Suicidal Thoughts (and Robin Williams' "Choice")

Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember Him and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be-- or so it feels-- welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and the sound of bolting and double-bolting on the other side. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?
                 - C.S. Lewis. A Grief Observed.

How does one even begin to describe the process of grief? Especially as a professed Christian? How do we communicate the desolation of the spirit in times of our hardest trials?

For nearly two years now, ever since the death of my parents, I have been in a process of grief. At first it was the deep grieving of losing the two people in my life who had always believed in me and encouraged me more than anyone else. They had been the one constant in my life throughout all the chapters of my life, and I know that without them as an anchor I would not be where I was now. The grieving started the moment they passed and has not yet fully passed. It still comes in waves, although the waves are further apart now.

Then just a few weeks ago I entered into another season of grieving, although a much different one, one much harder to describe. I lost a dream, a belief, an expectation. Over two years ago we decided to give up everything we knew in pursuit of a dream. My dream. We left home, we left community, we left financial stability, and we pursued something bigger. We got tired of playing it safe so we threw all our chips in. And after two years we reached the point where everything told us the payout was coming, until it didn't. And we lost.

Those who have never given up everything in pursuit of a dream will never understand. But when I received the phone call that essentially crushed the house I had been building something snapped within. My dream, my expectation of good things to come from my sacrifice, my faith that God would reward what I gave had been one pillar that had held me up after the loss of my parents. My wife and children had been another pillar. When that first pillar shattered the balance was tipped, and I came tumbling down. My family were no longer a pillar holding me up, but the life-boat which kept me from drowning.

It wasn't until the moment that my hopes for the past few years had been dashed that I finally felt like I had lost everything. I say felt, because it did feel that way, even if it wasn't true. Suddenly the loss of my parents took on much more weight as well. Suddenly it became impossible to see providence in my life. Suddenly I was left scrambling to find something to care enough about to keep pushing forward. The weight of my trials, starting two years before, had finally broken my spirit.

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. - Romans 12:15

When the apostle Paul wrote these words, I wonder if he knew, even then, how hard they would be to obey. The rejoicing part is easier, but anyone who says they never have a problem rejoicing with someone who receives a victory while we are still in the battle is lying. It is a very difficult thing to do. But as hard as that is I believe it is even harder to come back down into the battle from a place of victory. Mourning with those who mourn is difficult, for there is no party to get caught up into.

In the past couple years I have discovered that the majority of Christians may be the worst at this. While we have been extremely blessed by many believers, I have also found that there are few willing to get into the muck with me when I need them there. Christians are excellent at sending gifts or providing distraction, things which are very helpful to the grief-stricken. But sometimes you just need someone to cry with, someone who says "I know exactly how you feel" and then stop there. Because encouragement is wasted on the mourner. We don't need to hear how God has a plan in all of this. We don't want to hear that it's all going to be ok. We need to know someone understands and won't let us be alone in it.

Yesterday morning I picked up A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. It is the recording of his thoughts after losing his wife. As I read I began to weep. For the first time since the loss of my parents I was interacting with words of honesty, words of deep grieving that were exactly what I had been feeling. I finally found someone who understood. A part of my soul that had been neglected was finally being touched. Sadly it took a book to get there.

Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand. - Lewis, Grief pg. 25

'Because she is in God's hands.' But if so, she was in God's hands all the time, and I have seen what they did to her here. Do they suddenly become gentler to us the moment we are out of the body? And if so, why? If God's goodness is inconsistent with hurting us, then either God is not good or there is no God: for in the only life we know He hurts us beyond our worst fears and beyond all we can imagine. If it is consistent with hurting us, then He may hurt us after death as unendurably as before it.
Sometimes it is hard not to say, 'God forgive God.' Sometimes it is hard to say so much. - pg. 27

I would be lying if I said I had been the 'good Christian' during these times. I have struggled, and fought with God. I have felt alone and neglected by Him. I have, at times, wanted to die. If it hadn't been for the goodness in me which cares about my wife and children more than myself, I may have very well found a way. I do not know. I do know that we, as Christians, have far too long neglected mourning with those who mourn. We have expected the rationality of words of faith to keep them afloat and lead them to joy. Words that, through the view of the griever, are empty.

It is in the darkness of the soul one needs to simply not be left alone.

I think recently of the death of Robin Williams. Williams committed suicide for reasons that are not completely clear. Many openly grieved the loss of one of their beloved entertainers. Others derided those grieving for not caring more about the plight of others suffering at the hands of others. Popular blogger Matt Walsh wrote a blog saying "Williams made a choice."

But did he really? What choice is it when life has become so painful one simply cannot face it? Despite his money and fame, something inside Williams was broken. Something inside him considered himself a failure. Who are we to judge that? To judge him you have either a) never experienced such pain or b) overcome and forgotten.

I can speak from personal experience that suicide is only a "choice" in the most horrifying sense of the word. While suicide is, in a general sense, a selfish act, I don't believe that most suicidal thoughts are in the minds of selfish people. Suicidal thoughts go beyond logic, they come from places of intense pain. Do we judge the prisoner of war who finally gives the enemy secrets after suffering much torture? Of course not. Then why would we judge someone under the most mental anguish who isn't thinking clearly? No one wants to die unless the prospect of facing life is too painful.

I had my first suicidal thoughts as a teenager. I last had them just weeks ago. I felt utterly alone in the world for reasons I will not explain here. All that matters is that I was at a place I wanted to die. I was in so much mental and emotional pain that simply being hurt. Life seemed too much, and I too little to deal with it. Was I rational? Absolutely not. It's not rational to want to die when you have your health, you are not poor, you have a good family and friends. But when you don't believe anyone cares or understands what can you really find to live for? Sometimes knowing that you have no right to think such terrible thoughts makes you want to die even MORE.

I sympathize with Robin Williams because I have something he didn't have. I met Jesus at a young age, and that relationship has literally kept me alive. Without Him I don't believe I ever would have found strength to go on in my weakest times. I believe it's because of God that I have chosen life. He is the one who continually shows me why I need to keep going. He is the one that as a teen would not let me go too far in my thoughts without reminding me of future possibilities. He is the one that recently would not let me forget that I have a wife and kids who would suffer greatly without me. Even at my worst, I am valuable to THEM. I believe it is Jesus who speaks to me when I am at my weakest, and gives me strength to go on.

I don't know why I have this struggle other than I have a lot of pain in my life. These are thoughts that have attacked me since I was a young teen. Sometimes I have victory over them for years, sometimes only for days. It is a fight I live with and have to continually stay on guard against. It is a fight I would lose if I didn't have Christ in my life, and I would have lost a long time ago.

So when I hear that Robin Williams had "a choice," I am appalled at the ignorance of those words. If it were that simple, it wouldn't be an epidemic among men aged 15-44. Robin Williams was a victim, a victim of spiritual and mental darkness that only has one answer: Jesus. Anyone who judges him needs to get off their high horse and shut up.

It appalled me to see the backlash against those who grieved Williams. Is not one life worthwhile? Grief defies all logic. Grief attacks our emotions and stifles the mind. To judge an adult grieving is no different than judging a child who grieves. Our emotions remain the same. How did mourning Williams change what was happening to the Iraqis? To think we must choose one or the other is foolishness.

And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn't seem worth starting anything. I can't settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness. pg. 33

I wish I could contact Lewis and express my gratitude for his honesty. To let him know the exquisite feeling of knowing I am not the only one who loves Jesus and yet still has struggled through my trials. To express to him the joy in finding the permission to just hurt sometimes. To share with him how refreshing it was to not have him say 'it will be ok', but rather just to show me.

When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of 'No answer.' It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though he shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, 'Peace, child; you don't understand.'
Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask -- half our great theological and metaphysical problems -- are like that. 
To see, in some measure, like God. His love and His knowledge are not distinct from one another, nor from Him. We could almost say He sees because He loves, and therefore loves although He sees.

I once had a great man tell me, 'God would rather you yell at Him than turn away.' I see now the wisdom in that. As hard as my journey has been of late, there is hope. Dreams died will give rise to new dreams. My experience will help me to help others. My battles with God, and His willingness to love me through them, have only bonded me closer to Him.

Suicide and grief go hand in hand. The suicidal is always grieving something. Some grieve without going there, but others cannot avoid it without help. We need to listen to the words of Jesus and stop looking down upon those who can't pick themselves up, no matter what their resources are. We need to come alongside them and love them and meet them where they are at. Lectures are empty talk. Sometimes so is encouragement.

I believe that Robin Williams killed himself because he believed he had failed in his purpose of life, which by all accounts was simply to bring others joy. If Williams had had the one person to meet him where he was at he would probably still be here. One person to constantly show he was appreciated or understood. And if you think otherwise you just don't know. I know because a man dead 50 years was brave enough to bear his soul for us all to see, and the tear stains on the pages are my memory stone of that. Suicide is rarely the person's "choice", it's the choice of all of us who don't reach out to love them.