In the Beginning......Dirty Laundry Part Deux

OK - to quote one of my favorite films of all time: "let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start...."
On Saturday, I was driving home from the grocery store and Jack was arguing with Evie about some random act of nature that "not even God could stop". I can't tell you exactly what their conversation entailed because half the time, I am oblivious to their banter. But I heard that part and it piqued my interest, and Aslan's as well. Aslan and I both responded. "He can do anything Jack, He's God." "Nah-uh!" Jack quipped - this ought to be good I thought - "God cannot kill himself." What? WOW. He was right.

So then my children debated the issue of whether or not God could indeed kill Himself and of course we came to the conclusion that since He is not human, or created, He cannot die. Then we got into the whole incarnation and although Jesus died He rose again....ad infinitum.

This is not typical 'going home from the grocery store' conversation mind you. I don't want readers to think that my children are perpetual philosophers. But at the same time, these kind of conversations are not special - they are....natural.
So the conversation shifted. It went to a dark place. Suicide. The children made light of it, but I had to do something I had never done before. Tell them that not everyone that commits suicide would go to heaven. (Because Jack said that if you kill yourself you will be in heaven with God forever and I didn't want them to accept that) This puzzled them because death to them equals eternity in heaven. I could not allow them to continue the conversation in a light hearted way simply because it is too painful a subject.


I've lived with suicidal tendencies since I was about 4 or 5 years old.


For the first time in my life, I admitted that suicide CAN be sinful. I said it to my children and therefore the words are like coming from the mouth of God himself to them. I am overly cautious about influencing them on conscience formation. I try to not be black and white on many issues. I try to teach them to look at things from a global perspective and find the root of a problem they are having. I believe in de-briding all wounds in our household. I am probably on overkill most of the time, but I care deeply about their mental health; not unlike a wealthy person who was desperately poor as a child lavishes their own offspring with excessive material goods. But there is reason behind this attitude. And for someone who has battled the desire and even attempted suicide, it was hard to admit it might be wrong. It's my security blanket. It is the hidden bottle of vodka for the alcoholic to me. The "just in case" resolution if things get to hard to handle. To say out loud that one should not commit suicide was HUGE for me. I have deep deep empathy for those who take their lives and I am incapable of making any judgment on whether it was sinful on their part, because I am convinced that mental illness does not allow them to think rationally. And sometimes the pain is so unbearable.

I despise it when people use the term "i'm going to blow my brains out" or "if such and such happens, (or doesn't happen)I'll kill myself!" I don't think it's funny. And if I hear the old adage "that [suicide] is so selfish", I cringe with rage. The last time I checked, people who are selfish really care about, well, themselves. Self-love is a common definition. How much must you hate someone to kill them? It's not selfishness, it's hating yourself so much that you don't want anyone you DO love to have to put up with you. It's hopeless, yes, but please, not selfish.


Last week my mom asked me why I had been through so much therapy.

It was the first time in my life that my mother showed an interest in my mental health. It was to say the least, surreal.


I'm so hard wired that suicide both disgusts and fascinates me. In the sixth grade,I did a science project on the subject of teenage suicide and depression. My teachers saw a red flag and suggested counseling. My parents disagreed and bought me a puppy instead. She [the dog] became my confidant when I felt no one else would listen. I LOVED that dog. Four years later my parents took that dog away from me without warning or a goodbye because my mom couldn't deal with the dog having a bladder infection. These types of situations were so cyclical in my life that I never really could heal from one before the rug was pulled out from under me again.

Wait....what was my point? Oh Yeah, WHY DID I NEED THERAPY???? GEE MOM, I DON'T KNOW!

Then I explained a few things to my mom about why I had needed therapy and my distrust of loved ones for fear of being hurt {psychobabble, blah blah blah}


I've had a fundamental change in my life. That's why I can write about all this ugliness. At the beginning of the month, I went to a well known faith healer. He is a modest man who travels the Eastern part of the country - I believe with all of my heart that God used this man to close some gaping, putrid wounds in my psyche.

There is healing, there is hope.

But, my favorite therapist told me once that healing from depression is a journey that takes the rough, painful path. Not the easy one that skirts issues. You need to wade and wallow in your pain sometimes so that you can know it, and recognize it when it rears its ugly head.

I've been knee deep in my own lake of despair for long enough. I have made the decision not to go under. I walk out now and admire the beauty that the pain gave me. Wisdom was what Solomon wanted more than any other earthly possession. Now I know why; it's priceless. My children will not ever have to feel disconnected the way I did. I know how to stop it. I know the signs and I know pain. That to me, is a muse for living life.







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