The day I realized I wanted to die was also the day I subconsciously chose not to. It was lunch time, I was sitting with people, but I was just staring at the cars passing by outside the window. I envisioned myself walking into the middle of the street and letting the cars relieve my hollow pain. I could have done it. In fact, I could have done it many times. Because this was not the only time I thought about death, or come to the brink of taking my last breath. However, this was the first time I chose to get help. At the time I didn’t understand what I was doing, but now I do. I thought I wanted to die, but really I wanted to live. I want to live.
I was 13 when this started. It was towards the end of eighth grade and I went through something that most people do: change. My friends were no longer my friends and I did not understand why. So I let myself revert to blaming myself, and scrutinizing every inch of my being. I stopped eating, I stopped going to school, and I stopped talking to my parents. I hid it, and I hid it well. My tears only spilled in the shower and I would pretend to eat dinner in my room. No one knew; they thought I was just going through some stereotypical teenage prepubescent phase. Well it was not a phase, and depression is something that I still have to live with.
Depression has been a battle for me. I could go through more details, but none of them could ever show you the true misery and suffocation that depression brings into your life. The best way I can describe it is as if you are continuously drowning while watching the rest of the outside world live. No one hears your screams, you don’t even hear them. You are muffled and paralyzed. You wake up in the morning, but you are never really awake. Reality is numbed.
“You can only lead a horse to the water, you can’t make them drink it” is the cliche that my doctor told my mom and I. I was led continuously to the “water,” but nothing ever worked. Pills and therapy only made it worse.
I was 16 years old when I saw the face of God. I saw beauty and frailness presented to me in a way that is inexplicable and miraculous. My grandmother’s death instilled in me an awakening. For a month I read, prayed and talked to her. When she took her last breath I was there, and it was like she gave me life, as her own life fleeted. Because when she died I saw my childhood, I saw the vulnerability in my parents and myself, and I saw the truth. That life is worth fighting for.
Some days are better than others. One moment it comes back to me, and my lungs collapse. But the next, I'm filled with life. My brother laughs, my mother smiles, my father’s voice fills my ears like a symphony, my grandfather blows me a kiss, my dogs attack me with love, my friends hold me, and my life begins again. In "The Color Purple," God is described as being everywhere, and in everything. He is seen in beautiful and simple things, like the color purple in a field of flowers. We must look for our own purple flowers, the little things, which are miraculously present in our everyday life, to see Him.
So to whoever you are, never give up on searching for the little things. Never let life slip from you, because I promise you it is worth it. Right now it seems like the world is against you. You desire to be relieved of every moment of intense misery. I beg you to go outside and listen. Hear the electricity of the world and the life it holds. See the little things, and fight for them. If I could tell you in person one thing, it would be that you are loved, you are worthy, and you are enough. Repeat this to yourself, until it holds truth in your heart.
Then, eventually, you will see yourself and the world as it truly is: miraculous.
