Ready to Lose Everything

Columbia River from Marine Drive trail in Portland, Oregon, photo from imgur.

I parked my car along the side of the road. It was 6:15 am and the sun was starting to come up. I arrived exactly according to schedule. I was supposed to be at work at 6:30 am but I knew my absence wouldn’t be noticed for at least an hour. I wanted to leave earlier but thought that would arouse suspicion. I looked out my window, staring at the gentle and peaceful waves of the Columbia River. The water would be cold, but strangely, I felt warm and peaceful knowing that after months of agony I would soon have relief.

My thoughts started to speed up in eager expectation of what I was about to do. Should I leave a note? What should I say? Is there anything I’ve forgotten? Would it be too much trouble for someone to find my car? I filled the gas tank in case Mom needed my car. Should I transfer all my money to their account? No, Dad would be sure to catch that immediately, then they’d know something was up before it was time. I reminded myself that I paid my bills ahead and stock the fridge so they’d be ok for a while. Besides, they already have all the paperwork to do that when the time comes. There was nothing more I could do to prepare for my absence.

I really liked the idea of floating in there for a while, unconscious, before anyone knew to look for me. Or maybe I would sink down near the rocks. Either way, it would just be me and the river and the rocks. The river and the rocks would understand why I had to do this. They wouldn’t ask anything of me, scold me, counsel me or try to talk me out of it. They’d just welcome me and give me the freedom to choose to end my life. It would be private and beautiful. That’s what I badly needed.

I leaned over and opened my glove box, and took out a pen and paper. Looking down at the paper in my lap, I decided I should explain why I’m doing this. Someone would find my car eventually. Mom and Dad will want to know why I did this and I don’t want them to blame themselves. I want this to be easy for them. I always wanted to make things easy for them. I let the words flow from my heart to the pen and wrote down “I tried everything” then stopped.

I tried everything

I knew that was true, but for some reason, I hesitated. I did try everything, right? I pondered this question for a while. Recounting the events in my life over the past few years, I realized that all my decisions were intertwined with striving to fulfill my religious obligations and my parent’s expectations. Everything I had done, was for them. Every decision, major and minor, was made under the weight of their scales. I had no agency, no freedom. “I tried everything” was in the context of the limited options that they allowed me to choose from.

Then the simple thought occurred to me, there was one last option, I could leave my religion.

I sat back in my seat, surprised I would actually contemplate such a thing. Since I was two years old, I was indoctrinated to choose death before losing faith. But since I was already doing something I thought I’d never do, I went with this taboo thought and began considering my life outside the religion.

It would be extremely difficult. I could be disfellowshipped. If that happened I would lose everything and everyone in my life. My parents would disown me and force me out of our home just like my sisters. I may end up homeless. My relationship with my parents would not be the same, I wouldn’t be allowed to be involved in their daily lives, we’d be separated.

But, I was already ready to lose everything, the difference between my previous option is that I would still be breathing.

A deep fear in the pit of my stomach grew as I thought about the idea of becoming an apostate. Willfully choosing to leave my religion meant that I would be branded by my community as the worst of all sinners. There was no turning back from this. If I became what I had been taught become of people leave the religion, instead of a peaceful goodbye in the river, I’d die a gruesome death in Armageddon.

But, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad? Would I be any worse off than I was at that moment?

I realized many months back that my life was empty and pathetic. Being close to my parents and a Jehovah Witness was a life sentence of forced obligations and sacrifices. I had a few real friends and they all had miserable lives. I had no hope of marriage or any other opportunities that would take me away. The work I did was trivial and a dead end. I followed the religion’s recipe for happiness by being the perfect daughter and a model “single Christian Sister,” fulfilling all my duties to the best of my abilities. But yet my religion had failed me.

So maybe, just maybe, my religion was wrong about Armageddon too. Either way, I’m going to die eventually.

I felt a surge of adrenaline awaken me to the thought that I could have a life out there, in “the world.” I had no idea how I could actually leave my religion and survive it. It consumed every waking moment for as long as I could remember, it was my identity.

The worst that could happen would be that I lose my life and that was a risk I had no reservations taking. So, I put the partially written note back in my glove box, started my car and went to work.

It’s been four years since that momentous day. Looking back, I regret that my I ended up at such an extreme crossroads. I wish I knew before then that just being alive was enough reason to live. I shouldn’t have needed to hit rock bottom to realize that I get to choose how to live my life. That resolution, though made with much fear, anxiety, and uncertainty, gave me the determination to not give up during the difficult months to follow. In time, I was able to let go of my deeply ingrained fears of death by fire and brimstone and see the beauty in the world around me.

Now I live my life like I have nothing to lose. Not with recklessness, but with the renewed hope of someone that survived a close encounter with death. Every day is precious to me, so I try hard to appreciate every moment. Some days are hard, of course. But when the pain and loss in my past life weigh me down, I remember what happened that day by the Columbia River.

I know that eventually, I will die. But when I do, I’ll be confident that I tried everything to live a happy and fulfilled life.

This article was originally published on Medium