Why Cops Are Killing Themselves — And Why No One Wants to Talk About It

Four cops are dead by suicide in Harris County—and no one’s saying what needs to be said. I’ve been to the edge myself. If you’re a cop, this message is for you.

Four Harris County deputies have taken their own lives in the last six weeks.

That number should shake people. But in law enforcement circles, it barely causes a ripple. No press conference. No mourning bands. No flag-draped caskets on the evening news. Just silence.

I’m writing this because I understand that silence all too well.

This isn’t coming from a therapist or a department chaplain. It’s coming from a retired police sergeant. A cops’ cop. And I know why these suicides are happening—because I’ve stood on the edge of that same darkness myself.

---

The Culture That Keeps Us Quiet

If you’re in law enforcement and admit you’re struggling, you already know the risk. The moment you say “PTSD,” “depression,” or “I’m not doing well,” you’re seen as a liability. You might lose your badge, your gun, your assignment—or your career altogether.

So most officers keep their mouth shut.

We bleed in silence, using sarcasm, locker room jokes, and gallows humor to patch up bullet holes in our souls. And it works—until it doesn’t.

---

Retirement Doesn’t Make It Better—It Makes It Worse

If you're active duty and struggling, let me be blunt: it gets harder after you retire.

You lose your squad. You lose your locker room, your squad room, your late-night gas station chats. You lose the tribe.

And in that silence, many spiral. Fast.

---

A Personal Confession

Let me say something I’ve never said publicly.

I’ve been in a place where I had to talk myself out of making a permanent decision.

That moment is real. That weight is real.

And I know there are others—maybe even reading this right now—who are sitting in that same dark place.

You’re not broken. You’re not weak. You’re not less of a warrior because you’re struggling.

You’re human. And you can come back from that place.

I’m still here. And if I can be, you can be too.

---

My Breaking Point

My breaking point came after a career-ending injury that caused debilitating nerve pain—trigeminal neuralgia. You can read more about that here, but it was like having a live wire of pain pulsing through my face every hour of every day.

At the same time, the department asked me to discipline another officer. I didn’t agree with it—I believed that cop was in the right—so I refused. That made me a target. The administration responded by pulling me from narcotics and dumping me back into patrol, fully knowing it would make my condition worse.

That wasn’t just a reassignment—it was a punishment.

Keep in mind, I had been named Narcotics Officer of the Year for the entire state of California. That didn’t matter.

The pain got worse. The stress mounted. And I got to the point where I had a date set—two days after my daughter’s high school graduation. I had a plan. I knew how I was going to do it.

But I didn’t go through with it.

And I didn’t come forward, either—because someone else did. A cop I knew came forward about his own mental health struggles. Instead of helping him, the department stripped him of his gun and badge, banned him from entering the building, and sent a memo to every supervisor about it.

That sent a clear message to the rest of us: speak up, and you’re done.

So I stayed quiet. And so do most.

---

The Thoughts That Don’t Leave You

One of the things that kept me from going through with it was thinking about what it would do to my family. That alone is enough to stop you in your tracks.

But there was another thought I couldn’t shake—the officer who would have to respond to the call.

I know what that feels like.

I once got a call of a suicide that had just occurred. I was the first on scene. As I entered the home, I could still see the gunsmoke drifting in the hallway. Right next to it were framed photos of a man in uniform—clearly a cop. I knew instantly what had happened. One of our own had taken his life.

It hit hard. Not just because it was another cop—but because I was dealing with the same thoughts. I had looked into that same abyss. Now I was standing in the aftermath of someone who had fallen into it.

And then there’s the reality that haunts all of us: once you respond to something like that, you never forget it. You never stop replaying it.

You can’t drive past that house again without reliving the moment. The same goes for all the dead baby calls, the innocent murder victims, the sound of mothers screaming, the smell of blood, the chaos, the silence. It all stays with you.

Soldiers get to leave the battlefield. Cops don’t. We drive through it every day. And we relive it every night.

Another officer—one I didn’t know personally—committed suicide in the parking lot of our police department. He was from another agency but lived in our city. He chose our department’s lot because he didn’t want his own officers, the people he worked with, to be the ones who found him.

He called 911 beforehand, told dispatch that he was out front and about to take his life, and that he’d positioned himself between his vehicle and some bushes so the scene wouldn’t be visible. He even left an apology note to the officer who would respond, telling them he was sorry for what they were about to see.

Think about that.

Even in his final moments, he was still worried about the trauma he might cause to another officer.

And if you’ve ever been in that dark place, those are the kinds of things that go through your head. Every. Single. Day.

---

What the Public Needs to Understand

Most people don’t realize that law enforcement suicides may exceed military suicides on a per-capita basis. That’s not a theory—it’s something many of us in the profession believe, based on years of seeing our brothers and sisters fall without recognition.

The public doesn’t see it because there’s no ceremony. No folded flag. No moment of silence. Just another “officer found deceased” line in a forgotten news brief.

And in many cases, the true cause of death is never reported. We have a tendency in this profession to hide our suicides—to label them as accidental deaths, overdoses, or misfires. Sometimes it’s out of respect for the family. Other times, it’s because of the deep shame attached to the act.

But here’s the hard truth: cops know how to end their life in a way that looks accidental—because they’ve been to enough suicide calls to know what works and what doesn’t. They understand the mechanics. They know how to stage it to protect their reputation or their benefits for their family.

That’s how deep the stigma goes. Even in death, officers are trying to protect others from the truth.

This isn’t just a mental health issue. It’s a national issue. It’s a spiritual issue. And it’s killing the people who once swore to protect others.

---

The Biblical Perspective No One Talks About

This isn’t just about stress. This is also a spiritual war. And the Bible doesn’t hide the fact that even the strongest men of God struggled deeply.

• Psalm 34:18 – “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
  God isn’t distant when you're at your lowest. He moves closer.

• Elijah (1 Kings 19) – After a great victory, Elijah ran into the wilderness and said, “I’ve had enough, Lord. Take my life.”
  God didn’t scold him. He gave him rest. He fed him. Then He gave him a renewed mission.

• Paul (2 Corinthians 1:8-9) – Paul wrote, “We were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself.”
  But through that, he learned to stop relying on himself and trust in God who raises the dead.

• Psalm 88 – This is the only psalm that ends in total darkness. No praise. No resolution. Just pain.
  God left it in the Bible to show us that He doesn’t turn away from raw honesty. He meets us in it.

If these warriors of the faith could hit rock bottom and still be used by God, so can you. You’re not disqualified. You’re not forgotten. God isn’t done with you.

---

A Message to Cops Reading This

If you’re still on the job—look after your people. Really check in. Don’t just say “you good?” as a formality. Press in.

More than once, I’ve asked a cop—or a retired cop—how they were doing. When they gave me the typical, “Living the dream” response, I didn’t let it go. I asked directly:
“How’s the PTSD?”
That blunt question got blunt answers.

Then I followed up with:
“Do you feel like hurting yourself?”

And more than once, I’ve watched men break down crying. Not because they were weak—but because no one had ever asked them that question out loud. They couldn’t even answer. It just hit too close to the surface.

So ask. Be the one who breaks through the silence.

If you’re retired—find your tribe again. Get into a church. Find a men’s group. Connect with brothers in Christ. Don’t isolate.

If you’re hurting—do not make a permanent decision in a temporary moment.

Talk to someone. Pray. Get help. Call a brother. Call me. Don’t go silent.

---

A Message to Administrators

If your agency has experienced four suicides in six weeks, like Harris County, then whatever you’re doing is not working.

That’s not an opinion—it’s a fact. If your wellness programs, peer support efforts, or EAP contracts were working, your officers wouldn’t be killing themselves. It’s time to confront this as the most important issue in your agency—because if your people are dying off the clock, then you’re failing them and the community.

Don’t post tributes after they’re gone if you weren’t willing to protect them while they were alive.

Administrators like the ones I worked for—who took an officer’s gun and badge and banned him from the building for asking for help—are part of the problem. That kind of leadership doesn’t save lives. It drives people deeper into isolation and despair.

Cops aren’t afraid of counseling. They’re afraid of you—afraid that if they speak up, they’ll be labeled, sidelined, and discarded.

Until command staff recognizes that fear of retaliation is the #1 barrier to getting help, nothing will change.

You want to reduce suicides? Start with your own policies. Start with how your agency treats the first officer who comes forward.

Because your cops are watching. And the message they’re getting right now is: "Don’t say a word—or you’re next."

---

This Is a War Worth Fighting

Suicide isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s often the result of a warrior who’s been in the fight for too long without rest.

But God offers rest. He offers peace. And He’s not finished with you yet.

You’re not alone. And your story isn’t over.

In His Service,
Keith Graves
Founder, Christian Warrior Training