When I was alone I asked God why he abandoned me? All I could see was hatred in the world. I didn’t want to be a part of the ugly human race anymore. “God,” I would yell, “you don’t love me anymore!” “Why do you hate me?” Crying uncontrollably, I overdosed on Zoloft. As I was fading, in a soft voice, I looked up and said, “God, you don’t want me here so I am leaving.” This was in November 2002. I passed out for a while but to my surprise I was still alive.
My son and I had our own matresses on the floor. We shared a bedroom. I was watching him sleep beside me. I prayed for his dad to come take him so he could have a great house to live in. I had lost all my possessions and could barely supply food. I considered myself a failure. While my son slept my head began to hurt. The pain behind my left ear felt like a knife was going through it. My neck felt like it was on fire. I could not move. I was paralyzed. My eyes moved, that is it. I was laying on my left side in the fetal position. The feeling of large clamps holding my body down made me feel heavy. My brain felt as though someone was performing surgery. My eyes were open and I watched Mason sleep. I was not able to think nor could I analyze this situation. It felt as though I was not connected to my body. My body and my mind were completely separated. I wasn’t up above my body but I knew what my body looked like laying there. More like I was beside it. My eyes never closed.
The sun came up and my son awoke. I still could not move. My son checked on me crying and yelling for me to get up. I whispered to let him know it’s ok. My response was standard, similar to when people say “How are you?” and people respond “fine” — just responding but not thinking of it. My son, nine years old, would come check on me back and forth from the living room. He even tried to get me to drink water with a straw. I couldn’t move my head or drink. My son said he was scared to touch me because my skin was pure white.
I stayed separated from my body, I could see everything though. I just couldn’t comprehend what was going on. I could see the window and another night pass. I began to smell. My son said I peed myself. I didn’t feel it. My son began yelling and crying very loud! He yelled over and over “Get up!” While still in the same position, I felt a pain in my chest. Excruciating! Like I was stabbed with a knife three to four times. I still couldn’t move, but I could feel all my organs. An overwhelming pain would be in an organ, then suddenly it stopped, just like it shut off. The same thing happened to the next organ, then the next. All that was left was my heart beating slower and slower until I could barely feel it.
This was it! I am about to die. In my head I said, “I want to live.” Then I whispered, “I want to live.” Then as loud as I could, “I want to live!” In front of my eyes was a pale vision. A being that looked like Jesus and next to him a being that looked exactly the same. When I looked at one being the other faded and when I looked at the other the first one faded. On the end was a cloud type being. Suddenly, I took a huge gasping breath. I breathed in some of the cloud. My heart was beating! Out loud I just kept repeating over and over, “I want to live!”
My son said what is going on? I told him to push me, get me flat on my back. Staring at the top of my foot, I said over and over inside my head, “move, move!” A long time passed before I could barely move my toes. I whispered to my son to go into the livingroom and I promise I will come out. I told God how sorry I was for trying to commit suicide. I thanked him for this chance and promised I would not screw it up.
God’s grace gave me this opportunity because I should have gone to hell. There was no light for me. While I was dying, I felt hell. It was a void for me. A horrible void. An undescribable lonely, ugly, horrible feeling. For me, it was like I had one leg in hell and one leg in heaven. My hopelessness brought me a taste of hell, but Jesus saved me at the last moment. I told God that he was in control and greater than evil. I was no longer afraid of evil and I told him I would stay on this earth and be a good mother.
Through pure grace, God enabled me to crawl to the livingroom. We did not have a phone so my son went next door and called 911. I was in the ER for three days. Because it was a suicide attempt, they moved me to a mental hospital. I didn’t care because I was alive. My life has been changed so much. My son’s life too. Oh I am so grateful for everything, every minute. You can ask me anything. I would love to share my story to help in research or anyone for that matter. I am proud of it. It is the worst and the best experience I ever had. Thank all of you for doing this research.
Last Updated ( Thursday, 21 December 2006 05:46 )