Life Happens

I believe in God and I believe Jesus died for our sins. I am a Christian.    I didn’t grow up in a religious home. Yes, we we re Christian, but we didn’t talk about God or Jesus or go to church on Sundays. I didn’t know the Bible by heart, I couldn't even name you more then 3 of the books. Funnily enough, when I was young and acting up my mom would threaten me by saying I had to go to Wednesday night church. Religion was just not a factor in my life until middle school. My best friend at the time went to Fuse, a Wednesday night youth ministry, and invited me to go. I went and it was fun, I sang to songs, played games but it wasn’t much more then an event to me. After continuously going, I started actually listening to the sermons and not just enduring them; I got saved and baptized. I don’t have the date memorized or remember exactly how it happened because it was so long ago and I don’t think I realized the full significance of it. Not meaning I didn’t truely believe, bu

Suicide isn’t pretty so I’m not going to portray it as so. It’s not poetic or romantic, it’s dark and morbid. I know this first hand because August 1st I attempted suicide. No, I didn’t do it for attention or pity or even as a cry for help; I did it expecting to die.    As I’ve said before mental illness is something I deal with but on that night I did not deal with it well. Around 2 A.M. the depression hit me like a brick wall and was not gentle. I went into the bathroom so no one would hear my breakdown of crying, which happens sometimes but it usually passes. I sat on the floor sobbing and it only got worse. It felt like I was dying. My chest felt as if it was decaying and being ripped apart while my head was going a million miles an hour; everything was too overwhelming and it hurt too much. I got a knife out of the kitchen and cut it across my hip a few times, hoping the physical pain would distract me from everything else. It wasn’t enough. This was too much. I couldn’t do it.