I’ve spoken at length about times in my life when death was preferable…the sadness, the hopelessness, and most effectively, the worthlessness. Late nights that found me weighing the pros and cons of death. At the heart of it all, I eventually realized that it wasn’t death that I desired, but the ceasing of existence. I wanted to flee my emotions. I didn’t want to bear another sting of disappointment. I didn’t want to exert all of my energy to keep from giving my tormentors the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I didn’t want to fill my head with daydreams that broke my spirit to land from. I didn’t want to hurt any more. Somewhere along the way I bought into the belief that I was nothing, and because that is what I was, that is all I ever would be.
Before I even put a plan into action, I was overwhelmed with love for those I would miss. My siblings were young, and I wanted to watch them grow. Our home situation was dire, who would help them survive? My parents were being consumed by addiction, who would help them fight it? My grandma had other grandchildren, but who would be her Little Chunk of Chocolate?! At first I believed everyone would be better off without me, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the opposite of truth. At first I believed there would never be anything more to life than our den of squalor and despair…but the more I thought about it, I realized there was a whole world outside of those walls. Maybe that tiny Brooklyn apartment wasn’t the be-all-end-all. Is there a chance that I was wrong? Was there even a remote possibility that things could change? Could things get better? There is a finality that comes with death. Yes, I am suffering now…but if I somehow survive this pain, is there a potential for joy?
That little maybe ignited the spark of hope that has carried me through the years.
Hope saved me.
Love saved me.
Purpose saved me.
Curiosity saved me.
God saved me.
The Universe saved me.
I chose to live.
And eventually, life got better.
