My Silent Pain

     If you have known me for long at all, than you know that I'm a pretty private person. Sure, I'll hang out, make jokes, laugh, and occasionally, have something serious to say. But I don't often let people know the real me--the emotions and feelings that are going through my head. It's hard for me to be transparent with people, but, in light of recent events, I feel the need to share a very personal story.
     Some details will be vague, but please understand that this is hard. In spite of that, I hope that my story will either help someone who reads it, or enable you to help someone else.


   There have been a lot of stories lately about suicides, suicide attempts, self-harm, etc. We are encouraged to reach out to people who are hurting, but one thing I keep hearing over and over is that the person involved never showed any "signs" of needing help. Even if they did, would you know what to say? Of course, the underlying need is Christ, but how do you say that in a way that will be heard? 
     Well, let me start by saying that the dumbest thing to say would be something such as "I understand" or "I know how you feel" because you don't. Unless you've actually been in their position, you have absolutely no idea what that person is going through. Saying that you understand is only confirming in their mind that people don't really care, and that they really are completely alone. Instead, simply saying that you don't understand, but want to, would be a huge step in reaching them. 
     So how does the self-harmer feel? Let me tell you how I felt.

     I used to look at people who were grossly overweight and think, "How in the world did they let themselves get that way?" I vowed to never, ever, ever let myself get to that point. Unfortunately, no one wakes up one morning only to decide, "I am going to gain an extra 100 pounds just for the fun of it." It happens little by little. I realized the truth of that last year when I suddenly woke up to the fact that I had gained 30+ lbs. over the course of the last several years.
     Just as my weight gain happened slowly over time, my emotional decline came about just as slowly. I can't tell you how far back to go to find the start. Was it the summer after my freshman year when I was untangling myself from the strange, semi-relationship I was in that year? Or was it during the two years after high school when I felt like I was drifting aimlessly with no direction for my life. Maybe it started in high school when I was the social outcast who had no clue about clothes, music, movies, or anything that was "cool." The one who sat in the corner trying to become invisible in order to avoid certain humiliation. Perhaps it was the time I took a trip with my Awana group my senior year, and my pastor pulled me aside to see how I felt about being rejected by the group. Maybe that was when I broke. As much as him talking to me meant to me, it confirmed that there was something wrong with me. I didn't fit in.
     I could go back farther, but I think you understand. My point is, just as I didn't decide to gain weight, I didn't decide to sink into myself the way I did. I inched toward my breaking point in the tiniest increments--completely unnoticeable until I looked at the big picture.
     For the sake of this story, I'm going to skim events starting my senior year of high school, then pick it up after my first year of college.

     For as long as I can remember, I had my life figured out. I was going to be just like my mom. I was going to finish high school, get married, and take care of my family. As graduation came nearer, I finally accepted that scenario was not going to happen. Unsure of what to do, I accepted a job homeschooling a friend's child. This led on to working with preschoolers in a local school. I realized how much I loved teaching, especially young children. You see, they were honest, and they loved me for exactly the person I was. They didn't care that I wasn't popular with my peers. They didn't care that my idea of going out for an evening was a trip alone to the library. They didn't care that I had no fashion sense. They just loved me. With no other plans, I decided to become a teacher.
     On to college. I was two years older than most of the freshman which made making friends difficult. Those who had been there a year already had friends, major classes didn't start until sophomore year, so no bond there, plus, when you are that young, there is a HUGE maturity gap between 17/18 and 20. As a result, I began hanging out with a guy who was also older and about as weird as I was. The only thing I have to say on that is if you have a close friendship with a person of the opposite gender, make sure your relationship is well defined...in both your minds. If it isn't, in their mind they may have planned out an entire life around you, while in your mind, you are just friends and have only agreed to consider the possibility of something more. As a result, when they finally realize you aren't thinking the same thing, you may be portrayed as the most evil/heartless person and have to spend the next year explaining to people you just met who have heard about you why you are not. Moving on.
    That summer is when the story starts moving faster. It's summer. I'm 21. I go to work. I go to church. I go home. That was my life. That was when the depression really started settling in. Today, I make jokes about my "brain people," "voices in my head," and "imaginary friends," but the truth is, it once was my reality. (Except for Bob. He always has been strictly for fun.) I ate, worked, and slept in the real world, but I lived in a fantasy world. I would literally spend hours in this world living out my perfect life. If you ask me about it, I could tell you as many details as from my real life. I could give my description to a sketch artist to show you what my fantasy me looked like. I could tell you her name. Her likes, dislikes, friends, enemies, fears, hopes, and dreams. I could give you details about how each of the people in her world came to be--two of those people go back to a book I read when I was only 6 or 7 years old! The setting often changed, depending on my mood. One time it could be a medieval castle, another a universe from the best sci-fi adventure you can imagine. It was a child's fantasy which grew and morphed into a safe haven for a rejected teenager and a lonely adult.
     The more I retreated into this "perfect" world, the more unhappy I became with reality. I mean, yeah, Fantasy Me had her problems, but they always turned out all right in the end. Real Me was stuck in a life that completely sucked with no hope of getting better. To combat this feeling, I withdrew from reality even more, reading books and watching movies to find just the right component to add to this world to make it just a little better. It was my life.
     That summer I also found out something else. On its own, this tidbit of information most likely wouldn't have mattered. In the state I was in, however, it just completely confirmed the awfulness of my life. I started thinking things. Dangerous things. For example, I would be driving home when suddenly a thought such as "It would be so easy to turn the wheel a little farther this way and run into that tree" would pop into my head. I started wondering "What would it feel like if....?" When I got back to college I would go to the stairwell or prayer room on the top floor. These places had tall, narrow windows. I would stand up against them, put all my weight against the window, look down, and think "What if the glass broke?"
     Let me take a minute to put your mind at ease. At the time, I would never have put action to the thoughts. I was a coward, but we'll get to that fact. The point is, it all starts with a thought. Who knows? If I had kept moving in the direction I was going, maybe I would have been spurred to action.

     That fall, things only got worse. I was excelling in my classes, but even doing that one thing right seemed to turn people against me. An example would be a classmate asking me how I did on a particular test. Now, by grading standards, I had done very well. By the standards I had set with my other grades in that class, it was over 13 points lower than my highest score, and 5 points lower than my previous lowest. I was honest, saying that it wasn't horrible, but I hadn't done as well as I should have. After much back and forth, she finally got me to admit that I had received a 93. Following my revelation, I listened to her talk about how it was a great grade, she would be happy to get such a grade, I should be grateful for it....  (Incidentally, the class was Biology, and the unit was on bugs, a fact which should explain the lower than usual grade. :P) The end result was I now had the privilege of feeling badly for something I could do well.
     I know she didn't mean it maliciously; she was just voicing how she felt. It's very possible that what I remember her saying and what she actually said are two very different things. But are you getting an idea of how I was thinking? Everything was a personal attack against me. A confirmation that I was totally, completely, and utterly worthless.

     Things came to a head somewhere around October/November. As far as I was concerned, I was alone in the universe. No, I didn't lose my belief in God, but it did change. I knew God was real. I knew and believed the Bible. But He was for "others." He cared personally for other people. Me, He created, sent His Son to save my soul, then forgot about. And why not? I wasn't enough for mere mortals care for. Why in the world would the Almighty God of the Universe waste His time with me.
     I like to think that I tried. I spent night after night in that hot, stuffy prayer room on eighth floor. I was literally on my face, tears creating my own personal flood as my heart screamed for Him to help me. But each prayer went up only to bounce off the ceiling and land mockingly on the floor in front of me. Eventually, it was too much.
     I was sitting at the table facing the wall. Trying once again to gain some comfort from the Scriptures. It wasn't there. I placed both hands on my Bible and with no hesitation shoved it away as hard as I could. It flew across the table, hit the wall, and landed in a heap on the floor. I was done. What was the point in trying? God didn't care. He wasn't there.

     Obviously, I needed help. But I wasn't going to ask for it. People didn't care, remember? No one was going to offer it. They didn't know. No one did. As I said at the beginning, people say all the time that a person never showed "signs" of self-harm. We aren't going to let you know. Our only defense is to put up a strong outer image. A facade of untouchableness. Never showing how much we are hurting. Showing weakness only paves the way for more hurt.
     I don't think anyone knew the depths to which I had sunk. In a conversation with my mom a year or two later, she told me she knew I wasn't happy with my life, but I don't think she knew to what extent. In some ways, I did want to tell someone. But I didn't want anyone to know that I was not the person I presented myself as. I would spend time thinking of creative ideas to get attention. 
     My favorite fantasy was the one where I would make a CD of my current "favorite" songs while I was at home. I would conveniently lose it in some public setting, most likely church, for someone to find and listen to. It wouldn't have my name on it, of course, but at least someone would know. People who say music is a neutral area are completely deluding themselves. Music is a power unto itself. Here is the title song for my imaginary "Help Me" mix.

Child of the Wilderness

Born into emptiness

Learn to be lonely

Learn to find your way in darkness.

Who will be there for you

Comfort and care for you?

Learn to be lonely

Learn to be your one companion

Never dream out in the world

There are arms to hold you.

You've always known

Your heart was on its own.

So laugh in your loneliness

Child of the Wilderness

Learn how to love life that is lived alone

Simply remembering and typing that song just now brought back more memories of the things I was feeling at the time than these last two hours of typing. And I was using it to fuel my depression. I had a song for everything, even my fantasy world had a theme song. "I've seen your world with these very eyes. Don't come any closer. Don't even try. I've felt all the pain, and I've heard all the lies. But in my world there's no compromise."  Music is powerful. Within it, I found words and empathy for what I was feeling.

     I was a young teen when I first heard about people cutting themselves. In high school, I read an article saying that most people who cut themselves are teenage girls and young women. I had a roommate who once did so as well. I couldn't understand it. What would possess someone to do that to herself? People usually spend their lives trying to avoid pain. I didn't understand then. But that year, I finally understood.
     I understood a little bit of what she was feeling. Now I mentioned before that, because I was a coward, you didn't have to worry about me following through with one of my depressing thoughts. I couldn't bring myself to do something that would mar my body. Today, I am eternally grateful for that, but then, I saw it as a curse. It made me hate myself even more.
     Ironically, my solution to this problem came from a Christian book. One of the characters, a teenage girl, would cut herself. She realized that she needed to stop, but still needed an outlet. She began wearing a rubber band around her wrist. Not long after reading that, I had my own rubber band that went with me almost everywhere.
     You can't understand what a person is going through unless you've been there yourself. My circumstances may be different from another person's, but I know what drives a person to harm themselves in some way. I know what it's like to be in such mental and emotional pain that the physical pain is a release. I would sit by myself and snap that rubber band around my wrist until it was glowing. It was a relief to feel something from outside of myself. It was a relief to be in control. I decided how hard I would snap it. I decided how long. Sometimes, I would decide ahead of time, "I'm going to snap it x times." And I would count it out.
     Thankfully, this only lasted a few weeks. Who knows what would have happened if it had continued.

     Shortly after I began my relationship with my rubber band, I received another piece of news that completely crushed me. As always, taken alone, in the proper state of mind, it would have been disappointing, but easy to overcome. For me, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. That was Wednesday.
     You couldn't skip classes then without receiving demerits, so I checked in on Thursday. I don't remember much about what I did, but I remember crying was involved. It was enough that I could no longer hide what I was feeling. On my way to lunch I met someone that I knew. I had barely spoken to him that year, but he could tell something wasn't right. When he asked, I brushed him off. I said I was sick, not feeling well. He went on. At Four Winds, I ran into another person while returning my dishes. I didn't know it at the time, but she did not believe my "I'm sick" story. 
     On Friday, I had to tell someone. I went to the room of the girl I had run into the day before. I intended to share the newest tidbit of information, gain a sympathy hug, then go back to my room for White Glove. After dancing around the subject for awhile, she finally point blank asked me what was going on. I opened my mouth to tell her what I planned to share. It was as if a dam burst inside. I sat on her floor and sobbed, pouring out everything. 
     I firmly believe that if I had gone to anyone else I had known, I would have gotten sympathy. Someone to hug me and commiserate with me. But it was God's perfect wisdom leading me to her. She told me exactly what I needed to hear. After I ran out of words, she picked up her Bible and placed it in my hands. "The answers you need are all here." 
     That wasn't what I wanted to hear. God didn't care about me. I sat there and cried while she quoted scripture and sang. I sat on her floor for over two hours. If you went to PCC back when White Glove was a big deal, that should give you an idea of how much she truly cared. She prayed for me. She told me to call out to God once again. 
     I couldn't. I opened my mouth, but no words would come. Even in my mind, I couldn't form the thoughts. That's when she said something I will never forget. She told me, "There is a battle going on between God and Satan right now. The prize is your life. Only you can decide who is going to win." It was those words that finally penetrated the fog I was in. 
     I don't remember much else from that night. I know she left me alone. I did manage some type of mental prayer, though I have no idea what it was. Eventually, I went back to my room to clean.

     That night was the beginning of healing. The rubber band came off my wrist and never went back on, although there were times I was tempted. I don't have a detailed story for the years that came after. No Five-Step Plan for getting over it. However, there are some events that stand out. My junior year, I completely placed myself back in God's hands. That was also the year He showed me Psalm 61. "From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I." Although there were times when it seemed as if the storm was going to overcome me once again, I was able to cling to that rock.
     My senior year began with the heartbreaking news that the friend who had pulled me up had died in an accident that summer. After a few awful days, I committed myself to honoring her memory by following her example of lighting the world with God's love. I would be to someone else what she was to me. I would do my best to see those sinking around me.
     During convocation, a soloist always sings some song. I had not lost my connection with music. I still used it to express my feelings. I knew what song I wanted to be sung the day I received my degree. It was a song I had heard my freshman year. It truly portrayed the way I felt about everything I had gone through in the past few years. I didn't tell anyone, but I know God knew what I needed to hear. During rehearsal, I was thrilled beyond words to find out that the song I had in my mind was the song picked for the seniors that year.

Lately I've been looking back along this winding road

To the old familiar markers of the mercies I have known.

I know it may sound simple, but it's more than a cliche.

No other way to tell you but to say,

God's been good in my life.

I feel blessed beyond my wildest dreams when I go to sleep each night.

Though I've had my share of hard times, I wouldn't change them if I could.

'Cause through it all, God's been good.

Times replay, and I can see, I've cried some bitter tears.

But I felt His arms around me as I faced my greatest fears.

I've had more gains than losses, and I've known more joy than hurt

As His grace rolled down upon me undeserved.

God's been good in my life.

I feel blessed beyond my wildest dreams when I go to sleep each night.

Though I've had my share of hard times, I wouldn't change them if I could.

'Cause through it all, God's been good.

God has been my Father, my Savior, and my Friend.

His love was my beginning, His love will be my end.

I could spend forever trying to tell you everything He is.

But the best way I can say it is this:

God's been good in my life.

I feel blessed beyond my wildest dreams when I go to sleep each night.

Though I've had my share of hard times, I wouldn't change them if I could.

'Cause through it all, God's been good.

     That was, and is, the way I see my life. God's been good. His mercy and love are the reason I am where I am today.

     And where is that? Where am I today? Well, I am living in a place I love. I have a church I love. A job I love. Children who love me. And I am surrounded by people who care. I have a best friend that I can talk to about anything without fear of what she will think. 

     This past weekend, I went camping with some people from my singles group. Before we went our separate ways, we paused to pray together. I was overwhelmed with how blessed I was in that moment.

     People, if you are reading this, I wanted to say this then, but I knew if I did I would start crying. But inside, I was thanking God with all my heart for each one of you. Feeling completely included in a close group of more than two or three (one person being me) is something I have never had before. Sitting and praying with people who I know are praying with me is utterly priceless. Don't ever be tempted to take that fellowship for granted. 

     Today, I am content, happy, settled, and I feel God's presence in my life more than ever before. I'm not saying it's easy, and it didn't happen overnight. Little by little, day by day, I am moving closer to this life I have been placed in.

     Some things from that time have passed on. Some things are lingering. I was shaped by those years in ways that can't be changed overnight. I am happy to say that I now live completely in the reality of life. That has been a recent development over the last six months. With amazing people pulling me out into the open, I have left my fantasy life behind. I was a little shocked when I realized that back in February/March. I don't remember if I was bored, upset, or what, but I tried to sink myself back into it, only to realize that I couldn't. After several months of actually living life, that place in my mind that was once so safe and fulfilling seemed empty, flat, and colorless.

    I couldn't believe it! Finally, after trying and failing so many times over the years to get rid of it, it dissipated with no effort from me. I have tried in the time since then to see if I could still entertain myself with it just for fun. I can't. The closer I am drawing to God, the farther away that world seems to be. Giving up a fantasy that has been growing and strengthening for 20+ years is something that could only be accomplished by God!

     While some things have disappeared, others have not. My personality was shaped by those years, and the effects today are obvious. I don't do well in social situations. I still have the tendency to draw back if the crowd gets too big or unfamiliar. I still have a wall built around me, keeping people from getting in. I'll talk, laugh, and joke with you, but if you want to know something personal, you will run into that wall. 

     I recently had a friend observe that he couldn't tell if I am just extremely sarcastic, or if I really am as cynical as I seem. The answer is, I am both. The Sarcastic Cynic. It's a great description of the person I let the public see.

     The sarcasm is a shield. Through it, I can avoid letting people get too close. It helps me wiggle out of uncomfortable situations and gives me something to say when I have no idea what to say. I may have to sit in silence during a group gathering, but sign me up for the battle of wits! Should someone manage to break through the sarcastic shield, they will find the cynic behind it. My reasoning behind my cynicism, however flawed, is simple. If I have low expectations, I won't be disappointed. If I don't say it, no one can use it against me. If I don't open up, I will never be vulnerable. If I don't let anyone close, no one can hurt me.

     No, that's not the right way of thinking, but it's my reality. However, I am daily being pulled a little more out of that mode. If you are one of the people who has met me in the last 6-12 months, you would be very surprised if you could meet the me that lived a year before we met. The changes probably aren't as obvious to someone who has been alongside me this entire time, but if you compare Point A and Point B, the difference is startling. If you are one of the people who has had a part in reaching out to me, thank you. If you are one of the people who has reached out and been pushed away, please, try again. The reason I am where I am today is that a few people didn't give up.

     That's my story. If you're reading this, and you find yourself trapped in the same mess, don't be silent. Even though it doesn't seem like it, there are people who can understand. If you know someone who may be feeling like this, reach out to them and don't give up when they push you away.