Looking back, I still remember the first time I felt hopelessness completely overtake my life, enveloping all joys into sorrow, and laughter into days of tears. The compassionate mentor who became an explosive dictator demanded to know every detail of my past sexual encounters. He likely wanted some form of company as his black Grand Prix was struggling to shift from first to second gear on the highway, plugging its way home on a grueling one-hour drive from work.
At first, I refused, knowing the phone conversation to be inappropriate between a forty-something year old married man and an eighteen-year old college student. He repeated his demands through coercion and manipulation until he finally resolved to threats. His wife- we’ll call her Mrs. Julie- was my friend, mentor, and accountability partner and we were supposed to talk on the phone in a few minutes, at four-thirty as we did every weekday. We would go over a list of daily questions, had I given in to any one of multiple temptations, as well as any other issues to discuss in the spiritual walk of a college girl. He knew I was emotionally and spiritually dependent on her and he used it to his advantage. Once again, he cut off all communication between Mrs. Julie and I until I conformed to his wishes. I also wasn’t allowed to tell her that he cut off communication, but simply leave her in hurt, broken trust, as she was a woman who highly valued dependability, loyalty in friendships, and keeping one’s word.
He was jealous of the time his wife spent mentoring teenage girls, and particularly her time with me. He often accused me of loving his wife sexually and would even direct me to a different room in his house to establish that his wife was his property. Now, with his vehicle falling apart, requiring expensive repair, he needed some semblance of control. Or maybe he needed some sick fantasy to aide in the time and distract him from the stress of the current situation, probably because he withheld from his wife as a form of sexual and emotional control as well. Defeated and concerned about Mrs. Julie, however, I gave in to his perverse commands. Thankfully, as a virgin, the account was limited, but he wanted to know every detail of petting, kissing, touching, and discovery.
When I was finally able to call Mrs. Julie, I had to explain why I was so late. But upon hearing the circumstances, she wasn’t angry with her husband- we’ll call him Brother Thomas- she was furious with me. She was livid and tried to have me see it from her perspective: a young teen girl expounding to her husband about her sexual life. I had crossed a line that no one knew how to rectify. Once again, I was the wedge between her and her husband. I was the one who caused the argument.
I was caught between a rock and a hard place, simply longing for all to be at peace. If Brother Thomas cut off communication entirely, Mrs. Julie would never forgive him, driving that wedge yet deeper. It would literally break Mrs. Julie’s heart for either one of us to break off our friendship, but here I stood: between Brother Thomas and Mrs. Julie, always trying to do the right thing, but continually making it worse.
There was no solution except for me to just be out of the picture so no one was to blame. And so began what I would later learn are called “intrusive thoughts”:
“What if that truck behind the church swerved just enough to hit me where I stood?”
“What if the shuttle driver over-corrected and we went into a ditch?”
“If only that car lost just enough control, and I would no longer be a detriment to their marriage and Mrs. July would be able to move on without the continued heartache.”
Looking back, I see how Brother Thomas was perverse. I see how Mrs. Julie placed the blame on me when her anger should have been directed towards her husband. I see now how it’s better that my life didn’t end that semester- I now have a loving husband and beautiful children! -and I can see now how they weren’t worth my life. But people continue to say that “suicide is selfish.” Let me tell you, it’s not always selfish. Sometimes it’s selfless.
Sometimes it’s from being beaten and berated to the point that one no longer sees the value in their own life, only that the end of their life would end the torment in another’s life. It’s not true, but nearly impossible to see in the moment. Depression and suicide lie. Spiritually-abusive cults continually remind us that we are as worthless, sinful worms in the eyes of God, when in reality, we are His treasure.
***If you are contemplating suicide, there is no reason to be ashamed nothing good comes out of a life lost. You are truly precious in God’s eyes. Seek out a friend or family member, a general care provider, or call the Suicide Hotline at 1(800) 273-8255. You can also text 741741 and a crisis worker will text you back immediately and continue to text with you. It’s a free service to anyone who lives in the United States and it’s run by the Crisis Text Line. Suicide isn’t always selfish, but it fails to show that there are other ways and your life is worth living.***
When Suicide is Selfless (Part 2): A Mother’s Love
