By Jonathan Okanes
Mike Tepper had had enough. He'd had enough of the nightmares, enough of the withdrawals, enough of his parents' contentious divorce, enough of being away from football.
Mike Tepper had had enough of life. On an October afternoon in 2005, Tepper sat in the coaches' office at UC Berkeley's Memorial Stadium, attempting to finish writing a paper that was due the next day. It was a lost cause. He walked out into the stadium, climbed to the top row of bleachers on the west side and looked out at the picturesque view of the San Francisco Bay. Tepper felt like jumping over the edge. He felt worthless, helpless and confused.
He needed help. Tepper called his girlfriend, whom he knew was in the middle of her calculus class, to ask her to come to the stadium immediately. She hardly ever answered her cell phone in class. Tepper told himself he might jump if she didn't answer. This time, she did. A few minutes later, she was sprinting up the steps of the bleachers to Tepper. She found him shaking and emotional, and immediately brought him back to her nearby sorority house. What could have been the end of Mike Tepper's life became the beginning of his resurrection. It marked the start of a healing process from ailments both mental and physical that could be traced back to a harrowing incident four months earlier.
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