I am a survivor of attempted suicide.

I spent Christmas 1997 in a series of hospital environments.

I had attempted to commit suicide.

Essentially, I was locked up for my own safety for over a week.

I had reached a breaking point.

Circumstances beyond my control, that were not my fault, wreaked havoc on my sensitive heart, mind, and soul. I have always felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I want to help everyone, fix everything.

I was twenty years old.

The world was not my responsibility.

My parents were not my responsibility.

Friends were not my responsibility.

I should’ve been carefree and fancy free and my biggest worry should have been only my next semester classes at college. And they weren’t strenuous. I was in my last year.

My parents weren’t divorced. They fought. They were stressed. But they were together.

There were no drugs or abuse stories. Nothing exciting or tawdry there. No soap opera.

Normal boring middle class white kid with a brilliant future ahead of her.

Sure, there was that whole lack of trust, angst, misunderstood thing. First world problems. I should have occupied my time with meaningful activities. I wonder if that would have helped or just delayed the inevitable.

So, why? you’re probably asking. I’m hoping everyone who reads this will wonder and cannot relate. I hope and pray you never reach a breaking point like I did.

Depression and anxiety are very real. And in the midst of it, thinking clearly is seldom an option. Depression sucks the life and hope from your soul. Anxiety is all-encompassing and there is no rationale for those fears and worries. And I was not a Christian then.

I was lost.

In so many ways.

I felt abandoned. I felt stifled.

Helpless. Hopeless. Pointless. Worthless. Less than.

I was right where the devil wanted me.

I don’t feel I need to go into too many details. A bottle of pills. An ambulance. Lots of scary lights and loud voices.

Fear. So much fear. And I gave in to it.

It was a close call. It was a cry for help. I didn’t really receive the kind of help I thought I wanted at the time. My body was saved. The doctors said it was a miracle I didn’t damage any organs. I was perfectly fine after the drugs were removed from my system.

But it would be many years yet before my mind and soul would be fine.

I had to walk down that road. I had to be completely broken to accept true healing.

Essentially, I know God saved me. For a purpose. I didn’t realize anything then.

I really just wanted the pain to stop. It just hurt to be alive. It hurt to see others hurting themselves and each other. It hurt me to witness that. Since I couldn’t stop it, I wanted out. Like gasping for air, or clawing out of a hole, I just wanted freedom.

That kind of freedom isn’t escape. It’s bondage. When we believe those dark lies and spiral down into the pit of despair, it’s not escape. It’s fear. It’s ragged hopelessness that it will ever improve. And being oh, so alone in it.

Only Jesus is Freedom. But I couldn’t accept that yet.

But too many Christians are depressed and are not finding the help they seek within the Church or compassion from Christians. Why is that?

When I search online for depression and Christians, all the articles are shallow and unhelpful. They preach that Christians shouldn’t experience mental health problems because we believe in Jesus! Our experiences are discounted, unvalidated, and we feel even worse, so we shut up those feelings even more inside. We hurt in silence, alone.

Did you know that after a suicide attempt, you are locked up against your will for your own safety? It’s the law.

It felt like more punishment.

I experienced a couple weeks of in-house therapy and meds after my attempt. I lost almost ten pounds and I was only about 125 then! The other patients frightened me too. They seemed really quite ill in a different way than I felt I was. Many had attempted suicide multiple times and had lots of other issues. They were all so kind. I felt so out of place.

The therapists, of course, were not Christian. They were very New Age and humanistic. I got so many mixed messages about following my dreams no matter the cost to others. Please myself and let others go. Grow up and take responsibility for my actions. I was right and everything else was wrong. I was too young and inexperienced and just a lost little girl who needed her parents to guide her because I was too fragile to function on my own.

I think therapists just tell you what you want to hear. I didn’t know what to believe. The staff almost treated me like an adult, but then again, made me feel like a naughty little girl who disobeyed and rebelled against my attentive and loving parents. My parents were just mad at me.

Where was Jesus? He carried me, but I didn’t know.

Where was compassion or any real help? Where was the empathy?

No one understood.

I was eventually released. Too soon. Too little gained. So much lost.

Back to my parents’ house. Where I felt like was a little child again. They tiptoed around me, walking on eggshells, quiet and fearful. Where many rules were enforced and reinforced. No social activity for me. I felt like I was on restriction for a misbehavior. It was surreal.

I had no autonomy. I couldn’t individuate. I couldn’t grow or function normally.

I was medicated on Prozac, that go-to drug at that time, before other, somewhat safer alternatives were known or appreciated.

I did not function well on Prozac. The side effects were horrible. I felt so out of control with overwhelming emotions all the time. One of the weirdest things is that I would sleep exactly eight hours to the minute each night. Physically, I felt great.

I was still lost.

I had nothing to do while I waited for school to start again. No job. No friends. I was an embarrassment. To my family, friends. To myself.

Shortly after returning home, my mom took me to the mall. Retail therapy, I suppose. At the ice cream shop, I waited patiently for the clerk to finish cleaning up something so I could order a cone. Another lady apparently needed an ice cream fix so badly that she rudely shouldered me out of the way to order. I glared at her in frustration. I had been obviously standing there a while and she just walked up! Inside, I really wanted to hurt her. I’ve always been rather passive, letting it go when things like that happen. It’s not worth it. It’s just easier to let it go than confront people over situations like that that don’t really matter. My mind wandered to how I wanted to confront her and I stood there, daydreaming I slapped her. My palm itched almost uncontrollably. I was shaking when I sat down at a table with my ice cream. I could hardly enjoy the treat. I was scared of myself. I was frightened by the level of my anger. Over something so meaningless. That I would ordinarily shrug off.

It was frightening. The memory is so vivid that it makes me sick to my stomach. My palms still itch when I remember.

After a month or so, my life really fell apart, because nothing was fixed. Nothing was different. Everyone wanted to pretend it all away. But that’s another story for another day.

I think the suicide of Rick Warren’s son is a wake-up call to Christians. That poor boy hurt so badly that he desired to leave this world. It was too much for him. The world wakes up again with Robin Williams’ death. Many celebrities recently have chosen to end their lives, leaving behind devastated spouses and precious children and sad fans. But everyone just wants to argue and be pompous or saddened while nothing changes and no one is compassionate and few are helped. There is no empathy.

It’s not for us to understand or judge. But I think we should help each other more. We should try harder to support one another through trials. I think a lot of depression and anxiety is spiritual warfare. How easy to confuse Christians with a fog of mental darkness. We’re blinded too easily. And have no one and nowhere to turn for help. Depression is evil.

What can we do?

Pray.

Prayer is powerful to ward off evil forces. Pray for light and protection from evil. Pray for the body’s chemistries to be healed and aligned. Find a prayer partner or group. Pray that our children will not share in this legacy. It’s often not the endall beall to healing, but it’s a beginning. Ask friends, family members, your church to pray.

Read the Word.

Read the Bible out loud. Do a concordance search. Many of the prophets suffered from depression. Get a good Bible study to help you break free. Again, this is often not the only help depression needs to heal. But it’s a great start. Get an accountability partner. Ask your pastor or church leadership for help and prayer. If they scoff at your illness, find a new church.

Fellowship.

I rarely feel like it. It takes a lot of effort for me to be around people and be social. But when I hole up away from people, that’s when the darkness likes to creep in. It’s worse to be alone with it.

Take care of yourself, physically.

When I don’t feel well, then my emotions run down too. Eat right. Exercise. Get out in the sunshine whenever possible. Drink water. Dance. Play with your kids. Take cod liver oil. Diffuse essential oils to help boost your mood. Get a GoLite for those dark days of winter.

Occupy your mind.

If your mind has too much free time and it wanders to negative thoughts, occupy it. Write. Start a blog. Read a book. Take up a hobby like art or woodworking. Do a puzzle. Play a game. Learn something along with your spouse or child. Volunteer with children or the elderly. Go to church. Exercise. Take a class. Feed the birds. Get a pet. Create arts and crafts. Do good.

Counseling.

I know there are Godly Bible-believing Christian counselors out there. You can also turn to trusted friends or family members. It might be hard to open up and be honest. {Do you think writing this post was easy?} Let the Holy Spirit guide you. Don’t be afraid to say no after a meeting or two and find someone else. Some secular therapists might be better to meet your needs. Here’s a good guide and checklist to finding a therapist.

Medication.

I know some people’s bodies just need help leveling out. Like high blood pressure or high cholesterol, you may need meds for your serotonin and/or dopamine levels. (I have never found a med that I could cope with, but you may have great success.) Depression and anxiety are real illnesses. Don’t judge people who take a pill for depression because I know you don’t judge those who take a pill for diabetes. Some people need meds just occasionally. Others need it daily for an extended time. Find a physician who can work with you, a therapist, your family, your needs, to find the right combination for your needs. I’ve tried different meds and I didn’t like any of them with their side effects. But I respect those who do need them and find they help.

People have told me that they didn’t know I have issues with depression.

What do I say to that? Should I be glad that it doesn’t show? Should I be proud that I’ve hidden it well? It’s not something people often discuss in polite company. Most shy away from mental illness conversations. There’s a societal stigma that we’ve done something to deserve this or we should be able to “snap out of it.”

I often hear phrases like, “Just smile more. Just be happy. Just imagine you’re in your happy place. What do you have to be sad about?”

People who have never experienced mental illness can’t possibly understand.

Contact a suicide hotline for help.

Suicide is selfish. It’s a cry for help. It’s a last resort. It’s because we have no voice or feel like no one hears us. We’re so desperate that we have to be that selfish.

I hold on during my darkest days because I have responsibilties to my children and husband. I want to be there for their future.

As Christians, we often think that we can’t or shouldn’t feel that way, ever. How can we love and serve Jesus and still be depressed? But I often am. I know others struggle too. Maybe it’s just our fallen world. Perhaps it’s our thorn we must bear. Maybe some of us are more empathetic than others. We feel everything more.

I think it hurts even more now that I am a Christian. But Jesus helps me bear it.

I feel more acutely aware of others’ pain. I think that’s seeing with the eyes of Jesus. And if I hurt like this, what must He feel?

And what can I do about it?

It helps to serve others and take action to ease another’s burden.

Recommended Resources:

My friend Amanda tells it like it is. She’s not scared. I hope her book, Finding Joy in Depression, helps you like it helped me. I highly recommend it and there are some great resource links in it too.

You can read about how we use essential oils to help with our moods. I also use a GoLite in winter and make sure my vitamin D levels are high. Here’s how I encourage myself.

Here are some books that have helped me.


Note: I am not a doctor nor a therapist. These are just some methods that have helped me through the last ten years or so. Perhaps these resources can help others. If you feel hopeless, please tell someone immediately and seek professional help.

There’s always hope.

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