Suicide Awareness

A friend of mine came to me and said, “I want to go home.” I knew what she meant. She’s tired of this world and wants to go home. I told her I understand, I want to go home too.

I was 12 when I first tried to kill myself. Fourteen the second time. Nineteen when I flagged down a police car and went to a psychiatric ward for the first time. There have been other stays when the thought of dying became too real. I was told I was looking for attention. They’re right. They were calls for help. I don’t understand why those words are used to minimize the pain.

I have two children. When I was 22, I took my 2 and 3-year-old children to the mall and was so manic I lost track of them. When I realized what I had done, I swore I would never put them at risk again. I’ve been faithful taking medication ever since. The mama bear kicks in when I’m suicidal. I may want to die but I will never do that to my kids, so whenever the depression gets too bad, when I’m thinking of acting on my suicidal tendencies, I check myself into the psych ward to reset.

There are levels to being suicidal: 1) I want to be dead. 2) I want to kill myself. 3) I have a plan to kill myself. 4) I’m going to kill myself. Over the course of my life, I’ve been at every stage. I’m not an expert, but I’m a survivor.

My wife once told me I’ve been through more difficulties than anyone she’s known. I told my best friend that and she agreed. I told my counselor what they had said and she agreed! She works for the prison system!!! Still, I know I’ve not had the worst life. There are others that have suffered more or survived with less. But when someone is in pain, the soul-crushing pain that makes you want to give up living, I get it. I’ve been there.

It's important to focus on what you have but when you’re drowning, thinking straight becomes so hard, if not impossible. My friend has been through more than I can ever imagine, more than anyone should. She’s told me enough, but not anywhere close to all. I can see her blessings: two children and friends that love her, ministries to give her purpose, and then the basics: a roof over her head and food in the fridge that those she ministers to do not have. It’s the feelings that are missing: feeling loved, feeling cherished, feeling accepted and valued. Instead, what she feels is lonely, unappreciated, invisible.

As we talked, I could hear her daughter (who’s an adult) in the background. Honestly, it made me angry. Suicide would DESTROY those kids. It would devastate her friends. Despite the pain she CAN’T give up. She can’t give in. She must keep trying.

  I pray she feels the love. I pray she knows the line – when to get help. She doesn’t want to talk to her counselor or go to the psych ward. I worry but she’s got to be the one to fight. I asked if she has a plan and she said, no. If that changes, I will call for help. I don’t want to take that choice from her but she may not be able to make that choice. I just keep telling her she’s worth it. She’s worth the fight,

Photo by Simran Sood on Unsplash