I woke up on a perfectly sunny Tuesday in March of this year. And I instantly regretted it. My tired and sleep deprived soul whispered, “Why Lord? Why did you not take me in the night like I asked you to?” Nonetheless, I willed myself to get out of bed, because my 8-week-old baby is downstairs with my mom. As I creep down the stairs, dread filling me with every step, I finally see my baby and mother asleep on the couch in the living room.
I sit down.
I lose it.
My soul screams, “Lord, if you didn’t take me, couldn’t you have at least taken my baby?! I can’t look at her, Lord. I can’t stand her!”
UGH!! I suck as a mother. Who in the heck would ever think that towards their child? I mean, I’m supposed to be the one protecting her, right? And here I am wishing she would die. And not even just wishing, but desperately begging for God to kill her. What’s wrong with me?
I move to the kitchen.
My mom walks in.
I begin to make tea, because I need the sweet caffeine to wake my body up. Okay, okay. If I can just wake up, maybe all of these horrible thoughts will go away. Surely I was just sleepy and my mind wouldn’t betray me the way that it was. I love my child. I think…I hope… Oh, good grief – I feel like I hate her.
Mom asks, “How did you sleep?”
I sit with my teacup in the floor, and begin to sob. I explain to her that I didn’t sleep because my mind was racing about how much I wished I could die. Oh no, oh no, oh no……. here it comes.
Everything becomes a weapon. The kitchen knives, the medicine in my cabinet just 3 feet away, the cars driving by the front of the house, the drill in the shed, the hammer in the pantry. If I could just get my hands on one of those things……
Hyperventilating, I excuse my self to the back porch, hoping that the warm sunshine would enable me to feel something other than hate. Other than guilt. Other than deep, deep sadness.
“God please take me. Please. Please, I’m begging you. Take me.”
I can’t live like this any more. It’s not that I didn’t want to live anymore…It’s that I did not want to live like this anymore. I did not want to live feeling anything but love towards my daughter, I didn’t want to live dreading each passing day, I didn’t want to live in my little townhome scared out of my mind of what I might do to my baby.
I needed to remove the threat. I needed to remove myself. I was a burden. A burden that I needed to take into my own hands. A burden that the world, my world, would be better off without.
I can’t live like this anymore.
I went on to get medical help. My mother – who was scared out of her mind – called my husband to come home from work. When he got home, they loaded me up in the car and took me to the ER. I went reluctantly – begging them to take me back home.
I didn’t want to be thought of as “crazy”.
I didn’t want everyone to know that the joyful, outgoing, Jesus loving, bubbly girl that they knew had gone bat-crap-crazy.
There, they “tranquilized” me and put me to sleep. After that, they recommended that I spend a few days in a mental health facility (which I didn’t end up doing, by the grace of God).
Up until that day, I had never contemplated suicide in my life. I had never so desperately wished I could die.
That day, March 13th, 2018, gave me a whole new perspective on suicide. Before, I didn’t understand it. I always thought it was “selfish”. But in reality, people who die by suicide are just trying to be selfless. I know it doesn’t make sense. It didn’t to me either until I was inches away from doing it myself.
I now know that it’s not that people don’t want to live any more, it’s that they don’t want to live like this anymore. And if your two options are to get help – which is a VERY hard thing to do – or remove yourself from the world – well, the latter wins in some circumstances.
Praise God that people were present in my darkest moment with PPD. Praise God that my mother had the foresight to call my husband home because she knew she couldn’t handle me on her own. Thank God that two of the most important people in my life carried me when I couldn’t bear the thought of taking another step. Thank God, thank God.
Advice to someone struggling with suicidal ideations? Get. The. Help.
I am GRATEFUL that I am still here and out of the fog of PPD. I am grateful that I now get to enjoy the blessing that my sweet girl is. I am grateful for the mercy that was shown to me in my darkest hour.