Nicole feels

Today I am thinking of last summer.

It has taken me over a year to write about that time in my life.

Last summer I contemplated suicide.

There it is. In print.

Brutal honesty.

There is a lot of guilt that comes in the wake of someone like me having thoughts of a bottle of pain killers washed down with alcohol. I am a Christian. A mother. A wife. A minister�s wife, for crying out loud!

I have a nice home, a minivan. My husband provides for us. My family is intact. My parents and siblings are all alive. I can see, hear, taste, smell.

So why would I have no longer wanted to breathe?

In my state of reality that dark summer night, I reasoned that since I was failing miserably in all of my �roles�, it would be easier on my family if I was gone. If I left him, he might have to leave his life's work as a pastor. But if I died, he would eventually find another mate, someone to be a mother to our children. And my pain - gone. Expectations - ended.

I suppose if I had been really determined to follow through, I would not have given my husband the hints that caused him to lock me in the basement while he guarded the door, silent, watching me, that night that I grabbed the car keys.

Seeking attention? Wanting to be stopped? A cry for help? Vying for control?

Perhaps all of the above.

While I do not think it is healthy to dwell on the past, I do feel one must keep it as a touchstone, a testimony of battles fought, mistakes made, victories won. A reminder of how far I�ve come. Of God�s amazing grace.

I don�t deserve it. God�s grace, that is. But that is what makes it grace. The freely given, unmerited favor and love of God.

Then, I didn�t think I even deserved life, only to find that the very God who made me was reaching out to me. And I certainly didn�t think I deserved to be loved, not even by God.

I built walls, solid and high, mortared with fear and distrust. Bars of guilt. A prison of my own making.

Locked in my cell of Self-loathing. Despair. Perfectionism. Control.

And the gatekeeper of that prison was me.

In those dark days, I penned these words:

Disjointed thoughts
Trying to connect
Looking for that little girl of long ago
Blonde pigtails
Are all I can see
Was that really me?
Everything certain
No longer seems
To be

Scared, alone
Identity lost
Or maybe it was never found
And now fear
Rushing
Pervading every sense

Struggle, struggle
Toil and trouble
All the tears boil and bubble
Seeking solace
Yet clinging to pain
Wishing thoughts would refrain
Wanting release
Wishing to be free
Yet clinging to my reality

I didn�t think I would ever find my way from that place.

~ ~

I do not contemplate suicide anymore.

And I am writing this today because there is hope. I found hope. Or rather, it found me. Hope is a Person.

When first forced to face my past, face the hurts, face the things in my life that have molded me, both good and bad, I ran from God. I stopped praying. I stopped reading His Word. Vulnerable and wounded, I shrank away from Him and from everyone else.

The guilt was overwhelming at times. I had a �normal� childhood. As far as I can recall, I was not abused physically or sexually. I do not buy into the repressed memories thing, though I was asked by a sexual abuse survivor, based on my responses and protective posturing, if I had been sexually abused.

I grew up with both parents, two good sisters, a large extended family. I did well in school, excelled in extracurricular activities. Yet, why was I so wounded? Why did I think so little of myself that I would consider leaving my husband and children without a wife and mother?

The more I contemplated how �great� I had it, how ridiculous it was that I would be depressed, how �good� Christians aren�t supposed to feel this way, the farther I pulled myself from people, and especially from God.

I can�t really pinpoint when the change began.

Perhaps it was when I told a friend, as he relayed the verbal abuse he had suffered at the hand of his father - that person whose duty it was to love and protect him, not belittle and neglect him - that he didn�t deserve it, and I saw the tears spring into his eyes. That look that told me, �no one ever said that to me before.�

Perhaps it was when I realized that one of the people who has wounded me deeper than any person on this earth shares the same kind of hurt that I do.

Perhaps it was when I started understanding that God loves me without strings attached.

Perhaps it is all of these things and more that I can not yet verbalize or understand.

Am I healthy today? Healthier, yes. Totally healed, no. I still have a long way to go. I am on a journey, and there are many stops, distractions, even road blocks along the way.

The prison still exists. There are times that I let myself back in again.

But I now know what it is like on the outside.

And that is where I want to stay.