Prayer request

Please pray for a friend of mine in Charlotte, N.C., who -- for at least the second time in her life -- may have attempted suicide.

I got a cryptic text message from her about 11 p.m. Sunday -- I don't remember the exact words, but it was something like, "Thanks for always being my friend. Love ya. Bye." At first I thought she was just saying goodnight, so I texted back, "Love you too. Sleep well." Then she texted, "Vry long sleep, but thx." The "long sleep" and abbreviated words concerned me, so I asked her whether she was OK, and she said only, "No." I then asked her to call me or let me call her, and then I did call her after 5 minutes when she didn't respond. She didn't answer, so I left her a voicemail message saying I'd call the police in 10 minutes if she didn't call me in that time. She didn't, so I did -- and in that time, I also found a couple of cryptic posts she had left on Facebook around the same time she first texted me.

The police would only say they got another call about her well-being, and sent officers to her apartment. They referred me to county medic, which would only tell me that they transported a psychiatric-call patient in her community to the hospital. Of course, I want to drop everything and rush to Charlotte, but that's as much as I'm going to find out tonight.

My friend is employed, but is struggling financially. She's going through an ugly separation/divorce in which her estranged husband has threatened to rape and murder her, but she won't call the police because she doesn't want to make it worse than it already is while she's working quietly to get full custody of their son. She suffers from multiple sclerosis, which has her in pain daily and makes some days nearly impossible to function. And she has bipolar disorder, which can literally make her happier than Tigger one minute and sadder than Eeyore the next. It was a major factor in her suicide attempt 12 years ago, and apparently has been building in her to another psychotic break last night.

I hope she or one of her family members will let me know more Monday, and I'll pass along what I find out.

In the meantime, she needs our prayers. Thanks.

UPDATE: The hospital released my friend into family custody about 15 hours later, so maybe it was a suicide threat and not a suicide attempt. She still needs prayers, though.

AND ANOTHER THING: I hope it serves as a reminder to those of you who live your life through social media, and treat it like it's a game or a joke. It is NOT! There are genuine hearts and emotions behind those keyboards. And those people need YOU, not your 140-character Twitter updates -- or if you're on Facebook, your quiz results, application invites, etc. with those status updates.

What the ... ?

I can never remember my dreams, so I'm writing this one down before I forget.

I was a passenger on a turboprop plane that had to make an emergency landing. The plane was doing all kinds of crazy things -- nearly landing on a busy road, crashing through a large plate-glass window in a building that it didn't have enough power to clear. Before landing safely in a hilly field. Oh, and we were at the beach. So how was there a hilly, grassy field so close to the beach?

Yeah, even in my dreams, I'm an editor.

The dream even had a villain. She was being mean to fellow passengers. Then she fell down when the plane made a banked turn and she couldn't get back up, so I had to help her get back in her seat and put her seat belt on. She looked like CNBC's Mary Thompson. She spoke like Tilda Swinton. And I can't remember whether she said, "Thank you." Manners, people!

I also dreamed that at the same time I was helping her, I had to lock a door on the plane that had come open. I also remember being relatively calm despite all the excitement.

I also remember that as fellow passengers were disembarking, I loudly announced, "I'm never flying prop again." Which made them laugh. But apparently nobody wanted to join my passenger revolution.

Then a man -- not sure if he was supposed to be a pilot, or a flight attendant, or an airline representative -- directed me and my luggage to a stone staircase that led to a hotel/restaurant connected to the airport, where I was supposed to make a connecting flight. I think they were trying to separate me from the other passengers and any media that was coming to cover the crash landing, since they knew I could be a rabble rouser.

As I ascended the staircase, I awoke. Since the dream gave me too much adrenaline to go back to sleep, and since I forget my dreams like I said before, I headed for my keyboard to write it all down.

And in case you're wondering, I had mesquite steak last night. With yellow rice and wax beans. And sweet tea. And a chocolate-peanut butter square from one of those no-bake dessert mixes. And yes, everything was properly cooked. So, no, this wasn't a feverish dream from food poisoning or indigestion.

And that's the second time I've survived a crash landing in my dreams. Although the other time was on a small jet plane. And someone else died on that plane. And both were planes that developed problems during, or just after, takeoff.

What does it all mean? Why was I at the beach? Where was I flying to? What was I doing for a living? How old was I? Why was I alone? What was a British-accented meanie doing in my dream, and why did I want to help her? Since everything happens in threes, if I dream about a crash landing for the third time, will I die in the dream -- and in my sleep?

Oh, and I'm REALLY never flying prop again. Not that there are many commercial airline routes left that fly turboprop. But I mean what I say. Even when I say it in my dreams.

Now, is there a dream interpreter in the house?

The Big D, and I Don't Mean Dallas

My marriage came to an end Thursday morning. It took a judge less than 10 minutes to undo 10 years. Eleven if you count the courtship.

I tried to keep myself busy. If I went straight home from court, I would have been overcome with emotion and unable to do anything. And I've had PLENTY of days like that as of late. So I tried to fill my day with little things -- breakfast with my pastor, a little grocery shopping, mowing/yardwork.

The rest of the day was supposed to involve taking a shower, making dinner, talking to my son, and then leaving time for contemplation. But I got on social media after the "Twitterpocalypse" -- the denial-of-service attack that shut down Twitter and crippled Facebook -- and everything changed from there.

I sent direct messages to update a few friends who knew what was happening Thursday. I also tweeted about my divorce for all the Twittersphere to see. That's when a Twitter friend tweeted, "*hugging you*." And that's when my stiff lower lip quivered.

Thank you for your sentiments, but damn it, woman, you're messing up my schedule! I'll cry later. Any hugs or encouraging words when I'm sad -- virtual or reality -- open the floodgates immediately. Just ask the well-meaning men and women in church who have had to hold me at the end of a Sunday service while I sobbed uncontrollably.

I wanted to go through my day like one of those people who've had a death in the family but get through the memorial service, funeral and covered-dish meal after the funeral (a Southern tradition!) before they "let it hit them."

But then I didn't feel like a shower. Didn't feel like making dinner. So instead, I threw on a clean shirt, took out the trash for Friday pickup, and went for a takeout dinner.

Then I talked to my son, who's handled this whole separation/divorce thing better than either of his parents. But there was something else: My now-former mother-in-law answered the phone because she was watching him. Where was his mother, my now-former wife? Working late, as she sometimes does? Or out celebrating the first day of the rest of her life?

I must admit, it bothered me a little to think it might be the latter. Could you not sit at home and at least try to feel as bad as I do about this thing, even though you got what you wanted? Could you not have waited until at least the day after the ink dried on your divorce before celebrating your restored freedom?

If I kept playing it over and over in my head, it would have bothered me to an overwhelming and crippling extent. But then, just as fast as it started, it faded. I have no control over what she's going to do. She doesn't care what I think or feel. She's not my problem any more.

And, with that, my need to contemplate and cry faded, too. I have contemplated. I have cried. I have prayed. I have begged. I have pleaded. I have tried to become the man she deserved in the first place. None of it has averted the tragic outcome that is part of God's plan.

Maybe it will yet hit me harder, and I'll need time to reminisce, cry and pray. Maybe it won't. Maybe I've used up all those emotions since she left last June, and am ready to move forward.

Not that I'm taking any chances. A friend wrote on Facebook about "Something's Gotta Give" being on TV last night. No, no. No rom-com for me for now -- especially not one that my ex and I saw in a theater together, and loved. No movie that opens the floodgates for sentimental reasons, because it feels like a page out of my life, or because it's just so compelling -- including, but not limited to, "Terms of Endearment," "When a Man Loves a Woman," "Muriel's Wedding," "Jerry Maguire," "Chasing Amy," "My Best Friend's Wedding," and the "our film" for me and my ex: "Notting Hill."

"Fight Club" was on, too. That's more my speed right now -- entertainment with an edge, even if that edge is softened for TV. "Fight Club." "Pulp Fiction." "Trainspotting" -- no, that's not on TV, but I wish it was.

I don't know why this marriage had to end. I don't know if I'm done thinking and crying about it. I don't know why I'm going through unemployment and foreclosure at the same time.

All I know is that Friday is another day to move forward.