My Suicide Story

TRIGGER WARNING

I am sharing this story today in honor of a girl I love very much. She has had a particularly rough patch the past couple years and confided in me a few months ago that today was her planned suicide date. I am telling my story for her and all the other people who are going through this same journey, because I do believe there is hope.

I have lived with chronic depression since I was 11 years old. When I was young I would spend hours fantasizing about killing myself, thinking of all the ways I could finish this life. I held all of this in myself, afraid to let anyone know. My family was going through a turbulent time as it was, and I didn't want to add to their stress. On a nearly weekly basis I would plan an attempt, but would always give up at the point of writing out the suicide note. There were more close calls than I can even count.

This brought me into a downward spiral; I hated myself for wanting to die, I wanted to die because I hated myself. Slowly the people closest to me began to see what I desperately wanted to hide. I wouldn't sleep for days at a time, then would go comatose and sleep for ages. It was hell in the truest sense of the word.

The crazy part in all this is that most people I knew had absolutely no idea what was happening. On the outside, I was a bubbly, smart girl. I got straight As in school, was in multiple clubs, and had lots of friends. One of my best friends actually realized that the more bubbly and happy I seemed, the worse I was doing internally. She realized this before even I did, she kept me sane.

This continued for years, sometimes better and sometimes worse. Until one day when I was about 17 one of my close friends found me nearly unconscious on the floor of my shower. I had lost so much blood that I kept falling between asleep and awake. She patched me up and told both my father and her parents... then came the intervention.

I was forced to go to recovery groups (similar to Alcoholics Anonymous, but for all addictions, not just Alcoholism). It was here that I realized being depressed or masochistic didn't make me a bad person. Some of the people in this group were wonderful people, they had dreams and hopes and people they loved. If I didn't hate them for their struggles, how could I hate myself for my own? This is when the journey of understanding my illness truly began.

I have learned a lot about myself since then. I realize now that my depression is more about the chemical balances in my body than anything else. If I sleep at decent hours, eat well, exercise and meditate, then I will remain stable. If I don't get good sleep for 2 nights, or if I don't exercise for more than 3 days, I will almost immediately get suicidal thoughts again. It is a constant effort to check in with myself to make sure I am still stable, so that the suicidal tendencies don't catch me off guard. At the end of a perfect day a voice will always come up telling me to end it all, telling me it can't get better than this. But now I realize that voice is not my own, so instead of being angry I can find an outlet to release the pressure before it builds.

Now, why am I telling you all of this? Why would I share such a deeply personal journey on the internet? For two reasons:

1. I want to change how people see depression. Too often we hear "depression" and think of a teenager wearing all black and running around crying. The reality is that depression is a part of life for people from all walks of life and all ages. Someone can have a fulfilling, beautiful life and still have depression. Like rheumatoid arthritis or chronic back pain, it is a difficult struggle, but it does not mean someone cannot achieve their dreams and lead a wonderful life. I am living the life of my dreams and loving it, I will not give my depression the power to hold me back.

We need to open the dialogue about this illness to realize that depressed people aren't broken people, they are just people. If the stigma of depression could be removed, maybe more of us would be open to getting help. If someone would have told me as a young girl that being depressed was okay and didn't make me evil, maybe I would have spent less time with a knife in my shaking hands.

2. I want to speak out to the girl I spoke of earlier, and all the others like her-
You are not broken. You are not defective. Your pain matters. You can fight this, you can grow old and fall in love and have a family. You deserve to live a full life, and you hold the power to find that life inside of yourself. Don't let this illness win, fight back. I promise you that if you choose to carry on, you will find happiness again. I love you.

*NOTE: I do want to make a note that not all depression is chronic like mine. There are many people that experience temporary depression due to a certain circumstance, like death in the family of a difficult season of life. One type of depression is not better or worse than another, and any type of depression can be helped by living with intention and finding help. If you are dealing with depression of any type, please get help. You are worth it. 

Different words for the same thing.

I recently went out with some good friends and some new friends to drink and chat. Two of those people were fellows who have very extreme political and economical ideas, they are hardcore Libertarians and highly invested in cyrptocurrency (such as Bitcoin). The other friend was a great leader in a Christian Evangelical organization here. Then there was me. We had wonderful conversation, discussing the root of morality and government and the purpose of social structures and religion.

When religion came up, one fellow brought up how he was a staunch atheist. He believes it is ridiculous to assume there are supernatural forces in the world, as nature is all we have and can test. Whereas my Christian friend, she spoke of her belief in another world surrounding us that is all spiritual and we can only catch the smallest glimpses of if we choose to. Later Mr. Atheist was speaking about how humans have a special value because we are the only creatures who have a conscience and a higher-thinking mind. We have something in us that allows us to wonder about the spiritual and to make decisions and see a better future in which we live at peace with one another.

As our conversation continued with more drinks and fun, I realized we are all talking about the same thing. Whether you call it God, logic, or karma- there is something within us as humans that ties us all together. It is a force that allows us to see ourselves within others, to see potential for connections and hope. Some would say it is God within each and every one of us, our humanity and the Spirit that connects us all.

There's a joke my dad loves to tell:

Child: Mother, who made me? 

Mother: God made you.

Child: Who made the animals and plants? 

Mother: God made the animals and plants. 

Child: Who made the earth, sun, and moon? 

Mother: God made the earth, sun, and moon.  

Child: If God made all of these things, then who made God? 

Mother: We did. 

If God made us in their own image, then we also make God in our image. For some of us, God is nature and all that is around us, for others God is science, for others still God is a spiritual warrior fighting dark unseen forces.  When we say "God" we all speak of different things, but what if we really are all speaking about the same Force, the same Reality?

Say there is a great, fantastic machine in front of us. My brother Matthew will say, "What can I do with it to make my life better?", my sister Marissa will say, "Look how exciting this is! I shall tell the whole world of how wonderful it is!", my brother Marcos will say, "How do I take it apart and how does it work?". For some the machine will be useful, for some it will be a way to connect to others, and for some it will be a thing to take apart and learn from. But it is only the one machine.

I guess what I'm saying is, I think we are all looking at the same Ultimate Reality. We may have different names for it or different ways of connecting to it or finding it in our lives. But I truly do believe it is all One, we are all one humanity. It is for this reason we love, it is in this that we live and move and find our being.

Touch

I went to an AIDS/HIV commune today. One of the first things I noticed was that the people were quite standoffish. They weren't rude or anything, but they seemed a bit tense and separate. They didn't want to sit next to me and if I stood near them they would back up a few paces. I told myself that they have had a rough life and to not take it personally.

Then I heard more about their experiences. They had been through so much pain and separation due to their illness and the misconceptions around AIDS. Their own families, the people who were supposed to love them forever, kicked them out because they thought they were dirty and broken. These people were thrown out because of something that is not at all their fault.

When we prayed for them, I put my arm around one of the woman. After that point, she came up to me and did not leave my side. She spent the rest of the time there with her arm around my hip or holding my hand. She was desperate to be touched. I realized that they had kept their distance out of respect, out of fear of being seen as dirty. Yet at the same time, they so needed to feel loved. They needed to feel like they were still human, like they could touch and be near other people and still be okay. It was beautiful and tragic.

It reminded me of Mother Teresa and her time with the lepers. She often was told by those around her to be more careful when touching the sick people, to protect herself and not get too close. She would always respond in defense of human dignity, speaking of the Christ that it is within each of us. To not touch someone was to deny their divine nature, their humanity, and the love that moved them. It's beautiful, really... All that is held in a touch.

I think we need to touch each other more. I'm not saying in a way that is creepy, or unwanted. But with our friends and our family, when it is appropriate and welcome. Put your hand on someone's shoulder when you compliment them, hug your friend a little longer when you greet them, don't be afraid to walk too close to people. I don't know what it is, but there is something so pure, so spiritual in these small touches throughout the day. It's an honoring of someone's dignity, a recognition of their humanity, and a way to connect without words. There are so many people here that I can't have a real conversation with because of language barriers, but I will just sit holding their hand or with arms around each other for long periods of time. And it is that contact that brings our interconnectedness to the surface.

Hurting people hurt people.

My father always told me this when I was young. Whenever someone did something that hurt me or our family, he reminded me that hurting people hurt people. When we are afraid and angry, we lash out. We go against the natural tendency to love, instead we build walls and break down relationships.

Today I went out to this village. I am planning to start some programs for the community and we were scoping out the current situation before beginning. While we were there, this woman came to us. She started off just talking, then crying. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but came up to her and put my hand on her shoulder while she cried. She quickly moved on to yelling, and arguing with the other villagers. Eventually the small crowd around us dispersed to get away from the drama. Meanwhile this woman went between crying and yelling for maybe 15 minutes.

I asked my boss/friend to translate what was happening. She told me this woman was upset because she did not have a toilet.

A toilet.

Slowly, the full story began to come out.

This woman didn't used to live in this village, her parents did. I don't know exactly what from, but her parents got very sick. They left the village at some point to find relief from their illness. While they were moved out, the organization I work for had come and built toilets for the villagers. Sometime after that, her parents passed away, and this woman moved to their old home in this village. Knowing the culture here, she probably moved out there because it was the only thing her family owned.

So here's this woman. She lost both of her parents and was forced to move to an unbelievably poor village. She doesn't know all of the people in this village because it's not her home. She's drunk in the middle of the morning and fighting with the other villagers, leading to her being even more alone.
She is angry and she is fighting and she has to go to the bathroom in a hole she dug up.

There are times when someone's pain is so raw and exposed that you can't help but feel it too. I could feel the ache she must feel in her heart. The pain that causes her to push people away comes from the loneliness in her own life, the loss she has had in the past few years has put her into a terrible cycle.

In the end, there are three thoughts I can't to get out of my head.

1. This woman needs a freaking toilet. Actually, everyone needs a toilet. It is amazing how much your chances of illness decrease when you have a sanitary place to go to the bathroom. A toilet is a sign of economic development, and it truly is one of the hugest factors in having a healthy life. You guys would be surprised at how blessed you are to have a toilet, to have myriad diseases that you don't even have to worry about because you live in sanitary conditions. 
2. The people in this village are terribly angry and hurt. They have good reason to be, they were sent out of their homes and treated like cattle. They were left in the middle of nowhere with none of their belongings. They truly lost everything in life. Everything. I think they have forgotten how to live without anger. I desperately want to help them see their value again, I want them to feel safe and let go of the fighting in their hearts and homes. 
3. Hurting people hurt people.
   It all comes back to this, doesn't it? People became corrupt because one man unable to love started a genocide that killed millions. Corrupt government sent people out of their homes and robbed them of their humanity. People robbed of their humanity and value fight for survival, they fight until they don't know why they are fighting. Children grow up in homes with constant fights, and they forget how to love.
   And the cycle begins again.
   We cannot let this cycle continue, not in this village and not in our own lives. When people hurt us, we must learn to overcome and resist the urge to hurt others. Maybe if we responded out of our love instead of our pain, we could change the world. 

I'm sorry this is a little scattered guys, I just needed to let it out. Please, let's move past the pain. 

I love my dad.

My dad recently wrote a book. It was an auto-biography of sorts, chronicling his life experience thus far. It reminded me how important my father is to me and the role he has played in raising me. It made me quite emotional, and reminded me that I am able to be on this amazing journey because of his hard work and the example he has set for me. In the worst of times, he taught me true forgiveness and love. In the best of times, he taught me about elbow grease and reaching for the important things in life. I am overwhelmed with gratefulness for having him in my life, and felt the need to write this...

When I was 5 years old I told my father I "felt like nothing but my name". I told him I felt like nothing else existed but my name and I didn't know what to do. He let me sit beside his desk for hours, until the feeling passed and I was ready to do something else with my day. I still get this feeling from time to time, he still sits with me until it passes.

When I was 7 years old I told my father I was going to have a business where I helped people.
I had a dream that led me to believe my calling was to travel the world and help the impoverished. I didn't know the words missionary or volunteer, I only knew that my father's "business" was the thing he spent all of his time and effort on (after family). Rather than correcting me or or telling me the correct words and methods, my dad told me a business for helping people was a great idea.

When I was 9 years old I told my father I was going to start an organization for kids who were homeless, I would call it Home 4 Kids. My dad helped me draw up plans and came to me later that week letting me know he had registered the domain home-4-kids.com for me. I still own that domain.

When I was 15 years old I told my father I wanted to join my city government through something called Youth Commission. When I was awarded a position in the commission, my dad spent hundreds of dollars to fly home early from a work convention in order to be there for my entrance ceremony.

When I was 16 years old I told my father I wanted to take college courses while I was in high school. He helped me register and left a note on my bathroom mirror my first day of class wishing me luck.


When I was 19 years old I told my father I didn't have the will to live anymore, and that I was concerned he would find me dead at my own hands one day. Within that week depression health supplements and myriad books arrived in the mail to help me through these issues. There were many nights where my father let me just sit next to him in his office until the morning so that I would not have the strength to go through with suicide that night.

When I was 20 years old I told my father I needed to move across the world to help the people of Cambodia. He changed his whole life around to ensure that my responsibilities helping run a household and business were taken care of, he gave me the freedom to move away and get a new beginning.

There was so much pain and joy in the years between each of these instances. There were opportunities that my father let go of to support us kids. He gave up everything to ensure our safety, to the point that we were partially homeless for a while and he still made sure we were provided for. He has shown support for me in each season of my life in ways that I needed at those times.

I have never doubted that my father loves me. When I wasn't strong enough to reach for my dreams, he was strong enough to lift me towards them. If I ever achieve something great in my life, it will be because of my dad's example. My biggest goal is that one day, when he is old and gray, he will look back on his life and see the legacy he has left in his child.

Transition

I have a love/hate relationship with transitions, moving on to new seasons. On the one hand, I'm energized by the idea of beginning something new. I feel so driven when I have a new task, a new thing to hope for.

I love seeing teams when they come to Cambodia from other parts of the world. I realize that each and every one of them is at a time of transition in their lives, they are being exposed to something new and becoming more day by day. There is a beauty in that. There is an amazing transformation that happens throughout our lives as we go through the different stages. I think the hope is that when all is said and done we would be more ourselves than when we started.

Yet at the same time, I hate letting go. I recently said goodbye to my friends and family once again. I had to let go of the ease of living in the States and the warmth of being in a home that is full and loud. And if I'm being honest, that was really hard.

I love the new, but I hate letting go of the old. Unfortunately, I can only hold that tension for so long. I need to learn that letting the past be the past is part of experiencing the new. If I constantly live in what was or what could have been, I will miss out on the world changes happening around me in the here and now.

I'm going into a new season right now. I am now the Project Manager for an amazing organization called The Rock Foundation. This will be a very new experience for me, with a lot of room for failure or success, depending on how well I do. I can already feel myself being stretched for this, but I choose to believe it's for good.

So here's to the new seasons, and finally letting go of the old.

Heart Is Full

I've said it so much in this past month, my heart is so very full.

7 months ago I left everything I knew to come to Cambodia. I left an amazing network of family and friends and came to a place where I knew nearly no one.

Now, I can say that there is a world of people here that I love with all of my heart and soul. I consider a lot of them to be like family to me. They have been there when I was having a bad day, and when I had great ones. I have cried, laughed, and more than anything had amazing fun with these people.

On top of that, my wonderful family contributed so that I could come back to the States for Christmas. This has been more of a blessing than anyone can ever know, as homesickness was kicking me in the butt recently.

Today it occurred to me that no matter where I go, there are people I will miss. While I'm excited to spend Christmas in the States, I will miss my Khmer friends and family so much. When I come back to Cambodia in February, I will miss my family and friends States-side. When I go to other countries in the years to come, I will miss them all.

And you know what? I wouldn't give that up for the world. Missing people is part of the joy of loving them, and I have come to love so many people. My heart is full- full of sadness and full of love, full of longing and hope. And a full heart is a wonderful heart.