The Bible considers suicide to be the same as murder—that's what it is—killing oneself. God is the one who will decide when and how a person will die. Suicide remains a grave sin against God. According to the Bible, suicide is murder; it is always wrong.
My name is Rafael and I have been a priest since I was 10 years old. I have given my life and soul without opposing anything. I have done things that no one could dream or think about. I have kept secrets that would eat them up inside and break their conscience, but I must remain silent since I took a vow of silence when I decided to join the church because if I open my mouth, many people will die and I will also die with them since the people behind this are powerful people with great power.
I know I should keep silent to protect myself and the people who told me but I've tried everything but seeing the families of those involved suffering and asking for justice makes a lump in my throat and breaks my heart knowing that I am the person who knows who are involved and I start to pray asking that at least those families find peace but my head feels like it's about to explode and my mouth wants to be open and say everything no matter what consequences may come but then I remember and I just close my eyes and bite my tongue to stop the words from coming out of me.
Being in my room and I see the loneliness in my room and in my soul, suicidal thoughts come to me and my head generates more than 1,000,000 ways to end my life but then I remember phrases from friends who told me... take a moment and think: there is help, there is hope .
"There were many times when I would say "I'm going to sleep" and I would stay awake because I hated myself and couldn't stop crying." ..... Whenever it rains my soul saddens, because that's when I've been the loneliest by my side. ..... Then the day comes when your pillow asks you to talk to it about other things, about something more interesting. And so, little by little, you forget what made you cry so much for long nights.
" Sometimes I breathe and I feel like the air never reaches my lungs. " ..." Life doesn't hurt... it just weighs. Like carrying a backpack full of stones and no one notices when you bend over. " .... " How do you explain to someone that you don't want to die, but you don't know how to live anymore? "..... I drown in a glass of water, and everyone looks at me like I'm swimming " ... " The nights are long when your mind is your worst enemy "
"My heart beats as if it wants to escape from my chest, but there is nowhere to go" ... "What if everything collapses? No, worse.....what if it already collapsed and no one noticed?"....."Every decision is a dead end.....What do I do? What do I choose? What happens if I choose wrong? ".....I want to scream, but my voice is stuck in my throat. "
"Sometimes I think going away would be easier than asking for help."... "I don't want to die but I don't know how to continue living like this."...."At what point did pain become my normal state"
"In a world full of noise, loneliness is the most beautiful song"....Rafael left the room with Rosario between his fingers, as if the sockets were the remains of a shipwreck to which he still clung. The world at the door was another: a church garden that didn't seem real, but painted by divine hands like a palette of colors that screamed... "Here life wins."
The scarlet reds of the poppies reminded her of the blood she'd once imagined shedding; now they were just swaying petals, indifferent to her pain. The bright blues of the lilies were like pieces of sky fallen to remind her she could still breathe, and the emerald green of the leaves—so dense it almost hurt—whispered to her, "Roots always find a way to sprout again."
She walked along the mossy stone path, feeling the breeze like a warm hand drying her tears before they fell. The air smelled of damp earth and jasmine, a perfume that filled her lungs and, little by little, restored the rhythm of a heart that had forgotten to beat without fear.
In the center of the garden, a magnolia tree spread its branches like an altar. Rafael knelt without thinking, not to pray, but to touch the fresh grass beneath his palms. Ants scurried between his fingers, busy living. "Perhaps salvation wasn't a miracle, but this," he thought: the stubbornness of beauty.
Suddenly, a sun-yellow butterfly landed on his shoulder. It wasn't an angel, nor a message. Just a fragile insect that chose to stay with him for a second. But in that instant, Rafael felt something he hadn't mentioned in years: hope.
The garden of reflective solitude Rafael walked slowly among the paths of the church garden, a place where the evening light filtered through the leaves of the trees ancient, painting the ground with gold and shadows. His mind, however, wandered far from that serene beauty. He felt like a ghost among flowers, a man whose essence dissolved into thoughts that resonated like echoes in an empty cavern.
"Man is a lonely crowd of people," he thought, as he watched a group of parishioners laughing near the fountain. "He seeks the physical presence of others to imagine that we are all together, that there is a purpose, that something—or someone—created us with a written destiny…"
But Rafael found no solace in this collective illusion. For him, true freedom began where shared lies ended. "Solitude is the first step toward inner freedom," he whispered to the wind, as if words could carry away the weight of his introspection.
Yet it wasn't easy. Loneliness had its knives: it reminded him of the wounds that still festered, of lost loves, of words never spoken, of faces erased by time. "It hurts," he admitted, "but it also teaches you to walk without crutches."