"hate" and "shame," all because I
believed what others said and felt
about me. After attempting suicide
by overdosing, ended up in intensive
care for several days. When I woke
up I cried out: "Why God? Why
would you let me live when I have
done nothing but walk away from
you my whole life. I don't deserve
to live. Is this my punishment?"
not to walk with Him. With His
help I found my way out of the
despair and depression. It was a
long, hard road, but it led me to
become a therapist so I could help
others struggling with depression.
I felt a deep desire to listen, to know,
and to let the corps know that our
young girls -- and I would venture
to say, our young people --need to
be told how valuable they are to
us, that we love them and respect
them and want the best for them.
Asking someone if they are having
such thoughts will not make that
person act on them. Not all of us
are professional counselors, and
I'm not suggesting that we try to
be therapists with those in our
congregations. But I am suggest-
ing that we can be aware of what
depressive symptoms look like.
Here are a few:
making decisions
who attend church, Sunday school
and youth groups, and that the
church in general needs to ac-
knowledge it and respond with un-
derstanding and practical help.
would guess that I___
and that I would be more than
happy to meet with them about
whatever they wrote. The 14 girls
ranged from 13 to 18 years old.
as these young girls began to realize
they weren't alone and that others
were going through the same things.
I assured them that many teens of-
ten undergo these experiences and
that it is not their fault. I told them
that there were people in the church
that they could trust, including myself,
the corps officer and other adults.
behavior inflicted upon them and
that they were loved, that there was
hope and that others cared about
them. They eagerly agreed to meet
young people in our church were
struggling with abuse; as their
leaders, they didn't have a clue.
the corps came from broken homes
and struggled with poverty, but
those slips of paper reminded me
that we did not comprehend the
depth of suffering around us. One of
the slips read, "No one would guess
that I cut myself." That sparked
some dark memories of my own.
ship for many years where I was
told that I was stupid, worthless,
fat and old. Then I remembered
how at five years old I was told
that I didn't deserve my toys and
to pack a small suitcase of clothes
and to sit on the front steps and
see who wanted me. I stood there
for hours until the door finally
opened and I was told to "Come
back inside. See? No one wants
you!" I began to believe everything
negative that was said to me. During
one of my darkest days, as I looked
down as I walked, I picked up a
jagged piece of glass off the street
and carved the word "worthless"
into my hand. The pain felt good
because I thought I deserved it.
I kept on cutting -- sometimes just