Written by Vileka Fisher
I tried to commit suicide when I was eight years old.
It seems silly now. I tried to suffocate myself not knowing I would pass out and just start breathing again. But I tried.
I was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused for most of my life. My childhood was roughly truncated, and there comes a point when enough is enough. You get tired of it.
In 2007, I spiraled into a deep, dark depression. My family had just moved across several states. The economy crashed. We spent the subsequent winter cold and hungry. It was then I was at the breaking point. I was tired of being called ugly, evil, a witch. I was tired of hashing out the misery of our lives.
I had to question the point of it all. Why? What purpose did it serve? I was living in a pit feeling purposeless, unwanted, alone, and angry. I longed for death. It was peace and sleep and one less mouth to feed. I figured killing myself would make everyone happy.
That’s not a feeling you can shake. Once it’s in your head, there’s only one power in the universe that can drive it out.
That’s when God gave me a horse. A beautiful, rank, neglected, abused horse. She became the reason for me to live, and to make it to June of 2008 when God put a thought in my head.
You see, I grew up in a Christian home, went to private school, and attended church. But Jesus was never real to me. I never saw Him in anyone else.
Suffice to say, I would never have thought this on my own: God, being omniscient and omnipotent, would not have put me on earth for nothing. There is a reason and importance for my existence. I realized that Jesus, being fully God and fully man, knew what I was going through: and to destroy myself would be to destroy His creation. This is the day I realized that I was truly saved.
But putting your faith in Christ isn’t like hitting an easy button. I was still hurting and full of rage. My emotions were untamable—unless I cut. Addiction comes in many guises, and I needed to see blood to calm down. The battle lasted four years, and while the scars remain I know without a doubt what full submission to Christ really means. My frustrations and sorrows are His to bear; and when I try to control them, in that particular way, I am rebelling against His authority and desecrating my body, which is to be presented to Him as a holy and living sacrifice.
Still bitter and angry and hurt, I finally left home for college with one goal in mind: to heal. Part of that healing was learning how to love again. I can’t love God whole-heartedly and I certainly can’t love others if my heart is still broken. But that is what we are called to do.
I embarked on a journey of love by first addressing myself via counseling and an anti-depressant. Love takes some practice too. I confronted my past abusers because I want to love them again. I do love them.
I don’t regret anything that has ever happened to me. Nothing was without purpose. I’ve tasted all sorrows—I can reach out to others that are suffering like I did. I’ve realized God’s love has allowed me to turn and love others—like you.
vileka, thank you for your story. Being vulnerable is not easy, but it helps others have the courage to share their stories. You are an inspiration. I’m so glad you came to Corban, it is indeed a place of growth and healing.