I have to admit to having a slightly difficult relationship
with the truth. I usually tell the truth, but the whole truth is a little
harder to pull off and “nothing but the truth” is basically impossible.
Sometimes it’s easier or kinder to tell a white lie that doesn’t hurt anyone.
That being said, there’s something that’s been bothering me
for the last few weeks. I lie to almost everyone I meet about why I took two
years off between high school and college because “I wasn’t sure what I wanted
to do” is a lot easier to say than the truth. The truth is a much longer story.
The truth is a much more painful story. I guess that’s why I’m ready to tell
it: I’m not ashamed of the pain anymore.
When I graduated from high school in 2009 I really didn’t
know what I wanted to do with my life. I was 18 – how could I have known?
Because I was incredibly lucky I ended up at Concordia in Moorhead and I
imagined I would figure out the rest as I went along. Clearly, that’s not
exactly how it turned out.
It was only about two weeks into my first semester when I
realized how loudly God was calling me to the ministry: loudly enough that I didn’t have the luxury
of ignoring it for long. I immediately exchanged my own life plans for the
plans God had, and I had never been happier than when I left Concordia knowing
what I was going to do with my life. I knew (and still believe) that God
Himself had called me to the ministry.
But I’m not in the ministry. While I was waiting for a place
to open up for me, the depression I had been living with for years completely
overwhelmed me. I’m not sure I can describe how it felt to wake up every
morning wishing I hadn’t, or how hard it was to come up with reasons to get out
of bed. I just know that I had somehow stopped feeling. I, the girl who had
always been prone to explosive fits of tears, couldn’t cry.
That’s when the cutting came in. I don’t remember how or why
I started, but I do know that releasing blood was a lot easier than releasing
emotions. I could control how much I was going to bleed, but it felt like if I
let myself feel an emotion of any kind I might fly apart into a million pieces.
I just wasn’t willing to take that risk.
The next year was hell and ended with me in the psych ward
on suicide watch. I was 20 years old and I wanted to be done with life.
At the same time, I was desperately asking God why. Why
would He call me to the ministry, ask me to give up all the plans I had for my
life, and then not make me able to go? Why not just leave me alone? Why not
heal my depression? Why would He watch me suffer like that if He really loved
me? It was a huge relief when I realized the ministry was no longer the place
God had in mind for me.
Today things are so much different and so much better, so
I’m not telling this story because I want sympathy. I guess what I’m trying to
say is, me too. If you’ve ever doubted God, if you’ve ever been depressed, if
you’ve ever hurt yourself on purpose, if you’ve ever felt hopeless, if you’ve
ever really truly wanted to die, I understand. Feeling pain means you’re human
and you’re alive. Don’t be ashamed of your pain.
