Last December marked Jonathan Wright's third suicide attempt.
For three months, he'd been trying to get help. He had gone to a Tulsa mental health clinic for people without insurance. He told them he was depressed and needed to talk to someone.
They told him it would be three months. At least.
It wasn't until he tried to end his life that he was put at the top of the list.
“During Christmas, I was just ready to die,” he said.
After his suicide attempt, he was considered a danger to himself, one of the criteria for people who get services first.
Wright is frustrated knowing there are more people like him, stuck waiting and getting sicker.
“Don't give up,” he said. “Just know that you're not alone, and life isn't easy, but it is doable, and it's better to live than not live.”
Wright's depression and anxiety started in middle school. Since he was 12, Wright had been bullied, either because he was the “fat kid” or the “gay kid.”
Sissy. Faggot. Queer bait. The names they hurled at him.
“As a guy, I have man boobs, and one of the things this guy would do is he would grope me as I passed by,” he said. “That was a daily thing.”
Wright didn't expect any of them would ever apologize. But about five years after high school, he got a Facebook message.
A former classmate wrote that he was sorry for the way Wright was treated. He noticed Wright's smile in his Facebook profile picture.
“That's the first time I ever saw you smile,” he wrote. “It made me realize how much sh-- we all put you through, and I'm just glad you're able to find happiness now.”
But Wright hadn't found happiness. He's working with a counselor in Tulsa to learn better ways to cope with his depression and accept himself for who he is.
“All I want to do is to be happy,” he said. “That's all I want. It doesn't have to be blissfully happy every day. Just to be OK would be nice.”