"Taking the Easy Way"

I look forward to growing older, so that people I know can start dying of “natural” causes rather than suicide.

This isn’t a criticism of suicide. Far from it.

For years I was one of those people who said things critical of suicide—probably because I had never known someone who wrestled with it and never lost someone to its snarl.

That previous sentence must be amended. I was not saying things critical of suicide—I was saying things critical of the suicidal—as though that somehow helps anyone.

“Suicide is the most selfish thing you can do.” “Suicide is the cowardly, 'easy' way out.” “Suicide hurts those you leave behind way more than any pain you’re feeling.”

We’ll come back to this point, but first:

Have you ever thought you could fight someone, like a bully, and then—in the middle of the fight you thought you were ready for—realized that the bully was way bigger and stronger than you imagined? I have. It was the 5^th grade (or 4^th or 6^th. I don’t know, I was homeschooled).

He was big and lived on a farm and felt violence was the answer to everything. I was scrawny, lived on a farm, and felt that non-confrontation was my only option for survival. But at the behest of friends urging me to stand up for myself, and with the false assurance that living on a farm meant we were physically equals, one day I stood up for myself.

After I picked myself off the ground, my crush told me it looked like I blacked out in the middle of the fight. That’s what every wimpy pre-teen wants to hear from their crush.

The bully was still king of the church gymnasium (did I mention I was at church?), and I was bruised with a new sense of humility and pre-teen angst.

More recently, I battled a different bully. This one was probably raised on a farm too, but his name was Depression and Anxiety. I won’t go into the nitty gritty of it all, but in the midst of that multi-year battle, my perspective on suicide changed. No longer was I standing on the sidelines arm-chair refereeing a fight—I was in the ring, grappling with the thoughts and feelings I had so easily dismissed in previous years.

No longer was suicide a selfish act—it was the only way to save loved-ones pain. No longer was it the cowardly way out—it was the only way to be free from such mental pain as I had never known.

Like fighting the grade-school bully, depression and anxiety turned out to be way stronger than I realized. I wasn’t battling something I could outwit or match with my own strength—I was fighting a battle I was clearly losing, and I couldn’t find a way to win without tapping out of the fight.

Thankfully, I got help.

And the help I got was NOT the help that says things like “you don’t want to take the cowards way out, you need to fight!” (Yes, I did hear that. I also had people tell me I needed to confess secret sins, pray more, change my diet, and “just try to be happy.”) But I also had people who recognized what I was going through and forced me to take steps to get real, solid help.

Honestly, I got help before I was truly suicidal. I had thought about it, but I wasn’t committed to it.

Looking back, I realize I’m lucky. Many wonderful, smart people don’t realize that help is easier to get than ever.

That’s because in our communities in general—but especially in many Christian circles—depression and anxiety are often dismissed or given a stigma. Getting help is a sign of weakness, and admitting a problem somehow signals defeat.

This must change.

We must stop treating mental health as a made-up issue, and start openly discussing ways to get help. The Church must step up to the fore-front of the fight against suicide and mental health issues instead of acting as though depression (or other mental issues) somehow signals the presence of a second-rate Christian.

Too many people we know and love are fighting a bully they cannot beat, and don’t know that help is there for them.