He Hears, Even in the Spring
By Indigo Blue
In the spring of 1996 I was manic. I could say that of every
spring of my life since I was a teen, but this Spring was
Mau and I were newlyweds. I was finishing my Bachelors degree.
I was working on my thesis project, which was to write educational
literature, and since, of course, I procrastinated, I was trying
to write 3 books at one time, within a period of three weeks. And
I was doing it.
I was so sick. Jump out of my skin sick. I could scarcely sit
still in class, in fact, my teacher, the sweetest woman on earth,
told me I was disrupting the class with my going in and out of the
room. And I was angry. A low-grade irritability had become a
full-blown rage, and I was completely out of control. It was my
husband that got the worst.
He came home. I don't even remember the details. It wouldn't
have taken much. I attacked him. I remember he kept trying to get
away from me, but I couldn't leave him alone. I was driven. I
couldn't stop. I kept going after him, he kept trying to get away
from me, and finally I grabbed his shirt and ripped it. I can see
that shirt in my mind, as if this just happened today. When I
could get no satisfaction from turning my rage on him, I turned it
on myself and ran upstairs.
I remember pacing the floor wildly, talking to myself. I
grabbed a bottle of pills and counted them out in my hands. There
were 17 Benadryl tablets. I took them all, no water. I waited.
Something deep within must have stirred up, because I began to
see beyond this blazing rage. I tried to tell Mau I had taken some
pills, but he was angry, and I didn't know if he'd believe me. So
I called an ambulance myself. Don't ever forget this lesson,
sometimes you'd better be your own hero. But, be a hero to
yourself by not getting this sick before you get some help
By the time the police arrived, I was nearly unconscious. The
first stop was the emergency room. I was out of it, but I remember
people moving fast all around me. It was the opposite of how I was
feeling, and a strange irony, because finally, I had slowed down.
They forced a tube down my throat while a burly woman screamed,
"Swallow!" in my ear. I cried a lot.
I went into the hospital immediately. I remember I had on a
maroon pair of sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt that said B.U.M.
(I do not recommend such attire for hospitalization in a psych
ward, particularly the shirt.). I remember I was disoriented,
missed my babies, felt foolish, and was burping and farting
charcoal from having my stomach pumped. This was one of the lowest
points in my life. Plus, they'd taken me to a hospital so far that
no one could come see me. Add feeling utterly alone to all of
Someone had given me a Bible, but I was confused and felt I'd
disappointed God. My mind was both a whirlwind of emotions, and
blunted beyond recognition. I must have been trying to do
something with my hands, flipping through the pages of that Bible,
because I know I was not reading it. And then I saw it. One
passage of scripture, illuminated so that it seemed to jump off of
the page. It said, I am poor and needy, but the Lord hears
me." I don't even know what translation it was, because, it
reads like that in no Bible I have now, but thatís what it said.
It made a profound impact on me. I was poor. I was needy. He did
I have been to seminary, and I went to a Christian
undergraduate college. I have been involved in ministry, and I
have been in church since I was a teen. But, the best thing I know
about God I learned in a psychiatric hospital after I hurt myself
very badly. I learned that the weak and the frail, and the angry,
and the sad, and the lost, the confused and afraid--and I was all
of these at that moment, He's listening to us, and we don't have
to change and become strong or wise or holy. Some of us will never
get there. He'll take us like we are. He does toilet work! And
He's very, very good.