I have never been a very religious person. My mother was raised Mormon as a child and struggled growing up because she felt like religion was forced upon her and she wasn’t allowed to choose her faith herself. As a result of that, she specifically chose not to raise my sister and myself under any specific religion.
As I became as adult, I found my own set of beliefs concerning religion and God. I believed in Him, but doubted His love for me. My doubts stemmed from the difficulties I was going through at that point in my life. I was in an emotionally and physically abusive marriage with an alcoholic and addict and I had a severe eating disorder that I was hiding from everyone. At the time, my then husband and I lived up north in Flagstaff, cut off from any friends and family for support. Looking back now, I know that’s how my abusive husband was able to control me. He deliberately cut me off from anyone who loved me because he knew that none of them supported our marriage.
I have never told anyone what I am about to tell you. Yet, I can remember it like it was yesterday. My husband had gone off to work for the morning and we both knew that he was about to lose his job yet again because of his addiction. When I saw him off that morning, he poured Vodka in his coffee and drove away to head into work. I remember thinking that I couldn’t live like this anymore. I never knew what would happen from one day to the next, and I was too embarrassed and ashamed to reach out to anyone for help concerning the abuse that was happening. So, I took a whole bottle of my husband’s pills (he was given sedatives for sleep) and chased the whole bottle with about a half a pint of Vodka. I was barely 105 pounds back then, so that was a lot for my little body to take in. About 15 minutes later, my husband unexpectedly returned from work, which he never did. He found me hysterically crying and saying goodbye. He immediately called 911 and I was rushed to the ER shortly after.
I can remember laying in my hospital bed in the ER hearing the Dr’s say the next 24 hours would be “touch and go” and they weren’t sure if I would pull through. I was in and out of consciousness, had my stomach pumped, and was forced to eat charcoal. I will never forget how that charcoal felt and tasted in my mouth and how those bright lights shined in my eyes when all I wanted to do was go to sleep. My eyes felt so heavy and my limbs felt like they each weighed about 500 pounds. I remember my brain telling me to lift my arms, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even talk; every time I tried to speak, I would just stutter. I can only assume it was a result of such a high dose of sedatives in my body.
There was one point in the ER when I opened my eyes and saw the fluorescent lights shining directly into them. I heard a very distinct voice. His voice said, “This is not your time.” I remember thinking after that “I don’t want to die.” The voice then said again, “This is not your time.” To this day there is no doubt in my mind that the voice I heard was God Himself. It was at this moment when I heard God speak to me that I fought my way through and knew that I was going to be ok. My vitals began to improve and I was moved to ICU to be monitored, and then transferred to my own room on the 3rd floor.
Several people were constantly in and out of my hospital room asking me questions about what had happened. I adamantly denied trying to kill myself. I made up some story about how I didn’t mean to take that many pills. I’m sure no one believed me but there really wasn’t anything they could do because I wouldn’t budge. I was sticking to my story. My husband told me that they would put me on psychiatric watch if I told them what happened and then I wouldn’t be allowed to leave. I remember a social worker coming to talk to me and asking me if “I felt safe at home.” I told her yes.
When I was finally cleared for discharge, I had been in the hospital for 2 nights. My husband was nowhere to be found at the time of my discharge and I had to call a cab to take me home. When I arrived home, he was drunk of course, and so I knew it was best to stay out of his way and leave him alone. It took about a full week for my body to recover after such an ordeal and to get back to functioning normally.
It wasn’t until several years later after I had my son that I had the courage to leave my marriage. But I will never forget the night I heard God speak to me. He saved me because it wasn’t my time to go. I was destined to become a mother, a wife again to a loving man, be reunited with my friends and family, and to become the business owner that I am, vowing to help others by sharing my story. It simply was not my time to go.
This isn’t easy for me to talk about, hence why I have never told anyone about my suicide attempt. But I write this, to give you hope. There are seasons of extreme pain in life followed by seasons of extreme joy and love. Don’t give up. Fight through the hard times and allow your pain to mold and shape you into the person you are destined to become… The best version of yourself. Remember you are not thrown into the fire. You are the fire. Light the world up.
