Suicide

Suicide Warning Signs

The following signs may mean someone is at risk for suicide. The risk of suicide is greater if a behavior is new or has increased and if it seems related to a painful event, loss, or change. If you or someone you know exhibits any of these signs, seek help as soon as possible by calling the Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

• Talking about wanting to die or to kill themselves.
• Looking for a way to kill themselves, such as searching online or buying a gun
• Talking about feeling hopeless or having no reason to live.
• Talking about feeling trapped or in unbearable pain.
• Talking about being a burden to others.
• Increasing the use of alcohol or drugs.
• Acting anxious or agitated; behaving recklessly.
• Sleeping too little or too much.
• Withdrawing or isolating themselves.
• Showing rage or talking about seeking revenge.
• Displaying extreme mood swings.

These suggestions are taken from:  www.SuicidePreventionLifeline.Org

Many times, like now, I go through this list to determine whether or not I am feeling suicidal or if I'm just sad, grieving or some other emotion.  It's very helpful to know that all of my feelings are not necessarily suicidal.  It's also helpful to know when I am feeling suicidal to put my coping plan in place which includes a phone call to my psychiatrist and my therapist.

I've learned there's nothing to be afraid of if I am feeling suicidal.  It means I'm feeling some emotions intensely and I need to get those rpm's down.  There's no need to overreact by hurting myself and hurting those who love me.  I have access to some of the best medical and professional help to get me back on the right track.

And what about the greatest Helper of them all?  What about God?  He's already told me it's not time for me to come home yet.  I have more work of His to do.  If I truly love Him and want to live a life that pleases Him, I will keep my focus on His plan for my life instead of my selfish plan to end my life.

When days get hard, and believe me, my days are very hard right now, even the thought of suicide entering my mind saddens me.  Something inside of me wants to die.  But here's the good news.  That part of me is minuscule compared to the giant inside of me that fights to live.  

I'm fighting to live, everyday, during this time in my life.

Praise God!

Running From Your Problems

Through experience, I've learned running from your problems doesn't solve anything.  It only puts off what needs to be dealt with right away.  No matter what, the problem will still be there.

When I was in high school, running away from my problems was the best decision.  I couldn't handle confronting the sexual abuse and physical abuse.  Even though my Dad had already moved out the residue of the abuse was still with me.  Talking with my school counselor and my school social worker was too scary.  Instead, I talked about what I could and hid the rest.

In twelve step groups, I would tell my story at open AA meetings.  I told about some of the abuse but did not disclose too much.  It was too painful.

It wasn't until I became a Christian and entered into Christian counseling that I learned the value of confronting your problems instead of running from them.  I had a friend who helped me understand how Jesus was with me during the abuse and was crying when it happened.  I couldn't imagine such love for me.

As my mental and physical worlds began to unravel, I made a commitment to stop running and start walking through my problems.  God has sent three wonderful therapists and we're not through yet.  I'm still walking and the problems aren't as debilitating.

With the support of friends, a therapist, medication, my family and a loving God, I no longer have to be afraid of my problems.  If they are scary, I can write or talk about them.  The feelings I have do not have to control how good or bad I feel.

And if I do choose to run?
I can always turn around and come back home.

It's Time To Heal

If there's anything I know for sure, it's this:

God wants us to heal.
How do I know this?

The Bible is full of verses proclaiming His desire to transform us into the image of Christ.  His desire is to remove the sin of this world that has settled into my spirit as "normal."

Satan's ways are not His ways.  Satan's ways are not my ways.  Satan's snares are not what God desires for my way of living.  Satan's way of living keeps me in emotional turmoil and bondage.  God's ways keep me emotionally healthy and free.

God is my coach, my drill instructor, my running partner and my cheerleader.
Satan is the one who pulls me off course, offers alcohol, gives me tools to cut and tempts me with food so I'll over eat.  Satan says he'll be the best coach I'll ever have and he has yet to show up for one practice.

Who would you trust with your training for healing?

Here is a three part teaching from International Bible Teacher Beth Moore I think you'll enjoy.

Beth Moore - Video - The Healing Heart - Part 1

Beth Moore - Video - The Healing Heart - Part 2

Beth Moore - Video - The Healing Heart - Part 3

Grief Does Not Keep A Schedule

When you go through something as horrible as four significant deaths in twenty-six months, it's easy to identify who your true friends are.  I went through that God awful season from February 2008 through April 2010.  All the while I kept functioning, kept my head above water, never really grieved for any of them until now.

Back then my psyche was fragile.  My therapist Carol knew it but she kept prodding me to get out some of the grief.  I'd dab into it once in awhile but I didn't see what the point was.

Cathy was gone.  I'd never have another woman who understood me like she did.  Get up and move on.

My Dad sent so many mixed signals I never knew what to believe.  This signal was easy.  He was dead.  Nothing more, nothing less.

Sharing the message of Jesus with Maryla when she was up and conscious is the warmest feeling I have.  She and her roommate Barb saying, "Yes," when I asked if they believed Jesus was their forever friend and died for them brought tears to my eyes.  The next time I saw Maryla was in the hospital with a brain aneurysm.  I walked into her room alone.  I asked her if she wanted Jesus to take away her sin.  A tear fell from her eye.  I asked her if she'd like me to baptize her.  Another tear.  I baptized her.

Aaron died from huffing propane.  He was 18 years old.  When I laid hands on him to pray, I didn't feel any activity in his head.  We'd talked about Jesus the week before.  I asked him the same questions as Maryla.  Same tears.  Baptized.  I put two pins on his lapels.  I was there when the machines were turned off and Aaron passed into eternity.  Nothing eclectic.  He was gone.

After each of these deaths came helping my nieces.  They needed a lot of consoling.  I'm glad God gave me the stamina to do just that.  Late night talks over the phone, crying, deep crying, whatever they needed.

What about me?  I put myself on the back burner.  I've always done that.  I've always known I'll get around to it one of these days.

I guess the time is here.

There Once Was...

There once was a little girl.
There once was a little boy.
There once was a little fighter.
There once was a little driver.
There once was a little protector.
There once was a little runaway.
There once was a little weapon of anger.
There once was a Sunday school attender.
There once was a bully confronted.
There once was an empty soul.
There once were empty eyes.
There once were battered limbs.
There once were hate filled eyes.
There once were slams by the neck.
There once were furniture broken.
There once was a gun ready for a fight.
There once were doors crashing inward.
There once were holes in the walls.
There once were yelling and screaming.
There once were sounds of rape.
There once were dark shadows in my room.
There once were sexual abuse on top my body.
There once were sexual abuse I hovered above my body.
There once were beatings with a belt.
There once were smacks across the face.
There once were black and blue bruises.
There once were rules.
There once were changing rules.
There once were changing rules.
There once were changing rules.
There once were hair grabs.
There once were slamming two heads.
There once were no first aid given.
There once were silent suffering.
There once were pulling the hair out of my head.
There once were wetting my bed.
There once was a monster.
There once was a Dad.
There once was a monster.
That monster is dead.

Those are all of my roles, my Dad's roles, the abuse I survived and the healing that has yet to take place.  Each anniversary date erupts more and more pain.  Deeper and deeper it makes it's way up. I've so badly wanted to self-injure or overeat or drink.  But I know those acts of terrorism on my body will not serve me well.  Instead, I remind myself that I have to keep talking, no matter how uncomfortable it becomes.

No more abuse to my body.

I have to love myself more than I love abusing myself.
And even if I don't feel that way, there's only way I know of to get there.

I have to fake it until I make it.