Sadch--
I believe I can relate quite a bit to some of the feelings you're having. Maybe not everything, as we are all individuals, but I would like you to know that there are those of us out here who do understand through first-hand experiences.
I have been fighting feelings of wanting to die since I was 9 years old. By 13 I thought about dying constantly. At age 25, when my husband left for another woman, I truly felt my life had ended. About a year after he left, I took 3 bottles of Tylenol and tucked myself into bed for what I thought would be the last time. I was completely alone and believed I would die very easily.
A few hours later, I was awoken from my sleep by a friend who hadn't called me in months. It "just so happened that day" and "at that time", that she had decided to call and see how I'd been doing. In a medicinal-infused haze, I broke down on the phone, but in anger. I told her I hated the world, God, and life. If she had called any sooner, I would have still had enough control to stay quiet about what I had done. If she had called any later, it would have been too late. Did I mention my friend was an atheist, and would always get upset whenever I mentioned God? But yet, she was the one whom God chose to make the call to save my life. She was an hour away--I told her I was ready to die and whatever happened would happen, so be it. This was also not my first attempt--I had played around with wanting to overdose on household painkilelrs before, but not to this extreme. After just listening to me rant for some time, she quietly got off the phone... and, unknown to me, called another friend who was closer to come get me (he was prepared to break open my window, seeing as I had locked myself inside my house) and take me to the hospital. The two of them saved my life.
I was in for a week--3 days to pump the pills out of my system, and 3 days (as required by law) in the psychiatric ward.
I was raised in church. I've heard everything Christians have to say about the subject, along with all the criticisms and declarations of how the answer is in getting closer to God. People told me I was being selfish. No, I shot back, it's you who are being selfish because you can't handle the way I really am and when I ask you for help, you accuse me of feeling the way I do because of my own sins. But yet you won't even listen to me. I had gone for help and counseling for many, many years, and though some very lovely people DID try to help, no one really had an answer. When I showed up at my pastor's office with ragged cuts down my arms, my pastor patted me on the shoulder and said, "Oh, my daughter's friend was a cutter too." No one took me seriously. All they could tell me is what I was doing wrong and how it was all my fault because all I needed to do was snap out of it and get closer to Jesus.
I hated the church and everyone in it for a very long time. But God worked with me. He gave me family, friends, and life experiences... step by step. And so, God got me through my anger (though it's taken a decade and some of it is still there--I still struggle with it often.) I have asked God before if I will have it for the rest of my life, these thoughts of wanting to die. What annoys me most is that people like the smiling, joking side of me... but if they see the other side... if I show up with cuts on my arms... They suddenly don't know me and walk away. Which is fine. I do understand. And, God blessed me so much that a few people were willing to accept the real, 100%, whole me, both good and bad, instead of only the side they wanted. I do think I understand much of what you feel, my precious sister in Christ, and I am so sorry.
People also must understand that depression can have biological roots as well. Being adopted, I have no record of my history or birth family. I have always wondered if my depression is partially physiological. I have always had the feeling... that neither of my birth parents are still living. I could be wrong. It's something I will have to ask God someday. But... I have always had this sadness in my heart, and I have, for a long time, believed that my birth mother committed suicide. As I said, I could be wrong. But I often wonder if the sadness she probably felt was passed on to me.
I was always taught as well that suicide means an immediate and one-way trip to hell. Do you know what? In my anger and rebellion, I got to a point where I did not care. I was so tired of other Christians judging, criticizing, or ignoring what I tried to say that I certainly had no love for the God these people told me was the answer. After all, Paul said it is better to be with the Lord than here on earth, and I couldn't agree more. BUT, the catch is, our heavenward journey has to be on God's terms, and not our own.
I am sitting here, reading your story, feeling so much familiarity. I promise my best to listen to you with all the love, compassion, and but yet raw honesty and hard truths that God will give me the strength to have. I have prayed that if you contact me, God will help me to please give you a safe place in which you can share how you feel. I don't have any answers, that's for sure. But maybe together we can pray that God will take us step by step.
A counselor once shook her head at me and said, "You're so young." I looked right at her and said, "When I was 13, I remember being shocked when I read about a 9-year-old boy who hung himself with a set of shoelaces from his boots. I can remember thinking to myself, 'What could possibly be so bad about the world that would cause someone so young to feel that this was the only way out?' Now I know that the world really is that bad."
When you've wanted to die since you were 13 and you've spent more than a few passing moments contemplating drinking bleach and household cleaners or buying a gun... by the time you get to your mid-twenties, it feels like life has dragged on forever, and that there is an eternity left to go. I have often argued with God, "I never asked for or wanted this life. You were the one who decided it."
God has brought me through a lot too, Sadch. Maybe not as much as you... but I sit here feeling sad and helpless, and the cry on my heart is, "God, you've brought me this far, and through much of the same stretch of dark, lonely woods as this precious young woman... Isn't there ANYTHING I can do to help?" It truly brings tears to my eyes because the sadness in your voice is so palpable that I feel it in my own heart as well.
You will most certainly be in my prayers. And please, feel free to contact me if you should so wish.
May God help you find your path, precious one.
I believe I can relate quite a bit to some of the feelings you're having. Maybe not everything, as we are all individuals, but I would like you to know that there are those of us out here who do understand through first-hand experiences.
I have been fighting feelings of wanting to die since I was 9 years old. By 13 I thought about dying constantly. At age 25, when my husband left for another woman, I truly felt my life had ended. About a year after he left, I took 3 bottles of Tylenol and tucked myself into bed for what I thought would be the last time. I was completely alone and believed I would die very easily.
A few hours later, I was awoken from my sleep by a friend who hadn't called me in months. It "just so happened that day" and "at that time", that she had decided to call and see how I'd been doing. In a medicinal-infused haze, I broke down on the phone, but in anger. I told her I hated the world, God, and life. If she had called any sooner, I would have still had enough control to stay quiet about what I had done. If she had called any later, it would have been too late. Did I mention my friend was an atheist, and would always get upset whenever I mentioned God? But yet, she was the one whom God chose to make the call to save my life. She was an hour away--I told her I was ready to die and whatever happened would happen, so be it. This was also not my first attempt--I had played around with wanting to overdose on household painkilelrs before, but not to this extreme. After just listening to me rant for some time, she quietly got off the phone... and, unknown to me, called another friend who was closer to come get me (he was prepared to break open my window, seeing as I had locked myself inside my house) and take me to the hospital. The two of them saved my life.
I was in for a week--3 days to pump the pills out of my system, and 3 days (as required by law) in the psychiatric ward.
I was raised in church. I've heard everything Christians have to say about the subject, along with all the criticisms and declarations of how the answer is in getting closer to God. People told me I was being selfish. No, I shot back, it's you who are being selfish because you can't handle the way I really am and when I ask you for help, you accuse me of feeling the way I do because of my own sins. But yet you won't even listen to me. I had gone for help and counseling for many, many years, and though some very lovely people DID try to help, no one really had an answer. When I showed up at my pastor's office with ragged cuts down my arms, my pastor patted me on the shoulder and said, "Oh, my daughter's friend was a cutter too." No one took me seriously. All they could tell me is what I was doing wrong and how it was all my fault because all I needed to do was snap out of it and get closer to Jesus.
I hated the church and everyone in it for a very long time. But God worked with me. He gave me family, friends, and life experiences... step by step. And so, God got me through my anger (though it's taken a decade and some of it is still there--I still struggle with it often.) I have asked God before if I will have it for the rest of my life, these thoughts of wanting to die. What annoys me most is that people like the smiling, joking side of me... but if they see the other side... if I show up with cuts on my arms... They suddenly don't know me and walk away. Which is fine. I do understand. And, God blessed me so much that a few people were willing to accept the real, 100%, whole me, both good and bad, instead of only the side they wanted. I do think I understand much of what you feel, my precious sister in Christ, and I am so sorry.
People also must understand that depression can have biological roots as well. Being adopted, I have no record of my history or birth family. I have always wondered if my depression is partially physiological. I have always had the feeling... that neither of my birth parents are still living. I could be wrong. It's something I will have to ask God someday. But... I have always had this sadness in my heart, and I have, for a long time, believed that my birth mother committed suicide. As I said, I could be wrong. But I often wonder if the sadness she probably felt was passed on to me.
I was always taught as well that suicide means an immediate and one-way trip to hell. Do you know what? In my anger and rebellion, I got to a point where I did not care. I was so tired of other Christians judging, criticizing, or ignoring what I tried to say that I certainly had no love for the God these people told me was the answer. After all, Paul said it is better to be with the Lord than here on earth, and I couldn't agree more. BUT, the catch is, our heavenward journey has to be on God's terms, and not our own.
I am sitting here, reading your story, feeling so much familiarity. I promise my best to listen to you with all the love, compassion, and but yet raw honesty and hard truths that God will give me the strength to have. I have prayed that if you contact me, God will help me to please give you a safe place in which you can share how you feel. I don't have any answers, that's for sure. But maybe together we can pray that God will take us step by step.
A counselor once shook her head at me and said, "You're so young." I looked right at her and said, "When I was 13, I remember being shocked when I read about a 9-year-old boy who hung himself with a set of shoelaces from his boots. I can remember thinking to myself, 'What could possibly be so bad about the world that would cause someone so young to feel that this was the only way out?' Now I know that the world really is that bad."
When you've wanted to die since you were 13 and you've spent more than a few passing moments contemplating drinking bleach and household cleaners or buying a gun... by the time you get to your mid-twenties, it feels like life has dragged on forever, and that there is an eternity left to go. I have often argued with God, "I never asked for or wanted this life. You were the one who decided it."
God has brought me through a lot too, Sadch. Maybe not as much as you... but I sit here feeling sad and helpless, and the cry on my heart is, "God, you've brought me this far, and through much of the same stretch of dark, lonely woods as this precious young woman... Isn't there ANYTHING I can do to help?" It truly brings tears to my eyes because the sadness in your voice is so palpable that I feel it in my own heart as well.
You will most certainly be in my prayers. And please, feel free to contact me if you should so wish.
May God help you find your path, precious one.
