Sweet Sixteen: Beyond the Curve

One night, when I was sixteen years old, I was driving home from work. I had a part time job at McDonald’s in Somerset, PA. My parents and I lived about twenty-five minutes away in a little coal mining town. From Somerset, there was a decline down one small mountainside and then up the side of another to reach Acosta. Not more than 200 people lived on the mountain at the time. All we had was a post office and little church.  

             

(Trigger Warning: Suicide) I hated my life, I hated it so much. I had already encountered so many painful things already. I didn’t see any point in living another day. As I started to descend the first mountain, I decided I would just not make the sharp turn ahead and hit the trees instead. What happened next, I have only told two other people. I saw the sharp curve ahead and I hit the gas pedal. I lifted my hands from the steering wheel and closed my eyes. This was it. I was finally going to be free from the pain that seemed to envelope my heart. Every single painful beat it took was like a hammer hitting a concrete wall. Sounds a bit melodramatic, right? I was sixteen after all, what do you expect? But the reality was, life had been much harder on me than it had for the average kid my age. The first traumatic event was being molested by a family member at age seven. The lack of care and attention that followed was none existent. I started thinking about killing myself shortly after that. One late night I sneaked into the kitchen and tried rubbing a large butcher knife against my wrist hoping to end the pain. I was just a baby, seven years old, almost eight. After that my best friend, Booptekin, was left behind because he jumped from my arms on moving day. My parents wouldn't wait for my cat to return home, so we left him behind. He was everything to me. Some might say he was a therapy cat. Then I was, potentially, almost kidnapped after being chased by two different men on motorcycles. That was frightening to say the least. Because I decided around age nine talking was no longer relevant, I was transferred to a special needs class. They decided something was wrong with me. Age twelve, I had a terrifying visit at the doctor's office where three nurses and my mother held me down to a table to be examined by a male doctor. At age thirteen I fell in love with the saxophone and made my music teacher so angry by going ahead in the book and teaching myself the songs. I had finally found something I loved. I was excitedly only two weeks away from being in the Gold Band at school when I came home and my saxophone was gone. I was told I didn’t practice enough, but the truth was, they couldn’t afford it anymore. I tried running away after that, but was caught. When we moved to Acosta, it was the weekend of my sweet sixteen. My friends back home never thought to have a party for me and my parents had completely forgotten it was my birthday all together. The last straw though was when I applied for a writing program and was accepted. I was proud of myself for being brave and sending in my story. But the day I received the letter of acceptance my mother told me I wasn’t allowed to do it. In my sixteen year old mind, life was never going to be good. I would never get to keep anything I loved. It was so obvious, I was unloved and unwanted. I had no value and if I had not gained any value in sixteen years, there was no hope for the future. All of these memories and emotions flooded my heart and mind as I waited for the car to make impact with the snow covered trunks of the trees. My entire body tightened, bracing for the impact and praying I would hit hard enough to die instantly. But a few moments passed and nothing happened. My right foot was still on the gas pedal as I opened my eyes and grabbed the steering wheel instinctively. There was nothing but the road ahead of me. I was confused for a moment, not sure exactly where I was. I glanced in the rear-view mirror as I pushed gently on the brakes. Ahead I could see the road plateau at the bottom of the mountain and then the incline of Acosta's mountain ahead of me. To the right was all the little houses nestled in the mountainside with the street lights shining. On the left was the pitch black entrance to the abandoned coal mining company from years past. I was past the curve. Wait, what? I thought. The car came to a crawl as I glanced over my shoulder to take a second look. There was no way the car made that sharp turn on its own. I immediately became angry and started yelling at God. “How could you do this to me!” I yelled. “I don’t want to be here any more!!” I cried. “Why do you even care if I live or die, it’s not like you’re helping me out here!!” I said furiously. I hated Him so much at that moment. I could see my breath in the coldness of the car. I felt empty driving the rest of the way home. I hadn’t expected to be pulling into the driveway or having to get back out into the cold of the night just to face another day in the morning. Tears streamed down my face. I remember sitting there looking at the house wishing desperately I had never made it home. I slowly walked upstairs to my room. I felt even more depressed than before. I hated it here. I hated life. I hated having to take another damn breath. I hated me and I didn’t understand why God wouldn’t let me make my own decision. It was my life, I thought to myself. I curled up in my bed feeling a bit like a slave to this cruel world, and to God. It just wasn’t fair.

Most people find it hard to understand why anyone would want to do such a thing, commit suicide. God installed in each of us a “will to live” seed. But that seed can get pushed further and further down until it's buried so deep we don’t feel it anymore. We all know water is what helps a seed open and flourish. In life, that water is represented and experienced through the love and care of parents, healthy relationships with friends and other family members, a solid foundation at home and school, ability to trust others and feeling protected and important, among other things like love and acceptance. Trauma and hardship only adds more and more dirt, burying the seed further. That night, I felt buried alive. I was dry and dead inside. I had no fight left in me. But a little water could have changed things. Water, which is life giving moments and healthy supports are what build resiliency and begin the processes of unearthing that seed for life. Resiliency is what helps children recover from setbacks, build their confidence, and strengthen their ability to cope when things are out of their control (mybrightwheel.com). I unfortunately did not feel the warmth of love from my parents. I did not feel valued or wanted. Life for me had mostly been an uphill battle and I was climbing that hill all alone. I had every reason to want to die that day and all the other days I dreamed of it. Back then, mental health was not talked about. Depression and suicide was once hidden in the shadows as we blamed the person for being that way. In fact, people who went to a therapist were often shamed through criticism. Asking for help would make you look weak. And since I did not have a healthy or open relationship with my parents, I had no one to talk to about my feelings and desires for death. I had to keep that secret to myself. I had to fight against those thoughts on my own. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to die, I just wanted to have a happy family that loved me and supported the things I loved. I needed that goodness of God we all talk about.

We’ve come a long way in the mental health field. Today we have a way to measure both our trauma and our resiliency. This helps guide professionals in how they can better help those who are suffering and in distress. ACES, which stands for Adverse Childhood Experiences Study, is used to measure an individual’s exposure to adverse events as a child and how it impacts their mental and physical health now and in the future (goodsky.com.au). Not all ACES include the Resilience Test, which I think they should always go hand in hand.  Both tests are on a scale of 0-10. They say anyone who experiences 4 or more on their ACES is at a significantly higher risk for death, including heart disease, stroke, cancer, COPD, diabetes, Alzheimer's, and suicide (acesaware.org). My ACE score is 6 out of 10. It means I am at an even higher risk. Two years ago I was diagnosed with Major Depression and then less than a year later with CPTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). My resiliency score was 3 out of 10. I had high trauma, which was increasing physical and mental symptoms, and low residency to combat it. With no “water” (a.k.a. Life giving moments & healthy supports), how can one grow into a well balanced, healthy adult? Take it from me, you can’t, not alone at least. 

Though my early years were rough, God always brought someone into my life to make it more bearable. He never left me alone. Jesus was there right along with the Holy Spirit and angels as well. I know there are times when we don’t feel their presence or think they are answering our prayers, but they are. It takes getting to the other side and looking back to see it. And sadly, sometimes the people we need to show us love are so broken themselves that they don’t know how to love or care for us. It doesn’t make it right, but we have the opportunity to be the one to turn things around and be that parent or friend we needed as a child. We can still give what they failed to give us because God will provide us with those things. Love comes from God. If someone loves you, it first came to them from God and then is passed on to you. So even if you feel unwanted, unloved, and rejected, God still has all you need and in abundance. He loves you. He wants you. He will never leave you. We can choose to break generational curses of depression, suicide, lying, cheating, stealing, rejecting, addictions, or whatever is in your blood line. There is no reason to believe you are stuck and always will be. That is a lie of the enemy. You can click on the page link found on the homepage to take your ACES and Resiliency Test if you like. Or maybe you know someone who should. Knowing where you stand with trauma and resiliency is the first step in getting help. Please feel free to leave a comment below. Special thanks to Don Cribbs, author of The Packing House, for sharing resources with me.