Thank God for Eric’s suggestion and that you agreed. For he might have been right, it’s possible that the suicide thoughts would result in your demise.
Thank God that you have have risen from the depth of hell to a new life bright with hope and promise and love. That you have touched so many lives, including mine, with hope and comfort.
Thank God for your family, friends and the doctors who helped you.
Thank God for you! You are our beacon of light so often, our friend, our mentor.
R.

Reading this just reafirmed to me how patient our God is. God doesn’t give up. Like Butt Prints In The Sand, He carries us to the point where we realize it is time to take action with His hand guiding us, and even carrying us while we keep our focus on Him. Your words here humble me, grateful God did not give up on either of us.

therese i am so glad you listened to Eric that because through your healing you have given others hope to carry on .and yes even in are darkest hour we are never alone and that we must hold on to if we are are going to make this journey called life od depression. thanks for allof your insperation.

Thank God, literally, for those “God moments”–times when you’re at the end of your rope and suddenly “mysteriously” here appears someone or something (the statue of Jesus) or words to help us see a glimmer of hope and help us realize that God has not left us.
I remember the first time I went to the hospital for a mental illness-related problem. I was pretty near hysterical. (crying) I sat in the triage area and running across the computer screen were the words, “Be Still and Know that I Am” Wow! God was right there in that room with me. That was His sign. It was so comforting. This is from Psalm 46:10. I now have a bracelet with those words on it.
I’m so thankful to whomever erected that statue at John Hopkins because that helped you know that you weren’t alone and that you were going to get through this. And because you are constantly working on getting through life, you have richly blessed so many people.
Valerie

I read this as I am listening to “The Sound of Silence” From Simon and Garfunkle. Tears well up in my eyes as I live through a dark time in our family and feel like all that surrounds me is dark. Therese’s life story strikes to the heart of the truth of depression and the shadow of lonliness as well as the hope of God. I have witnessed it so many times myself. My head knows it but sometimes my heart forgets as it’s breaking. I just have to pray and be patient as my heart catches up to my head. Thank God you listened Therese. I can’t imagine how dark it would be otherwise

Our friendship is going to a new level therese…now we’re mind reading.
I’m going to pop right back to the BB group and start the idea that I layed awake mulling over at 4:30 a.m…..
(we’ve been doing a lot of letter writing on T’s support group chat thread)
These letters are going to be:
“Dear Medical System,”
Here’s mine:
Dear Southern Ohio Medical System,
Just want to let you know that my children are not birdies in a badmiten game. They come from Good Solid German/Irish/English stock and we play to win around here.
It is one thing for you to try and outbowl, out croquet and failingly bounce pass my mother and father in law. They were pretty old when we had to say goodbye, but it would seem that since you have predicted that my son will be well over 6 feet at my age and is a bit aggressive that you take a bit more care to help organize his care. You will be lucky if he serves you because he is smart, sweet and his toof finally came out this week.
Just a suggestion: people are not sports equipment.
I’ll do what I can to continue backing you up with a smile.
No promises without another cup of Joe to rot my stomach for you.
Sincerely,
Kate

Thank you for this reminder. We really aren’t alone – but, boy, it can sure feel that way sometimes. And we’re not alone in feeling alone. That is something that haunts everyone from time to time. But when you have a chronic illness – whether it’s bipolar disorder of arthritis, it is pretty easy to slip into the mindset that we’re a solo act. For me, I recognize that I wasn’t alone – after – usually much after I’ve been in the low spot. I pray that I’ll come to experience that assurance that I’m not alone when I’m in the middle of the swamp.
be blessed…
Frank,

So is this to say in retrospect, Therese, you think you were going through not just clinical depression but a Blessed Mother Teresa-style “dark night of the soul”?
No wonder even your beloved Eric couldn’t reach you

It looks as if God allows some people to commit suicide. Since they are not saved from suicide, how can it be said God was there for them?

I recently read a priest’s reflection on this gospel and he said that the “yoke” is not a harnass but a co-sharing in the redemptive work of Jesus.

therese,
Been out of commission with a migraine, so I am just catching up on your blog. You know my stance on God/Jesus–I’m an earth-based kind of girl, but I know you could relate to this story…
My second suicide attempt was not immediately severe enough to put me in the hospital. My husband came home to find me bleeding all over the bathroom, but with my first aid training and virtually all the butterfly bandages in the house, we “fixed me up”. He told me we had to go to the hospital. I refused. Both of us felt very scared. Each of us completely alone as we cleaned the bathroom and then held each other.
The next morning, he said we needed to go for a drive. And what a drive it was. He drove me from Ohio to Virginia Beach, checked us into a hotel on the waterfront, and walked me out to the beach. We sat there for a moment. It was cold and the air was damp, no spring-breakers, the beach was completely empty. Watching the waves, I felt everything well up inside me and started sobbing. I sat in the sand, arms wrapped around my knees, mascara staining my jeans, and my husband sitting beside me, legs outstretched and arm over my shoulders. I gave it all: the pain, my pride, my silly insistence that I could do it ‘on my own’ to the breakers crashing onto that empty beach.
After about an hour, as I started to compose myself and breathe he said, “I hoped the ocean would help you see.” We went to dinner that night, drove home the next day, and the following morning I checked into the hospital.

therese,
Been out of commission with a migraine, so I am just catching up on your blog. You know my stance on God/Jesus–I’m an earth-based kind of girl, but I know you could relate to this story…
My second suicide attempt was not immediately severe enough to put me in the hospital. My husband came home to find me bleeding all over the bathroom, but with my first aid training and virtually all the butterfly bandages in the house, we “fixed me up”. He told me we had to go to the hospital. I refused. Both of us felt very scared. Each of us completely alone as we cleaned the bathroom and then held each other.
The next morning, he said we needed to go for a drive. And what a drive it was. He drove me from Ohio to Virginia Beach, checked us into a hotel on the waterfront, and walked me out to the beach. We sat there for a moment. It was cold and the air was damp, no spring-breakers, the beach was completely empty. Watching the waves, I felt everything well up inside me and started sobbing. I sat in the sand, arms wrapped around my knees, mascara staining my jeans, and my husband sitting beside me, legs outstretched and arm over my shoulders. I gave it all: the pain, my pride, my silly insistence that I could do it ‘on my own’ to the breakers crashing onto that empty beach.
After about an hour, as I started to compose myself and breathe he said, “I hoped the ocean would help you see.” We went to dinner that night, drove home the next day, and the following morning I checked into the hospital.

I like to have all the information sent to me please.