I’m about to tell you a part of my testimony that I’m not sure even my parents know…
It’s raw and It’s painful, but it needs to be told…
At fifteen years old I sat on my bedroom floor silently sobbing so as not to disturb my sister who was asleep in her bed across the room. Tears streamed down my cheek and soaked my hands, my crossed legs, and the floor below me for reasons that were nobody’s fault but my own. I messed up and I could admit that, but that’s not what was wrong. I was grounded, of course, but it didn’t matter because in that season I was always grounded. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. No matter what I did I kept messing up over and over again. I disappointed my parents and I disappointed myself. My whole world was crashing in around me all at once. I was depressed.
As the thousandth tear hit the floor a dark thought crossed my mind. When I looked up I could see my razors sitting in my bathroom caddy and I thought about how easy it would be to cut myself and it’d be over. I fought those thoughts, but I couldn’t help but think about what would happen if my family woke up and I was gone. I tried to figure out whether or not it’d be painful. Just as fast as cutting myself entered my mind it left, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about my parents medicine cabinet. I played scenario after scenario out in my mind. I tried my best to imagine how my family would react to finding me. For twenty minutes I sat there dwelling on suicide. I didn’t plan on suicide crossing my mind that night, but there I was. It was frightening. Sluggishly I climbed into bed tears stained my face and I was weak from crying but I fell asleep quickly.
The next few weeks were hazy. I ate less, I slept less, and I hid my feelings. I told no one about that night and I told no one when the thoughts of suicide continued. I never fully attempted suicide, but I held razor blades in my hand and I held pill bottles longer than I needed to. Everything that was going on in my head scared me, but I stayed silent. Years passed and every year it was the same issues. I would do really good and then my world would crash around me and I’d go right back to those dark thoughts. No matter what I did on my own nothing got better. I would answer alter calls, spend hours crying, and even ask God for help, but nothing ever got better. My entire life passed and nothing changed.
I wish I had answers and reasons why and I’ve spent too much time asking God why me. As I got older I watched over and over again as celebrity after celebrity or friend after friend committed or attempted suicide mostly by drug overdose. What’s ironic is that I still spent my days feeling like I was alone. No one understood me, but I understood them and I still understand.
Here’s where my story gets difficult…
At eight weeks pregnant I visited my obstetrician for the first time and along with an extremely intrusive first meeting (if you know what I mean) I was bombarded with a series of personal questions. Do you have a history of suicidal thoughts? Do you have a history of depression? Do you have a history with anxiety? My answer? No. No because I was never honest with anyone and no because I never went to a doctor and was never diagnosed. No because I never went on pills. That wasn’t the truth, but I lied anyways because I was ashamed. I hid my past from my doctor and I hid my past from my husband. That was a mistake.
I only realised that I should have been honest when I gave birth to Zion. Depression was nothing compared to postpartum depression. I would hold my baby and watch him as he slept and I felt nothing but destain. How could I look at this perfect baby and not want him? I felt like the worst person and the worst mother on the face of the planet and in history. He would just cry and cry and I would cry with him. I cried because for some reason all the excitement I felt when he was in my womb was gone. I spent ten months looking forward to having him in my arms and now that the moment was here I just wanted him to be back inside me. I felt like we had made a mistake by having a baby so soon. Exhaustion played a major key in my state of mind, but this was more than exhaustion. This was lasting.
Zion would go to bed or take a nap and I would just lay in bed and stare blankly at the ceiling. Once again I stopped eating as well and I stopped sleeping. I of course hid my feelings, but about four months after giving birth while in the car on the way home I broke down and in between sobs I let Josiah know that I was dealing with thoughts of suicide. I was unraveling and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Josiah didn’t say anything that helped. If I remember correctly all he said was, “Okay, it’s okay baby. Thank you for telling me.” We rode in silence the rest of the way home. I honestly have no idea if Josiah watched me closer after that. If he was worried he didn’t show it. He didn’t rush to hide our medicine and he didn’t stow away the knives. He was probably tip-toeing around me, but I was too depressed to notice. He never once mentioned my depression if I didn’t. At first I took this as a sign that he didn’t believe me, or that he wasn’t taking me seriously, but when my mind was clearer I realised that him not putting me in bubble wrap helped.
All I needed was his support. I didn’t need some lengthy speech about how it was all going to be okay, because it wasn’t okay. Nothing about what was going on in my mind was okay. Josiah did exactly what he should’ve. He listened to me, he held me when I cried, and he was there. He never said much and I’m okay with that because he doesn’t understand. This isn’t one of his battles and that’s okay. What is not okay is that I was silent. I lied to everyone around me because I was ashamed of how I felt because as a Christian and a pastor’s kid I shouldn’t be struggling the way I was. I have asked God to remove this thorn so many times that I have lost count, because I know that He can, but still the thorn remains.
For the first time in a long time I can actually say that I am happy. My family is in a good spot and we’re proud of ourselves, but last week I sat on my couch alone. Zion was in bed and Josiah was at work. Josiah called me like he usually does before I go to bed and I began to cry as all those feelings came rushing back. What would Josiah do without me? Would he be okay on his own? Would Zion know how much I loved him? Of course as I began to cry Josiah asked what was wrong and my response was, “I don’t want to tell you. You’ll be mad at me.” Josiah being the man that he is coaxed an answer out of me. Once again his response was “It’s okay and thank you for telling me.” I believe he is learning how to handle this better, but bless his heart I have ambushed him yet again. I still struggle with the thought that maybe he isn’t taking me seriously, but I know my husband and I know that’s not the case. Everyday I make the decision to battle lies. I wish with all my heart that I had the answers as to why I am not getting better. Perhaps there is an underlying issue that I haven’t been able to find on my own. Whatever it is I know that one day I’ll be able to look back and say that it’s no longer a silent battle and I have truly overcome. Honestly, as much as it scares me I’m considering going to a counselor.
The relevance…
I know that I am not alone. I have had friends who knew I struggled and struggle with depression who have reached out asking how I overcame. I never have an answer, because the truth is I still struggle, but I have become really good at hiding it. I don’t know how to overcome, because I can’t on my own. I do know that I am still here for a reason. I have spent so much time contemplating suicide and I have come close to trying a few times, but thank God something stops me everytime. My family is most likely the key factor into why I am still here, but there are people who don’t have the support system that I do. There are people every day who forget how important they are and are successful in taking their own life. Mental illness is not a joke it is an epidemic.
One common sentence is always said anytime someone commits suicide, “I would’ve never guessed they were depressed. They were so happy.” We don’t know because we don’t ask. I am able to be honest with my husband, but he is the first and until today the only person that I have ever told, but not everyone is able to be as honest and open. You cannot depend on someone to admit their innermost feelings. If you don’t want to be caught off guard and if you really care about someone than ask. If you know someone well enough then you know when something is wrong. We are never not on social media and we are considered to be the most connected generation, but we are also the most disconnected. We don’t talk about the hard stuff anymore. We post highlight reels and snapshots of what we want others to see, but we are not honest. Therefore, yes we are surprised when the happy go lucky girl or guy commits suicide.
Until you experience depression or suicide you can’t truly understand, but you can be a shoulder to lean on. You can be an ear who truly listens. We don’t need speeches on how to feel better and how to overcome we need a true friend. It is not up to you to fix us, but you can offer a hug that at least makes us feel like we aren’t in this alone. I can’t express enough that suicide, depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and mental illness in general is not a joke. This is something that as a society we have to take seriously. People are hurting. This isn’t a ploy to get more attention. This is a cry for help.
If you are struggling…
You are NOT alone! You know your mind and you know if you are okay or not okay. You know you better than anyone else. It is okay to hurt, but please don’t hide away. Please reach out to someone. Someone that will take you seriously. No one will be able to fix you, but God can and He will. I don’t know if He will fix you immediately or if like me it will be a crazy long process, but He will do a work in you. He may take away your pain or you will get the strength to get through it. If you don’t believe in God than that’s fine you can still reach out. Find a mentor or a counselor. My point is that you have to talk to someone. Don’t just think that this will go away on its own. Speaking from experience, the further down you try to bury the issue the harder it all gets. The more you bury the issue the more you begin to struggle in more areas of your life.
Whatever you or someone you know feels is very real. This is more than a temporary sadness that someone can just get over. I have dealt with this since I was fifteen, and I am twenty-one now and still struggling. I don’t have the answer, but I have experience. I have hope that one day I will be able to look back and say that I have beat this, but it’s just not the time. I don’t understand and I’m okay with that. If you struggle with depression or thoughts of suicide than I am here whenever you need to talk. I won’t be able to give you a ton of advice but I can listen. I can tell you what I do to calm myself and talk myself down if you want to know, but that won’t necessarily work for you. I am also available if someone you care about is struggling, but you don’t know how to approach them or what to say. Life gets hard and it’s okay to struggle. It’s even okay to be depressed if your life is going well. This too shall pass. You are loved dear child and you have a full life ahead of you!
“But you, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high.”
Psalm 3:3
If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, call 911, or call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or text HOME to the crisis text line at 741741.
Raising Mountains 