When You Want to Die

“My spirits were sunken so low that I could weep by the hour like a child, and yet I knew not what I wept for.” 

- Charles Spurgeon

Spurgeon, one of the most quoted men of Christendom, noted as the "Prince of Preachers," suffered incredible depression and was ashamed of it most of his life. His quote above reminds me of David's obvious perplexity of his own depression. He writes in Psalm 42, "Why are you downcast, oh my soul? Why are you in turmoil within me?" He then yells at himself saying, "Hope in God!" He spends the rest of the song remembering God's goodness and salvation in an attempt to encourage himself and stave off his inexplicable "mourning."

Stress, anxiety, depression. They all seem to be growing trends, not just in society, but also in the Church, and this means they need to be addressed. Everyone has an opinion, but I wonder if everyone has experience. I wonder if all those opinions on facebook, twitter, etc have their roots in scripture, watered with compassion, or if they are simply a result of a culture that speaks without thinking. The most common adjetive I see used to describe suicide is "selfish." I've said it too. But, I also see a different side to this debate. You see, I struggle with depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. In fact, when I was 14, God saved me from suicide in the nick of time. Let me paint you a picture.

I grew up in a good family. We didn't have much, but we loved each other. However, even in the midst of all that love, we all suffered the pangs of life's griefs and storms. My father left when I was just a few months old, so my mom raised us as best as she could. I saw her make sacrifice after sacrifice to show us love and provide for us in every way possible. But even She could not have shielded us from everything - that's how life goes. Things happen regardless of the best intentions. From sexual abuse when I was 5 and the rejection of my father, to the bullying in middle school and secretive promiscuity even in pre-adolescence, to severe depression at 14, my mom was my anchor - even if she didn't know it. But struggled with feeling like a burden. And not just to my mom, I felt like my life was a burden to all those around me. Of course, I struggled with the bullying, etc and yes, there were times when I pettily thought, "If I kill myself, they'd be sorry for the way they treat me." But my depression was rooted in something other than being a victim of bullying. I was simply tired of surviving. I wanted relief from all the thoughts, the rejection, the difficulties. 

I know this will come as a shock to my family, who don't know the whole story; but here goes. I remember the day I woke up and thought, "today I will end it." I spent my day at school dreaming about the sweet release that would come that afternoon. Imagine, for a second, being tortured day in and day out (whether physically or psychologically in your own mind) and eventually craving death just so it would stop. That is what suicide is. It isn't a selfish act, it's a desperate act. Do you know where the word desperate comes from? It meas "without hope." People who commit suicide do so because their hope has run out. They just want the pain to end, and they see no way around it. This was me 19 years ago. I just wanted it all to end, I couldn't go on any longer.

When I got home, it became real. I began to sob, a final release of the grief and pain and rejection and inadequacy built up over the last decade. In the midst of this, the desire for relief only intensified. However, something unexpected happened. My mom was home from work earlier than normal. She found me sobbing in my room and called a leader in our youth group. He came and he took me for a ride. I didn't want to go, yet I did. I'm not sure why, I had made up my mind that nothing would stop me. But, as I sat there and wept to myself, he began to talk to me and pray for me. Somehow, God used him to get to my heart and give me hope again. It was the first time I felt like someone loved me by choice. I won't weigh this down with the details of the conversation or what happened the days after, but I will say that God met me in my lowest valley of despair. He saved my life. Neither him nor my mom knew I was planning to kill myself, and I actually never told anyone this until recently.

Little did I know then, though, that I wasn't done with depression, anxiety, and those small cravings for escape. I've had a few moments since where life just seemed too tough, too cruel. But I don't talk about them. I don't want to be seen as weak or "messed up." In our culture, men are allowed two emotions - anger and joy. We are not allowed to be afraid, to be sad, to be jealous, or anything else that denotes "weakness." It's even worse if you are a Christian pastor. You are not allowed bad days or else "you lack faith" or "you are in sin" or a million other reasons your depression must be righteous punishment for wayward behavior or inadequacy. This isn't true though. A man isn't to be measured by his mastery of negative emotions or a Christian measured by an eternal smile on his face. Men should be measured by their ability to fulfill their responsibilities to their families, and to God - not by how macho or superficial they are.

Many pastors are suffering because they are trapped in a sense of image, and society does not give them room to be human, to err. A close friend here who I led to the Lord told me a few months ago that he'd prefer someone else to disciple him so he and I could just be friends and brothers in the faith (note he wasn't saying we couldn't keep one another accountable). I asked him why, obviously a little hurt and offended. His response was, "because we know each other too well and I know all your faults. It makes it hard to listen to you sometimes." Ouch! We are still great friends, but his perspective is all to common - that he can only learn from someone who he sees as next to perfect. The reality is that this is not true. In fact, it's dangerous. We think we need our pastors to be clean, shiny beacons of sanctity. And yes, we pastors will be held to higher standard and we absolutely must be an example of holy living - more than the rest. However, we aren't perfect. And those imperfections we suffer should be covered in love, in prayer, and in compassionate accountability. Ministry is hard. It's downright misery at times. We need a safety net nit around us from those who love us and hold us accountable. We must be allowed to be vulnerable, while not losing the confidence of authority. We have but one perfect shepherd, Jesus Christ. Let us all look intently towards that upward call, in unity and in love.