“The Lowest Score”

“Suicide it’s a suicide, don’t do, do it, you can live through it.” –Keith Murray

I knew that I had already ended my life in this fashion in another lifetime in the name of love, but I was told by heaven’s angels who passed through me via intuition that I still had a choice in this reality.

Out of the three, it was the image of my best friend of 7 years, the man I had married, the man I had planned a family and future around spread his arms in protection of his wife and child behind him that burned into my vision of hate and anger.

Legion used it against me, “They think you are crazy. They are scared of you. Why don’t you just prove to them that you’re not dangerous and just leave.” I was smart enough to know that legion’s intention was not to help me but to destroy me, so I continued to stay on the phone with Diana.

“Angelie, talk to me,” she said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just,” I’m just talking to demonic voices who are persuading me to end my life at this moment. How the fuck was I supposed to tell her?

“I’m just tired of life, Diana,” I said. “This is just another matrix, another reality among many realities, and we are slaves to this reality.” The truth rushed in like a tsunami, crashing silent and loud.

“Bingo,” Legion confirmed, “Just another clustermindfuck. God hates you. Cause if he loved you so much, why did he design you to go through this, again and again?”

“You’re right,” I said back to Legion. “The system is rigged. I want to get the fuck out of here.”

“What?” Diana said. I had forgotten that I was still talking into the phone with my friend on the line.

“Diana, I have my final answer. The answer is false. I have to die.”

I was still on my knees, in the middle of the living room. I looked over at the kitchen knowing that this was it. With my right foot, I took one step.

As if on cue, there was a loud knock on the door. My roommate happened to be home at eight in the morning to open it for them. The cops had beelined straight for me, no questions. I didn’t realize how determined I was to die until the nurse at the hospital a day later had told me, through hearsay from one of the cops, that I was like a lion. It had taken three cops to detain me in my desperate and hopeless attempt to secure one of their guns.

I didn’t notice how broken my right foot was until I was already at the hospital on 51/50, suicide watch. I guess I could have gotten angry at the three cops who were struggling to detain me. They had handcuffed me and tied the handcuffs to one of the rails of the gurney as they were carrying me out from the second floor apartment to the ambulance.

I remember vivid images of Jesus on the cross, as if his cross was hovering over my body, like a sheild of some sort.

The veil of life’s secrets had briefly lifted for me, and I saw the vivid images of lynchings, wars, slaughterhouses, speeches, movements, family dinners, births, and deaths flash before me. I looked up at the clear blue sky and had this understanding that someday, the man I loved would see this moment. I had imagined him watching me through a flat screen tv, at a sports bar, while waiting for his next flight at some airport for some business meeting, an aerial view of a black and white officer pushing the gurney of his ex-wife handcuffed, screaming and looking directly at the helicopter cam, “I forgive you!” to him.

And that’s why I screamed at the white clouds. Then, I looked at each officer, one black and the other white, and blurted, “Don’t you guys understand? We are all the same.” I saw glimpses of people’s roles over the eons of time. One minute we are the predator, next the prey. One minute, the observer, and next the observed. What’s the point of these constant roles switching, the ups and downs, the ebb and flow of growth and shrinkage? It is our search for love. Our skin color, our car brands, our clothes, our social status, homeowner, LGBT, Chinese, Japanese, dog lover, cat lover, wtf. It’s all stupid to label, box, and then determine value from what we label. Life is all-encompassing. It’s all one big explosion of creative expression.

What are we here for?

WHAT ARE WE HERE FOR?!

I demanded an answer from God. I was angry. Livid.

What are we here for?

Love.

Love what?

Self?

Beauty?

People?

Family?

Humanity?

Others?

WTF is love? 

They transferred me to a mental hospital for a three-day observation, and when I got out the incident played out like a vague dream: The red rings branded around my wrists served as a reminder of just how determined I wanted their guns. While inside the ambulance, the cops who were sitting next to me had guns on their belts. I was still reaching for it, willing my wrists to break through the metal chains to secure that piece of gunmetal for the bullet through my brain. 

I was burning in sulfuric acid. And even in the depth of my burning bones,  I still blurted out, knowing that some supernatural entities were witnessing my every move, “I forgive you.” I pictured the newfound family he had with the woman he had the affair with during our marriage. I picture him happy, free, and loving. Despite my resentments, I just wanted him to be happy. Why? Because in the end, I just really love him.

Perhaps that’s why God forgave me and dropped my lowest score. I was delivered from the valley of the shadow of death.

Friday Morning, February 22, 2013.

It rushed in like a tsunami, crashing silent and loud. The swell was so high, I was drowning in fear and suffocating in anger.

Like most things I do in life, the thought of ending it all felt spontaneous. Less than 24 hours ago, I had answered to the effect of, “Yes, I do want to hurt myself,” to the school psychologist and effectively committed career suicide. After all, it just made sense to make an honest person out of myself at this point. So I called my best friend to let her know how much I loved her. But since I haven’t been sleeping for the past 90 hours, the voice on the other line kept asking me if I had figured it out yet. I said to it, “I don’t want to play your games anymore. I figured it out. Up is down. Right is wrong. Love is death. Life is an ultimate mind fuck of paradoxes. Just get me the fuck out of here. ”

There was a heightened awareness that I was being watched. Not the paranoia of thinking pervy Steve was peaking into my 2nd-floor apartment bedroom nor the FBI watching with hidden cameras. More of the gut feeling that spiritual entities were having a tug-of-war for my soul. The voice reappeared, this time inside my head. Time to end it. Game over. Time to reset. This is how you died last time. Remember?

It was as if the collective consciousness from the other realm were betting if I would choose the right answer to this simple true or false question. Statement: Life is worth living because there is love. True or false?

I picked false. I chose death.

And right when I had given the wrong answer, God knocked on the door. The roommate who opened the door that morning a few years later introduced me to Sam, co-founder of Live Portrait, where I pitched him the concept of preventing suicide on a projector I had brought, that later became this book.

God not only delivered me from evil, but He also tasked me with a mission. Those were big shoes to fill. Could I?

Truth be told, if it were only up to me, no way Jose.

However, it wasn’t all up to me. My job is to let go and let God work through me. The rabbit learning how to keep slow and steady like the wise tortoise.

Ninja Turtles.