KT

On November 6, 2004, I realistically contemplated suicide via prescription medication, which I figured would invoke a heart attack or my heart would so rapidly beat to the point of giving out.  I was 22 years old and studying to one day become a counselor.   What set off my desire to end my life?  


I have always been incredibly insecure.  I never trusted that anyone actually wanted to be my friend, but rather they were nice to me because of who my family was.  I was clearly the black sheep of the family, which is still an ongoing joke between us.  Over the years, there was something within that I had been attempting to stifle; I felt I could starve it if I covered it in enough prayer, meditation, and frankly, avoidance of its reality.  


At the age of 21, it would no longer be ignored.  I began exploring my sexuality to try to come to terms with who I was…and also reconcile that to my spirituality.  This was difficult for me.  I started drinking more heavily.  In turn, I increased my medication, which lead to more drinking, then more pills and thus the vicious cycle of self-medicating to survive.  I was drowning in secrets…this manifested itself with alcoholic behavior, promiscuity, amphetamine abuse, and a return to the self-mutilation of my teenage years.  I was choking on shame.  I was reading and praying during the day, trying to find my identity again…at night, it was as if I were completely out of control.  After months of living off pills, vodka, and espresso, and behaving in ways that I’ve only completely shared with my sponsor… I found myself walking back to my apartment on a sunny Saturday morning.  It was the morning of November 6.  I was sober.  I closed the blinds, entered my bedroom and was overcome by an internal ache.  I shut the door in attempt to seal off my brokenness over all that had taken place in that room over the past few months.  I retrieved my pill bottles from the bathroom cabinet and my bag.  I laid on the living room floor for hours, sobbing, cutting, praying, begging God to not take his spirit from me.  I felt like I was suffocating.  I didn’t feel like I could live.  I felt as though my every action was exposed and my mask had been destroyed.  I could not live anymore.  How was I ever going to be able to help someone if I couldn’t survive myself?  The things I swore I’d never do, I’d done.  I was shit.  I felt empty.  I felt bare.  My time in college had been a waste, since I can’t be used to help anyone.  I told the God of my understanding that I didn’t care if he ever used me again to help people. But that if he took his spirit from me I couldn’t live.  I was okay living a quiet life with just his spirit within.  I didn’t have to be of any use, since clearly, I was an utter failure and disgusting example of love.  I had used people, hurt people, and lied to so many.  I had taken things from people that could never be replaced.  I never had truly known brokenness until this day.  The mantra of an old recovering alcoholic friend began to cross my lips, “I belong to You.”  My friend had said, “Abba, I belong to You.”  But I couldn’t say Abba…it was too intimate and I felt too far gone.  But I was desperate.  If I didn’t belong to him, I couldn’t live.  I stared at the pill bottles and pleaded “I belong to You,” over and over…trying to convince Him, trying to convince myself.   I remember saying, “I do! I do belong to You! I know I do!”  But my hopelessness continued.  I was torn.  I envisioned dying, standing before my Maker and him embracing me while saying, “I had so much more for you, it wasn’t over.”  (Even in death I felt I’d be a disappointment.)  


But I didn’t “feel” Him.  It was after midnight when I was falling asleep but still crying out to the God of my understanding…as I exhaled the name “Abba” crossed my lips.  Purposely I had not said it before and I made no efforts to say it then.  Something within me breathed that name.  I wept as a feeling of complete acceptance and love wrapped me.  I spoke a simple “thank You” and immediately fell asleep.  The next morning I woke up with peace and an inner knowledge of being loved in a way I’d never known.  I was certain that I was entirely loved.  That morning became the beginning of a process of restoration for which I am most grateful.  It was bittersweet.  


For each human being, spirituality is personal.  I believe that now more than ever.  Each process of becoming who you are meant to be is different and each one at a unique place presently.  But if we find the will to keep going, to not be overtaken by our hopelessness, there is absolute beauty in the restoration of our lives.  I think if we would be willing to listen to the spirit within us, that soft voice of calm wisdom, that we would gain much strength for the present moment as well as the days ahead.  For me, it is important that I shared about discovering my sexuality because it is the source of much heartache, confusion and pain for so many.  The important thing is not what you discover yourself to be, but that you know you are always loved, and in my personal belief, loved completely by your Maker.  Our sexuality is not something that keeps us from being loved--period.  Letting ourselves be loved, being loved by God, is the greatest adventure.  For me, it saved my life.  As long as there’s breath in your lungs, it’s not over.  Breathing is your sign there’s still something for you here.  Go find out what it is.