This was my life after I witnessed my boyfriend take his own on June 23, 2016.
On 6/23, everything that once provided me joy and comfort was stripped away. My boyfriend, who I love more than anyone on the planet, was gone. No "goodbye's". No "I love you's". Just gone and in the most sudden, violent and tragic way imaginable.
My house became a crime scene. The bedroom in which I peacefully slept for the past 15 years was the set for the horror flick that would play in my mind at every waking moment. My dogs were whisked away to be boarded for an undetermined amount of time. I was whisked away, too. For seven nights, I altnernated staying with Aaron's family or with close friends who immediately took me under their wing. I often times woke up disoriented. I lived out of a grocery bag. I got dressed in the same clothing I wore the entire day prior. I never did my hair; I don't even remember caring enough to look in the mirror.
The mornings were the worst but not in that split second where the cobwebs veiled my current reality. Instead, it was the moment the cobwebs cleared that I was catapulted back to hell on earth. For a split second things seemed normal and then I'd grieve Aaron's death, as if for the first time, all over again. It was unbearable. When my eyes opened to reality in the morning, I would immediately wish it was nighttime so I could close them again. I would only sleep for four hours a night but it was a blissful unconscious freedom. The nights were short and the days were long, though. And, I hated being awake - every waking moment felt like torture and mental anguish.
I wanted the pain to end.
And, I thought about suicide for 16 straight days after the incident. The literature says this is normal, especially after losing someone you love in the same way. But it felt far from normal to me.
When you're in a seemingly inescapable hell, you'll do anything to break free. This knowledge is why I can't stay upset with Aaron. I know his pain and torment reached a level much bigger than his ability to cope with the onslaught of his emotions. My anger toward Aaron always quickly turns to compassion.
For me, a day wouldn't go by where I wouldn't beg God to take me Home. When I wasn't negotiating with Him, I was thinking of my own exit strategy. One day the thoughts were more intense than usual - it was the first time I had been in my room since Aaron died and I had a major melt down. My friend Tresea just happened to text me as I was lying in a broken wreck on the floor, in the same spot Aaron drew his last breath. She asked me what I was doing and I texted back "In my room...I'm not doing well". She came right over and held me for over 20 minutes while I broke down in tears. I think she saved my life that morning.
But, those kinds of moments were fleeting and my thoughts to end it all were not. I have other guns in the house. I could do exactly what Aaron did and be with him and my mom. Aaron went instantly...
...Fast forward to today.
It's been a month and four days since Aaron died and here I am authoring a new blog entry. I get up and shower every morning. I wear clean clothes. I do my hair. I get outdoors to meet people for lunch and dinner. I weight train. And, I even catch myself smiling and laughing at people's jokes.
So, what happened?
The grace of God happened. I learned that grace can live in the space we call hesitiation. When someone says "I hesitated", it often carries with it a negative connotation. But that slight pause in my thoughts allowed grace and then logic to enter the picture.
I'm done, I just can't take this anymore...
...but....what would that do to Aaron's parents? - I love them so much! What would my dear friends think?; I love them so much, too! How can I be so sure things won't get better?
Those are the questions that reveal themselves in moments of grace and hesitation. Those moments that hang in the balance...those few seconds that make way for the important, logical questions to follow, I believe, keep more people alive than we'll ever know.
Looking back, I fell prey to two very big lies: 1) that I wasn't strong enough to pull through and 2) that life wasn't worth living. I knew I no longer wanted to fall prey. It was crushing my spirit; Satan was winning the battle.
So I did the only thing I could think to do.
In the early morning of July 9th, when I had finally had enough, I reached for my Bible. I retrieved some index cards and a pen out of my desk and began feverishly writing down scripture verses to help me grow stronger. On Face Book, I posted a picture of the first 5 index cards I wrote out and asked friends to comment with their favorite verses as well.
Many friends commented with verses. And, I ended up with an arsenal of scripture on which to meditate when I felt weak. A dear friend of mine would later gift me with a small photo album which included more verses in addition to sentimental photos she retrieved from my Face Book page. She left some pockets intentionally empty so I could insert my own index cards. Today, I carry this everywhere I go.
By the afternoon of July 9th, I felt free from suicidal thoughts, though I worried if they would return. They never did. I haven't had a setback since. Sure, I believe therapy helped.
But, God saved my life.
The reason this Blog is called Pray To Not Fall Prey is to honor the struggle that I went through in the early days but more importantly to serve as a reminder that praying and reading scripture was the light that penentrated the dark days. (John 1:5)
Matthew 26:41-42 ~ Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.”
God is bigger than our doubts. He is bigger than our struggles. He is bigger than our pain. I went through 16 days of hell but I'm grateful for the experience because it has changed me for the better. I know the road toward healing still stretches out for miles and miles and there will be more lows than highs. But, not always. And, I am never alone. My friends and family provided me strength when I felt weak and God carried me when I could no longer walk.
He is a good, good Father. It's who He is.
