I Thought About Jumping In The Bay

Reiteration of Warning:⚠️ Please be careful with this newsletter.

It’s a tough topic. If it helps, read it with a loved one.

Setting

I thought about jumping in the bay and seeing how long I could tread water for.

It was the middle of the night and everyone else was sleeping.

I’d later learn it was called an “intrusive thought.” Whatever it was called, it scared the living daylights out of me.

I started to imagine what life would be like for my nieces and nephews without their Uncle Matt. I couldn’t believe I was the one having these thoughts. I didn’t even recognize myself. I was laid down on the bottom bunk bed, beneath my brother who was sound asleep.

This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation.

Usually, I looked forward to being down the shore.

Instead, I was thinking about suicide.

This wasn’t me.

Antagonist

We were all down the shore. Fourteen people. One house. Packed in tight with my family.

I couldn’t sleep.

This wasn’t the first time my mind had turned against me. I’d lay in bed before—thoughts racing, imagining bad scenarios. But that night, something darker, more real, crept in.

What would happen if I jumped into the bay? How long would I be able to tread water before sinking to the bottom? Would someone save me? Would anyone even notice before it was too late?

Scared, heart racing, I got out of bed. I walked down the stairs and contemplated life in the kitchen.

As I peered outside, past the deck and onto the bay, I could hear my dad snoring on the couch.

What called me to think this way?

I still don’t know.

I didn’t open the door.

But I wondered.

Why? 

Why am I flirting with disaster?

Why am I so close to death?

Instead of walking outside, I sat down in the living room, across from my dad (still sleeping).

My mind was spiraling. Zooming.

My body stayed still.

Protagonist

Then something clicked.

I started having the right thoughts.

“I’m not moving.”

“I can think all I want, but my body’s not moving'“

“There’s no way I’m doing that.” “I’m not that guy.” “I’m him.”

That’s when it all started to shift.

Maybe it was my dad’s presence or something else entirely.

I started praying in that chair.

I started thinking about my purpose.

The visions started rushing in.

A YouTube channel. A business. A mission.

All the dreams buried underneath fear, uncertainty, and doubt came rushing to the surface.

I didn’t just imagine a better future—I started believing in myself in the present.

More importantly, I started being grateful.

Everything that happened to me before had meaning. Every hard moment gave me something I needed. I didn’t need to stress about the future. I didn’t need to carry the weight of the past.

Everything I need is here… Right now.

Conclusion

If you’ve ever felt like I did that night, let me give you the exact things that helped pull myself out of it:

1. Protect Yourself Against Self-Harm

One dark thought = 1,000 positive thoughts to follow. Every time I hear a voice telling me to give up, it reminds me to force a flood of positive thoughts into my head. I won the lottery just by being alive. Don’t give that up for a job you hate or a boss who doesn’t believe in you.

2. Create a Bulletproof Routine

What must be in your day, every day, no matter what? For me, it’s working out. Writing. Creating. If you were thinking about ending it all by doing what everyone else told you to do… then maybe it’s time to start living by your rules instead.

3. Build a Support System

Tell someone. Be vulnerable. I know it’s scary. You think it might burden them. But it won’t. People will drop everything to help you. Give them the chance. What’s on the other side of fear? The life you actually want to live.

4. Eat Healthy

Healthy gut = healthy mind. When I clean up my diet and start walking around with a six-pack, it’s almost impossible to feel bad about myself. Fuel your body like your life depends on it—because it literally does.

5. Hydrate Like It’s Your Job

Water isn’t optional. It’s necessary. So many biomarkers can be improved by drinking more water. Aim for half your body weight in ounces, plus 12–24 oz per workout. Skip the extra drinks. Start with water. This is non-negotiable.

This was one of the darkest experiences of my life.

But I’m grateful for it. It’s scary to share—but maybe it saves a life.

If this message resonates with you, share it. With someone you love. Or someone who might need it.

We need to normalize these conversations.

We need to lead with vulnerability.

No more silence. No more shame.

Let’s be the ones who talk about it. Let’s be the ones who save someone else’s life.

I’m here for you.

Love,

Matthew McMahon