Those of you that have followed this blog for any length of time, may recall a blog that I wrote last summer called Six Words about my last suicide attempt and the subsequent conversation that I would later have with Murr in the days following. That attempt was one year ago today and it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that I was so close to ending my life. Looking back on this past year and the incredible people that have become such a big part of my life, I am constantly amazed at God’s faithfulness.
So today I wanted to revise my blog from last year and share the six words that are now my daily reminder.
He’s not finished with me yet.
Those six words sit in my chest in the same way my heart does; beating rhythmically. Slow and steady at times. Pounding at others. But essential to my very being.
I remember everything about that night. Every detail and every tear that I cried.
I didn’t want to do it. God knows I didn’t want to do it.
But it had become impossible for me to see anything else.
So God made sure that others knew, whether I wanted them to or not.
I am not alone in this.
Those words were spoken over me last summer and it took so long for me to take ownership of them.
It was easy to hear people speak them to me, but something else entirely to own them.
Most of the time I wouldn’t open up to someone unless they asked me first.
Now the moment I feel uneasy or feel those thoughts and struggles coming back to me, I pick up the phone and text those closest to me.
The ones that I know can handle these moments and are willing to handle those moments with me.
The ones that have willingly come alongside me and made my journey a part of theirs.
The ones that have seen the really ugly and really broken parts of me and have held me and helped put me back together.
Those are the people that have become family to me. And my chosen family is one that I will eternally cherish.
My story is far from finished.
Last summer I could barely even speak those words, let alone own them.
But every broken piece, every scar, and every tear that I have cried have not only been picked up by my Creator, but picked up by myself.
I have allowed myself to grieve over the losses I have experienced.
I have allowed myself to become transparent and vulnerable.
I have allowed myself to feel these things and to pick them back up and willingly hand them over to my Father.
This is a story that at one point I didn’t know if there would be future chapters written for. A story that I thought I so desperately wanted to end last summer. But this is also a story that I learned to fight for and it’s a story that I am still fighting for.
To every person that has helped write this story on the days that I couldn’t, I don’t think you will ever know how much you mean to me and how much it has meant to me that you have taken the time to be such an important part of my life.
This story is still being written, but the words have gotten lighter. There are still days that they are heavy. But there is a beautiful balance between heavy and light. And those are the days I’m most thankful for.