You Suck for Dying
“To those that struggle with DEPRESSION know that you are loved more than your mind will let you know. You are not a burden, you are a treasure. Know that, when you can’t see yourself that way, everyone else does. Be willing to let your depression be wrong JUST ONCE and accept the love that will keep you alive.”
This was a piece of a beautiful and honest Facebook post written by a twenty-something named Austi who lost her father as a result of an addiction. By the time I was done reading her heart, I had a deep conviction it couldn’t be left in the parameters of a daily post. She had a voice that needed to be heard. And so, I asked her to guest blog.
She is the voice of the person who is not “in the battle,” but is beaten up nonetheless. The person that has chosen to stay by the ones in the throes of addiction, medical conditions, depression and anxiety. These people are tired, worn and often verbally abused. They are being begged to ease the other’s pain, but are not equipped. I mean, who is?
Days after I asked Austi to write from her position, God orchestrated the most beautiful time of vulnerability. I sat gobsmacked, as I attended a Bible study, when the off-topic conversation turned to suicide. Four people in this small class had recently experienced people they loved and cared for beg them to help them die. Frustration and tears filled the room.
No matter which side of the “battle” you are on, HEAR what is being said.
You are not alone.
And as an extra testament of that, I offer you a letter Austi wrote to her dad after his death, as well as a Q&A piece I asked her to write to people in a position similar to hers (which, honestly, we all find ourselves in at some point if we love others).
Dear depressed, drunk, and dead Dad,
You suck, but not for the reasons you think.
There’s a lot of things that I want to apologize for, so I guess I’ll start with that. I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring myself to hold your hand; I was afraid of how cold you would be. I’m sorry that I let you die all alone, even though that’s what you asked me to do. I’m sorry that I moved you across the floor with my foot (read: kicked you) the last time I saw you alive; today I wish that I had laid down in bed with you and stroked your hair, even if it had only been just to see how the stitches were healing. I’m also sorry that I told every medical professional in the ER that day that you had a drinking problem; I wanted them to know that your blood would be thin and maybe it was my way of asking for the help that you couldn’t ask for.
Now here’s the list of things that I’m not sorry for: I’m not sorry for making you eat while you were detoxing, even though you spit the food at me. I’m not sorry for calling 911 and blackmailing you into going to the ER (I still take pride in being “a (not nice woman) like my mother” that day). I’m not sorry for dragging you to therapy, or forcing you into that last rehab center, and I’m really really not sorry for stealing the last bit of cash that you had access too. Again, I’m smugly proud of myself for all these things that you hated me for.
Dad, I want to be honest with you, I did these things (the second list) because I love you and I wanted you back. The first list, that was anger and it wasn’t Christ-like, I’ll be sorry for that. You never got mad at me for those things though. You only got mad when I fought against you choosing to be an addict over a human. Your addictions changed; depression, anxiety, and overeating all eclipsed who I know you were before the drinking ever did. I loved you the same in those times as I did at the end. I still love you, but it’s different now.
I listen to a man, your friend, tell his wife that she and the kids would be better without him. He says that mom and I got off easy since you died and that his family wants the same thing. It breaks my heart. I know that it’s not him talking, it’s the anger and the sadness inside of him, but I wonder if he knows that he’s just forcing it all onto his family without lightening his dose of it a single bit. I wonder what you would tell him, from your heavenly perspective now. You never were one to mince words.
I wish I could tell him how wrong he is. I wish he knew that for all the pain-in-the-butt that you were, and you were a huge one, I’d rather have that pain because it was still better than not having hope of your recovery. I was ashamed to be on the rollercoaster, putting my hope in rehab, court, therapists and doctors to wake you up. Now, I would do anything to be back on it sometimes. Because I was on it with you.
Dad, I know that you didn’t try to kill yourself. I know it was an accident; you would never do this on purpose. I’m trying really hard every day to forgive you. I still get mad though. You were supposed to walk me down the aisle. You were supposed to feed my kids junk food behind my back. You were supposed to bring mom her coffee every morning for way longer than you did. You suck for all these reasons, and nothing else.
I know that the monster inside you was tough, but you were my knight in shining armor. Don’t they fight dragons? Why wasn’t this one worth fighting? Was it just too big? Nothing is too big for God; why did you give up on Him too? Or did you? Did you just get so lost in the muck?
I wonder what you would think of me now. I got a job— I did before you died. I wonder if you were lucid enough to hear me tell you. I didn’t take it because of your funeral, they wouldn’t give me that much time off up front. I got another job though. It didn’t work out either. I’m watching your second granddaughter though. You met her once. You were detoxing, but you might remember her; she was born during your second DUI in November, remember that? I bet you would love her just as much as you did her sister. I fed the baby ketchup from the bottle yesterday for your birthday— I know you would have fed it to her long ago.
I guess, I’m not sure what to say. I’m not sure if I’m talking to you now or to who you were ten years ago. If you’re the man I loved, then know that I miss you and I love you and I’m trying to honor you all the time. I sing our song and you’ll always be a part of me, just like Billy Joel promised.
If you’re the monster, then know that you suck. Know that I hate what you did to my dad, and I see what you’re trying to keep doing. You won’t win. Know that I’m trying to forgive you though. You do not get to be a part of me, and I know how to keep you away from me: forgiveness.
Dad, thanks for everything you taught me. I wish you could teach me I’m good from here. I’ll figure something out, just like you already showed me. Just don’t forget, you still suck for dying.
Love,
Your baby girl
Q&A:
How do you deal with the despair of someone you love and not blame yourself?
I fight for God and I trust that God is fighting for those I love.
As humans, we cannot fully meet the needs of other humans. Just like no one person can satisfy you, you need to know and accept that you are never going to be enough to “fix” someone else. Someone with illness, addiction, a romantic partner, a friend… you are never enough.
If you ever point people to yourself, you’re doing it wrong; you need to point through yourself and other believers right to Christ, every single time. Anything else is a disservice to Christ, to yourself, to the other believer you could have edified, and ultimately to the person you’re trying to help.
It has never been my job to get in the middle of a spiritual battle someone else is fighting— it’s my job to bridge that connection to their power source.
How do you not get angry at them?
Short answer: You do. Lol.
Long answer: Anger as an emotion is not inherently sinful; acting on it is. First, praying constantly, asking God what He sees and what He would like to show you about the situation is important. Prayer helps me put myself into his shoes- especially during those tricky conversations. Second, you’re allowed to be selfish. As long as you’re acting in love, do it. Secure your own mask first and remember that Love is equal parts mercy and discipline. When you have to be the adult, sometimes it stinks… in a non-prideful way though, you can make it fun. Treat yo self.
In closing,
If anyone is walking through this now, I don’t know your name, but I’ve been praying for you for months. I love your heart, your strength and your endurance to keep this up. It’s hard work and I’m so honored to be praying for you in this storm. God is good and you are not nearly as alone as you feel; the stigma keeps people in hiding. Battle buddies can’t always find one another, but there is hope and there is life after depression and addiction.
