A Prayer Letter to a Teen in Pain

Second in a series

The letter below was written to a suicidal teen who's been going through a tough time after a breakup. The name has been changed to protect his identity.

Dear Kyle,

You probably don’t remember me, but I’ve been on the outer circle of your life from the beginning. (I visited you the day you were born, attended your bris, watched a few college football games with you and your mom and dad when you were a toddler, and have kept up with your soccer feats through your mom’s Facebook posts.)

I know you’ve been struggling. I’m sending you massive healing chi and prayers, but sometimes the best prayer is the one in which people share something hard that they’ve gone through in the past in hopes that it might comfort someone else today. You’re my “someone else.” So here goes:

When I was your age, books and academics were my friends. Socially, I was pimple-faced and awkward, scared to become vulnerable enough to have a relationship with anyone. I stayed single for the first half of my life because I was so afraid to open my heart and get it crushed. I was 22 when I had my first relationship. It lasted three months, and after it ended, I plummeted into a deep depression. I slowly regained my footing, but it took seven years for me to gather enough courage to have another relationship. That one lasted a whopping eight months, and it was after that breakup that I hit an emotional and spiritual bottom. (This turned out to be a good thing.)

I was depressed. I cried constantly. I felt like throwing up and fainting several times a day. The grief was overwhelming—almost too much to bear. I lost my job because I couldn’t function. I was sleeping on a friend’s couch because I didn’t have a place to live anymore now that I moved out of my girlfriend’s house. (She wanted to still be friends. But I was in too much pain. I couldn’t be around her.)

One day I was sitting on the edge of my friend’s couch, and I was crying so hard that snot was dribbling down my blouse. I didn’t care. I thought I was going crazy, telling her, “I think I need to go to a hospital.” Before she could respond, the phone rang. And I sat on the couch and cried some more. Then I had a moment of clarity, and I prayed.
 

“God, if I’m going to go crazy, let’s get it over with, because I can’t do this anymore.”
 

You see, I was afraid that if I felt the depth of my pain, that if I LET GO, that I would either go crazy or die, or go crazy and then die because of all the strain crying put on my heart. In the moment, either one was better than keeping the pain inside me. I had finally reached the point of letting go. I was willing to cry myself into insanity, and you know what? I didn’t go crazy. I didn’t die.

My friend interrupted my tears: “It’s for you,” she said, handing me the phone. “Some doctor."

I picked up the telephone and discovered that in a grief haze, I had called a counselor the day before for an appointment.

“It sounds like you’re having a rough time today,” the counselor said. “How’s 3:30?”

I don’t remember calling the counselor, but spiritually, her call for me that day was perfectly timed. I went to that appointment, even though I couldn’t afford to pay, and she allowed me to continue therapy for a few more sessions until I could get on antidepressants that worked for me and get back on my feet. I don’t remember her name, and I don’t even know if she was real. It doesn’t matter. She’ll always be an angel to me.

That was the absolute lowest point of my life, and Life waited until I was in my early 30s to hand me this lesson and this amount of pain to overcome. You’re just 16. So I can only imagine how hard and scary and overwhelming all the pain is for you right now.

Here’s what changed: I had loving people in my life who helped me see my value. Hilda C. was one of them. She challenged me to take myself out to restaurants and NOT bring a book—to just sit there with ME. To practice having a relationship with ME. I gotta admit: This was incredibly uncomfortable. But she helped me see that at the core, there were some things that I didn’t like about myself. Once those realizations surfaced, she helped me work through those things—to find peace with the things I didn’t like by working little by little to change those things. More over, she helped me recognize the things that I LOVE about myself. And today, after many years of practice, I LOVE me in a lot of ways. I even cherish my alone time. I’ve gone to movies, lunches, concerts, and even vacations alone. I decided that I was worthy of love, and that I wasn’t going to wait around for a partner to start living my life and having adventures.

I spent three more years alone, and in that time, I focused on getting my chemistry stabilized. (I still take antidepressants because depression runs in my family; it’s hereditary and it’s not my fault.) I focused my energy on doing things that I loved: martial arts, writing, reading, and service work. I practiced vulnerability with friends who were much safer and less scary than a romantic love interest.

Today I’m happily married to a woman named Marianna. She’s been my partner for almost 20 years. I couldn’t even put together 20 months in a relationship before her. And today I can say that I’m so incredibly grateful that THOSE OTHER RELATIONSHIPS DIDN’T WORK OUT. I had no idea what was waiting for me. When I was in my grief, I felt so lonely and alone. I didn’t think anyone would understand my pain, so I didn’t talk about it. All I could see was what I wanted and couldn’t have, and I didn’t think anyone else would want me.

I was so wrong.

The Universe has a wicked sense of humor. All those failures in relationships weren’t failures at all. They were lessons I needed to learn that would make it possible for me to be with someone like Mare, who was working on her issues, too.

 

Thank goodness for Hilda and my current mentor, Catheran. They taught me how to build higher self-esteem. They taught me that I was a wonderful person all by myself. They taught me how to love myself and treasure my gifts. They taught me that life can be good with or without a girlfriend or boyfriend.

This is such a hard time for you. I feel your pain. Truly I do. I also know that if I would have hung on to my pain, it would have killed me. I had to let go—as scary as it was to do. I had to believe that there was something better out there for me—something worth living and fighting for: ME.

If you can, Kyle, I urge you to let go, but don’t give up. These are two very different things. Letting go is harder than giving up. Giving up is so final. Letting go takes courage, but is so freeing.

So that’s my story. I hope you get something out of it. And if you’d like to meet for ice cream sometime and talk more, I’ll buy. Please don’t give up hope. Better, happier days are closer to you than you think.

With love and respect,

Cathy