Today, I'm 9 years old.
I write this letter to myself every
year on the anniversary of my suicide attempt. The point of the
letter is for me to take the time to reflect upon the past year and,
once again, celebrate a failure.
I know that celebrating failure is
uncommon. But, of all the successes I can count, I have learned the
most from my ineffective attempt to kill myself.
True story.
This is how far I had gotten into my
letter this year. I was sitting on my couch writing it as the news
about Robin Williams' suicide came across the television. I had to
stop. The echoes of that past pain, the place where I was when I
fostered the attempt, came rushing back to me too fast and too hard
to navigate.
I felt deeply for Mr. Williams and his
family, like most people did, I think. But, it wasn't because I knew
him or that he was this wonderful figure head in my life or anything.
I felt deeply because I remember that place and what it feels like.
It surpasses lonely.
I've read many tributes to Mr.
Williams. I've read many reactions to his suicide. None of which come
as any surprise to me.
When I attempted suicide, I received
the same types of feedback. Some of the reactions I heard only in
whispers as they were spoken in such a way that I was not supposed to
hear. But, I did.
“What a blessing that she survived,
unless her soul were to spend an eternity in Hell.”
“What a selfish act. To attempt to
abandon her children.”
“Coward”
Yes. I heard all of these things. Yes.
They hurt. But none of them hurt as deeply as I was hurting in “that
place” and none of these statements made me feel as lonely as I did
when I was in “that place.” I listened and never spoke a word in
my own defense.
I've found people say these things
sometimes because it helps them to grieve when they are otherwise
helpless. So, instead of allowing these brash comments to hurt me, I
allowed them to soften me and realized, “This person is speaking
from a place of pain and misunderstanding.” Because, it really is
that simple. I understand pain and misunderstanding. Therefore, I can
empathize instead of becoming angry.
The truth, in response to these claims
(the things people say to try to make it “all better” or to make
sense of what has happened within themselves), is often too hard to
hear. The truth is, when I was in that bottomless pit of depression,
I didn't feel cowardly.
I felt helpless. Hope Less. Broken.
When I tried to kill myself, leaving my
children and family behind, I actually thought I was doing them a
favor---liberating them from the sickness I saw as “me.”
I wasn't afraid of my soul going to
Hell. I was living IN my own personal Hell...what exactly is the
difference? You are going to tell me that when my Soul meets my
Father and he sees I'm broken by the weight of this world as He also
knows it that he would throw me into to the pit of fire because I
feel? Because, I haven't suffered enough? I do not believe that.
That threat may work for someone NOT in
the pits of depression. The threat means nothing to someone swimming
in the throes of it. Nothing. And, that's what it is. A threat. It
does nothing for the family members left behind after someone's
suicide either.
Today, nearly a week after I started
the letter, I am sitting down to finish it. My tears are not gone and
I know finishing it will only make them come back stronger. But,
finish it, I will. Because as long as I have breath and the
where-with-all to write, I will continue to speak about the things no
one wants to speak about. I just don't think I would have sunk to
these depths and survived if I were to keep it all bottled up.
This year, I learned that I am Human.
As much as I would like to say, I'm from another planet because this
one doesn't really reflect the ideal of what I think a home planet
should reflect, I can't. As much as I would like to point a finger of
blame at the mysterious and ever elusive “them” for all the
problems in the world, I've had to learn there is no “them”...only
us.
When I realized “they” were a part
of “us”, I felt this overwhelming responsibility to DO something.
WE cannot continue to act that way.
Still yet, the feeling of hopelessness
and helplessness continued as I realized my own ineffectiveness to
change anything. Then, I started thinking really hard. I can't stand
on a soap box and preach to an unengaged audience. “They” whether
a part of “us” or not, will not listen.
Now what?
You walk. That's what. Words, in the
end, mean very little. So, I went back to what my Dad used to tell me
over and over again as a child, “Talk is cheap. Actions speak
louder than words.”
Very true. I
decided to walk the talk. My “talk” says, love is the only answer
because love is the only truth. “Love is patient, love is kind. It
does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not
dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it
keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but
rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always
hopes, always perseveres.” 1 Corinthians 13.
Before my suicide attempt, I was taking
care of an elderly lady who had been rendered speechless due to a
stroke. I was with her on the day she died. She spoke on that day
only to look at me and state the location of this verse. So, yeah...I
paid attention to that and it kind of stuck with me.
I didn't fully understand it, though.
Not until recently. Not until I tried to stand on it and realized how
hard it was.
Love is all the things this verse says.
It is also very difficult. It's so much easier to react to things
with anger and fear than to admit that something inside you has just
cracked open. It's much easier to discount someone in the name of
hate than to reach inside yourself and find compassion instead. Much.
Easier.
It's also very hard to change. It's
hard to go from this stoic, know it all, judgmental person to
becoming one that is softened and vulnerable. It's also scary. It's
always scary to lay down your armaments in the face of battle. But,
truly, the best weapon we have is our hearts, though we've long
forgotten that. Because we have long forgotten the power of our
hearts and emotion, we are often swamped and overrun by them.
Feelings and emotions have been pushed aside in our culture for
something more ambitious...something tangible...something that we can
manipulate into a feeling of power because, otherwise, whether we
admit it or not, we are weak and compensating for it ineffectively.
Do you know how hard it is to hug
someone who just said you missed a good chance at going to Hell? Its
excruciating. But, I managed to find that place we both had in common
and that place was pain. I could hug the hurting person while the ego
lashed out with all its justifications in light of its own pain that
it didn't understand.
Our collective pain is speaking volumes
right now. While our collective compassion is rising in the face of
our ever changing world. At the same time, we are grieving (whether
we realize it or not) the things of the past that are slipping away.
One of the key stages within grief is anger. Not only is getting mad
in the face of grief a given, it is kind of essential. But, anger is
not the reconciliation stage. That isn't where you find true peace.
Anger is not what heals us, but rather
cracks us open to healing potential. At the anger stage, we have to
decide if we are willing to let go of our familiar (anger) coping
mechanism and address the underlying emotions. That's where we fail.
Many of us stop at anger and hold onto it viciously...like a life
support device because the feeling does bring a bit of fuel to an
otherwise vast deep darkness. Its a spark in that darkness and many
hold on to it for dear life. And, whether they know it or not, anger
will eat your soul more vicariously then depression. Each have a
place to be dealt with and that place is not found in the outside
world. It's found right in you and sometimes that is the scariest
place to turn. Many people are afraid of their own shadow. And, most
of us have never been taught to adequately deal with our sensitive
emotional bodies. We've allowed them to lie in neglect because our
culture teaches us that it is something to be pushed down in strides
toward more material pursuits.
But, no matter how far you push it
down, the emotional body does not go away. Even if you aren't
listening, it affects you. Even if you don't want to feel, you do.
Some of us are just better at pretending that this doesn't exist.
And, we pretend because, it's hard to feel. It's easier to be angry.
Its safer if you are defensive instead of vulnerable. But safe or easy,
we also still retain our vulnerabilities even if we deny them. Why
not embrace them and nurture them, instead?
I've a feeling that Mr. Williams'
death, because of the matter of his celebrity, will open more and
more doors to conversations about suicide, depression and what
happens as someone discovers their own mortality through the
diagnosis of a life threatening illness. These will be hard and
heated conversations. But, much awareness of suicide and depression
will also be presented. I'm going to look for that and allow myself
to be affected by the reality and pain that depression and suicide
bring, again. And this time, I will step forward in love, not pain
and anger. Because, “I am a human being and nothing human can be
alien to me.” Maya Angelou. If you've never heard the poem, you
kind find her reading it here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePodNjrVSsk
“You are a child of the Universe, no
less than the Sun and the Stars. You deserve to be here.” Max
Ehrmann .
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