faith: a small word that means so much to so many. so what does it mean to me?

i was baptized as a non-denominational christian. i don’t ever remember setting foot in a church, except historical churches in boston and others encountered during my travels. i think my father was catholic and my mother protestant, but neither one was very spiritual or religious.

i have prayed before a couple of times, but was not sure what/who i was praying to. i used to cut myself just to feel something, anything … the last time i did that was about 8 or 9 years ago. not sure exactly. the last time was more serious … earlier that week i drank many shots and drove on the freeway really, really fast. i could barely see straight. i didn’t feel anything — no adrenaline rush or anything. i even closed my eyes and let go of the steering wheel for a few seconds. i stacked the odds up against myself, and nothing happened. somebody was watching over me.

but i was still in the same frame of mind. i used to cut myself with a sharp kitchen knife. mostly my left arm, because i am right handed. i was in a really bad place. i planned out what i was going to do next. i went to the craft store and bought a whole set of exacto knives. i looked up on the internet exactly what i would need to do to cut my wrists — i looked at anatomy sites and others. some sick bastards put instruction manuals out there. i went to bed one night and took like a half a bottle of pain killers (not sure which kind). nothing happened, but i couldn’t sleep — it had the opposite effect of what i wanted.

this put me in a worse state of mind. exacto knives are sharp — i cut my arm pretty deep, over and over again. the pain was not redeeming as it had somehow been in the past. but somehow the blood trailing down my body made me feel something. i sobbed and i prayed. it was my last chance.

i felt an overwhelming sense of …. love — that’s the only word i can come up with the describes it. and then a sense of peace — like it was going to be ok. and that’s what stopped me from finishing what i started. i cried myself  to sleep and woke up covered in dried blood. i was sick for days.  i realize that the painkillers may have had something to do with it, but whatever it was saved my life. i have not cut myself since then. i am afraid that i won’t stop next time. i have never honestly told anyone about this before now. i’ll always have the scars to remind me.

so i don’t know what happened that night, but that is the closest thing i have felt to faith. i believed it would be ok.

the reason i needed to stop drinking this time is because i was having thoughts that were familiar — thoughts that might cause me to go to that place again. and i know i can’t go there again. the self-destructive behavior would only have gotten out of control.

i guess the only thing i have faith in now is that i am on this planet for a reason, and somebody/thing kept me around for a purpose. so that’s what i think about when aa says “higher power”– whatever it was that saved me that night. but i have a hard time tapping into it. i’m not sure what it was.

peace and love.