16 hours ago

The last 16 hours have been surreal. I have never felt so resigned in my life.

About a week ago I sat alone in a chapel on campus. Rather than try to describe it; I’ll just provide what I journaled while there:

How am I supposed to handle the fact that I just the last 20 minutes entertaining the possibility of killing myself?

No, really, I did. How does a follower of Jesus do that? 

I keep racking my brain, but I feel like, in the end, even the good things in life, like friends and family and kids and the thought of falling in love…everything just settles and you’ll still be left wanting more. I don’t know. I can’t find anything that wholly makes me feel like life is worth living. Truly worth living.

I’m running on empty. I latch onto something, some phase, some future idea, that keeps me inspired, but that only lasts so long. Sometimes it feels like my life is just me filling up–or attempting to fill up–some gas tank for my soul, running empty, and trying to fill back up again.

Even the things I love, sincerely, deeply, love, aren’t giving me that longing to stick around anymore. Not really, any way. I either feel this incredible void inside of me or I feel so overwhelmed with thoughts that I can’t breathe–really, it’s those overwhelming feeling that gets me. But both make for miserable existences.

I want to end my life. Because I can’t go on. It’s too much. I can’t handle it. I want all the noise in my head to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Why am I like this?

Why?

I want to be good and holy and live a life worth of the calling, but I’m so exhausted and burnt out and constantly “in a tizzy”–as my best friend would say–trying to get what it means to do those things and then actually do them.

And, God, I just feel so                                                    alone.

After that I went and hung out with above-mentioned best friend (L). I remember I thought it an odd thing to have such dark thoughts and then go and enjoy the presence of another human being so much. In a way, I wondered if I was being phony. But mostly I felt like I did not want to dampen the mood. And after a while, you get kind of tired of being the Debbie-Downer. Of being “transparent.” I hate lying and acting like everything is fine, but there comes a point when you begin to question the purpose of burdening someone else with a  problem that isn’t getting resolved. I know L would punch me in the face for hiding all this from her. But it is what it is.

But back to why these last 16 hours have felt surreal…

Last night in the tub, all wrapped up in a towel, I tried to cry. I don’t know. I guess I thought if I could cry it all out, I would feel better? Tears didn’t come. Instead, frustration–becoming all too familiar these days–welled up inside of me and then settled down into this eery calmness. And that’s when I let myself consider, really consider, not just fantasize about, killing myself.

I decided Thursday is when I would get everything all sorted out, all the details not the deed. I can’t go about this carelessly, you know. I have to make this seem like an accident. Or if I don’t, get letters written to people so they don’t go the rest of their lives thinking and wondering if it was their fault. And then there’s just things I would have to get in order, like, my belongings and stuff. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to have to deal with the disaster of shittiness that is my room at the present.

I chose Thursday because I have a paper due Wednesday. Which is stupid reasoning but I guess I figured I might as well write the dumb thing, DAMMIT.

I didn’t immediately scold myself or push the thought out or ask somebody to pray for me because I’m feeling low or anything like that. I went to sleep with a feeling of resign and woke up feeling even more resigned and the whole thing feeling even more surreal.

I’m walking through my day in this weird fog. Not sure what Thursday will look like. Not sure if I can even go through with planning a suicide. Even more unsure if I can even go through with committing suicide. Most unsure if I can keep living.

What about my brother, though? And what about the kids who look up to me? And what about my friends? I comfort myself with the idea that life goes on and eventually so will they. But I also think about how me killing myself would reflect God. At both of the Bible studies I went to last week, we talked about reflecting God. I can’t find any way that my killing myself would reflect on him positively, glorify him at all. I don’t want to hinder his work down here.

If anything keeps me from killing myself, it won’t be a desire to actually be alive. Rather, it is a strong sense that saying good-bye in such a way would deeply hurt and even be a stumbling block for a lot of other people that God loves.  Not that God couldn’t recover from that. He reminded me of that as I typed the previous sentence. He didn’t say it in a way that was encouraging suicide and it wasn’t in a mean, “See if I care!” way. He was just telling the truth. And the truth is life is not about me.

If I stay here, it’s not because I like being here, in this body toting around a brain that won’t calm the fuck down. If I stay here, it’s for Jesus. So I can love like he loves. I might not be happy. But I can still do what’s right, what’s good.

We’ll see.

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