Today I am celebrating, but I’m also grieving. I’m celebrating because five years ago God saved me from myself. I’m grieving because other people are not as lucky as I am.
Many people are not as lucky as I am.
And so I’m torn. I want to celebrate the second chance at life I was given, but I also want to be sensitive to those who are grieving, especially to the family who, one week ago, lost a brother, nephew, cousin, grandson, son. I’m acutely aware of their pain, and I want to respect it.
But I don’t really know how to celebrate and grieve at the same time. I imagine it’s similar to rejoicing your grandfather’s life while at his funeral. Except it’s not the same thing. One person lived; one person died. I lived; Jake didn’t.
And I don’t know how to explain that. I don’t know why I’m still here and why he’s not. My life isn’t worth more than his, so I don’t know why I drew the “second-chance” card.
I have so many questions and not enough answers—I wish I had more. I can wish things were different, but I don’t know what good that would do.
The only thing I really know how to do right now is say I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I truly am.
That’s all I can really do. I don’t know the circumstances of Jake’s death, and I don’t really know the family, so I have to be content with knowing that everybody around them is grieving also.
I’m grieving too.
But is it selfish to be celebrating?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But right now, in this moment, I need to be celebrating because depression is unpredictable and destructive.
And I need to celebrate the fact that I’ve lived one more year. When you’re living with depression, every day you wake up is a celebration because our minds are fighting a civil war for control of our bodies: death versus life. And it’s not that we want to die, because we don’t, at least not most of us, not really. We just don’t know if we want to live. At least not like this. It’s like we’re living in this purgatory between living and dying, waiting to decide if we’ll be sentenced to life or death. We feel like we’re stumbling through life–a tumbleweed being blown by the wind–a witness to life, not an active participant.
Depression and other Mental Illnesses cause you to feel as if your world is spinning out of control, a merry-go-round that doesn’t stop.
We’re not crazy. We just feel like the world is too heavy for us. It’s a roller coaster that only goes down. It’s a never-ending tunnel filled with darkness and a thousand tons of dynamite. We’re wandering around in this big world, and we feel so small. We don’t know if we’re ever going to be ‘ok’ again.
And we probably won’t. Because even when we’re happy, we’re always cautious. We know the darkness is just around the corner. It comes in waves, and right now, we might be swimming, but soon we’ll be drowning. And with each wave, it gets harder and harder to get out of bed, to breathe, to think, to have any energy whatsoever.
You have your own opinions on suicide, which is your right. You have yours, and I have mine. I also have my own theories about why some people die young(er than others). But right now, none of those are important.
What is important is trying to understand.
Depression is a battle, and five years ago, I almost lost. I should have lost. But I didn’t, and I wish I knew why.
In the middle of my deepest, darkest moment after swallowing those pills, God called me back here. I still don’t know why.
However, I do know that God knows what’s best even though sometimes what’s best can hurt the worst.
I do know that five years ago, in that moment, my demons were in control of my mind and body. I had to get out. (Imagine a fire consuming your house. You have to get out even if the only way out is by jumping through a window.)
I do know that God knows what He’s doing, and I wish I knew what He is doing, but I can’t pretend to know the inner workings of the omnipotent, omniscient mind of the Almighty.
We can’t always choose whether we live or die. But Jesus did. He chose to die for us so that one day we can be with Him.
We will be with Him.
I don’t know everybody’s circumstances, but I do know mine (and if you’ve read my blog, you do to).
I don’t know why I got a second chance, but I’m trying to make the most of it.
I rejoice in the good days and the bad days because depression is unpredictable and powerful.
I rejoice because I know that whatever happens in this life, God is in control.