This piece discusses suicide and suicidal ideation that some people might find it disturbing. The author has sought help and wants you to be aware of signs, signals, and dangers. If you or someone you know is suicidal, please, contact your physician, go to your local ER, or call the suicide prevention hotline: the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or message the Crisis Text Line at 741741. Both programs provide free, confidential support 24/7.
The fragility of life has been made evident to me this week. I researched my family member’s debilitating disease. I watched my friend’s blood sugar jump hundreds within the hour. I listened to a girl try to knock her way to peace of mind. I made a grown man weep because there was simply no other response in the present moment.
I thought about unaliving myself yesterday. I hadn’t thought about that in one year, nine months, two hours, and 10 minutes. It was climactic yet so calm. I simply thought, “What would happen if I left this moment? Wouldn’t it be best that way?”
To be clear, I didn’t think about how I wanted to kill myself. I didn’t want to suffer. I certainly did not want to feel pain. No, I just did not want to exist in this night with its terror and darkness anymore. I thought it might be better that way. I would cease to exist, but it would be OK because people would still remember me. They would remember the good things about me, and hopefully, since I hadn’t lived this life for too long, they would let go of the list of problems I had caused. Yes, that would be easier. Those who didn’t like me would never know the things they didn’t want to know about me, and the loved ones I trusted would celebrate the things they knew I would want to be celebrated.
We all have our pain, and we all deal with it differently than anyone else. We numb it, or stuff it down, or let it overwhelm us to the point of helplessness. None of us want to feel pain – well, I don’t know, I guess I can’t speak for everyone. But for me, my pain only serves to remind me of what’s not right. I melt in a puddle of grief and tears over how much my heart aches in ways that it should never have to. The tension is too great – it’s too much for me to handle. And just leaving it behind would be so easy, so simple—such a quick release.
But I didn’t. I said no. Because I don’t think this is where the story ends. I have more places to see, more things to do. I have more ways I want to be brave.
Still, it’s about more than just me—there are people in my life who are struggling too. I have to see how their story ends. I want to show them that what they have to live for is enough – big and monumental and glorious enough – for me to stick around and care about. I’m here to cheer them on because they cheer me on just by being themselves.
It’s the face of God I see in every day – not the mountaintop experiences, but in the small, seemingly mundane moments. I used to doubt whether that was really me seeing God or just some thought made up in my mind. Now I know it’s the real thing, more real than anything else. I’m learning to trust that still, small Voice within me.
The fragility of life has been made evident to me this week. I hugged the ones I love. I listened to amazing music live in concert. I taught my dog how to be less afraid. I stood up for what I believe is right. And maybe that is enough. Maybe these sweet, gentle, persistent moments are enough to remind me of the glimpses of the Holy Spirit I see in real life. Standing so close on this ledge between life and death, I watch the veil tear. My Father draws close to me. He knows my need, and He holds me and weeps with me in the puddle on my floor.
