We’ve all heard of, perhaps even known someone who quietly killed themselves. I’m not referring to a peaceful death, rather one that leaves the survivors baffled because there was no note left behind, no final farewell in which the reasons for such finality are explained.
Why would someone do this? I can’t answer for everyone, only myself, someone who overcame a deep desire for death.
The majority of my life has been spent in a pattern of self destruction, finding ways to ensure the shortest survival possible. Unhappiness has a way of breeding negativity in every area of your life. Even during the rare moment of an uplifted outlook you still hide a feeling of impending doom behind the smile the world sees, waiting for the rare glimpse into serenity to pass so you can once again find yourself cloaked in a world of gray.
It wasn’t depression I suffered from, rather, low self-worth, a feeling of not belonging or even being wanted. I’m sure a psychiatrist would have prescribed medications to mask the moods, but at what cost? Losing the essence of who I am? It wasn’t medicine that was needed, it was fulfillment.
Before I found the answer to happiness, I sought an escape. As a teen I would take ½ a bottle of pain medicine before going to bed, kind of bargain with myself; if I wake up, I’m meant to live one more day, if not, then I wasn’t. I would compose long goodbye letters in my head, filled with a message meant to hurt those who were left behind. I would tell my mother how weak she was, how much I resented her for not protecting me. My brother would know how much his touches sickened me, how dirty I felt every time I looked at him. There were no words for my father, I never composed his letter there simply weren’t enough angry words to pacify my thoughts.
I never put the words on paper because under all the hurt, the anger and shame, there was still a love for these people in my heart, buried somewhere under the pain was a kernel of hope that maybe, just maybe they actually loved me too, and for that reason I couldn’t find it in myself to hurt them with words, just in case I didn’t wake up.
There were other times, other notes, other people who were the mental recipients of my wrath, but in the end, goodness overcame the dark. God’s love was invited into my heart and He poured it willingly.
I stopped wishing for the end a year ago. It’s amazing how much a life can be transformed once your eyes are opened to the light, the Life. There are so many hurting people out there, crippled by their pain, seeking solace in suicide because no one took the time to pour love into them, to show them it’s not the worlds approval they need to seek, rather the purest most amazing love available, their Fathers.