The call

Once I developed a plan my spirits lightened. Nothing like being in control, having a goal. I meticulously carried out my strategy. With each accomplishment came more resolve. A no turning back agreement with myself. My soul felt like it had been wrapped in a dark blanket and stuffed in a small airless closet. A mood of complete despair and hopelessness permeated my very core…till I cultivated my plan. I watered it daily and bit by bit it grew.

I started with my possessions. I had too many. I wouldn’t be able to use them much longer, or enjoy in them. No sense in letting them go to waste, so….my clothes went first, in jaunts to my daughters. They however considered my wardrobe too dowdy for their tastes so the majority of my garments made it to Goodwill, where people needier than I could take pleasure in them at a price more reasonable than what I paid for them.

Now my jewelry. That was different subject. The quarreling over who deserved what piece the most was pathetic. It would have been nice if they had questioned why I decided I would no longer need diamonds, they were so self absorbed. I had never let them borrow them in the past, now I was putting them up for grabs! After all, diamonds fit into every time period. One can never say, "Oh, that stone has been out of style for centuries now." Is it no wonder with kids like mine that I’m despondent? No, I can’t blame it all on them. Good try through. I drove away from their homes with tears filling the floorboards, making my car a portable bathtub. I would miss them. Unbelievable.

Next I invited my friends over for a get together. One last visit to remember me by. They were all glad to hear I was feeling better. They had stopped including me in things I had enjoyed doing with them months ago, I would either not show up or appear with red swollen eyes, looking pathetic, a real party downer. They hadn’t seen me dressed up in a while. Groomed. Make up on. Laughing. If they only knew. If they could only see inside me. They had no idea, they were absolutely clueless. My smiles really duped them. People only believe what they want to see. They were so glad I’d come out of my armor. They truly supposed I was improving. They skirted the issue of the past few months; oh, hell, they never brought the subject up. They didn’t want to be accountable for spoiling my good mood, for reminding my of my fall from grace. The collapse of my sense of worth. My plummet in to the pit of despair. We were all having a good time, let’s not drudge the bottom of the barrel, where all the slime of human emotions had settled. If they had only thought to interrogate me, to be my counselors. Who was I fooling, that wouldn’t have changed a thing. I needed professional help, clumsy efforts by untrained laymen would have been ineffectual, maybe even more damaging. Is anything more damaging than self destruction? As they left to go their separate ways I presented them with mementos, further reducing the clutter from my domicile. Once again, no questions were asked. Not a hair of suspicion rose. Totally oblivious. What idiots.

Finally I wrote letters, enclosed some checks to evacuate my bank account, and set them in a visible location. I didn't really feel an explanation was necessary, but I suppose it was protocol to leave a final missive for closure. What a word. Closure. My closure would be in a coffin. Buried in the cold earth. Put me out of my misery. I wouldn't get to witness their shock when I laid my feelings bare and accused them for not being there for me. The best part though is I also wouldn't have to put up with their retaliations! I just hope they would grieve for a respectable amount of time. Don’t throw dirt on top of me and go eat. How morbid. Meals planned for the grieving family. So grotesque. Who cares if they eat, while I rot in the grave? They socialize while the skin rots off my body. Beautiful.

My last duty to execute was a fare well call to my mother. I wanted to hear her voice one last time. Of course I wouldn't divulge my intentions. I would talk to her for an hour or so them proceed with the final execution of my objectives. When she found out what had happened to me it would hit her hard, she would try to figure out what she could have done to stop me. She wouldn’t have been able to do anything. Desperation as deep seated as mine couldn’t be easily alleviated. (And I called my daughters self absorbed!) That was sad but unavoidable. It would be explained in the letter with her name on it and the biggest check.

I let the phone ring several times, and several times more. No answer. What luck. The day I decided to die and my mom couldn’t be home to talk to me. That spoiled my frame of mind. How could she be so inconsiderate as to be absent from home when I needed one last conversation.
Well. So much for that. I leaned back in my lazy boy and poured me a good stiff drink then reached for my antidepressants. Alcohol and drugs. A bad combo. I had a couple of months supply on hand. A little booze, a hand full of pills. It would be over shortly. I would be found lying comfortably, stiff as a concrete statue. Dressed up. Make up on. Apartment spotless. Mostly because I’d given so much away. Easy for my survivors to clean up.

"Well, here’s to you God." I lifted my glass in a toast. "If you have a better plan for me, speak up now or forever hold your peace!"

Ring. Ring. Ring. Oh, great. I leaned over to view the caller ID and nearly choked on my drink. I almost swallowed my tongue. I didn’t need the pills now. Just the booze. The caller ID identified the caller as "Jesus Christ the Redeemer!" I felt a massive heart attack coming on. I tentatively picked up the receiver.

"Hello." I answered, shakily, awkwardly. How does one greet Jesus on the phone. I’m sure he’s aware I have caller ID.

"You called?" A deep voice questioned. "This is Jesus Christ the rede-"

"Oh, Jesus!" I exclaimed, talk about getting answers!

"My name is Jessie Chr-"

I cut the lord off as I started spilling my guts. There wasn’t a moment to waste. I did all the talking. Crying. Opening up. Divulging things I’d only thought. Apologizing for being redundant, as I’m sure he’d heard it all before. I mean, really heard it all before, from me, in my prayers. I was totally awestruck. I didn’t know he made personal calls. What provider did he use, AT&T. South western Bell? Verizon? Who set lines up to heaven. Satellites? Who billed the Lord of the universe? What did he use for currency?

Jesus listened without interrupting as I poured out my heart. He was very familiar with a bleeding heart. He could fully identify with me. He let me empty my emotions at his feet….er….ear. It was so cathartic. Just to have someone listen, not hang up, not offer ridiculous clichés.

"Where did you get the pills from?" The lord asked, eventually, as I wound down my narrative with my expectations to see him soon. I was exhausted, spiritually depleted.

Surprised he didn’t already know, I told of my visit to the doctor who diagnosed my depression and provided the prescription. I was too humiliated to use them, how could I be a good Christian and use meds to elevate my mood? He had blabbered some nonsense about neural chemicals, serotonin depletion, that had gone over my head. It filled me with disgrace to rely on medicines while I worshiped God. Praising God should be medicinal enough! It didn’t however shame me to decide my life wasn’t worth living. To take matters in to my own hands. Incongruous thinking. There is no reasoning with mental illness, feelings of absolute failure, lack of control.

"Nonsense," the voice at the other end of the universe stated. "Just as insulin and thyroid hormones decline in later years so can brain chemicals. It is no dishonor to God to replace natural chemicals with appropriate medications. After all, he created you, and the scientists who heal. By your reasoning every diabetic is a worthless sinner and failure." That was a heavy thought. I did know some that statement was true of, however.

After a long conversation with the voice from the third dimension, where I actually granted him time to talk, I finally agreed to try the medicine as it was prescribed. To give it a chance. What could it hurt? I promised to return to church. To renew my relationship with God. To accept his love and forgiveness, To let him decide when to call me home. In my overwhelming misery I had closed myself off from the world and those who could be useful to me; my spiritual brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.
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After saying my goodbyes I collapsed back in my chair in absolute shock.

Meanwhile, Jessie Chrysalis, the pastor of Jesus Christ the Redeemer Baptist Church hung up his phone equally bowled over. He had just been about to close his office for the night when the phone had rung, incessantly. He almost didn’t return the call because of the lateness of the hour but something had nudged him on….

And my mother? She’d been home the whole night, I had misdialed her number. But I would never know that. And I would never tell anyone about my conversation with Jesus himself, but you’re invited to have your own. He’s accessible to us all.

Now that my plans had changed drastically from short term to long term I had a few things to deal with. First, I had to tear up the letters and checks, before they fell into the wrong hands.( If I was going to live, I needed money.) Second, looking about my nearly bare apartment I wondered what I'd do with so few possessions. I guess now that I'm so unencumbered I can finally join the mission field!

Proverbs 11:14
Psalm 31:2
Psalm 34:18
Isaiah 61:1
Jonah 2:2
Math 5:4
Rom. 8:38
2 Cor. 1:3-5

Depression:
Signs of clinical depression include:
Feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, and/or worthlessness
Insomnia or excessive sleeping
Significant appetite loss or gain
Decreased interest or pleasure in previously enjoyable activities
Themes of death in artwork, poetry and/or conversation
Previous Attempts:
4 out of 5 who actually commit suicide have tried to do so at least once previously.
Significant Loss:
Any real or perceived loss such as a relationship breakup, loss of status/prestige, death, or physical impairment.
Alcohol or Other Drug Abuse:
If a person cannot say "No" to a drug or control the amount used, there is a substance abuse problem.
Suicide Plan:
The more specific the plan, the more serious the intent.
Giving Possessions Away.
Talking About Suicide: This may be stated directly--"I'm going to kill myself." Or indirectly-- "You would be better off without me," or, "Soon you won't have to worry about me anymore."