Life and death
I have thought about it. The idea of not seeing another day has crossed my mind. The thought of breathing my last and never taking another one jaunted through my brain, and for a while, it lingered. Don’t get me wrong: I am not suicidal. I have never been. I love my life. I love being alive. I take great pleasure in the gift of life. However, life can get pretty daunting and when my mind drifts into the abyss of gloom and doom, I do not stop it. The year I turned 20 was one of those times.
It was an unending nightmare or at least, it felt like it. I was grieving the death of my father in an unhealthy way. That one-sided relationship was the first clue of my spiralling. I found myself entertaining a boy that I knew deep down, I do not even like in that way. Nonetheless, for the sake of saying ‘nam’ ngiyajola’, I thugged it out. Disclaimer: He was a nice person. A kind person, in fact. However, his kindness was not enough to drown my sorrow, so I came to my senses, ended the relationship, and called it a day. Then, I pierced my nose. That, I have always wanted to do. I remember when I first got the idea, my dad was still around. So, as a joke, I asked him for his opinion about the piercing. His brutal look of disapproval was opinion enough. Therefore, I discarded the desire. Then he died and I got that nostril piercing without any remorse. Final nail to the coffin of my mental health: I stopped going to therapy. I have a valid reason for that. That psychologist was not helping in any way, and I passionately believe that he contributed to my mental decompensation. Thus, it came as no surprise when the cauldron that was cooking up my grief, sin and rebellion began to bubble over. Feelings of despondency were inevitable. Some might say I was depressed, but I am careful to use that word impetuously. Nonetheless, whether you call it sadness or depression, what we can all agree on is I was tired of feeling despair. I was tired of the noise in my head. I was tired of the pain in my heart. I wanted silence. I wanted to be silent indefinitely.
So, yes, I did entertain the idea of dying. I was tired. My heart was exhausted of beating purposelessly. My legs could not take carrying my overfilled mind and my heavy conscience anymore. I felt like I was misusing oxygen that could fair better in people who actually matter. Who have no pain. Who are not actively sinning. People who deserve God’s grace and mercy. Ridiculous, I know. Yet, when darkness clouds your vision, it’s hard to see logically.
Did I ever try to end my life? No. I do not say that arrogantly. As I prefaced, I love living. At the time, I was just entering what I naively thought would be the best years of my life. My twenties. That naivety still fills my hopeful heart. Not to mention, my death would destroy my siblings. We are literally all we have left in this world. Just the three of us. Moreover, I haven’t travelled the world yet. I haven’t driven my first car yet. and the biggest one: I have not blown my first R1 million yet. I know, I know, all of this sounds shallow, but I genuinely considered these unfulfilled desires as reasons to choose life. Diving into deeper reasons, I really cannot take credit for any of this. If it was not for the Lord, I would’ve either stayed in that relationship and entertained all kinds of sin in my life, or there would be an unmarked grave hovering over my body which would’ve been devoured by the colonel of carrion. Yet, all praise to the One who has ransomed my soul, and my life. Be that as it may, I have great compassion for those who are drowning in such feelings and are being engulfed by suicidality. I feel a greater compassion for those who act on it. Like I said, I am very careful to describe my feelings as depression. That term describes a debilitating illness that is destroying people from the inside out. I am not in denial about my mental health status. I simply do not think infrequent episodes of melancholy suffice for a clinical diagnosis. Besides, even if I did satisfy the time criterion of 2 weeks as per the DSMV, at least on half of those days, my low mood is attributable to PMS. Thanks, progesterone, and oestrogen!
I still love living. I am enthralled by the beauty of what lies ahead. See, after 2021, I made a conscious decision to invest in my mental health. Has not always worked out though. My strength and grit always come short. God’s grace is what pulls me through. That doesn’t mean that I say a few pious platitudes that shoo my despondency away. That’s not how melancholy works. You especially do not see that in the Bible. Instead, I talk to God about it. I cry to Him about it. He’s not offended by sadness. On the contrary, He’s close to the broken-hearted and those who are crushed in spirit. I take the good with the bad. The happy with the sad. Embrace the pain and remain glad that God will never leave me nor forsake me. That my sin was forgiven as soon as I repented of it and chose to carry my cross. That my nose ring really looks good on me. That come what may, God is still a good, good Father. Yes, I have thought about death, but I chose life.
