‘‘Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint; O LORD, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O LORD, how long? Turn, O LORD, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love. No one remembers you when he is dead. Who praises you from the grave?’’ Psalm 6:2-5
Months went by before I tried to commit suicide again. I was sitting in my room looking around and thought life was not worth living anymore. I was tired of seeing people I cared about die. I was tired of feeling helpless. Instead of waiting for death to select me, I decided to chase it and pursue it relentlessly. I was just tired of life, so I elected to squeeze that last bit of my life into running after death. I was home alone that day and decided it was time to sprint to the end – finally. I went into the bathroom and looked into the medicine cabinet for some pills to take. I found two bottles with my mother’s name on it. I opened them, proceeded to pour both bottles down my throat, went back to my room, and awaited death. Just when I thought I had control, I still had to wait for death to come. I had no other choice; life was not getting any better. Everyone around me was dying.
While they were dying, I was desperately trying to join them. I laid there for about five minutes, between time and eternity. As my eyes started to get heavy, my mind opened for the first time in about two years. I finally realized I did not want to die I just did not want to feel the pain I was going through. I was hurting, that was all. I wanted the pain to go away. I jumped up, called my father, and told him about yet another suicide attempt that I had promised earlier would never occur again. He lived about five minutes from me so he took me to the hospital and I was admitted to the psych ward. During that time, I did something I had not done in a while. I stopped. I paused. I reconnected to God. I prayed. For the first time in a long time, I opened my heart to God. He heard my prayers that night and His answer to my pray was sparing the life I was so desperately trying to end.
The psych ward was full of experiences that made me desire life outside of those walls. I sat in that hospital room drifting between the blank slate of the wall and the distraction of the aftertaste of the antidote they gave me for the pills I had taken. I tasted what resemble dash that charcoal leaves behind, black and burned. The only thing that interrupted the monotony was an occasional visit from a doctor to evaluate me. Even in my fragile state, I told him just enough so I could be released the next day.
This is a except from the book “From the Gutters to a Mansion: My Journey to My Heavenly Father. Do you want to read more http://www.lulu.com/shop/ryane-b-nickens/from-the-gutters-to-a-mansion-my-journey-to-my-heavenly-father/paperback/product-15375432.html
A Babe For Christ 