Exactly one year ago today, 18 year old me was in a hospital room and I had given up fighting. Every day was an unbearable struggle. A crushing weight existed at all times. Its intensity would fluctuate, but it would never go away. Constantly trying to push myself through everyday life had become too much and I was so exhausted. My thoughts were no longer influenced by my emotions, but instead I had logically processed why it would be a better choice to just stop. I had weighed the pros and cons and there were far, far too many cons with life. I felt no joy, ever. It didn't matter if I was with my friends or family engaging in activities that I should have enjoyed. There was no joy. There was no peace. There was no light. There was only chaos. Constant chaos. I woke up to chaos, I pushed through chaos all day, and I went to bed with a head full of chaos. It wasn't worth it. And so I was done. I couldn't do it anymore.
When the nice, warm crisis worker lady came into my room, she looked at me with such love and told me how it didn't matter much what life was like now. "You want to end your life?", she said. "You can end this life then. Start a new one. You've lived this life for 18 years and it doesn't suit you. You can do whatever you want. You can live many more lives. You give up on this life? Sure. That's fine. What will we do in your next life?"
And she didn't mean that then and there I could just switch over. Well, sort of, but not entirely. I was reborn through that conversation and I felt, for the first time, that my life could die without me dying. July was hard, August was hard. And so was September and October and November... Have you ever walked in a snow storm with the wind in your face? You have an incredible amount of resistance with the added bonus of snow pelting you and making it so you can't see. It's not a nice thing to have to walk through a snow storm. And fighting your way through depression is sort of like that. Only you're not sure that there will be a warm house and hot chocolate in your future. You actually kind of believe that there won't be. All you can really be sure of is the continuation of the storm. And over time you develop strategies with various pieces of clothing to avoid the cold sting on your face. And maybe you can maneuver your body within your jacket to keep your hands as warm as possible. You develop an appreciation for the wind and the challenge it gives you each day. You grow to see the storm not as an enormous struggle but instead as a fact of life. And then, by some miracle, the snow can sometimes even look pretty. You don't have to brace yourself against the wind because you're strong enough to just walk through it. It's hard, man. It's not nice and I wish it on no one. It's a long process of facing horror after horror. And then you look back and realize you've walked worlds away from where you were before. At that point, something appears that hasn't been visible in oh so long: hope.
And that's were I am today: worlds away. The insurmountable problems that burdened my life a year ago are not even present in my life today. The dark prison I was trapped in is long gone, back behind me, somewhere in my path.
Today, while I was thinking of exactly what I was celebrating, I decided that I'm not happy that I'm still alive. I mean, I am, but that's not the victory. The fact that I'm still alive is ok. But, if I wasn't still alive, that wouldn't have been my worst fate. The ultimate tragedy would be if I was still living in that hell of an existence. That is what I celebrate. That old life is dead, but me, myself, and I have built a new life.
I honestly never thought that I would feel real joy again. Or be excited for the future. But I have found a purer joy than ever before, and I am better for it. I celebrate the fact that the worst thing that has ever happened to me turned into the greatest blessing I've ever received.
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