CEOs flew in from Canada, France, Germany, Sweden.

Prestige. Credibility. Industry respect.

The second year, we gathered in Vancouver.

Andre suggested to me that we share an Airbnb - a luxury apartment in a high-rise building in the centre of the city. Around £200 per person per night. Business budget. Straightforward decision.

Flights booked. Accommodation secured.

We arrived.

It was stunning. A modern, luxury apartment around the 23rd floor. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Mountain views.

Andre mentioned he had asked the host what the apartment would sell for.

$1.5 million.

Impressive.

On the third day, we were standing on the balcony taking photographs of the mountains.

Beautiful. Clean air. Blue sky.

Who wouldn’t want a life like this, in utter prestigious with your wife and children at home in your large luxury home.

Andre and his co-founder went back inside to get ready for dinner.

I remained alone on the balcony.

About a yard from the edge.

And then that voice returned.

The same dark, destructive whisper that had first appeared when I was eighteen.

For twenty years it had surfaced at different moments - increasingly in recent years.

Now, aged 38, standing on the 23rd floor in Vancouver, it spoke again:

“Just do it Paul. Jump.”

I felt immediate terror.

Not sadness. Not depression.

Terror.

I slowly walked toward the edge.

I placed my hands on the balcony ledge.

I leaned forward and looked down.

Cars below looked the size of a centimetre from that height.

The voice returned again:

“Just do it Paul. Jump. There’s no other way. You’ll finally be free.”

I was standing on the brink of ending my life.

A wife. Three children. Family. Friends. A growing business. Industry respect.

And yet internally - utter fragmentation.

I thank God I did not jump.

Because I am able to write these words today, having not left my family behind.

---

As I reflect back on that moment, I now understand something more clearly.

Suicidal thoughts are not always about wanting to die.

Often they are about wanting internal torment to stop.

Since my collapse a few years later at 41 - marital, business, identity - I have had many confidential conversations.

Entrepreneurs. Founders. CEOs. Senior leaders.

Many have admitted they have had moments where the thought has crossed their mind.

Moments of hopelessness.
Moments of exhaustion.
Moments where the pressure felt unmanageable.

That dark voice does not care about your balance sheet.
It does not care about your title.
It does not care about your responsibility.

It is real.

But it is not truth.

---

Looking back now, I recognise that something beyond myself intervened that day.

If you have ever stood close to the edge - whatever form that edge took - and you did not step over it, I want to say this carefully:

That was not random.
You are still here for a reason.

God is not against you.
He is not indifferent to your torment.

He loves you more deeply than you currently have capacity to comprehend.
And His love does not fluctuate with your success or collapse.

His unfailing love endures forever.