I came home after two weeks to an apartment with all the "leftovers" from when the EMTs or whoever took me out. There was blood, and pills, and all the other "stuff" I'd left behind. All the mess didn't mean anything to me. It didn't jog any memories.
I was alone, much as I had been before.
My problems that had led to my psychotic episode were right where I'd left them as well. In Hollywood, the person who survives what I survived has a moment of clarity, in which they change overnight. That didn't happen. I cleaned up "the stuff," called my family to let them know I was home, then went about the routine I'd left two weeks earlier.
My cell phone did have a few voicemails and texts. I deleted them all without listening to them or reading them. Then I called my mentor. We set up a time to meet, and I spent the next two weeks figuring out how to give friends and family answers I didn't have.
Turns out, it probably didn't matter. People like their initial conclusions. It didn't matter what I said, because people assumed I was depressed. That's how it is, right? If you tried to kill yourself, you must be depressed. And if you tried to kill yourself, any sense of privacy you might have had is forfeit, because "people care."
Most of the people in my life put a "like" on the rather long message I put on Facebook. A few, I never heard from again. Some openly expressed a desire to hurt me, for one reason or another. But after that, it was old news. It got easier to get back to my old life.
Surviving a suicide attempt doesn't kill your addictions, make stress easier to deal with, or make it easier for people to connect with you. What it does is show you who loves you. The people who listen, who accept who you are, and who are there afterward as they were before...those are the people who really, truly love you.
I was surprised to find who was willing to love me. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.
The pastors of the church I grew up in? Nope. Distant relatives? Nope. People who had told me how awesome they thought I was? Nope.
Those were the first people to bail after essentially saying, "Hey, glad you're not dead!"
My immediate family--people who had more than enough reasons to write me off as a disappointment and a failure--were the ones who held on. They wanted answers, some of which I couldn't give, but when the dust settled, they were still there. They went out of their way to show me they trusted me.
I did have to sit down with them and answer some tough questions for which I had the answers. I had to admit my failures, mistakes, and problems. They listened, and trusted, and it felt clean. It was righteous, and I wanted to endure it, as much as it made me vulnerable.
But just as I learned God loves me and He is faithful, I learned we're all people, and people are prone to their old ways. I had to face my addictions. I joined support groups. I searched for help. I dug into Scripture. I tried going back to church, but due to some of my problems as a child, I still get physically ill whenever I step into a church building.
And all that effort helped, but by no means did it solve the problems. I still struggle. I still fight.
But isn't that kind of the point?
In the aftermath of my suicide attempt, I still struggle and fight with my addictions and stress and mental junk, but I'm here to fight it. I'm here, alive, kicking and screaming against what I do not wish to do. Some days I'm successful. Some days I'm not.
But I'm here, and I firmly know God is here with me. That doesn't always make my struggle easier...just possible.
I spent my youth being arrogant, foolish, and prideful. I trusted men rather than God, and pursued my pleasures, not His. My sin found me out, but even in the midst of our sin, there is love, and mercy, and grace. God has always loved me. He showed me mercy in preserving my life. He gave me grace in showing me who I am, and where I need work.
My suicide attempt and the aftermath were essentially my own version of John 21, in which Jesus restored Peter. Jesus asked Peter, "Do you love (agape) Me?" Peter had previously said yes, that He was fully devoted. This time, Peter said, "Yes Lord, I love (phileo) You." Peter realized his love for Christ was not agape, and he was ready to admit it.
Jesus asked again, "Peter, do you love (agape) Me?" Again, Peter was humble. "Yes, Lord, I love (phileo) You."
The third time, Jesus said, "Peter, do you love (phileo) Me?" At that point, Peter was grieved, probably for a number of reasons, but whatever the case, he confirmed his phileo love for Jesus, and admitted Jesus knew all things. Previously, Peter had told Christ He was wrong about having to die.
I was unwilling to admit my life was as messed up as it was. I nearly died, but even though I lived, God brought me through a kind of post-resurrection restoration. We all know Peter wasn't perfect, even after Jesus restored him. He was Peter, a fiery man who could let his zeal overwhelm his logic.
I learned who loves me, and how they love me, but I also learned to see my love for God in a realistic way. It's not pretty. It's not like I want it to be. But it's there, and so am I, and so is I AM, who knows all things.
And I love (phileo) Him.
I was alone, much as I had been before.
My problems that had led to my psychotic episode were right where I'd left them as well. In Hollywood, the person who survives what I survived has a moment of clarity, in which they change overnight. That didn't happen. I cleaned up "the stuff," called my family to let them know I was home, then went about the routine I'd left two weeks earlier.
My cell phone did have a few voicemails and texts. I deleted them all without listening to them or reading them. Then I called my mentor. We set up a time to meet, and I spent the next two weeks figuring out how to give friends and family answers I didn't have.
Turns out, it probably didn't matter. People like their initial conclusions. It didn't matter what I said, because people assumed I was depressed. That's how it is, right? If you tried to kill yourself, you must be depressed. And if you tried to kill yourself, any sense of privacy you might have had is forfeit, because "people care."
Most of the people in my life put a "like" on the rather long message I put on Facebook. A few, I never heard from again. Some openly expressed a desire to hurt me, for one reason or another. But after that, it was old news. It got easier to get back to my old life.
Surviving a suicide attempt doesn't kill your addictions, make stress easier to deal with, or make it easier for people to connect with you. What it does is show you who loves you. The people who listen, who accept who you are, and who are there afterward as they were before...those are the people who really, truly love you.
I was surprised to find who was willing to love me. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.
The pastors of the church I grew up in? Nope. Distant relatives? Nope. People who had told me how awesome they thought I was? Nope.
Those were the first people to bail after essentially saying, "Hey, glad you're not dead!"
My immediate family--people who had more than enough reasons to write me off as a disappointment and a failure--were the ones who held on. They wanted answers, some of which I couldn't give, but when the dust settled, they were still there. They went out of their way to show me they trusted me.
I did have to sit down with them and answer some tough questions for which I had the answers. I had to admit my failures, mistakes, and problems. They listened, and trusted, and it felt clean. It was righteous, and I wanted to endure it, as much as it made me vulnerable.
But just as I learned God loves me and He is faithful, I learned we're all people, and people are prone to their old ways. I had to face my addictions. I joined support groups. I searched for help. I dug into Scripture. I tried going back to church, but due to some of my problems as a child, I still get physically ill whenever I step into a church building.
And all that effort helped, but by no means did it solve the problems. I still struggle. I still fight.
But isn't that kind of the point?
In the aftermath of my suicide attempt, I still struggle and fight with my addictions and stress and mental junk, but I'm here to fight it. I'm here, alive, kicking and screaming against what I do not wish to do. Some days I'm successful. Some days I'm not.
But I'm here, and I firmly know God is here with me. That doesn't always make my struggle easier...just possible.
I spent my youth being arrogant, foolish, and prideful. I trusted men rather than God, and pursued my pleasures, not His. My sin found me out, but even in the midst of our sin, there is love, and mercy, and grace. God has always loved me. He showed me mercy in preserving my life. He gave me grace in showing me who I am, and where I need work.
My suicide attempt and the aftermath were essentially my own version of John 21, in which Jesus restored Peter. Jesus asked Peter, "Do you love (agape) Me?" Peter had previously said yes, that He was fully devoted. This time, Peter said, "Yes Lord, I love (phileo) You." Peter realized his love for Christ was not agape, and he was ready to admit it.
Jesus asked again, "Peter, do you love (agape) Me?" Again, Peter was humble. "Yes, Lord, I love (phileo) You."
The third time, Jesus said, "Peter, do you love (phileo) Me?" At that point, Peter was grieved, probably for a number of reasons, but whatever the case, he confirmed his phileo love for Jesus, and admitted Jesus knew all things. Previously, Peter had told Christ He was wrong about having to die.
I was unwilling to admit my life was as messed up as it was. I nearly died, but even though I lived, God brought me through a kind of post-resurrection restoration. We all know Peter wasn't perfect, even after Jesus restored him. He was Peter, a fiery man who could let his zeal overwhelm his logic.
I learned who loves me, and how they love me, but I also learned to see my love for God in a realistic way. It's not pretty. It's not like I want it to be. But it's there, and so am I, and so is I AM, who knows all things.
And I love (phileo) Him.
