Despair Means Death
I have often heard about people having "near death experiences". After a critical incident many years ago, my mother had one and swears to this day that she temporarily passed to "the other side" and was sent back.
Like most things, I believe there are many facets to something. A near death experience for one person may not be the same for someone else. I can look back on times in my life when I was truly at the end: of hope, of money, of energy and will to go on, and those were my own near death experiences.
Because you see, despair means death.
It means you've given up. You no longer have hope or a desire to keep on fighting and so you throw your hands into the air, curse the heavens, and seek out a desperate way to stop the pain.
I've thought about those times a lot. They're difficult to reflect on because the person I was then in no way matched the person I wanted to be or believed I was. But through a set of circumstances beyond my control, I found myself facing an uphill battle I was unprepared for and didn't wish to fight.
It's hard to accept that dark part of yourself.
But we all have one.
It was in these times of greatest despair that I lay on the floor in my living room, shaking because I was crying so hard, and BEGGED for God to take my life. I was so tired. Overwhelmed. Unable to see the bigger picture because the immediate reality was so grim.
And it was in these moments that I had my own near death experience.
There haven't been many. But none of them were glamorous. In fact if I think about what I must have looked like, how weak and pathetic I must have sounded, I might be embarrassed.
But at that time, I truly was at the end of my rope.
My ability to put on a happy face was gone.
My ability to project into the future and see something amazing had left me.
I had distanced myself from family and friends because I believed I was bringing them down and then mourned the fact that I was alone in my time of need.
And I gave up. I decided I didn't have anything to live for and no more inner strength to pull from and so inside myself, I decided to quit.
Quiting seemed so much easier than continuing a fight I wasn't sure I could win.
Quiting seemed to bring about a sense of pain-free resolve that released me from any guilt I might have felt about giving up.
But it was a lie.
Suffice to say God didn't answer my prayers in those times of desperation in a way you might think.
I did receive an answer, but it was usually an exhaustive sleep.
I would wake up, completely cried out, my eyes feeling as if they'd been rolled in sand. And I realized I hadn't died yet.
Maybe I didn't want to bad enough. I never overdosed or slit my wrists. I did plenty of other things to my body, but the will of the spirit is sometimes stronger than the mind.
Despair is a dangerous thing. It robs us of hope and anticipation of what awaits us. And if we don't keep it in check, I believe it can kill us.
Life can be overwhelming. Small issues can take on a life of their own in no time. But perspective is important. Support from others in our lives, critical.
I regret giving into despair. Like a downward spiral, the more I gave into it, the more I believed I would never get out of it. I was doomed. Hopeless. Unsavable.
I know there will be a time again when I feel completely out of control. Feelings of insecurity will lap at my understanding of who I am and what I am all about. But I can never again allow myself to embrace despair. There is always hope. A new chance. A new opportunity to make a different decision.
I wish I knew how to encourage someone in despair. It is a dark and lonely place. But if we focus on what we know is true: that we have value, a purpose, a reason for living, then there has to be something else.
Despair means death and I want to live. I want to use the time I've been given to become the best person I can be and to encourage others who are on their own journey.
Like most things, I believe there are many facets to something. A near death experience for one person may not be the same for someone else. I can look back on times in my life when I was truly at the end: of hope, of money, of energy and will to go on, and those were my own near death experiences.
Because you see, despair means death.
It means you've given up. You no longer have hope or a desire to keep on fighting and so you throw your hands into the air, curse the heavens, and seek out a desperate way to stop the pain.
I've thought about those times a lot. They're difficult to reflect on because the person I was then in no way matched the person I wanted to be or believed I was. But through a set of circumstances beyond my control, I found myself facing an uphill battle I was unprepared for and didn't wish to fight.
It's hard to accept that dark part of yourself.
But we all have one.
It was in these times of greatest despair that I lay on the floor in my living room, shaking because I was crying so hard, and BEGGED for God to take my life. I was so tired. Overwhelmed. Unable to see the bigger picture because the immediate reality was so grim.
And it was in these moments that I had my own near death experience.
There haven't been many. But none of them were glamorous. In fact if I think about what I must have looked like, how weak and pathetic I must have sounded, I might be embarrassed.
But at that time, I truly was at the end of my rope.
My ability to put on a happy face was gone.
My ability to project into the future and see something amazing had left me.
I had distanced myself from family and friends because I believed I was bringing them down and then mourned the fact that I was alone in my time of need.
And I gave up. I decided I didn't have anything to live for and no more inner strength to pull from and so inside myself, I decided to quit.
Quiting seemed so much easier than continuing a fight I wasn't sure I could win.
Quiting seemed to bring about a sense of pain-free resolve that released me from any guilt I might have felt about giving up.
But it was a lie.
Suffice to say God didn't answer my prayers in those times of desperation in a way you might think.
I did receive an answer, but it was usually an exhaustive sleep.
I would wake up, completely cried out, my eyes feeling as if they'd been rolled in sand. And I realized I hadn't died yet.
Maybe I didn't want to bad enough. I never overdosed or slit my wrists. I did plenty of other things to my body, but the will of the spirit is sometimes stronger than the mind.
Despair is a dangerous thing. It robs us of hope and anticipation of what awaits us. And if we don't keep it in check, I believe it can kill us.
Life can be overwhelming. Small issues can take on a life of their own in no time. But perspective is important. Support from others in our lives, critical.
I regret giving into despair. Like a downward spiral, the more I gave into it, the more I believed I would never get out of it. I was doomed. Hopeless. Unsavable.
I know there will be a time again when I feel completely out of control. Feelings of insecurity will lap at my understanding of who I am and what I am all about. But I can never again allow myself to embrace despair. There is always hope. A new chance. A new opportunity to make a different decision.
I wish I knew how to encourage someone in despair. It is a dark and lonely place. But if we focus on what we know is true: that we have value, a purpose, a reason for living, then there has to be something else.
Despair means death and I want to live. I want to use the time I've been given to become the best person I can be and to encourage others who are on their own journey.