In the Beginning…

admissionsThey were trying to decide if they needed to admit me or discharge me from the mental hospital. It all hinged on one question. When I left the facilities, would I again try to kill myself.

They didn’t want to admit me, since it would go on my permanent record, but my answer remained, “Yes.”

Earlier that day, my school counselor had transferred me to the mental hospital after I had admitted to him that I was planning to meet someone that day to obtain a gun with the intent to commit suicide. My boyfriend had “turned me in” since I had been acting suspicious.

So here I was, facing the doctors, and over and over again they asked, “When you leave, will you still try to kill yourself?”

But no one could give me a reason why I shouldn’t. What purpose was there to live when life sucked and there was absolutely no end to the sucking? Why should I go on when every day would be the same as it had always been? There was no hope that life would get better.

I was fifteen years old. I got good grades in school. I was active in all the right school programs. I was headed in the direction of college and a successful looking life. But I hated life. My motto at the time was, “Life sucks and then you die.”

I’m not interested at this point of going into details about my childhood, but it was the pretty typical fucked up life of a medium-sized town, inner-city kid with the occasional violence in the home and controlling, manipulative mother.

Sometimes things were fine and then, sometimes they just weren’t. This was one of those times it wasn’t.

I had been going to a youth group, in all honesty, to find a new boyfriend. The pastor’s daughter was my best friend and she told me that there were cute guys there. So I showed up. It wasn’t too long before I was dating a guy. We had only been dating a couple weeks before all hell broke loose.

Going to church didn’t sit well with my mother. To be honest, I don’t know why. She hated the Church, I guess. And knowing a little about her own upbringing, it was probably with good reason. Regardless, she wasn’t happy and we started fighting.

One thing led to another and all out fighting had begun and I was sick and tired of it all. It never ended and it never would. I would be stuck forever in this hell-hole of a life and to what end? I could get good grades, to get a good job to buy a house and have a husband and kids. But I knew what marriage looked like, and I wasn’t interested in being trapped into that. I knew that kids were horrible little monsters that just grew up to hate their parents. So what the fuck was it all for? Good grades for a good job to get what in the end? In the end, weren’t we all just going to die anyway and leave it all behind? And good riddance, anyway.

Life sucks…then you die. Why not just end it early and skip most of the sucking part?

I spent most of my childhood feeling this way and wrote stupid bad poetry about it, stories with horrible endings, and pictures of blood and knives wishing I had the courage to do what I drew in those pictures. I was a goth at heart before goths were cool, but too chicken to be a cutter (except once).

So I would go back and forth between trying really, really hard to be a mother-pleaser and then giving up on it all when I knew I could never live up.

But I had a few friends now who were members of a gang. They had guns. I could get a gun. It would be easy. Just a quick phone call to a friend who owed me…and we had it all set up behind the school. There would be no one home during the day. All I had to do was get the gun, walk home, and pull the trigger. And no more pain.

But I had just started dating this guy and he had been so kind to me. So Sunday night I called him and told him he meant a lot to me. I guess it was kind of suspicious.

The next day, I got a ride to school. I intended to walk from the front of the school, out the back to the courtyard to meet my friend, then leave through the parking lot back home. But when I walked in, there was my boyfriend, my youth pastor, and my school counselor. Waiting.

I was transferred to the mental hospital and like I said before, not a single person could give me a reason to live. Their words were empty. They had no hope. Their promises were empty promises. I saw right through them. So they decided to give the youth pastor a little time to talk to me before they admitted me in hopes that he could talk me out of suicide.

He told me something that changed my life. He said, “Jesus cares. He loves you. And He is worth living for.” I know that’s so cliched. But to be honest, I had never heard it before. And it was what I needed to hear.

Jesus saved my life that day. There is no other reason that I live for.

I was discharged into my mother’s care whose first response to the news that I had planned a suicide was a slap across the face, right in the parking lot of the hospital, because of the bill she was going to receive. Later, she told me how horrible of a person I was and how much she hated me and how selfish I was.

It got worse from there. Way worse. But everything had changed for me that day. That day, for the first time ever in my life, I had a purpose, a reason to live. I had someone Who loved me. And that was worth living for.

Later that night, when all had died down and everyone else was asleep, I opened the Bible I had been given and the words came alive on the paper and they spoke straight to my heart. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…” for me. He created the world for me and I was created in His image for Him. A beautiful, loving relationship was beginning.

[This is part of a series. You can read the beginning of the series, HERE.]

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3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Vicky
    Jan 11, 2015 @ 20:20:20

    Thank you so much for sharing this. You made my heart happy and brought tears to my eyes as I read how you heard you were loved and that God created for you… Just beautiful writing. And I am so glad to be your friend.

    Like

    Reply

  2. susscott
    Jan 11, 2015 @ 22:44:49

    Thanks for sharing your story! Hugs and Love.

    Like

    Reply

  3. Leon Ben-Ezra
    Jan 12, 2015 @ 05:12:54

    Thank you for having the courage and the love to write these things. Beauty has come out of ugliness.

    Like

    Reply

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