I Thought About Suicide Today

I thought about suicide today.

It was a pretty shitty "sleep" last night.  After I woke up, I grabbed a bowl of Special K - with berries - and sat down at the kitchen table.  As I ate, it just started rolling in.  And once it starts, it kinda keeps going.  Remember that whole seed thing?  I rolled through each person within my circle of trust, wondering, briefly, about how they would react to the news.  And I came to the love of my life.  I pondered as to how I would want that to go...remember me always or forget I even existed.  I dunno.  Still don't.

The last few days have been rather shitty.  She and I got into a "disagreement".  It's been brewing for a bit, so there was no surprise when it finally erupted.  For a few weeks, I have been bitter about work.  A lot of anger and anxiety being compartmentalized inside me.  There have been a few attempts to address this pileup, but nothing of sustaining substance that would do the trick.  So, that's on me.  But once you get caught up in a vicious loop - her then me then me then her and on and on - it's hard to break out of it.  Dr. Sue Johnson, relationship expert and bestselling author of Hold Me Tight (a must read for cops), calls it the demon dialogues.  And Jesus, are they nasty.  And pointless.  Here are two people who love each other getting caught up in some quagmire of shit that keeps going round and round with no end in sight and only an escalation in anger, disdain, and resentment to show for it.  So, when I came to thinking about her while these thoughts slithered around in the depths of my mind, I didn't know if I wanted the whole drama engulfed in "never forget the good times" yadda yadda b.s. or simply the final page in a chapter that doesn't get read again.  It simply sucks not being on point, or connected, with her and getting it wrong.  Most of this shit is simply a result of mis- or even noncommunication.  Frustrating.

But here I was, I just polished off my cereal and consumed in my thoughts of despair and sorrow.  Near the end of my rope.  Like a lot of us, I just want pain to end.  Ok, some pain is good.  The kind that lets you know you're alive and even the emotional kind eventually leads to gratefulness of appreciating what you have and all that.  But goddamn, I'm tired of the unnecessariness of feeling like shit.  The work backstory has some significance to this path, but I'll spare you the details...for now.  The point is that this flashpoint is a culmination and, as I've said in the past because it's true, we turn to those closest to us to unleash and release the torrent of bullshit that is stacked behind that proverbial dam in our mind.  I know better.  She deserves better.  But that demon dialogue thing is a powerful force.  Instinctual.  We rally to our own defense first and foremost.  But in times like this, we need to stop and evaluate the words that our reaction driven minds are pushing out.  Words can sting.  And be heartbreaking when they're from your loved one.  No, I'm not a pussy, but, as I told her this morning, I've spent over a quarter of a century seeing people be shitty to other people and I. Am. Done.

I took a shower.  (Always a go-to for the psychological cleansing as well as an actual one.)  And then I went to church.  The church I attend is one that we discovered together, she and I, which is pretty cool.  It's something I like to hang my hat on when I tell people about where we go to seek forgiveness and feel inspired about humanity.  It is powerful to have that as a connecting point with her.  But I went by myself today.

Today's sermon title was "Fixing Church".  I was not necessarily fired up about the sound of that talk and thought, "OK, God, I need a little help here and this doesn't seem like it's going to give me what I need."  (Que the big buzzer sound.)  Wrong.  And this is what I absolutely love about this place of worship and, specifically, Pastor Kevin.  He is literally a Godsend.  Once he got rolling, the message started to materialize.

Hope.  Helping one another.

What started out as a talk about how the church has moved away from being a venue of celebration, migrated into a discussion about hope, about the church being that place, in the middle of this swirling world of hopelessness, that steadfast point in the center of chaos.  Hope is essential.  It is the difference between health and despair.  And maybe God, as Kevin suggested, brought some parishioners to the church that day, not for themselves, but to be there for someone else.  To be a strength of hope for another, someone they're sitting next to, perhaps.  As Kevin began to segway into the sermon's conclusion, he mentioned Rick Warren.  Rick Warren is a well-known pastor in California.  Five days after Easter Sunday in 2013, Pastor Warren's son, 27 at the time, committed suicide.  He left his parents house earlier in the evening, shared a few texts with his mom, and then used a handgun to end his life.

Kevin shared how Pastor Warren and his wife navigated through the months that followed.  With Easter so close to his son's death, he reflected on the three days of Easter and how he survived the "darkest day of (his) life".  There's a cycle that everyone goes through and repeats in life.  Good Friday, the day when Jesus was crucified and died, is a day of loss, of suffering.  Saturday follows as a time of doubt and confusion.  But Sunday.  Sunday is the day of victory.  Of hope.  BOOM!  That's what I'm talking about, right?  The cycle begins with suffering enters into doubt before ending with hope and victory.  Yet, that wasn't what connected with me.

Kevin went into something more powerful for me.  He said, "If you are in the 'Friday' situation of suffering and pain..."  Oh boy, I thought, here it comes.  I can feel it.  "...would you mind just raising your hand.  Go ahead.  Hold them up.  Now, the people around you need to put their hand on you because we're in this together...and don't not put your hand up.  'I don't wanna admit that I'm in Friday'.  Everybody goes through 'Friday'."  About four or five raised their hands.

Then I raised my hand.

I closed my eyes and listened to Kevin's words.  Within moments, I felt a hand on my left shoulder.  Then another.  And another.  Perhaps six or seven different people had softly, gently laid their hands on me.  I was overwhelmed.  I quietly wept.  It was one of the most powerful experiences of my entire, battered and bruised, life.  Even as I write this now, many hours later, I tear up.  I put aside my pride, my shame, and silently called out for some help.  God, what a moment.  I felt strength and energy.

You may be, right now, neck deep into a "Friday" with no end in sight.  It is black as shit for as far as you can see.  Been there.  Done that.  But it doesn't have to be.  Despair is fleeting.  Hope is alive.  There is strength in numbers.  And we can take care of each other.  I know.  Been there.  Done that.  What I experienced today was glorious and the absolute perfect timing for me, as it always seems to be the case when I walk through the doors of the sanctuary and take a seat for worship, forgiveness, help, or healing.  Reach out and lay a hand one another.

Here is Kevin's Sunday sermon.  The story about Pastor Rick Warren begins at 53:00.  I encourage you to watch it.

And those early morning thoughts?  Gone.  Nowhere to go, but hope.