The Life That Almost Wasn’t
“21-year-old female found unresponsive in the back of a vehicle after coming home from work and complaining of abdominal pain. Decision to intubate was made.”
At least, that’s what the hospital report says. I came home from work that day just like any other day. But the decisions I made later that night completely changed my life for the worse. That was the night I jumped off the diving board from casually smoking weed and using pharmaceutical drugs with friends and co-workers into a cesspool of full-blown opiate addiction.
The depression had been quietly sinking in more and more by the day at that time. I was stuck in an endless loop of the hustle of life, trying to pay bills and maintain a happy appearance for my loved ones. The facade could only last so long before the only way I knew to try and mask the pain was to get high on whatever I could find. The deeper the pain grew, the higher I tried to get. The higher I got, the higher I needed to go. The next level at that point was prescription opiates. That’s what almost killed me first.
One moment, I was sniffing up a white powder. The next, I woke up in a full panic, surrounded by nurses with a breathing tube down my throat. My mom was there. After verifying brain activity, they sedated me again. The next time I woke up, I was in a room and had to be strapped down.
My mom was there. My secret life was not so secret anymore. I felt so much shame. I remember feeling like the biggest failure and disappointment. My pride caused me to tuck my tail and run even further.
One would think that after almost dying, I would have thought a little more before deciding not only to continue using to numb my emotions, but to take it to another level. The drugs only got stronger and more frequent, and it wasn’t long before I was introduced to heroin.
“You only need a little bit of this.”
“It’s way more cost effective.”
“I’ll never use a needle.”
“I will ration it out like medicine.”
These were just a few of the many foolish lies I told myself to justify branching out further and further. Less than one month later, I stuck the first needle in my arm. My dosage had already quadrupled from the first taste. Less than a year later, it had quadrupled again. The amount of poison I was putting into my body every day could’ve killed a horse.
That was nothing compared to the darkness that had overcome my soul, though. While I was never a thief, or a liar, or a cheater, I still hated myself for who I had let myself become. I felt pathetic and pitiful. After growing up a star student in school, highly involved in the church, having a wholesome family who raised me with high morals and Biblical values, how had I become so depraved?
The shame that started small only grew more and more. I lost count of how many times I tried to take my own life through various methods, and was divinely blocked every time. I know that was the case after one of the last attempts. I don’t remember much of this time in my life, but I vividly remember trying to overdose on purpose and it just… didn’t work. It was as if I had taken something with literally zero effect. I remember being full of so much anger at God, verbally asking why He wouldn’t just let me die already and end my misery. I felt so stuck and so unworthy.
The inspiration for sharing these thoughts was sparked a few days ago while I was helping my parents move. I found a few old notebooks from this stormy season in my life, along with the medical records I opened with. In the notebooks, I found two things. One was a journal entry I had written after a voluntary commitment at a mental institution. That was an interesting thing to analyze in itself. But the other item was the beginning of a “permanent goodbye” letter I had started writing to my dad. That one was really dark, and ultimately what led to my reflection on these experiences.
Today, I think of the story of the prodigal son. I am so thankful for that parable, as it really resonates with my testimony. I can relate to the pride and shame that the son felt, deciding to live with the pigs in slop rather than going back home. I could have saved myself from a lot of pain had I just swallowed my pride and said, “Hey, Mom and Dad, I need help.” But I didn’t. I stayed with the pigs. I feared rejection. I feared facing them and admitting that I had fallen down. The reality was, I could have gone home at any time and they would have been overjoyed, just as the prodigal’s father was. I know that because that is what happened. When I finally went home to them, their prayers were answered. They prayed for me, and prayed for me, and prayed for me, until one day it happened.
I was not only forgiven and accepted by them, but by my Heavenly Father as well. I fell at the feet of our King, completely empty of myself and poured out. Any amount of pride had been destroyed by the exposing and acknowledgment of my sins. I was prepared to die physically, and had even prayed for it. The way that prayer ended up being answered was through my spiritual death and dying to my flesh. I had no idea what I had asked for. After receiving the grace of our Messiah, I knew that I owed Him everything I had left and anything else I would ever be given. I was sold out for Him at that moment. I grew up thinking I was, but it was surface level and tainted by the hypocrisy the church was ridden with. No, this time I was serious.
I prayed again and said, “Father, use me as Your vessel. Mold me and shape me into whatever vessel You desire. I will do anything for You, for without You I am nothing. Here I am, send me. Show me Your truth.”
The overdose incident was exactly eight years and a few days ago. Now as I lay in my 2-year-old son’s bed, watching him drift off to sleep, I am overcome. This time, not by depression, but by peace that surpasses all understanding. Despite all of the trials and testings that have come my way in the last eight years, the sheer joy and gratitude that I have for this life YHWH has given me, a life that almost wasn’t, is indescribable. I thought I would die a sad, sickly, barren, shame-ridden woman. Instead, He has blessed me with a son doctors said I’d never be able to have, a real family, both physically and spiritually, a home, and so much more I could never list. Most importantly though, the depression and anxiety are gone. The shame and heartbreak are gone. I live as a free, hopeful woman through the blood of Christ and by attempting to walk as He walked. I am loved, forgiven, and I love life.
Is it always easy? Of course not. Is it worth it? Absolutely. His grace and mercy are attainable for anyone who is willing to lay down their life and follow Him. If you are reading this and have never made that decision, and would like to talk more, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. If you are reading this and have a child or loved one stuck in addiction, or any other of Satan’s traps, take courage. Don’t stop praying for them, every single day. Anything can happen. I am living proof of that.
May YHWH bless you and keep you,
May YHWH make His face shine upon you and be gracious unto you,
May YHWH lift His countenance upon you and give you shalom.
“For this reason I say to you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but the one who is forgiven little, loves little.”
-Luke 7:47 NASB
Luke 15:11-32
“Thy righteousness is an everlasting righteousness, and thy law is the truth.”
-Psalm 119:142 KJV
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