Depression, Suicide and Multiple Sclerosis

The year I was diagnosed with MS was immensely challenging mentally. Everything was a blur and, like many facing an ocean of uncertainty after a scary diagnosis, I struggled to hold it together. Enter Brandon Crotty. More than anyone else, he helped right my mental ship in 2006. But, unknowingly, I couldn't right his. He committed suicide months later at the age of 36. I'd like to discuss depression in MS, and introduce you to one of my closest friends. 

5 min. read

Depression, Suicide and MS

Let’s start with some facts on this serious topic. Just having multiple sclerosis increases your risk of suicide, according to one study, a sobering seven fold. Even among those with other neurologic disorders—including ALS, which is often fatal—the risk for MSers is still double. Male, under 30, and recently diagnosed (within five years) amplify your risk. But why?

Researchers aren’t entirely sure. People with MS are predisposed to get depression and it is a hallmark of MS, as half of us with the disease will struggle with depression at some point during our lives… yet it often goes unreported and untreated. And the consequences of depression can be devastating.

For more on depression and MS, I urge you to read this excellent breakdown by fellow MSer and psychologist Cathleen Julian on our main website. As you'll read, MS depression is a different animal. But there is sun behind those clouds.

I desperately needed to find that sun in my early days with this disease. Then months after I received my diagnosis in 2006, I lost one of my closest friends to suicide. Ironically, Brandon was a major lifeline when I was trying to cope with getting diagnosed. He was my therapist. He was my hope. Giving his eulogy was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. I’d like to share what I wrote for his obituary and what I said at his funeral. 

Brandon Lynn Crotty's Obituary

Brandon Lynn Crotty passed away June 27, 2006. He was 36. Born December 27, 1969 in Wichita, Kansas, Brandon grew up there and graduated from Wichita State University before starting his career in pharmaceuticals sales. He moved to Albuquerque in 2000, most recently becoming one of his company’s top sales representatives worldwide. An aficionado of classical music and jazz, Brandon was equally as fond of a good, bump-drafting NASCAR race. An avid cyclist, skier, and artist, he was most at peace in his studio, paintbrush in hand, the symphonies of Mahler softly echoing off the walls. His uniquely sharp wit, intelligent repartee, and unabashed enthusiasm for living life to its fullest will be forever missed. Brandon is survived by his parents Ronald and Carlyne Crotty of Placitas, NM; grandmother Leona Crotty of Garden City, KS; and wife Amy of Albuquerque.

Eulogizing a Dear Friend

Before I begin my personal remarks, I have a request of all of you. Whenever you think about Brandon Crotty, please avoid two words. “What if.”

I will say with absolute conviction that Brandon’s passing was not written in his life’s script. His demons, on that particular night at that particular time, were too strong, too overwhelming. I personally believe that no amount of what ifs would have stopped those demons. And now, no amount of what ifs will bring Brandon back. No amount of what ifs will lessen the pain. So I implore all of you to purge those thoughts. Replace every “what if” with an “I remember”.

I remember when I first met Brandon. He really didn’t pay much attention to me at first. He gravitated, instead, to my stereo speakers. He was an audiophile, after all. But by the end of the night, I knew, I just knew, that we were going to be the closest of friends.

I remember how he introduced me to jazz. Like he has done with many a friend before me, he gave me a CD—Kind of Blue by Miles Davis. He told me how excited he was for me. How he wished he could once again experience the simple joy of discovering the magic of John Coltrane, Sarah Vaughan, and Thelonious Monk for the first time. Later, he went through his entire jazz collection and wrote down a list of his favorite albums. Albums that he thought should be the anchor of my collection. That handwritten list, safely folded in my wallet, goes with me everywhere. And it always will.

I remember how he introduced me to some of the other finer things in life. NASCAR … The Sopranos … obnoxiously loud ski outfits.

I remember when I went down my first double black diamond ski run at Wolf Creek. Brandon was right next to me. For better or for worse, we were going down together. 

I remember how we talked about his art. How determined he was that his next career would be that of a painter.

I remember when he told me, excitedly, that his parents were moving to town. How great it was to have his mom and dad so close by.

And I remember how it was Brandon who reached out and helped me when I was recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. He was the first friend to pull me out of the house for something other than a doctor’s appointment. He listened. He cared. And he told me everything was going to be okay.

I remember it all. And I’ll never forget.

When we spoke last—a week ago today—I thanked Brandon for his help with my MS and let him know just how much that meant to me. He proudly told me he would ride his bicycle with my name on his jersey for an MS fundraiser this August. He was excited about his latest works of art, all in various stages of progress, impatiently drying. He was eager, genuinely eager, to tackle new challenges and continue living life to its fullest.

No, this final chapter was not supposed to be your destiny, Brandon.
 
You’ve changed my life … you’ve made me a better man. And in your own way, you’ve changed the lives of everyone you’ve crossed paths with. We all thank you, Brandon. You’ll be missed by your family, your friends, and your colleagues more than even your brilliant mind would ever be able to comprehend.

Today we say so long, Brandon. But we'll always remember.

Suicide Prevention

Those thoughts of ending your own life can unpredictably invade your brain on even your best days—it happens to many of us with this disease. But if those thoughts are not fleeting, I ask that you please, please get help. Call your local suicide prevention hotline. In the US, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.