I posted the following on a message board 6 December 2007. I didn't want to lose it when it scrolls off the board.
Until October 2004, I went through SERIOUS depressions every 6 or so months. My husband would have to physically restrain me to stop me from doing harm to myself. The last suicidal ideations I had was in Feb 2004.
That year, I finished a brutal first and last year of teaching... and I only finished my contract for love of my students, highschoolers all of them. My Seniors, all 5 of them, hadn't had an English teacher start and finish the year with them since 8th grade. Of the 4 core teachers, 3 of us were new to the school and the fourth was starting his 2nd year (or 3rd, perhaps) at the school. One of the teachers and I got along excellently, but he had a worse year than I did (His house was broken into and his wife attacked one day while he was teaching; he had to leave in a hurry to go take care of her, and his anxiety, which understandably overlapped into his already overloaded schedule, meant that the school refused to renew his contract (which wound up being a moot point as the school was so poorly run it closed before the next term)). Many of my students loved me (and I still keep in touch with 3 of my seniors; spent my birthday with 2 of them, and they came and spent her birthday with me yesterday), and that helped immensely.
That summer, my Zoey-bug was born. The last week of June, I went on a trip with my adoptive family and their 5 children (6 and younger). The second oldest came to me on her own, suddenly, and announced she loved me. Now, they'd told me they loved me before, but usually after I'd given them gifts or played with them; this summer, my knees were troubling me and I couldn't spend as much time with them, and I hadn't just given her something... this was unprovoked and beautiful.
I went the second week of July and saw my sweet Zoeybug just after she'd been born.My GOD, how I love her. How I loved her. I would hold her to me, rocking her softly, bouncing her to sleep, just looking at her beautiful face. There was nothing my sweet Zoey could do to earn my love, and yet love her I did (I do), desperately. I realized I'd spent my entire life trying to earn the love of my family. I saw my aunts and uncle, my grandparents... and I realized they love me the way I adored Zoey. I'd never had to do anything for them to love me; what I'd accomplished in my life was the icing on the cake... not the cake itself.
I took a trip by myself up to see where my father had been laid to rest, and then up to see his sister... she brought in her son, whom I hadn't seen in over a decade, who brought his fiancee and son to meet me, excited by the prospect. They heaped high praise and complements upon me... that I felt I never deserved. By the time I came home, I had a lot to ponder.
I had started one Bible study by Beth Moore (Beloved Disciple) and then another (Breaking Free). They were spectacular, and I soon added what I was learning in the study to what I had to ponder. One night in October, as I was thinking of them, I broke free.
I was MADE to be loved. I've ALWAYS been loved. I NEVER had to earn it. So are you. I know that as deeply in my soul as I know my own name, as I deeply as I know that I AM.
I had been suicidal for SO long because I was tired. I was tired of EARNING love, tired of working for the right, the permission to draw the next breath. I knew that my husband loved me, but I also knew that when I died, he'd get over it, he'd go on with life, and he'd find love, real love, with the sort of woman he deserved. (I am in tears as I tell you this). I was selfish in my suicidal ideations... it wasn't that I wanted to die, just that I was far too tired to keep going. But I considered very seriously the people around me.
One of my attempts, one of my more serious and more nearly successful, was when I was a teenager. I overdosed on my antidepressant after a very bad day, and I purposely fought to stay awake, to stay up after I'd taken the pills until I could put my sisters to bed and go to sleep... they'd be taken care of, and I'd just never wake up.
Until the truth was tattooed on my heart, I couldn't see what I was doing to the ones I loved the most. I couldn't see how horribly selfish it was. Until I learned that I was loved, I couldn't fall in love with life.It's been over 3 years now since the last time I was suicidal. My life is so remarkably different.
Please, be aware that people who are suicidal are in more pain than they know how to cope with.
And please, be aware, that those the suicidal leave behind hurt and miss the ones they've lost more than the lost one can imagine.
Suicide is about pain, on both sides.If you're considering ending your life for whatever reason, please, please know you will be desperately missed, more than you can imagine. Please, give us a chance to help carry your burden before it drags you beyond our reach.
You are loved. You ARE loved. YOU ARE LOVED.