Suicide

The Weight of Staying

This is a heavy title, isn’t it? Suicide. To really know me is to know that I struggle with my mental health. As much as I hate this part of my story, it’s a huge part of how my life has gone. As I’ve shared already, I was born into a world of trauma. I went from one home of neglect straight into another home of abuse.

Before I keep going with my story, I have to pause. I have to be honest about my struggle with wanting to be here. My DCS and medical records show that I was already trying to end my life when I was just in elementary school. Think about that: between the ages of 5 and 11, I already felt like the world was too much to handle.

By age 4, I was already a caretaker. So it’s really not a surprise that my mind was already breaking. My first attempt was with a knife in the kitchen. My records also show that I would hurt myself in other ways—cutting my wrists, my arms, my neck, and my stomach. I even burned myself.

Reading these files brings up so much grief. I look at the pages and think, “Is this really my life?” Honestly, I’m on an emotional rollercoaster. And who wouldn’t be? On paper, my life is a tragedy. Yet here I am, still writing about how good God is.

Let me tell you: it is not easy. Some days I scream at God. Like Job in the Bible, I demand that He explain why. Why me? Why is the world like this? Why aren't children safe? I blame Him for my mental health struggles and I yell at Him because even basic, everyday tasks feel like a mountain to me.

And if I’m being completely honest, I don't know if I’ll ever stop having those days where I yell at God. That’s just how grief works. One day you’re doing okay, and the next you’re angry, or crying, or both. In nursing school, they taught me that grief isn't a straight line. I understand that better than anyone.

I truly grieve for "Mary." She didn’t deserve any of that. she didn’t deserve to be taught that "love" means being hurt.

But I also believe that God brings all the pieces together. If it were up to me, none of this would have happened. But through the eyes of "Maria," I’m starting to see things differently. I’ll explain more about that in my next post. For now, I just want to remind you: my life isn't rainbows and butterflies, and that’s okay. My life is a living, breathing story of a God who can take a shattered life and make it mean something.