I wish I didn’t know, but if this saves someone else from staring that long into the abyss, then maybe it’s what I’m here for.
I’m sure we all know that there are a lot of people who will be there for you when it’s time to put the gun down, go to the ER before the pills kick in, whatever. There are people who will help before then too, of course. I would hope that most of us would be there even for a complete stranger well before that stage of nervous breakdown that leads to even seriously contemplating whether it’s time to leave this life behind. The problem is that, like waiting until you have a blowout to change a bald tire, there’s no need to get to that point in the first place, and a serious danger in allowing the problem to get that bad.
You see, when I finish my workout, and come home proud of a few more reps, a couple seconds faster run, or another inch off my gut, the walls don’t notice and don’t care. When I post it on Facebook, and a week later over 300 “friends” have generated a total of three likes and no comments, I really start to want to clean up my Facebook account, but I also wonder what happened to all the people I really thought cared about me, at least enough to click the like button or type a few words of encouragement.
When I come home from a rough day at work, I don’t get a hug or a back rub. Enough of my close family has passed away or moved away that it’s been six months since I even heard an “I love you,” and that was from an ex girlfriend. (Long story, but suffice it to say we couldn’t make it work even after three tries spanning several years.)
There’s no love at home; there’s nobody at home to love, and whenever I hear that hymn I just want to walk out and never return. Combining it with the opening prayer of the Priesthood session basically giving thanks for the things I have wanted all my life but can’t have, well that is just confirming for me that I’m not what this Church wants, regardless of what all the recruiting literature says.