The Season of Easter

Easter.  Not much is said about it. It’s kind of one of those holidays that come and go and people don’t pay too much mind. Get an extra day off hang out with family that’s about it. It pales in comparison to Christmas but it’s just as important. 

I haven’t written in a while. It’s been hard. But a lot has happened. I went to a new psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Along with depression. And anxiety. And self harm. A nice grocery list of things. Things were hard. I was suicidal with plan and intent for at least a month. At the end of February I attempted for the third time. And came closer to dying then I ever had before. At the beginning of April, I was so suicidal EMS was called on me and I was sent to the hospital, a much better experience I can say then last time over the summer. The hospital recommended an IOP, an intensive outpatient program, for DBT, dialectical behavioral therapy. It’s the only therapy that suppose to help people with BPD and it helps regulate emotions. I’ve been going for two weeks now and this is the longest stretch I’ve been at where I haven’t been depressed and suicidal. I almost believe maybe this is a new start. Maybe I won’t die. Maybe I’ll make it out alive and be happy and have a life. That I can look around the bend of the track instead of where my feet are landing. 

Why am I telling you this? Because you, my friend, have been there since the start of this blog, when I started documenting my journey. And finally after so long maybe there’s some hope. I pray that there is. 

It’s hard. It isn’t easy.  But it’s bearable. And it’s a start. 

So what happens if I walk out alive? I won’t forget. I won’t forget what it’s like to want to die. Because on my wrist holds the scars that hold the proof that I could make it. That I was stronger then the pain, looked it in the eye, and beat it. 

There’s another man who did it too. He bore the scars so we didn’t have to. He died so suicide wouldn’t be meaningless. He wept so our tears would be wiped away one day. He prayed so our prayers could be heard. And he rose so we could defeat depression and anxiety too. You see, Jesus was human too. He knew. On the cross and in the night before in the garden, he must have felt depressed knowing what was coming. Imagine knowing your whole life the horrible death you had to die, knowing that was your whole purpose in life. But somehow Jesus handled that anxiety and not only did he go through it he conquered it. 

That’s what Easter means to me. And I hope that it holds something special for you too too. 

He is risen. 

He is risen indeed.