A Prayer for Mercy

Prayer for Mercy

There were 42 assorted pills, different sizes, different colors contrasting brightly against the whiteness of my hand, on a different day it would have reminded me of skittles, or maybe M&M's after they added some new colors.  The square bottle of water was sweating on my nightstand and for some reason that mattered, I did not want a water stain on the wood.  Now I look back and wonder why it mattered to me so much.  I shook the pill slightly, dropped one and picked it up ever so gently, replacing it safely in the cocoon of my hand.

The first text message was to my parents.  It was simple – “I love you, I am sorry, You are amazing parents, I just can’t anymore.” It was all I could manage.  The weight of leaving them or the pain I would cause them pushed me down to a fragment of my former self.  My sister was second, “You will forever be my sunshine”, a nod to our affirmations to each other.  The last text sent on my phone was to my brother, we are 13 months apart, As different as night and day.  Our nicknames growing up were Sunshine and Midnight.  I was always referred to as Sunshine for my cheery countenance and white, blonde hair.  My brother was Midnight with dark complexion and brown hair and stand-offish approach to most people.

But Sunshine I was not.  Midnight didn’t even describe the darkness that had landed its talons into the depth of my being and refused to release its grasp.  Prometheus was I - awaiting the eagle to arrive in morning. The loss of hope was only eclipsed by the loss of ability to see myself in the future.  A daytime eclipse with all streetlights and porch lights completely out.  Tears didn’t come when I thought of not existing anymore.  Only a deep sense of numbness, a deep sense of not feeling.  I have since learned that I was feeling severe depression, but I struggle to explain it as that.  I didn’t feel depressed – only an immense absence of emotion.  A complete lack of seeing myself in the future, no hopes, no dreams, no ambitions – just nothing.  It just didn’t make sense, I was climbing the corporate ladder and was at the top of game.  Well regarded in my company and field.  I trained, developed, and promoted a large number of my team members.

I debated sending a message to the catalyst for my current state, but I refused to give myself any glimmer of hope.  I held back my pain like a tidal wave crashing down - a relationship ended.  I felt such despair at not having this person that I considered to be the other half of my soul. Such severe desperation at having so much love for an individual that was not returned any longer.  My future horizons were not visible because I was not me alone, I was only a single member now of an us.

I turned off my phone.  Conversations were too much to bear, I could not speak.  Family would be getting their texts and calling and texting, but I had said what a had to say, what I could manage to get out.

Later I would learn that in Florida, far away from my location in Chelsea, New York, my Mom picked up her phone to look at the text message.  She wasn’t sure exactly what she was feeling but she describes the feeling today as it felt like here stomach had fallen out.  I had been her 'Sunshine' – but the text message was far from sunny.  Not being able to connect with me, she fell on her faith.  She called out to her God – Mercy, Mercy, Mercy she cried.  She would mention those words over and over for the next hour, as the fevered pitch and volley of texts and calls between my brother, sister, and father climbed.  I was 18 hours and 1200 miles away – she could not get to me.  No one could, no one could reach me where I was.  Not physically and certainly not mentally or emotionally. No words offerered themselves to my mother - only Mercy, on a constant loop, as if a scratch on a vinyl record.

I used the restroom, somewhere I had read when people die, they lost control of their bladder and I did not want someone finding me with soiled clothes.  Not sure why that mattered so much but it was important to me at the time.  I looked at the pills, sitting on the edge of my bed.  I remember the feeling of my bed pressing against the back of my legs.  In New York living space is a premium so a lot of beds utilize bed risers, mine was no different.  My feet touched the floor but just barely.  How many pills could I swallow at one time, how many sips of water would I need to complete my final dose ever. When your life is going to be over, such random thoughts enter your mind.

I made the decision to swallow all the white pills first, saving the colored pills for the next step.  It just seemed prettier that way.  It was a strange thought to have but there it was, nonetheless.  A faint noise made its way to my ear, a simple scratching noise.  It quickly materialized into a key entering my front door.  I tossed the colored pills in the magazine basket by my bed, grabbed my bottle of water and rushed to sit on the couch as if I had not been, moments earlier, preparing to depart this world. 

The energy and enthusiasm that entered my door came in the form of a dear friend, one for some reason I had not reached out to.  Yet here she was in my moment of deep darkness.  She walked in and although I put on the practiced in control and cheery face like normal, she sensed something was not quite right.  Miles away my mom continues her plea for Mercy.   Somehow my friend convinced and demanded I go spend the weekend with her. I told myself I would find a way to struggle through a few more days and plan my departure at a later date.  How would I replace the pills I had already taken?  42 was the number of pills I felt confident I needed to complete this exit, still not sure why that number was so insistent. 

Whether the pills I had already taken served to free up my spirit or the comfort of a friend who was just there for me.  I opened up, shared with my friend what I was feeling, reached out to my family and told them I was ok. I flew home the next week to speak to a therapist friend of my moms and started down a path of immense growth and healing.

I will eternally be grateful that God cared enough to send a friend that rarely visited me,  as my mom prayed to god for mercy in Florida.  In New York, my dear friend, Mercedes, but known to most as Mercy walked through my front door.

I hope my story helps you see - lots of things can damage a leader. Sometimes that damage is a blessing in disguise. My greatest pain has served to allow me to relate, empathize, and support those on my team that were suffering with depression. Without having walked that path I would not have been able to share my story with 11 other people who were feeling the same way. I struggle now to share it with you the reader, but this story has made the difference in a mom being able to still hold her daughter, a father still being up to show up to his kid's games, and several other stories that continue to be written. The Damaged Leader yes, but sometimes damage has a greater purpose then we can imagine. A purpose that serves those we have been called to lead, even if in the moment we are unable to see it. And with that I offer up a simple prayer for each of you - Mercy.