Category Archives: My Journey Through Both Sides of Suicide

I have experienced the suicide of my husband and the desire to commit suicide.

God Is A Better Blogger Than I Am

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An interesting thing has happened since I started this blog. I have had to face my own suicidal impulses in front of the world so to speak. For example I would start a blog on resources for someone who is coping with suicide. But in the background I would be talking with God about why I am feeling suicidal. Finally I would stop the blog I was writing and write about the conversation I was having with God. There have been several breakthroughs with this technique. First I discovered that I needed to move both my home but especially my church. I found that I wasn’t getting what I needed in either of those situations. Once I made the decision to move the suicidal thoughts left me and haven’t come back. I don’t think the thoughts will come back because since moving to a new church I realize that the lack of nourishment in my original church really made me feel unwanted and unfed. This is nobody’s fault but my own. My unwillingness to face that I needed to make a big change and leave behind what little support I had left me clinging to my old church and unwilling to move on. God used this blog to help me see it.

Yesterday I was blogging on prayer and suicidal thoughts and I sensed my heart wasn’t in it even though it is the central issue for people facing this problem. I stopped the blog and opened a new screen and knew I needed to write honestly about the rage that had come on me in the last few days. I felt deeply ashamed of the rage and though I didn’t want to write about it I felt God was urging me on. I prayed as I wrote, just telling about the rage.

Suddenly an answer materialized as I wrote. That I was in a rage at a former therapist whom I felt deserted me when I needed him most. God gave me that missing and vital piece of information. I had no idea that was the source of my rage. As I continued to write about the situation I kept blaming the therapist but God kept calling me back to my accountability in the situation. From my perspective the therapist let me down but how I chose to use it was up to me. God wouldn’t let me off the hook. Finally I wrote “it is what it is” and the rage fell from me. I am not accountable to the therapist and he is not accountable to me. I could let go of the situation and by the grace of God I did. The rage that was pushing me to kill myself fell from me like a cloak from the shoulders.

Unfortunately I published the blog last night instead of waiting until this morning and re-reading it. In it I said that the therapist is not a good man. I can’t know that. That isn’t even my experience of the man. I don’t know why he did what he did. It may have been with the kindest of motives which I can’t even imagine.

So I ask all of you who read that blog to forgive me for saying the therapist was not a good man. I was not being a good Christian when I published that.

Was Rage Behind the Suicidal Thoughts?

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The suicidal thoughts are gone so I am not battling them at the moment. But I almost wish they were back. Now I am dealing with rage. Call it anger, at least anger is more socially acceptable but it is really rage.

I took the dogs for a walk along an arroyo this morning which allows mixed use of bicycles and pedestrians . If I hear a bicyclist coming or someone calls out “on your left”, I step off the trail with my little dogs who like to jump up on people. I keep them on tight leash anyway because I don’t want them to run up to other pedestrians. Usually when I step off the trail the bicyclist acknowledges my gesture with a smile or a thank you.

One woman glared at me when she rode past. I felt rage rise in my throat and before I could catch myself I yelled “you’re welcome” like a complete jerk. She stopped her bike and gave me a lecture about walking my dogs on the trail. I felt a murderous rage at this. I really wanted to hit her.

Just before going for the walk I decided to use the count to ten strategy with my anger. I also realized I feel the anger/rage in my throat just before I vocalize it so I decided to watch for that cue. Well these strategies were not even in play. I lost it before I even remembered them.

I’ve been thinking about the rage all day. The picture in my blog is of my family when I was about five. You can see I was angry that day. I don’t know why. But I have a hunch that anger saved me in a very dysfunctional and violent family. Even at five you might not have wanted to mess with me.

Well I have figured out what I am so angry about and it is ridiculous. I have written before that I went to a therapist for the better part of two years before and after my husband killed himself. As you can imagine a lot of transference took place in those two years and I guess you could have called Brad my good Father. He always seemed so caring and kind. But when I became suicidal nearly a year after my husband’s suicide, I definitely had issues with Brad and acted out with him. On the day I threatened to kill myself he had the police pick me up and hospitalize me and told the hospital he wanted nothing to do with me. I was the names of an incompetent therapist and psychiatrist when they released me and had no one to turn to. Brad never called the hospital to see how I was doing.

What I have come to terms with today was that Brad had no committment to me. I had assumed that by becoming his patient he had a reciprocal obligation to me. But apparently he felt ok to desert me in the middle of the worst psychological event of my life. He said he was doing it for my own good . Of course. There seems that there is no ethic in the profession against deserting a patient. Now I understand. It is what it is. I guess I wanted to believe that Brad was a good man in spite of the evidence. And that, my friends is my responsibility, not his. And now my rage is gone.

Rain in the Desert: God’s Gift

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Right now in Albuquerque, New Mexico it is raining and raining hard. It has been several years since we have had real rainfall. I understand how the Biblical people who lived with the torments of drought must have felt when it finally rained.   Our crops are blighted.  Our forests are dry and sere where they should be green and luxuriant in a high desert sort of way.   Farmers have not sown their usual crops.   In the second poorest state in the country, a drought is something that impacts the lives of all.   The beasts of the forests come down to the cities and try to find food and water.   They eat any pet whose owner is careless enough to let them out unguarded.   God seems far away.

The doors to my house are open as I listen to the glorious sound of the rain which runs down the driveway and joins the river in the street.  I see my neighbors standing and watching at their doors.  The look on our faces is one of relief.  It isn’t like we think of the drought every minute like the farmers probably do.  But it is there.  A terrifying reality we can’t control.

The other day I heard on the radio that La Niña was gone,  El Niño was back.  These cold and warm currants in the Pacific so far away control the weather in this southwestern state so distant.  I have thought of El Niño as Jesus who brings good weather.  To me La Niña is the goddess, the primitive one.  I am so glad she is gone and that our benign El Niño has returned.

Thank you Lord for your goodness and your kindness.  Thank you for caring for us.

A Hiking Meditation on Psalm 63

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Oh God, you are my God,

for you I long,

My soul thirsts for you,

my body pines for you,

like a dry weary land without water.

So I gaze on you in your sanctuary

To see your strength and your glory.
 

See what I found in the drought-weary Sandia mountains this morning.

While hiking I saw tiny blossoms in dusty little crags in the  rocks,

Seeking the sun but being seared  by it as well.

Giving hope to all who pass

on the dusty dry trails that

the coolness and quiet still nourishes life.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

For your love is better than life,

My lips shall speak your praise,

So I will bless you all  my life

 In your name I will lift up my hands,

My soul shall be filled as with a banquet,

My mouth shall praise you with joy.

So I find in this dry land

the promise of future springs.

The hope of the monsoon rains

though some years only empty clouds pass on the desert winds.

Next week, the weatherman says we may have rain,

Even a few precious drops can keep

these fragile blooms alive another day.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       On my bed I remember you,

On you I muse through the night,

For you have been my help.

In the shadow of your wings I rejoice,

My soul clings to you,

Your right hand holds me fast.

How I Miss My Husband

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It has been only in the last six months that I have missed my husband. He killed himself almost 2 years ago. At first I was frozen in disbelief and confusion. Only later did I begin to feel anger and despair.  At last I am able to love him and miss him.

I took this picture of him 3 weeks before he died.  At that time I insisted  on taking day trips every weekend because  his mental decline was so rapid.  On that weekend we went to see the pueblos in the salt plains area of New Mexico.  Early Franciscan churches were built in three pueblos in the late 1400′s.  This picture I took at Gran Quivera, the largest pueblo.  Rich was singing the “ Salve Regina”  in the ruins of the church there.  The acoustics are still fantastic in those old ruins and Rich’s soaring tenor gave glory to God that day.

It had probably been ten years since Rich had sung the Salve.  For the first few years of our marriage we would sing it most nights.  I usually stopped singing just to listen to him sing alone.  That day, at Gran Quivera, Rich said he wanted his ashes scattered there when he died.  I guess he had already decided what he was going to do but I had no real intuition of his intention.

I was pretty much on my own taking care of Richard.  His psychiatrist was unable to regulate his medications that  were no longer giving him relief.  We tried several psychiatrists but because of our rather poor health insurance  none of the psychiatrist with a good reputation would see him.  His psychotherapist was telling Rich what he wanted to hear, not what he needed to know.  We had a pastor that I later learned felt suicide was inevitable and I don’t think he really tried to help.  He felt Rich’s salvation was secure and that was enough.   Rich’s family had always been in denial about his condition.  His father killed himself at age 53, the same age as Rich.  Both he and his father had bi-polar mental illness.

This is pretty familiar story to the families of people who kill themselves.  Often it is bi-polar disorder and good help is hard to find.  I was seeing a therapist who thought I should leave Rich.  I was angry with Rich and often unable to respond to him emotionally  but I couldn’t break a vow I made to him and to God.  Nor could I have lived with myself if I had left him.  I thought he would have been lost without me although he blamed me for many of his problems.

The funny thing was that we could always talk in the mornings over our coffee.  We would spend a good half hour just talking and being together each morning until the day he died.  What I would give to have coffee with him now.  I am glad I miss him and cry for him.  How much better than being frozen in confusion and anger.

Waiting at the Closed Door

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Finally the door is opening. The Whisperer hasn’t been heard from in four days. Maybe because I’ve faced the closed-door in my life and made some difficult decisions.

On Friday I decided to move from Albuquerque to Santa Fé. This was unthinkable before because by moving I am leaving my husband behind, or at least our last years together before his suicide.

It’s strange but this town has never felt right. It isn’t a fit for me and I don’t know why. I suspect it has to do with all I suffered here.

I feel friendless although I do have what I would call practical friends. Those who share a meal with me at a restaurant, those I see at church or even those I exchange birthday cards with. But I haven’t met anyone in Albuquerque who shares their life with me. Perhaps the best way to characterize Albuquerque is that it is an antiseptic that may have been good for my wounds.

This morning, Sunday, I went to Holy Trinity Orthodox Church in Santa Fé. I used to tell my therapist when I lost my faith that I missed God and I missed liturgy. When I received my faith back, I got God back. Today I got liturgy back. With it, I prayed with all my senses as well as with my mind and my soul. It was glorious and exhausting. I guess it was a return to the very thing that brought me to Christ.

The Orthodox church this Sunday commemorates the women who came to the tomb carrying myrrh to anoint Jesus’ body. The priest said the women were the first apostles. I like that. He pointed out that timing was everything. Had they come to the tomb sooner the stone would have still been in place. Instead they waited and when they came the stone was rolled back and they were the first to know that Christ was no longer in the tomb. The priest said that to wait for a closed-door to open or in the women’s case, a huge rock to be rolled back is not a vacant activity devoid of meaning. It is a time of active waiting and often yes, a time of suffering. But if we don’t wait for God’s time then we may miss the resurrection.

All of this makes me think of the trial of Job. Fr. Pat Reardon says that Job didn’t know that God was trying him. His friends said that because God was just then Job’s punishment was for sin he wouldn’t admit. Job knew he had not sinned. However, God knew, Satan knew and the Bible reader knows that Job’s suffering was a trial that gave God glory in light of Satan’s taunts. That Job suffered because God allowed it. The odd thing is that God never told Job why he suffered. But it was enough for Job to understand how great God is. He understood that his questions needed no answer in light of who God is.

Now that is an example I would like to follow.

All I Did Was Ask for a Prescription

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Yesterday I once again entered the Kafkaesque medical world. After going to a nurse practitioner at my doctor’s office and to the grocery store I returned home to find two cop cars in front of my house.

I parked and went up to the police and yes they had an order to take me to the hospital for evaluation of being at risk of suicide. They allowed me to put some things in the frig and I called a neighbor to ask her to board my dogs.

The police took me to the hospital in the back seat of the cop car. My neighbors were gawking, and I, of course, was totally humiliated. Once at the hospital they told me to strip naked and put on a hospital gown with no shoes, no phone and no glasses. Next they put me in a room on the psych ward with no door and I then waited 20 hours before being evaluated.

It all started at my Monday morning appointment to see a nurse practitioner about another problem. I had decided to bring up the problem of depression after my episode on Sunday. Previously I have been reluctant to take yet another antidepressant since they have so many side effects. I explained the problem of depression to the nurse and she asked if I had thoughts of suicide.

I carefully answered that yes, I had thoughts of suicide, but I had no intention of taking my life. On the contrary I told her of my dedication to not doing so. I even told her about my blog. She was not impressed.

While I was speaking the nurse was typing every word I said verbatim into her online computer. She continued asking questions that were almost accusatory.

I was becoming extremely uneasy with her typing. It wasn’t a normal health care visit, it was more like she was taking my deposition. She didn’t meet my eye, she just asked questions and typed. Finally I asked her why; she said that’s the way she did it. I asked her to stop and she said no.

I told her that I thought my visit with her was a mistake and that I was leaving because I did not want every word I said available to the entire health system and any other person who gained access to it. My very own Nurse Ratchat asked if I was coming back and I said no, not to her.

The good part of my incarceration was that I prayed for most of the 20 hours I was there and regained my composure. Finally the counselor interviewed me and agreed that I wasn’t suicidal and had not needed an evaluation. After about an hour and a half they released me and I gladly walked the three miles home in the hot Albuquerque sun.

The first thing I did when I got home was call my health care provider and tell them to give me a new primary care physician. They asked me who I wanted and told them I didn’t care just so I got rid of the one I had.

The Whisperer is Back

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Today I was going to talk about aging and suicide but the Whisperer is back and I need to talk about that. He’s got my number. He’s telling me that because no one has the answer of how to help me they don’t care.

While I have a couple of Job’s friend types in my life, most of the people I talk to don’t even know what I am going through. The ones who do, they care. I could call a couple of people now and they would try to help. But they just can’t. Frankly I don’t want to ruin their day by saying what I have already said repeatedly. They pray for me and that is really the only thing that can help.

The gut churning confusion prevents me from praying eloquently. Mostly my prayer is to ask the Holy Spirit to pray for me. God reads my blog long before I write it so he knows what’s going on. I guess today my blog is my prayer. Dear God, I am not asking you why, I know this is a trial. I know that you intend to carry out something with me, though I don’t know what that is. I know that if you made it easier for me, you wouldn’t achieve your goal. It just has to feel this way because that is what changes me.

You who follow my blog strengthen me with your words and with your prayers and I know you will do that when you read this. Many of you have a Whisperer as well and you are fighting the same fight. I pray that my trial will strengthen you and make yours easier. God bless you my friends.

Give me strength Lord to bear it.

Self-Absorption and Suicide

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Yesterday suicide whispered in my ear until I fell into an exhausted sleep. Today the thoughts are an indistinct murmuring in the back of my mind waiting for an unguarded moment when they can rise up and seize my being. You see, the very fact that I must be constantly mindful makes me self-absorbed. If I could simply drift from activity to activity without being watchful perhaps I could forget myself for a few moments.

The best advice I have gotten is to pray. Not to ask God to remove the thoughts that he has chosen to give me but to thank him for the thoughts. Really? So I’ve been told by Fr. Patrick Henry Reardon. I’m doing it, when I remember to and it does have the advantage of surprising the thoughts. They simply don’t know what to make of this. In a way it reminds me of Paul in Romans 12:20 “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.” The suicidal thoughts seem confused by my thanking God for them which heaps these particular coals on their heads.

The wish to commit suicide is in part a response to the self-absorption. I am just tired of myself. God please give me some rest. Professionals and others have given me advice on how to handle these thoughts. The things that have worked for me are prayer as described above and keeping myself occupied especially physically. I love to hike and do so often. I do some volunteering, go at art shows and an occasional concert.

The one piece of advice that hasn’t worked out so well is being connected to people. Go to activities with other people etc. I kept feeling like no one liked me then I realized that the problem was me. I didn’t like them. Not so much that I didn’t like them as we just had nothing in common. I find most social activities boring. Especially parties. Times of getting together for its own sake. So I have decided to just do the things I like alone. This is an admirable solution in that I don’t bore others and I am not bored. Perhaps I will meet people who genuinely like the same things I do and that would truly be a blessing.

Thank you again for your many comments and helpful suggestions. Please if you have time look at the comments I got on my last two blogs. These people are hurting and took the time to care about another person. It let’s me know that God is truly active in this world.

A Stranger Gave Me The Solution

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It was a bad day. My suicidal impulses surprised me today. They are sneaky and they creep up on me while I am looking in the other direction. I think the worst part is that they whisper, they don’t shout.

A couple of weeks ago Fr. Patrick Henry Reardon sent me the following email as a response to my question to him; is this depression with suicidal ideation due to some unconfessed sin? I would like to share part of his response with you.

“Let me suggest, in the meanwhile, something you will find useful in tackling this problem:
Try to give thanks continually, or any time you remember to do so. It is nearly impossible to be giving thanks to God and, simultaneously, to be offending him. The best antidote to depression is the cultivation of thanksgiving to God—whether you FEEL like giving thanks or not. No words in the world are so precious to the ears of God as “thank you.” The goal is to have our souls transformed by the constant cultivation of thanksgiving. It will remove all bitterness and fill us with joy. (Don’t expect it work overnight, however. It will take a bit of real work.

As often as you think to do so, quietly tell Jesus you love him, and ask him to reveal his love and presence to the deepest parts of your soul”

Fr. Reardon is right, it is very hard to give thanks for my sufferings, especially the confusion I feel around the issue of suicide. But he is right that it focuses me on what is important, My Lord and Savior. The self-involvement of depression and suicidal ideation is dreadful and unwanted. I think the worst part of depression is being focused on self when I just want escape from self. So it seems right to just focus on Jesus, to love him, to thank him for my life even though I can’t see the goodness of it now.

I want to thank you all for your encouragement and your kindness. It makes me happy to pray for you and I know you continue to pray for me.