This blog entry has needed writing since Monday night. However, as you will learn below, I was in no shape to write it on Monday, and have taken the two days since to consider how, exactly, to put the experience into words. I wanted this entry to be honest, yet hopeful and non-triggering. I have done my best. It may not be an easy read, but it is a very real account of what many of you are facing. It is also a clear depiction of why the church, and many other religions, need to openly discuss issues such as depression, self-injury, and suicide.
I have struggled with depression for a fair portion of my life. I have struggled with self-injury for approximately six years. I have been actively suicidal for about a month. By "actively suicidal" I simply mean that it was more than just wishing I wouldn't wake up.
Last week, I told someone, in person, that I was suicidal. They did not respond. No words. No actions. Just went back to what they were doing and later acted as if nothing had happened. So, I began to more actively plan for suicide. I decided that I would wait until the Monday after Easter, because I wanted to see my family one more time. However, stresses over this past weekend and my simple desire to be in heaven, where there would be no more pain, prompted me to move the date up to this past Monday.
I told God that I would give Him all day Monday to change my mind. That I would be open to seeing Him working in my life. I went about my normal work day. I even shared some laughs with friends. Still, it was a rough, rough day. When I arrived home, I knew I would have about two hours before my husband returned. I planned to do as much damage as possible in those two hours so that I would not be able to be saved.
In process, I had my laptop with me to play music. I don't do much in my life without music. I also decided to send some goodbye messages to friends to read after I was gone. I began a conversation with a friend, who we'll call Nick, asking him to pass along a message to my best friend if anything happened to me. Understandably, he freaked out, and when I argued that he didn't even really know me, he countered with, "Well then now is a good time to get to know you." The conversation continued, but I was unconvinced that I should stay.
When my husband returned, he walked into the bathroom, but didn't notice the empty pill bottle, or the blades on the edge of the tub. He went to bed with little fanfare. I took this to be the final sign from God that I was not meant to stay in this world. After all, if a husband doesn't notice, who will?
Then, as I was preparing to complete the final step, which my husband's arrival had interrupted, I heard a ping from my computer. It was Nick. Following my questioning why he cared, he told me that, even though he didn't know me well, "You are still a person. Aren't we all brothers and sisters in Christ?" Then he gave me his number and told me to use it if I ever needed someone to care again, or even just to talk.
Nick said nothing fantastically out of the ordinary. But Nick was the instrument God used to save my life on Monday. There is something about hearing truths from someone who doesn't really know you that makes them more real, more useful, more believable. Now, I'm dealing with the healing. Not only the physical, although that is certainly rough, but also the mental, emotional, spiritual healing that must occur. I have hard decisions and changes ahead of me. Keep me in prayer. But mostly, take from this that you are loved. You are needed. You are important. I care about you. And I never want you to go down the path I walked on Monday night. It's awful beyond measure. So please, leave me comments, here or on my tumblr, or click here to email me. I love you all.
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