Many years ago, just a few years after I'd married my first husband (my oldest two children's father), we were living in a tiny basement apartment in Missoula, Montana, while he attended the vo-tech. Even though it was considered a daylight basement apartment (because there was a door to the outside, with a large window in it), winters were still hard to handle: short daylight hours; frequent overcast skies.
Just a few days after my 26th or 27th birthday, I seriously considered suicide. I'd even decided on the method, and was about to follow through. Then for some reason, I decided to wait until the next day.
Just a few moments after I'd made that decision, there was a knock on our door. Dear friends, whom we highly respected from our time spent in British Columbia, were on our doorstep. They were passing through from Washington state on their way East somewhere. We had a pleasant visit, and they prayed with us before they left.
Later, when I told another friend of mine, she made me promise to never consider or attempt suicide again. I did promise. To this day, I've kept that promise, because I keep my promises.
Now, I will admit, I often feel like I'm such a burden that my family and friends would be better off without me. Maybe I wish for a fatal automobile accident or something, or a heart attack. But I don't actually consider methods of suicide.
I suffer from insomnia, and chronic pain. Sometimes I wish that all could end. Sometimes teetering on the edge of this pit of depression gets to be more than I can handle. And often God seems so far away, and like He doesn't hear my prayers.
Speaking of insomnia....maybe I better try to get some sleep.
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