Living with a Suicidal Parent

So I’m diving in the deep end here and getting about as real as I know how to, todays post is about suicide. It grates on me for many reasons but party because naturally I am not a melancholy person. So please bare with me through the grime and negativity here, this blog can’t talk hope untill it has introduced darkness first.desolate

Suicide is like a black hole, you stumble across it and then it starts to suck in and destroy all the joy, hope and calmness you have.

I grew up in a family where depression was the norm. Not just feeling down every now and then, but full on life sucking clinical depression. Those of you who know depression know how mind numbingly painful it can be and how poisonous to a family it is.

Suicide however is a completely different ball game. It’s an aggressive, manipulative dictator, actively stealing anything good in its path.

I was 17 when I found out my father wanted to kill himself. I got up one day and found he was gone. 899231_beautiful_depression_1Self admitted to hospital because he was afraid of what he’d do. My world was destroyed, like a hurricane had ripped through all I knew. How could the one person made to love me and protect me actually WANT to leave me? I was alone and I was vulnerable, and the devil prowling around the pack had me in his sights.

Fast forward a year, at this point I had witnessed overdoses, police operations pulling my father from bridges and self mutilation. I couldn’t even begin process any of the things I had seen or felt. The worst part of this was that my hope died, it drooped, withered and was extinguished. How can it survive when your Dad walks past you begging him not to leave you and with out a glance seeks the motorway bridge anyway, when a surprise visit to the hospital leads to private views of rope burns from the noose they pulled him from, when suicide is starting to appeal to you?

The mornings were the worst. Every morning I would either wake up from nightmares that chilled my soul to the bone or I would remember afresh and rip my heart all over again.

How can hope survive this darkness, let alone grow in it?

Because suicide, and death, are beaten, they have lost their sting because of the one who was too great for them. Jesus is my rescue.

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I won’t patronize you with a twee answer that will only hurt you more (trust me I’ve heard a few). I won’t say you MUST be happy knowing Jesus, I definitely won’t tell you he will stop you hurting. But he is life and hope and as you get close to him darkness flees your soul and you can’t help but find love, peace and hope grow there.

I took medication, and had CBT therapy, no shame there, they kept me afloat, kept me surviving, stopped parts of me dying. But I still wasn’t living inside, I was stuck in a stalemate between survival and death. I had done all I could do.

How come my life is now filled with hope, bursting with joy and so exciting I now can’t sleep for ENTIRELY different reasons?

Because He stepped in.

My rescue began.

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Time to Smash the Mask

This is a first for me, the whole blog thing. In fact I’m not utterly sure why or how this came about. Some gentle whisper from the God of my soul telling me that I have something to give, a story to tell and a rescue to shout about. That there may be others, deeply trmaskapped by the chains that he tore from my own back to place on his own. There might be people, facing the same hopeless nights, depression and fear that not so long ago were my constant companions.

I’m getting excited as we speak, because let me tell you, it is a STORY! What a hero that shines through the story of my life, this Jesus who wouldn’t stay dead.

However, first there is something to deal with, a, shall we say habit, to break. I like to hide, to disapear, to make like the ostrich and hide my head in the sand.

I have a pressed and polished, carefully crafted mask that I like to wear out into the big, bad world. But I’ve grown tired of that performance, and I’m beginning to wonder if I will be able to find a space to be myself, to stop hiding and finally (after many, many, years of advice) GET REAL.

And as you might have figured out (you clever reader you), in what’s probably a rather cowardly way I am attempting to do that very thing here. After all no one will be able to read this unless I tell them where to look!

So right here, as a start, I would like to smashed glassstop hiding. I would like to tell the secrets that I am afraid to tell my church, to break free from the fear that’s keeping both myself and my testimony hostage. I think it’s time to finally smash the mask.

Maybe, it’s when we let our real selves out, when we come out from the shadows, that the light of the world can truly finish chasing our darkness away.