Suicidal Me: The Beauty of Vulnerability

“Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3).

You are a bitch.
Lex, breathe.
Worthless piece of sh—
Focus on your breathing. That’s not you, you know that. You think the word crap is inappropriate.
“Hey Alexis! You look cute today!”
“Thanks!”
You couldn’t even get out of bed for class. You are pathetic.
It's fine, I’m going to work now.
You should kill yourself. Jump off the balcony. Just kill yourself. You are useless. Kill yourself.
“Hey Alexis, I need some help with Angular Kinetics, can we go over that?”
Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Focus on this moment. Just enjoy this moment.
“We sure can.”

“This class is called ‘Learning through Service,’ so I’m not going to give you a test. Your midterm is to get into groups of three and go find someone to serve. Be back at 4:35.”
“So what do you guys want to do?”
I don’t want to do anything.
“Do you mind if we say a prayer?”
“Sure, let’s do it.”
Tell them you need help.
“Dear Heavenly Father…”
Tell them you need help.
“We are grateful…”
I don’t want to. I don’t even know them.
“Help us to know who…”
You need help. Tell them.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
“Hey guys—I thought of someone you can serve.  I need help today.”

For 30 minutes I sat on a bench with two strangers and told them what I was going through.  I told them about the side effects from my medication that had triggered severe symptoms of depression less than two months before. I told them that even after being off the medication for weeks I was still dealing with thoughts of suicide and self-harm every day all day.  I told them that it was hard on my family, hard on my friends and hard on me, but that I was working through it. I told them it had been a bad day.  

Then something beautiful happened.  I listened; and suddenly we didn't feel like strangers.  Each told me about herself, some of her struggles, how she was feeling, how our conversation on the bench was an answer to a prayer, and I got to see that I wasn’t the only one who needed a little extra help that day.  We all have problems. We are all broken. We all need help. We all need each other.  How wonderful to be heard and to hear others.

Contrary to how I sometimes act, I hate being vulnerable.  I admire little children for their quick ability to love, for their openness, for their submissiveness, for their humbleness, for their vulnerability. I am very different. I am afraid of letting my guard down.  I am afraid of people seeing me as I am.  I am afraid of asking for help.  I am afraid of getting hurt.  I am afraid of losing control.  I am afraid of letting go.  I am afraid of being needy.  I am afraid of my own feelings.  I am just plain afraid.  Despite my fear, I also believe vulnerability is the key to connection.  How am I ever going to enter the open door next door if I don’t open up my own?  Sometimes I sit at the window, peeping on my neighbors and shouting advice through the glass.  Sometimes I think I have a really good idea of what is going on from my window. I am always wrong.

We can’t expect others to rely on us, to love us, to need us, to ask for help, to sit down and open up when we don’t do it ourselves; and we aren’t very useful standing by the window.  Vulnerability isn’t comfortable.  Vulnerability is necessary; and despite the darkness that fills my mind, I’ve discovered that people are good.  It’s through them that I know God is nearby even when He feels far away.

Brené Brown said: “This is what I have found: To let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen ... to love with our whole hearts, even though there's no guarantee…to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we're wondering, ‘Can I love you this much? Can I believe...this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?’ just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say, ‘I'm just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means I'm alive.’ And the last, which I think is probably the most important, is to believe that we're enough. Because when we work from a place, I believe, that says, ‘I'm enough’ ... then we stop screaming and start listening, we're kinder and gentler to the people around us, and we're kinder and gentler to ourselves.”


May we open up our hearts more and judge others less and remember that Mary taught Jesus how to walk long before he walked through Palestine.

Comments

  1. Thanks for sharing, and being exactly what you wrote about-vulnerable. Also, I love Brené Brown!

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