June 29, 2014.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I remember every thought that went through my head that day. I remember every single thing I did. I remember that my story almost ended for a second time.
When you're sleep deprived and depressed, bad things are almost a given. Recovery goes out the window along with the hope that things will ever get better. Rational thinking often takes a hiatus during that time as well.
People knew that I was on edge and that I had been for quite some time. I wasn't shy about telling them if they asked me. The barrage of texts I would get on a daily basis to check in on me would prove to be both comforting and annoying. I had become really good in my reply routine. Sell the same story every time. Lucky for me they were still buying what I had to sell, at least to an extent.
But then, the replies stopped.
Saturday afternoon I stopped replying to people. No matter what the question or need was, they weren't getting an answer from me. The few people I did reply to were almost clueless as to the severity of the situation. I used that to my advantage.
I made plans for the 29th that didn't involve going to my intern meeting at church or my church in general. I went with my best friends, out of town. I didn't tell anyone. No text to Murr or David letting them know I wouldn't be there. Nothing.
I went about my day as if I wasn't planning on ending my life that night.
Sporadically I began to receive messages from Murr asking where I was.
By the time I got home that night, I was exhausted on every level. It's hard to fake the excitement of being with your best friend when you know that you won't ever see her again after that day. So I laid down. And took a nap.
I woke up and went outside. I wrote out a note. I had everything I needed. I began to carry out my plan, when my phone began to buzz.
Two texts from Murr stopped me in my tracks. I read them and knew that if I didn't respond soon, he would eventually show up at my house with a team of people to make sure I was okay.
I responded. And he proceeded to talk to me until he felt like I was safe.
I was safe.
I was broken. But I was safe.
That was the night that I inserted a second semicolon in my story. I could have closed the book for good. But I didn't. Things haven't magically been all better since then, but I am on a better path than I was five months ago.
I share this in hopes that you will be encouraged. That you will realize there is such a freedom when we share these stories, as painful as they are.
Your story is beautiful. It is priceless.
You are beautiful. You are priceless.
Please keep writing your story.
Let the people around you help.
Let me help.
I love stories.
As always you can keep up with me over at ohhaiiitsbrandii.wordpress.com
Until next time,