I attempted suicide twice in the last year and once before in North Carolina.
I thought I was God, the Holy Spirit in the flesh, Lucifer, the messiah, and an angel.
Also, a prophet and savior sent by God to change the world.
I have a chronic illness called bipolar disorder, and I almost lost my battle with it.
I’ve been battling the condition since I was 17, and recently learning what it means to be me.
My mania leads to these crazy delusional mountain top, euphoric, experiences; where my lows lead to the desert of despair.
My soul dry without hope of any life water. It thirst as I wallow in the heat of my distress.
That’s what bipolar is, an extreme in moods.
Thankfully, there’s Lithium to balance it out.
And, recently I’ve been in therapy since July.
However, it’s not the end all be all.
I was taking medicine while I was trying to attempt suicide. So what gives?
As I examine the murder of myself, questions flood my head:
Where do we go from here?
How did we get here?
What does dying mean?
What does killing yourself achieve?
Why did I want to escape?
What did I want to escape?
Am I really that worthless?
Who is to blame for getting to this point?
Why am I so indifferent?
Why do I hate myself in the midst of all my success?
Why do I hate myself?
What is love?
How do I heal?
Why is my brain broken?
What’s the genesis of my condition?
All these questions just hit me like a ton of bricks.
Especially who is to blame for getting to this point.
I mean for years I blamed my childhood pastor, my parents, and the doctors for this condition.
Building up all sorts of bitterness, and anger towards them.
Is that right though? Is that fair?
How could they have known better?
What if they were blind to knowing the warning signs?
I mean why do I have to build up hate towards other for something that was out of their control.
Cancer happens, brain imbalances happens, and so on.
I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives already, and I’m thankful for this recent revelation.
It’s not my childhood pastor fault that I have BP.
It’s not my parents fault that I have BP.
It’s not even God’s fault that I have BP.
I’m at fault for not having compassion over myself and others, like my parents.
However, am I at fault?
See, there I go, how could I have known how to show love to myself?
Maybe the point of life is to accept all of who you are.
I am Barnaby Alkire who has a chronic condition, and I am Barnaby who loves me.
My worst and my best are me. I am.
So with that being said, I think that’s the ultimate sin is hate.
Because, like I said, I hated myself.
As a mirror of God’s image, is it really my authority to destroy the mirror because one day my hair looked bad? Or, I gain some weight? Or, I don’t feel good enough?
I don’t think so.
It’s sad and breaks my heart now more than ever that I hated myself since I was in Kindergarten.
However, I’m going to change the script.
Me and my five year old self are going to have a fresh beginning.
I’m going to give him hugs, and we’re going to laugh our brains out.
We’re going to have fun, and sweat the small stuff.
When we make a mistake, it’s okay because we’re learning.
Today, I love you. Thank you for being my friend.
Thank for realizing that I matter.
I almost killed myself and I failed three times by the grace of God.
Like the God-man hanging on the tree said:
Forgive them Father, for they do not know what they do.
I want to change, I want to love myself for the first time, I want to love others as I would love myself.
So the biggest question for you is this:
Will you celebrate life with me today?