Suicidal?

There is life after death.  I was going to say I know this but decided I’d change it to I have no doubt about it.  (I’ve had too many people argue that you can’t really know something because knowledge is just a remembered chemical response to stimuli – the dangers of belonging to a philosophy group I guess.  They aren’t interested in my comments about the Holy Ghost.)  But the point is, not doubting that there is life after death means I have never been suicidal.  At least not in the traditional sense.

Because I have no doubt that death is not an escape.  “for that same spirit which doth possess your bodies at the time that ye go out of this life, that same spirit will have power to possess your body in that eternal world." (Alma 34:33-34)  So somewhere in the back of my mind suicide is just not an option because I logically know it won’t actually solve anything.  It would actually make it worse.  (and I’m all for taking the path of least resistance). 

HOWEVER, at one point I felt so horrible and miserable and was in so much emotional pain that I remember crying in my bed at night and begging God that if there was any way I could cease to exist to please make it happen.  Not physical death.  It would have to go beyond that because the spirit would remain.  I needed my spirit-my very soul-to cease to exist.   I was still functioning at this time, I just cried the whole time.  I’d sit at work and interview people and cry while I did it. I eventually got through that ugly time (with some temporary help from an anti-depressant which stopped the crying).

Fast forward a few years and my mentality had again changed.  My mom died at 50 and I had come to the conclusion that 50 would be a good time to die.  My youngest would be 18 thus able to work full time and support himself.  I would have officially fulfilled my “duty” as a mother to educate, provide for, and raise my children.  At that point I didn’t really care to live longer.  (Again, I wouldn’t actively take my life but I wouldn’t fight death if it came.  I’d consider it a relief).  It was more of a “lost my will to live” like you hear about the babies in the orphanage who turn their face to the wall and die.   At the time H-er had just gone over my budget with a fine tooth comb and was pressuring me to sign up for a 401K and IRA because I needed to consider the future (every dollar of my paycheck was going to support the family and he was providing nothing) and so I told him straight out I didn’t care to prepare to live to 80 because I hoped I’d die at 50.

But then I thought I might have breast cancer and it freaked me out because I realized I didn’t really want to die.  I’m not really looking forward to the rest of my life but I definitely know I don’t want to die yet. 

So where am I going with all this rambling?

 

 

 

I’m lonely. 

 

 

 

I had to spew all those words out just to get to the two words under it.

So I’m going to sit and cry with my loneliness for a little while just to prove that it’s okay.   It’s not going to kill me--which is a good thing because I’m really not ready to die.