Thanks Chick. That's a lot of heavy reading to catch up on...feel free to "postpone the pleasure" and enjoy the rare freedom to just relax and "be".

Paraphrased Random Excepts from Chapter 8: Sirens of Suicide

I’m not proud of my suicide attempt. It frightens me to share my story because I don’t want to glorify or condone my actions. I share it because I believe I’ve gained some valuable insights into the phenomenon of suicidal thinking.

My suicidal thoughts had been simmering inside of me for a very long time. We know they were there at the age of thirteen [in 1968]. After my suicide attempt in 1984, I was able to go many years without encountering those thoughts again. But they would return to haunt me now and again, especially when times got really rough.

I couldn’t understand why they would, because it seemed as if I had already dealt with all of the issues and brought healing to my inner being. Even while being haunted by those thoughts, I would know to the core of my being that dying was not an option; I knew I wanted to live, indeed, that I enjoyed living.

So why were those suicidal thoughts still there?

Finally, I stopped pushing them away, and started allowing myself to feel what lay behind the thoughts. What hit me is that there was NOTHING substantial behind those suicide thoughts. In fact, the call to suicide sounded exactly like the song of the ancient sirens. Remember the old stories of sailors being at sea for long periods of time, and how they would think that they were hearing the mermaids beckoning to them? Legend called them the "sirens of the sea.” And the sailors who didn’t know that those voices weren’t real would jump overboard and drown, in their rush to answer the sirens’ seductive song.

That’s now what I believe the lure of suicide is…a siren’s call…beckoning to us with promises of peace, full of soothing assurances of respite from the pain, and an end to the despair and darkness. The answer, the way out. Death.

What takes my breath away while reflecting on this, is that these are exactly the same promises that God makes to us: promises of peace, safe respite for the weary, an end to the darkness, home for the lost, hope for the despairing. The answer, the way out. Life.

Those of us stuck in depression’s blinding confusion and dark despair are faced with two very distinct calls, beckoning to us from deep within our darkness. Both promise the same thing. But one fulfills those promises through death. The other fulfills those promises through life. And if we’re not even aware of the existence of BOTH voices, and the unique nature of each voice calling us out of our darkness, how can we know which one to listen to?

The siren of suicide had become an obsession inside of me. It gripped me, bit into me like a vicious pit bull and wouldn’t let me go no matter how hard I tried to escape or distance myself from its clutches. That’s the nature of a siren. Once it’s inside of your head, it won’t leave you alone. It calls over and over and over again, haunting every thought, leaving no room for logic, no safe space for reasoning it out, no silence for the other call to break through.

I firmly believe now that the only way you can possibly hope to truly escape its grip and successfully fight off the siren of suicide is through the power of knowledge. The sirens will deafen you to all possible truth about yourself, and continue to convince you that you’re a nobody, that nobody cares whether you live or die, that the world is better off without you.

But those are the lies of mangled thinking. And what have we discussed about the way out of our mangled thinking? Truth, Knowledge and Compassion. Here’s where we grab onto their power and use them to map ourselves out of the quicksand.

Without the power of knowing what you’re up against, you will not be able to see just how much the voices in your head and the sirens of suicide have lied to you about your unworthiness and hopelessness. With the knowledge that the siren’s call is just that, an empty promise that is only capable of repeating the lies that we’ve been believing in for so long and offer only the finality of death, we can steel ourselves against the onslaught of those haunting voices...and say "NO, I choose to LIVE".

Those of us who are groping our way through that darkness need hope and light to find our way out. Truth and Knowledge give us that hope and light. Knowledge of our core truth that we are loved and have a rightful niche in the world. Knowledge, specifically authentic self-knowledge, opens our eyes to other possibilities besides death.

It’s not knowing what exactly we battle against that allows the sirens of suicide to come whispering into our minds, camouflaged as a friend in the midst of our most vulnerable moments. Knowing what lies we fight against gives us the chance to ground ourselves in the Truth so we can resist the empty promises of the sirens…by flinging that Truth into the sirens' lies, we destroy their power over us.

And those of you who care for those of us caught in that darkness can help to map and light our way out by being aware of the lies that haunt our darkness and deafen us to all other voices.

Don’t give up speaking the truth of your love.

Truth is our best map out of the darkness. Believing that our lives are worthwhile, that we are loved and have a niche in the world is almost impossible for us to believe when we’re stuck in the quicksand of depression and despair, but it’s exactly what we need to be told over and over again. We need to be steeped in love and "Truthed" back to life.

[ September 10, 2005, 08:58 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]

Continuing with the Faith Connection

Excerpt from Chapter 1
[Background: this was 1968 and I was 13; this was the very first of a lifelong series of life-changing dreams]

“I had sunk into a miserable despair, firmly believing to the core of my being that nobody cared and that everyone would be glad when I was gone. Every thought from that moment on was about how to get rid of myself.

I thought of running away, but had no place to go. Even as I went about my daily routines and chores, these dark thoughts consumed me. I’m not sure how long I stayed on the edge of that death wish, but when my beloved Nana died at Christmas that same year, it plunged me into an overwhelming accumulation of grief and loss.

The death of Susan [my baby sister], Nana, my Papa Lewis, and my niche in the world all blended into one monstrous anguish. I became inconsolably sad, crying myself to sleep every night for weeks. I ached for a way out.

Then came the dream:

St. Peter came and woke me up out of bed to take me on a tour of Heaven. He opened many doors and showed me many rooms that night, but to this day I can only remember the last room. This "room" had no walls, floor or ceiling. It was just there, infinitely blue and holy. Right in front of me, I saw Jesus hanging on a huge dirty, splintery cross. Two large crystal wine goblets sat under each of His hands and a third one below His feet. The goblets were catching the blood that was dripping out of His wounds. Blood streaked down His face, but His eyes were clearly visible, and to this day, I remember the clarity and intensity of those eyes.

He raised His head and looked right into my own eyes and said, "I love you. Do you know that I love you?" I nodded, and He asked me again. "Do you really know that I love you?" I nodded, and He asked a third time. "Do you believe with all your heart that I love you?" This time I answered, "Yes.” His eyes looked down at the goblet under His feet, "Then drink.” With some trepidation, I stepped forward and took the goblet full of blood and drank. It was sweet, warm and I felt a happy strength and sense of utter contentment flow through my entire being. Then He looked deep into my eyes again and said, "This is how much I love you. Always remember how much I love you. No matter what happens, no matter where you go, always remember that I love you.”

Then St. Peter guided me to a back gate and said good-bye. I was walking along the path back to my bed when I heard a soft voice call my name. I turned around and saw in the distance a woman carrying an infant. At first, I thought it was Mary carrying baby Jesus, but as she got closer, I realized it was my Nana, holding my baby sister, Susan. Nana came up to me, smiled and said, "We are where we’re supposed to be. You don’t have to be sad anymore. Don’t cry for us anymore. We are happy and safe here, and we’re right where we’re supposed to be.”

When I awoke, a sense of profound consolation enveloped me, and from that moment on, I had such a strong sense of His presence that this one dream experience would eventually carry me through every mucky detour and every precarious night of my soul.”

[ September 12, 2005, 11:27 AM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]

Eagle, I was amazed when I read this in the book and continue to be moved by this after reading it again here. I can't help but comment that your soul had to be prepared for this dream and the Lord's timing was perfect. You were open to it and able to interpret it which is a huge part of the healing process.

Dotsie, these dreams have always amazed me...they come out of nowhere, usually when I'm most in need of direction and wisdom. They usually have very specific insight and answers for whatever particular problem/situation I'm dealing with at the time of the dream. I was only able to include a few in the book, but there have been dozens of others along the way.

There was one that I had about 15 years ago that has always made me laugh...can't remember the specifics, but the dream made it clear that the reason I was having such problems in life was that I didn't have enough "ingenuity". I didn't even know what the word meant, but when I looked it up, realized the dream was right.

Sharon, I too have been led by dreams. I think it's when I refuse to listen while awake and it's the only time my spirit can reach me. I never, ever ignore my dreams.

Dianne, I really cherish these dreams. Once I had a whole series of different ones involving a little spindly girl. She wasn't very pretty, but oh, how I grew to love her. She kept coming back into different dream scenarios, helping me to escape, cope, figure things out. It was like having my very own little MacGyver! I missed her when she stopped coming.

I shared elsewhere on the forums before that I stopped dreaming these kinds of dreams (or at least remembering them) when Mom died in 2001. But it was shortly after she died that I had my massive burnout/breakdown, retired and started living life at my own pace. So maybe being under considerably less stress has something to do with not having those dreams.

I've only recently started remembering snippets of dreams again, all of them involving glimpses of my Mom off in the distance and me desperately trying not to wake up until I can find her and hug her.

I believe you were given the gift of dreams to help you find your way through the maze.

Eagle, your faith journey is as fascinating a read as the story of your journey through depression. Do you ever feel that it is a kind of "mixed blessing" - that you have such a deep faith life, yet battled the dark nights of the soul? Or do you think that the battle made your faith stronger?

That's a thought-provoking question, Evie. Do I ever feel that my faith is a "mixed blessing"? I love God, and I cherish my faith. He has been such a faithful, loving Companion. He grounds me. My faith anchors me. He has been such an integral part of my being and heart, it's impossible to imagine living without God in my life.

I actually deliberately tried once. It was while I was in college. I can't remember why, but I was angry with God about something going on in my life at the time. Probably had something to do with the fact that I was living in a "Christian" community house, where two drummers had been up half the night (for about the third night in a row) trying to out-drum each other. I knew I'd probably have to move, because I couldn't take this drumming feud anymore.

Anyway, I woke up grumpy, tired, and disappointed at the idea of having to move again, mid-semester after being so excited about this whole Christian community idea. So I told Him in the morning that I didn't want to talk to Him for the rest of the day (don't ask me why I blamed HIM for the drummers drumming all night...but, hey, I was cranky and He was the only one I could be cranky with!)

The day was hectic, so there wasn't much time to think about Him. But walking home, the sunset was one of the most glorious I'd ever seen. I had to laugh and tell Him He wasn't playing fair...how could I possibly see something like that and not thank Him for it!

Our relationship has always had a gentle sense of humour, making Him that much more a beloved Companion along my way.

The word that comes to mind when describing my faith is "dynamic". It's constantly evolving, I'm constantly learning new facets of God, and consequently new facets of myself in relationship to the new facets of God. But I'll take the ever-evolving faith over a stagnating faith anyday.

The one thing that has baffled me all my life is that the deeper my faith grows, the more I expect it to strengthen and protect me, and yet, when the depressions would hit, I couldn't fathom the "why" and would beat myself up around the soul for being so weak and, well, faithless - until I recognized that depression is an ILLNESS, and not a sign of weakness or character flaw. Once I accepted that my depression is a bona fide illness, I was able to separate it from my faith and realize that the depression had nothing to do with how faithful I was or wasn't.

This is actually what I'm going to be discussing here tomorrow, so it's a timely question.

[ September 12, 2005, 11:40 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]

The Faith Connection Continued:The Cruelty of Kind Intentions

Excepts from Chapter 5

“After my illness was officially declared to be depression, I spiralled down even further. Shame, guilt, confusion, bewilderment and disillusionment all tormented me into hiding. I couldn’t understand why God was letting this happen to me. I attended every healing mass I could drag myself to, pleading with God to come and guide me out of the darkness. My faith in Him and my certainty of His mercy and grace were unshakeable, and I was sure it was only a matter of weeks before He’d show His face to me again…yet I felt abandoned and bereft without the intimate Presence that had been such a faithful companion throughout my adult life thus far.

I continued going to the weekly prayer meetings, daring to trust that this was just a test of my faith, and I was adamant that I would not fail it, or the God who obviously must be trying to teach me something through all of this. But no healing came.

The first time I stayed after the prayer meeting to be prayed over by the prayer team, they asked me what I wanted from God. I said the first thing that came to my mind. "I just want to feel loved. I’ve never felt loved before. I know in my head that God loves me and that others love me, but I’ve never really felt loved. I want to know what it feels like to be loved.”

The people around me meant well, but their responses showed they didn’t understand. They all insisted that of course, I was loved. The caring words flowed around me…everyone who knew me loved me…highly regarded and well loved…don’t even think twice about it. Those words I could handle; indeed, while they weren’t exactly what I so desperately needed, they lifted my sagging spirit somewhat.

But then someone in the group added, "Well, if you’re feeling so depressed and unloved, it’s because you’re not praying enough.”

And of course, out of all the words that were spoken to me that night, those were the ones that took root in my brain and festered there, rippling more guilt and shame into my already overwhelming self-loathing.”

***********
One of the difficult things I have had to deal with during any depressive bout is the inevitable “crisis of faith”…why does God let me suffer like this…God has abandoned me…God is punishing me for not being good enough, for not praying enough, for thinking bad thoughts…God has given up on me, like everyone else in my life…I’m too far gone, damaged goods, beyond redemption.

It wasn’t until I was able to lump all of this negative God-talk in with the mangled thinking that I was able to steel myself against future onslaughts of this specific set of lies. Now I Know, to the core of my being, that none of those negative statements are even remotely true, and never will be true. And if anyone dares to say such things to me, I immediately reject those toxic statements and choose Compassion instead, standing firm on my core Truths…I am loved UNCONDITIONALLY, God has NOT abandoned me and never will abandon me, this is a bona fide illness requiring medical treatment and compassionate healing, not a punishment from God, and there is NO such thing as ever being beyond redemption. No exceptions.

When we truly believe that depression is a bona fide illness, we can dare to see these toxic thoughts and crisis of faith as yet one more symptom we have to learn how to prepare for in the good days so we can manage it during our darkest days…Truth, Knowledge and Compassion will get us through this one too!

What about you? Has anyone else experienced the “cruelty of kind intentions” during your times of depression? We know it’s not intentional; people who have never been clinically depressed often just cannot understand the quicksand that we are stuck in, or how crippling and debilitating the darkness is. They mean well, but sometimes those well-intentioned words do inadvertently push our noses back into the muck rather than help light our way out.

What do you think?