It's been just over ten years since I last really contemplated suicide.
It was January 2003, and a friend of mine had just ended the weird relationship we had. I'm sure now it was the brave and right thing to do, to save us from the pit of codependency into which we'd fallen. His timing was terrible (the night before spring semester started), but it was the right thing.
But I took it pretty hard. So hard that my sister literally drove after me in the middle of the night to make sure I would be OK. So hard that my parents ended their trip to another part of the U.S. and returned to Wheaton to make sure I was coping. I wasn't coping. I hit rock-bottom. The only thing--or so I tell myself now--that kept me from turning on the gas and going to sleep during those weeks when I had the house to myself was that the home was a duplex, and I was worried about the people next door. My roommate that year was a gift from God. She would turn on U2's "Grace" and just let me cry. We'd listen to it on repeat until I finally fell asleep.
I did pull through, obviously, after a special sunrise in Michigan while listening to K-Love, followed by four months of weekly counseling and meeting biweekly with a senior psychology major. ("I'm not a peer counselor," she'd say, but really she was.) Things did get better. Life got brighter. And over several months, I was finally able to see him again in social situations and not spiral into pain.
Ten years.
It wasn't the first time I'd had suicidal thoughts. I was only 11 when I first thought about suicide. We had moved back to the U.S. in the middle of my sixth grade year. I was starting a new school in urban Los Angeles. I had gone from a middle school of about 110 to one of 1700. I showed up wearing the wrong clothes. My cute lunch bag that my mom had gotten me was stolen the first week I used it (with my lunch in it). I said the wrong things in class and got funny looks. I went the whole first three weeks or so in Language Arts writing in a journal every morning without realizing there were prompts on the board (behind me, of course). I was lonely, ostracized, out-of-place. And the worst of it was that my older brother and sister had gone back to Nigeria without me so that my sister could finish up her senior year of high school. I resented their being there in my world without me, and even though I fought with them like cats and dogs when we were together, I missed them terribly when we were apart. Even church activities did little to boost my spirits. The youth minister, Mike, was young and lively and forced me to play all the active games--games my sister had adored when she was in the same youth group but that I detested. I dreaded youth group many weeks; all I wanted to do was sit on the bench and watch the games, but Mike would drag me onto the field and make me play.
My mom tried to hard to help me that semester. To be fair, she and Dad were overwhelmed with a lot of other things going on, like my dad's cancer treatment and my siblings' being 7000 miles away during a very important part of my sister's life. Mom did her best to cheer me up. She was always there when I needed her. She made me cookies and amazing lunches with sweet notes. She baked me a Cat Who birthday cake for my 12th birthday. I remember walking to Jack-in-the-Box after school on a minimum day. And we did have a few foster babies that spring, too, which helped. But there were certain points when I wondered what would be the most efficient way to die. Pills? Getting run over?
It was a pretty awful time.
But that, too, got better. I did eventually make one friend toward the end of sixth grade who helped me get through the first part of seventh grade before we went back to Nigeria the next January. And youth group got a little better. The best part was that my brother came back from Nigeria in the summer and stayed until we all went back home in January. We bonded in our loneliness and together fell in love with Star Trek: The Next Generation (and later Star Trek: Voygaer). We'd watch Get Smart on Nick at Night. We went to see Star Trek: Generations in the theater together.
There were also two ladies from church who would invite me to do sundry fun activities--shopping at the mall, walking on the beach, visiting a bookstore (one of my favorites!), and of course playing Hell Fudge. I don't think I would have pulled through that year without Irene and Geri (may she rest in peace).
But I did pull through.
And once in high school I thought about throwing myself in the midst of traffic outside our school when I had particularly low self-esteem. Between a friend insinuating that I was fat (which--looking back--he didn't actually do; it's all about perception) and a few neighbor girls saying my face looked like a pizza, I just wanted it to end. That didn't last long, though, and everything was once again peachy. Or at least as peachy as the average life is for a 14-year-old girl.
I often think, though, about these times. I still occasionally feel the pain of the loneliness, the ridicule, the rejection.
I got a prayer chain notice recently about a family whose 12-year-old daughter had committed suicide and was found by her older sister. While I prayed, a flood of emotion overcame me. I was so, so blessed to have a loving, attentive family and caring people around me to get me through my crises. God saved me from myself. I don't know why sometimes, but He did, and I'm glad. My heart aches for the families of those who gave in, who surrendered to the darkness. And I grieve for those who are struggling daily just to keep from giving in, usually in silence and alone (at least, in their minds).
Now that I have two children, I can't afford to think of suicide. Sure, some days are low days, others are really, really low days, but I would guess that at least 80% of my days are bright. Tiring and stressful, sure, but not hopeless days of despair. I only wish I could somehow reach out to those who are walking in darkness, to let them know that they are not alone, that they are beautiful, that life is worth fighting for, that it does get better. To listen and understand because I've been there.
I'm a survivor, but only by the grace of God.
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