Dying to Live

                             

  "My Redeemer Is Faithful And True"
(Steven Curtis Chapman and James Isaac Elliott) 
                       [Psalm 103:17]

"As I look back on the road I've travelled,
I see so many times He carried me through;
And if there's one thing that I've learned in my life,
My Redeemer is faithful and true.
My Redeemer is faithful and true.

My Redeemer is faithful and true.
Everything He has said He will do,
And every morning His mercies are new.
My Redeemer is faithful and true.

My heart rejoices when I read the promise,
'There is a place I am preparing for you.'
I know someday I'll see my Lord face to face,
Cause my Redeemer is faithful and true.
My Redeemer is faithful and true.

And in every situation He has proved His love to me;
When I lack the understanding, He gives more grace to me."

         I have loved this song for so many years. I loved to sing it. But I "lacked the understanding" to fully embrace this truth, until two years ago.....

       Three years ago, on January 30, 2008, I took over one hundred and eighty pills. Mostly, narcotics. I had been stock piling them with a purpose. It was my third attempt, to end my life. I actually remember how calm I was, as I emptied each bottle. The "calm" came from years of resigning to a lie. A lie that my my life was no longer worth living. That I was too wretched to be saved. You see, I had begun a perverse "love affair" with bitterness. And, I had actually continually entertained thoughts of suicide. Even as young as fourth grade. I had somehow even romanticized this notion of taking my own life. Some, may reduce suicidal talk, or even acts, as attention seeking. Well, let me assure you. I meant business. There was no playing around. In spite of my natural theatrical side, I was way beyond needing, wanting, or even getting attention. I intentionally took every single pill, with the desire to go to sleep and to never wake up.

I desperately craved for my hurt to end...

       How does anyone come to the conclusion that that they should take their own life? For me, I was severely depressed, chemically suppressed and spiritually oppressed. A triple threat. We had lost a baby. I had lost my health (Fifths Disease, EBV, GAD, PTSD...) And, Mark had lost his job. We were treated horribly by the family that caused his firing. It left us in a tail spin of shock, hurt and confusion. But, as I have eluded too, Mark did not stay stuck in that place.

However, I did.

       The "deck of cards", in this whole story, was definitely not stacked in my favor. Due to the pain, incurred by the Epstein Barr Virus, I was put on Oxycontin. This was the beginning of a disastrous and lethal "marriage" between "benzos" and Opiates. You see, I had already been courting Xanax off and on since 1988. But, began abusing them at that time. They are both "downers". Mixed together? Toxic. And, throw in alcohol. Deadly. My family knew that I was over-medicating. But, I am strong willed. Bull-headed. And! A great actress. I got away with a lot. It was easy to dismiss some of my behaviors. After all, I  had lost a baby. There was the stress of the move.  Why we had to move... And, I was very sick.

       Another "nail in my coffin", was my house in McAlester. I loved our home! Loved it! So, leaving it was very difficult. We moved in with my parents for six months. We had 3400 sq. feet of our stuff, boxed up, stored, or sold. We were thinking that we would get some new things after we found a new home, but to our dismay, our home sat on the market for two years. Let's see- Two mortgages, for two years=no new furniture. Every little nail, like that, closed me up more and more.

       I hated everything about our new house. In looking back, I just hated everything about everything. A miserable soul. "Baking" at room temperature. And, that is where I basically stayed from 2003-to early 2008. I did get out some. But, it was rare. I missed many of my children's events. And, the ones that I did attend... Well, I was a mess. A presentable mess. But, a mess, nonetheless.

       In the Summer of 2007, I got really bad. Do you ever watch shows like, "Intervention" where the addict is scrambling for their fix? Searching through drawers, cabinets, shoe boxes.... for even just a remnant of their "DOC" (drug(s) of choice)? That was me. I remember one time that I literally turned our room upside down. I was looking for a bottle of Oxycontin (aka, "hillbilly heroine"). It looked like a bomb had gone off! Ask, Mark! I was crazed. Once I found it, I counted every single pill. I laid them out, one by one, on our bed. I was checking, like a mad woman, to see to see if they were all there. I knew what I had in "stock". Always! I had my days calculated on what chemicals to take. And, when. I knew what I needed to keep the "high" or the "low". The "getting off" or the "coming down". I was obsessed with it. If I ran low, on any of my thirteen prescriptions, I drank. I drank anything. Mostly, vodka. I also started "abusing" cold meds. Even drinking Benadryl! My thoughts were that I could at least sleep until I got more "drugs". I did this when I was broke and desperate. I just wanted out. To be numb.  I did everything. Let's just leave it at that. (Well, I never did meth, heroine or injected myself with anything. I steered clear of what I considered "dirty drugs". I was not that desperate. Yet! But, close.) I may be in South Tulsa, but you can find anything that you want right here. I was on a collision course with death. My mind and soul were gravely wounded. But, the drugs exacerbated everything. I thought they were helping. (Crazy!) They were not.

       I would like to say one small thing about my "pushers". They came straight out of the Yellow Pages. And, no lie! They were the first two doctors, that I called, when I got to Tulsa. It was like a "cattle call".  And, that "kid-in-candy-shop" feeling, each time that I went to their offices. Neither, doctor is now practicing.

                     Wednesday, January 30, 2008-
        All that I remember about that day was waiting until the kids got home from school as I had purposed to be with each of them. To see them and have quality time with each them individually. I wanted them to have a happy memory of me. At least the last one would be of me out of my bed! And to have a home cooked meal. I was actually up and doing things as I took small handfuls of pills with gulps of vodka. Moving around my home while watching them. Silently screaming inside as I believed that I would never see them again. Yet, strangely committed to end it all.

        I made a lasagna that night. It's weird that I remember that. I would take some pills and drink. I did this periodically until they were all gone. My kids have now told me that I spoke with slurred speech and that I was incoherent at times. Why did they not catch on? Sadly, I believe it was their norm. I was also told that I fell asleep at the dinner table. Mark assumed that I had taken my sleeping pills too early, so he put me to bed.

He had no idea what I had done.

       It's not the easiest thing to admit to, but my family had adjusted to my "absences". Staying in my bed for days and days... (Again, never judge what you have not walked through.) Mark had taken care of most everything for such a long time. So, as usual, the next morning he got all four kids off to school and went on to work. I have written about most of this day in each of my children's posts. If you are just now reading, refer to "10 Days of Thanks". Especially in Zach's post.

That afternoon, he found me unresponsive.

       I do not remember anything after Wednesday afternoon. Not one bit. I started to wake up sometime on Friday, February 1. I remember seeing my brother, Dr. Matt Kimberling and Dr. Mark Galles (My Internist, at the time. Never went to him for "drugs". a great doctor!). They were standing over me. I remember tears streaming down my face. But, I did not completely wake up until Saturday. At least that is my recollection. I had pneumonia and was put in ICU with a "babysitter". In other words, I was on "suicide watch". I had to be intubated, put on a ventilator, and have my stomach pumped. Let me just say, charcoal is not pretty. The Psychiatrists were belligerent with me. (Well, that was my perception.) I am certain that I was hostile. They kept asking me why I did it. And I kept insisting that I didn't try to kill myself. Why? Because my attempt failed. And, I knew the next step was Laureate. Which was not on my destination travel plans! But, my stories and my lies began to catch up with me. Mark found the bullet hole and casing from my attempt in October. (I had covered the hole in my wall. And I never could find that darn casing!) He told the doctors. Then my parents found out that I had stolen their gun and that I had been stealing my dads prescriptions. And then years of pent up feelings began to flow out of Mark's. Tears, confusion, and anger. his own unraveling and undoing began.

       On Monday night, February 4, I was checked into Laureate Psychiatric Hospital. I was most definitely not a happy camper. It was abysmal. While, I do not know how it is there every week, this particular week was "crazy week". I was depressed, not crazy. I spent two nights and one full day there. I begged my mom to get me out. When she came and saw the soiled britches of one of my "roomies", she felt that there had to be a better place. My family agreed to my parents house as not to confuse our four children any further. Calls and searches were made. It is not as easy as you might think to find a treatment center for women only. And, one that could support "dual-treatment". Depression, anxiety, suicidal fixation, and substance abuse.) My family was insistent on all of that.) We did find one in Tennessee. More about Brookhaven Retreat for Women in my February 11th blog. (Don't miss it!)

       Today, I find my self still "dying". Not, slowly and methodically. Not with drugs or sickness. But, "dying" to my "self". Daily. Sometimes, hourly.

1 Corinthians 15:31 says, "I affirm, brethren, by the boasting in you which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily." And, Galations 2:20 says, "I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me."

       I am a new person. My sins have been forgiven. My heart is being healed. My mind renewed. (Well,.... that is where I "die" daily. I think way too much.....amongst other things. I constantly think that people do not really like me. c-r-a-z-y!) But, the beauty really is in the Cross. God is challenging me to stay "right" with Him. And when I detour, I have a quick realization of my waywardness. Where I might have basked for days, months, and even years in self-pity, shame, guilt, bitterness and anger; I now bask in His perfect grace. I never want to stop speaking to what He has done! What He is doing!

       I am now "dying to live". I desire life. I want to take big, huge bites out of it. But, I also want to sit still in the peace of it. I am getting there. One day at a time.

       In closing, I read this the other day and I would like to share it with you- "We read to know that we are not alone" - C.S. Lewis

We are never alone!
Kari