Suicide. We often stiffen uncomfortably at the sight of the word. We’re afraid to speak it aloud, much less discuss with honesty, how frequently fleeting thoughts of self destruction have touched our minds. It is indeed a dark, lonesome path from that first whisper of an idea, to the conscious creation of a plan to take our own life. But that single moment, that one blackest of black emotions when we decide that our existence is no longer of value, is a feeling that those of us who have survived our own devised death will never forget. Through the days, weeks, months, then years that follow, we struggle again and again, against our wraith-like dark thoughts. We remember and we recognize that giving-up point, and we place warning guardrails against the darkest of those thoughts so as to protect our minds from reliving, or re-dying through that resignation of willing breath.
I remember my own moment of giving up. My letting go did not stem from a want to alleviate others of my existence or any similar perceived selfless intention. I couldn’t see beyond my own misery and heartache. Very simply, I broke.
I had in a way estranged myself from my immediate family, creating a life that they both accepted and were a welcome part of, while simultaneously forming my real life. To my family, I was still a somewhat active believer, only a little too focused on my career to make serving God a priority. In reality, I attended their church occasionally just to appease them. I’d written God off long ago. He wasn’t to blame for my abusive childhood, but I felt that I needed to search elsewhere to find a version of faith I could trust. And so, I searched. I dragged my girlfriend to church after church, but never could find a place where we fit.
My girlfriend was in a similar boat in regards to her own family, so essentially we were maintaining four lives and just so many more lies. I should not have been taken off guard when she decided to take on a third role with yet another girlfriend and separate friend group, but I was. I had engulfed myself so deeply into what I thought to be the most passionate and beautiful love story, that I was blindsided. The day I discovered their apartment, I could not understand what became of our affection. I begged her to come back. I sobbed my heart out. I will never wipe from my mind, the next moment. The woman I thought that I could never live without, told me she did not love me, that she didn’t want me, and to never return.
I watched her walk away and realized then that I had nothing. I’d lost my last attempt to salvage something of the life I wanted. I had no authentic family relationship. I was failing at work, mostly because my focus was on saving a dead romance. I’d become reliant on a random cocktail of antidepressants, muscle relaxers, alcohol, and Adderall, just to make it through each day. I felt some part of me crack and break as my thoughts and emotions swirled numbly around me. It was all too much. I waded through tears to my car, got in, and turned the key. Resigned that I could do no more, I made up my mind to drive to the nearby interstate and off of a very high overpass. I was spent. My life was done.
I exited the neighborhood where I had so excitedly begun to build a life with…I couldn’t think about it, her. The betrayel hurt too much and I just needed to focus on driving and ending this. But…what…was that? There appeared to be a new side street branching off of the main road, but I didn’t remember recently passing any construction work. I supposed I’d been so focused on other things lately that I missed it. Huh. Well, if I was on my way to die, why not satisfy a curiosity first? I turned my car down the new roadway, to find that it ended at a slightly familiar intersection. Turn left, and I would resume route to my death wish. Right, and…I couldn’t tell. The way wasn’t lit except by my headlights, so, feeling like it was appropriate to drive into darkness, I turned my wheel right. The road ended dead in front of a church. A little stunned, I sat in my car looking over a mostly empty Tuesday night church parking lot. Some sort of desperate desire for help came over me and I began to weep. Through my tears, I called out to God that if He was real, to prove it. A few seconds later, a preacher knocked on my window.
I don’t recall their names, but I will always remember the love with which that preacher and his wife prayed for me.
God is real. Our lives are of worth, and He loves us.
“I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.”. – Psalm 40:1-2
Creating Peace From the Pieces 