When mental illness meets addiction, death happens.
For fear of losing myself, I take time to get in my head and to lift my spirits through the strength of Jesus Christ. On my own, I fail to save myself. I know this, so I fight to reach in and surrender.
"God, if you have to take my son, I will let him go."
I will never forget the pain in those words. I was heartbroken and angry. How would God do this to us?
How do we love those who not only appear unlovable in their mess but also hate us in it, as well? I had dodged fists and verbal attacks, put up bail money (only once), picked up my grand-kids from a ravaged house with a passed out mom, and cleaned out more hidden empty bottles than I can count. Still, the pain I felt when the handcuffs went on killed me. The hopelessness was burning through my soul the way Satan enjoys.
How can I share my vulnerability with others, and still, they say I am strong? It is a dynamic that is hard to grasp, especially when my current state of being is weak.
I have long been on the fence regarding support networks. I attended some that only brought me down, and others with so little accountability, you can't rely on their process as support. I appreciate the current group I am meeting with as we are using a specific workbook written for mental health.
"Lord, do I have enough in me to handle this"
Sitting at work like, "Was I even here in December. When did the sun come back? What just happened to 2019, was I even in it?"
Tonight I remember Amy Bleuel, founder of Project Semicolon. She was the voice for many. Her encouragement and dedication to the fight against suicide was empowering.
She grew tired and lost her battle. On this night, I get it.
What caused a happy, beaming mother to be to decide to use one last time? I will never know. Perhaps the thought of it being the last time never entered her mind.
Does it ever?