It seemed relentlessly being thrown in my face in my classes. The first week I let it roll off. The second week was a little heavier. The third week I cried quietly. I held myself to my chair, refusing to leave the class, wishing the instructor would move on. Even now, it's hard to write about. Remember my post here? Yes, it didn't leave that day. Each time I went to class it gripped me more.
I kinda worked it out with God the first few weeks, yet I was worse the next week. I couldn't believe how much they were speaking about suicide. Yes, that is what my brother did. He gave up. He thought it was the only way out. It hurt. I know it's part of counseling because it is part of human life. In week three (having a different instructor each week), we finished early and I took the time to speak to the instructor - he was a counselor right?
It helped a little, but at this point I can't remember anything he said the might have impacted me. The debate in me: was this from God that I need to address something or Satan trying to get me to quit. A little of both. In the car on the way home that night, I spoke out loud my determination that I was not going to give up. Counseling was a messy thing and I was willing to get messy. It didn't matter how much something tormented me, I could endure it because I am doing what God had directed me. If I must listen to lectures that speak solely of suicide, so be it. The instructor week 3 spoke of it because it was part of his past week. Someone he had counseled a few times ended his life.
I am determined. I will face this. I will not allow it to hold me back. I will take anyone seriously when they say they have contemplated suicide. I know my brother did. He said if __________ ever happens again I will kill myself. And he did.
The opened the door that had been closed a long time. I invited God in. I said that I am willing to do what I have to do to get to where You want me. I want Your way. I don't need to protect this space anymore.