How to Be with a Suicidal Friend

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I've been truly suicidal twice in my life.  But I've lived with clinical depression most of my adult life.

I was a happy, healthy, well-adjusted kid.  Just ask my parents.  Somewhere around age 30, I got hit with a whole wheelbarrow of emotions, and the tendency to cry when absolutely nothing was wrong.  And it's never left.  This post is not about that.  But you can read about it here.

The first time I was in a place where I could have truly committed the act? It came on suddenly. You NEVER hear that.  There's this idea out there that people who kill themselves have been in the throes of depression (secretly or openly).  I'm here to tell you, THAT is not my experience. I was NOT in a season of melancholy leading up to this night.  I was with friends, and had a moment of feeling acute rejection---which was not detectable to them.  It was a thought which grew into a big, black cloud in a matter of hours.  By the time 2 of them had dropped me off at my apartment, I was swirling in deep, black darkness.  It's tough to even describe, but as surely as I've felt the presence of God----that night the presence of evil wrapped itself around me like the worst kind of blanket, and slowly began to suck the life out of me. 

I was absolutely despondent and filled with a deep sense of hopelessness.  More than anything, I wanted to go and jump in front of the E train which was a few blocks away.  Only sheer exhaustion kept me from doing it.

I'm not going to pretend my experience is the same as everyone else's.  But, besides that night---my first 2 years back in the Northwest?  I prayed every day for God to kill me---or to let me go home, to heaven.  And I entertained suicidal ideation for years---as a way of escape, any time life got tough and for a long time after New York?  Life was always tough.  I've been around the block a few times on the suicide thing.

So here's my best advice on what to say, and NOT to say.

1.  Offer absolute acceptance and love and not one shred of judgment.

If your friend has told you they are suicidal, they are handing you a huge gift of trust.  In the two times I was suicidal---I could not tell a soul.  In fact for me, one of the things which has to be present for me to truly be capable of the act---is I have to feel cut off from my main support system.  Something has gotten in the way of those closest friendships or I wouldn't feel what I feel.

2.  Don't give advice.

The sheer level of grief a suicidal person is experiencing is life draining.  They are exhausted. Having to listen to someone go on and on about how they overcame something or having to hear a person talk down to them (no matter your intentions, this is how it will come across) while pretending to be grateful will drain them further, and make them feel more like a loser.

3.  Listen, listen, listen

Find out what has been happening in their life.  What brought them to this place?   What would give them hope?  What do they feel like they need right now to make life worth living? What are they angry about?  How can you best support them in this time?

4.  Know that talking about suicide is not going to make them more likely to commit it.

If they have opened the door and invited you in, telling you they want to die---they need to talk about it.  They want to talk about it.  Find out how long they have been thinking about it. Find out how they intend to carry it out.  (If they have a plan on how to end their life, stay with them until you feel they are out of danger, or until someone else can be there, especially if they have the means at their disposal to do it.)

5. Help them discover why they want to kill themselves.

In most of my suicide ideation? I am hurt by someone close to me and want revenge.  I want to take my anger out on myself so that whomever I'm mad at will be sad and I'll get even. Sometimes, though---it's just an escape---the same as a movie might be.  Having a "way out" can provide comfort when the pain is sharp.

Some people kill themselves over despair over their future, feeling trapped in an oppressive work environment or relationship.  Some people panic when big world events happen like the stock market crashes. There will always be an element of hopelessness in a suicidal person. The key is finding out what is making them feel that way.  

After you've helped someone figure out why they want to die, gently lead them to alternatives which might accomplish their true goal.  So, for me?  Reminding me of how the person I'm angry with has shown me love would help.  Or reminding me of upcoming events I want to be present for might help.

6. Be real

The two things which made me stop even thinking about suicide are these:

1-I read about all the attempts gone bad.  The internet is full of stories of individuals who tried to kill themselves and the aftermath they now live in.  Turns out?  It's not that easy to do.  And people mess it up ALL THE TIME.  And live maimed the rest of their life.  Scary stuff.

2-It's a hard question theologically.  And not one I suggest you broach with certainty.  But I've come to the personal conclusion that suicide is murder.  And unrepented murder.  I don't want to take a chance on eternity with that on my record.  Scary stuff.

Yes, I would talk to suicidal people about these two things.  It might be the only thing which saves their life.  They might get mad.  But mad energizes.  And energy is good.

7.  Do not take the stance that the person "just wants attention."  

First of all, SO WHAT IF THEY DO?  I have no problem giving the homeless money EVEN if I know they'll use it to drink---because Damn it, if anyone has a right to drink---it's someone with no home!!!! (Most people drink for much less!) If someone is in despair enough to outright ask for attention by saying the "S" word-----WHY WITHHOLD IT?  

Second, being suicidal invites shame.  It is a TOUGH thing to admit out loud even to those close.  People don't throw that word around lightly.  If a person admits to feeling this way, and you have any ounce of love for them (or humanity) take it seriously.  Smother them with love. Where did we ever get this idea that giving someone what they are asking for LOUDLY is less worthy than giving it to them just because???? (Yes, this attitude makes me absolutely crazy.)

Third, most suicidal people are not just wanting attention.  If they are talking about it, then they are thinking seriously about it, and are in deep pain.

8. Keep treating them normal.

After the crisis has passed, be normal.  Don't walk on eggshells around them.  Check in on them, but don't tiptoe.  Ask them for favors.  Make them feel needed.  Tell them your problems. Maybe not the next day, but let them know you still see them as a whole, sane, wonderful person that you love, want in your life, and even need.

Sooner or later, we all encounter people in crisis.  Sooner or later, we all are the person in crisis. We all need one another, and we can all be the friend that comes alongside.

If you're ever feeling suicidal, message me or call me.  

Here's another option I've used from time to time:

http://www.samaritans.org/

Be well, friends.

The Most Important Post I'll Ever Write

We are the Fallen by Taylor McBride.  Creative Commons via Flickr and Photo Pin.  Unaltered.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/taylor-mcbride/4535235716/in/photostream/

Living with Depression

Sometimes you cry every morning and every night.  For like an hour each time.  And there's nothing wrong.  You aren't thinking wrong.  You aren't dwelling on pain. You are barely thinking at all.  It just has to work itself out.

Sometimes your emotions are raw and heightened and a look, a judgment, a stray remark, can feel like an elephant stepped on your heart.  Sometimes people walk on eggshells around you and you can’t figure out why they think you are so sensitive.

Sometimes you are absolutely fine for weeks at a time.  It's nothing you are doing right,  just like when you're in pain, it's nothing you're doing wrong; it's just what your body is giving out at the moment.

Sometimes you get stuck in thought patterns that replay themselves over and over and you can't get unstuck.

Sometimes the genuine pain you do have from unmet expectations, broken relationships, or past experiences is amplified and it feels like you're surrounded by this force field of negative energy, and though you fight it, it remains thick around you like a fog, and chokes the breath out of you.

Sometimes things which people have said haunt you and are like invisible headphones turned up on HIGH, and you try your best to focus on Jesus, you try to worship, you try to pray, you try anything to push away the judgments (true or not, earned or false) written on your forehead, but you can't find the way of escape. Sometimes what worked the last time, doesn't work this time.  Sometimes you get tired of fighting and just give up for the day.

Sometimes fellow brothers and sisters minimalize the disease by giving pat answers.  “Read the Psalms.”  “Quote scripture.”  “Just rejoice!”  “Don’t dwell on the past.”  “Forgive.”  If only it were that easy.  It’s kind of like telling an overweight person, “Just eat right and exercise.”  Yeah, because all skinny people do that.  Or it’s like announcing to anyone with any problem to just “Stop it!” 

Sometimes people believe the worst about those experiencing depression.  “They are just trying to get attention.”  “They are moody and self-centered.”  Depression CAN look like this.  And any one of us can fall into patterns of victimhood, even in our depression.  But true depression is not an attitude you choose.  It’s not a mood you put yourself into.  It is how your body affects your emotions, and those who deal with depression would never choose it.

So, in addition to what's already going on, Christians with depression often live under a weight of judgment from their spiritual brothers and sisters, who know not what they do.  People with depression have to get really good at forgiving.

If people with depression choose to use medication, and dare to tell others, they set themselves up for more judgment.  Christians have definite opinions about other Christians using antidepressants.  Let him who has never taken an aspirin throw the first stone.  

Sometimes? It feels like you've cried wolf too many times.  Intimate friends get worn out; compassion turns to weariness.  You know you give off heavy vibes at times that no one wants to shoulder or that people don’t know how to react to. You forgive again as another acquaintance looks away and pretends not to see.  Tomorrow's another day and joy might come in the morning.

Responding to Friends with Depression

Please don't run away from us.  It's a chemical imbalance and it is not catching.  We have depression; we are not depressed.  

We make great friends because we have great compassion and empathy.  

We appreciate small kindnesses because the same sensitivity that causes great pain, also notices the tiny nuances of life, and those who bring them.  

Depression is something we live with and overcome; it does not define us; it is NOT our identity. It's possible you've known us for years casually and never identified it in us. 

We are not asking you to carry our pain, or even to feel sorry for us.  We just want to feel accepted and know that we are safe around you when we are having a good day or when we're having a bad day.  

We want to know that you are not judging our faith or our walk by our countenance; because WE ARE NOT the illness.  

We are warriors fighting a different battle than you.  Respect the warrior in us, and be normal with us week in and week out. Acknowledge the pain, but don’t feel you have to fix us. 

Give us the benefit of the doubt that we are not wallowing.  For all of the visible emotions that spill out, we have likely conquered many more.  If we do happen to be wallowing, we usually know it, and pointing it out? Will likely not accomplish as much as a hug.

We do not need every conversation to be about us, or our emotions.  In fact, it’s a relief to get out of our own heads and discuss other things.

We will be the ones there for you when you hit rock bottom, when others stay away from fear or pity.  We will have your back, we will help you find your footing when it’s dark. 

We will become tour guides through the Valley of Baca.  We’ve already been there, and we have dug wells.

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Psalm 84:6 (KJV)

6 Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools.

*The Valley of Baca can also be translated "The Valley of Tears."  Many believe this verse admonishes us to comfort others with the comfort we have been comforted with, and to build wells of refreshing for others when we are going through valley experiences.

Photo:  By JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.  Unaltered.  Use of photo does not imply agreement with blog post.

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Disclaimer:  Despite the permanence of our digital footprints, this is my description of what it is like to battle depression on May 17, 2014.  I reserve the right to change my opinion as I change.  Despite the safety of the "Editorial We," my opinions are my own, and I do not claim to speak for others.  It is my sincere hope that depression will one day no longer be synonymous with shame.

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Why "Money Can't Buy Happiness" is a Lie

My friend Nadia showed up unexpectedly at my house once with these beautiful flowers in hand.  I had been given a beautiful vase in a gift exchange at one of her Christmas parties (by another faithful friend).  She said she wanted to be the first to fill that vase with love.  Extravagant.  Happiness.  Proof Positive.

My freshman year at Portland Bible College, we were asked to do a study on a character quality.  I chose generosity.  It was one of my first experiences endeavoring to look at every verse on a particular topic in Scripture and turned out to be a great learning experience.  But more than that, there was a MARKED sense of God's presence as I studied, that has never been duplicated in any other study I've done.  

I've come to expect God's presence during worship, and I often sense Him when I pray.  But during this study, He came close.  He was there with me as I read verses, there when I organized my findings into categories, and there when I presented them in class.  His near tangible closeness felt like a warm blanket around me, or like a close friend looking over my shoulder.  I could feel His smile and His interest.  I was studying something close to His heart.

God loves extravagant giving because He is an extravagant giver and when we participate in giving, we are expressing His character.  I think it's like a parent looking at their own DNA staring back at them when they see their children.  Deep calls unto deep, and He senses His DNA in us, when we act like Him.

The funnest, most exciting moments in life have been the times when I have given extravagantly.  It takes planning, it takes discipline to set aside funds, it takes a depth of love.  It takes research to be sure that the gift is matching the person being given.  It takes plotting.  It takes dreaming.  All of which stretch across time, and build anticipation in the giver's heart.

Watching joy arise in a person's heart after a long day, or wash over them like a wave, or erupt like Niagra Falls as the result of a gift?  There's no better feeling.  

Money may not buy happiness when we spend it on ourselves; but the keenest, sharpest joy I've ever experienced is when I've acted like my Heavenly Father and given extravagantly with all my heart.

Money can absolutely buy happiness.  When given away.

On Not Giving Up

I started Crossfit two and a half months ago.  It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  It’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.  There are times I have to force myself to go to “the box”, and once there force myself to keep moving, when every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop.  There are moves that greatly scare me because they are so counter-intuitive to any way I’ve ever moved my body before.  There are times it’s tough because I get asked more often than I’d like, “Is this your first time?”

By English: Cpl. Jennifer B. Poole [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Every one of us have had things we’ve tried or seasons in our lives which required staying power.  We all have stories of perseverance thru trials which made us stronger, and that taught us lessons which could only be learned by walking thru difficult times.  Crossfit is like that.

My first year of teaching was like that.  I was teaching at a school in the South Bronx, in a neighborhood which Jonathan Kozol, documents in his book, Amazing Grace, as being “the poorest congressional district in the country,” and the police precinct having the highest homicidal and rape rate in the country.

I had 27 second graders, and my most difficult ones, eventually ended up in classes with small class sizes to go with their high needs.  One, whom I’ll call Jontae, had to be entreated to come in on the first day.  Administrators spent 45 minutes coaxing him in.  I quickly learned not to get too physically close to Jontae, unless I wanted to be called Motherfucker and Bitch.  I also learned he had no intention of ever doing what I asked.

One of my little girls was a crack baby.  Tasha was skinny skinny, had a wonderful grandma who did the best she could, but due to the drugs in Tasha’s system when she was born, Tasha had physical as well as emotional challenges.  She was prone to teasing, because of the continual thick green congestion in her nose.  She left piles of torn paper wherever she had been.  But, she was a fiery little girl, who didn’t take anything from anyone and kids learned to leave her alone or face her wrath.

Andina made her entrance to second grade an hour late, coming in, flinging her backpack across the room, shouting, “I don’t wanna be in this stupid class.”  It was one of those moments when you stop and ask yourself, “How exactly did I get here?”

The year ended up holding nearly every experience a typical teacher might have in the course of their careers including events such as: watching a colleague being hauled off to jail on false abuse accusations, being told by a fellow (adult) teacher to move because I was sitting in her seat in the teacher’s lounge, having mice in the classroom, having to turn a class around in the stairwell because someone had defecated in ours—again, placing second grade students as guards watching our outside bulletin board because bands of older students kicked out of their classrooms would rip them down.  The entire school board was forced to resign due to corruption, I had to report the physical abuse of a child and his siblings and then wait 8 hours in a courthouse 300 feet away from the man I was testifying against, only to be told to come back the next day.  There are more stories in that first year than I can tell here, and some belong only to late night conversations after hours of honesty, laughter, and self- disclosure.

If ever it has been true in my life, it was true that first year of teaching: I needed staying power.  I remember sitting in my pastor’s office, wanting to quit, wanting to go home.  It was too hard, I told him.  He and his wife did their best to pour courage into me that evening, but ultimately I returned to the classroom because there was no safety net if I failed.  I had dreamed of NYC and destiny for years.  I could not fail.  It would be giving up everything God had called me to, and the loss of purpose was a cost too great to bear.

So, I drafted a letter to my boss, asking for help, and received it in small measure.  The rest of my year was no easier, and in fact, near the end I fled the classroom one afternoon crying, and our librarian had to watch my group while I recovered.  But I didn’t quit.  I spent 3 more years in the Bronx, and quickly learned classroom management skills which have served me my entire career.  The next year at the same school, I was given one of the toughest boys coming up.  I determined I was going to like him, and he was going to like me. I learned that the secret of really good teaching (like everything else) is being intentional about cultivating good relationships with students, and the harder, the sooner.  Giovanni and I had a great year together, and the Christmas card he gave me is still one of my favorite mementos of teaching.  I learned staying power.

In Biblical Greek, the word for patience is HUPOMONE.  It means “to stay under,” and applied carries the idea of not moving out from under a trial, a circumstance, a season. Hupomone is staying power. 

I’m at a time in my life today and for the past 6 months really, once again in need of Hupomone.  It’s not a story I can share, but it is a culminating battle of life, the kind which calls to arms every skill and victory from the past. It’s a battle begun in childhood, and one I’ve been expecting for a long time.  It demands every ounce of spiritual strength, mental strength, and emotional strength I possess.  In some ways it’s the toughest battle I ever remember fighting, and it’s made tougher because it’s a fight I must fight alone.  I bear huge battle scars already, and it’s difficult to see from my vantage point what ground has been gained, or how much longer the battle must rage on. 

Today, I’m thankful for the battles of the past, because without the strength and faith gained in those scuffles, I surely would have given up on the battlefield already, or just plain walked away and refused to be a warrior any longer, allowing the enemy of our souls to turn me into a bitter one, devoid of hope.

Maybe you are in a similar place.  Lately, I’ve heard of a lot of stories which sound familiar to mine; defining, catastrophic battles that can change a destiny.  Maybe you are in a battle which cannot be shared, maybe you are in an alone season too.  Have hope.  We’ve been training for this all our Christian lives.  We can do this.

Maybe you can’t relate to a word I’ve written, and are questioning my theology.  Be nice anyway, and try not to judge.  Your battle will come, as sure as your Father in heaven loves you. 

One way I endure particularly tough Crossfit WOD’s, is to find the parts of the workout I like and look forward to those parts during the parts I don’t like.  Today the sun is out, and I have dinner plans with some friends.  The battle rages on, but I choose to rejoice.  And I choose to Hupomone. 

Illusion

La Merced

La Antigua, Guatemala

I never understood why Ana, our housemother, told us to be careful of Luis.  Nor did I understand why my friend Kim would parrot these words to me anytime he would come up in conversation.

For those of us living in the host home in Guatemala, Luis was simply “that shoeshine boy” or even “You know, that boy.”  We all knew who “that boy” was.  We passed him sitting on the stoop of La Merced every day on our way to language school.

I didn’t understand my friends’ precautions because after teaching four years in the South Bronx, no young hand-kissing, por-favor-buy-me-a-Pepsi-saying, mentally challenged teenage boy could pose a threat to me.

I loved to stop and chat with him, practicing my fledgling Spanish on him as he practiced his beginning English on me., saying carefully constructed pointed sentences such as, “HOW-ARE-YOU-MY-LOVE?” and kissing my hand, asking me to sit awhile and linger so he could read to me the sentences he had been copying and learning to read.  I never saw the harm in being near Luis.

Then, one moment in time, that will forever be landscaped in my inner eye, I saw a different Luis.  That day, as I made my way home from a café where I had sat eating my plate of papa fritas amidst a sea of stranger faces.  That day—

I saw Luis away from his usual corner.  He was standing in the middle of the street, a hugantic boulder clutched under each arm.  Across from him stood an annoying mosquito of a man who had obviously unfairly provoked him.  Luis, unsure of the growing emotion inside looked ready to pounce.

Around him a sea of people awaited his movements while the object of his wrath at times provoked him and at times attempted to pass. The boy vacillated between the choice of saving face through open aggression or backing down and staying alive, his face contorting as his body rocked back and forth considering his options.

The boy, in the eyes of the crowd, was beloved in an awkward sort of way and they stood watch over him to make sure he did not get hurt.  But to him in the intensity of the moment, the crowd was hostile—it turned him inward on himself and made him feel as though he must finish what had been started.

I too, know that feeling—that loathsome feeling of being watched, observed, and thereby judged.  Feeling all the world has stopped and awaits your movements—ready to render judgment whichever way you choose.  That turning inward on yourself which forces out of the imagination the possibility that the faces which appear so hostile might actually be friendly.

In that moment of vacillation, a stranger stepped up and gently removed the rocks from underneath Luis’s arms, pulling him gently to the side away from the gaze of the crowd.

I hope that in my moments, my strangers will rescue me the way his did him that day, removing the rocks of self-doubt from my demeanor, with which I’ll crush myself, if left alone.