Life Is Worth Living
I have been afraid of heights for as long as I can remember. My fear, I noticed, was often ironically juxtaposed with a desire to fling myself from said heights. I first noticed this feeling walking in large malls and looking down from the top floors. The feeling scared me as much as it thrilled me and I would walk closest to the stores trying to rid my mind of this tempting idea.
I just came back from an amazing week-long vacation with my best friend, Nicole. We went on a road trip that started in Denver and went to Colorado Springs, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Phoenix, the Grand Canyon, Salt Lake City and Cheyenne. It was one of the best weeks of my life. Surprisingly enough, my favorite part of the trip was hiking along the Grand Canyon edge.
I was stunned to find that a large portion of the trail along the Grand Canyon rim does not have any guard rails to keep people from falling off the cliffs. (They must really believe in Natural Selection here.) Several times throughout our hike I would get onto large rocks and look out (not down) for a breathtaking view. The hearty winds blowing across my face felt like a caress from God and I could imagine that He made the whole canyon just for me to enjoy that day.
Being in front of this grand formation that was carved by the Colorado River over 2 billion years ago made me realize that my lifespan was tiny in comparison. The Colorado River is barely visible from certain sides of the Canyon but its effect is powerful, as is the wind’s. Life and its problems have a way of eroding us in a similar way, but beautiful things can be made from that process. The Grand Canyon is testament to that. My life is testament to that. A working masterpiece that will just get more amazing with time. If it serves you to think that your suffering in life has a greater purpose, cling to that. If it doesn’t serve you, think about all that you have been able to accomplish despite what you have suffered.
View of the Grand Canyon’s southern rim
I am still afraid of heights but there was no accompanying desire to jump into the canyon depths. I wasn’t surprised; I haven’t been suicidal in almost two years. Still, the change was noteworthy and I marveled at myself and how far I’ve come in my mental health journey.
Looking out on the edge of the Grand Canyon, I thought to myself, “I’m so glad I am alive to experience this moment.” And it struck me that at one point I was willing to throw away the possibility of missing out on every potential future good moment. I thought back to my mindset and wondered if this moment would have been enough to ease those thoughts of suicide. It wasn’t. My pain was all too real. If you can relate to that, I don’t want to downplay anything you’re feeling but I still think living is worth the price.
Captured by: Nicole Williamson
For the first couple years after I tried to kill myself, any time something good happened or something worked out for me my sister Korin would turn to me and say “I’m so glad you’re alive”, which made me feel guilty and pessimistic. Guilty because, while I wholeheartedly disagree with the statement that suicide is selfish; that feeling of knowing I would have been responsible for so much pain and devastation in the lives of my family and friends was gut wrenching. I realized recently in therapy that I still haven’t forgiven myself for the actions I took.
The pessimism stemmed from wondering if any of those moments that she was pointing out was worth living. People said similar things when I got into NYU and I was quick to agree with them. Well, I had to drop out and because the two were conflated in the first place, “aren’t you glad you’re alive? You got into NYU!”, the first thing I felt when I found out I couldn’t go anymore was that life wasn’t worth it anymore. So I’ve been unlearning the association of my desire to live with the accomplishments I’ve achieved. My life is worth living because I am alive. There is a life I dream to have and while I’m alive I still have the potential of reaching that life. When I finally die, I deserve to die happy and content that I lived a good life.
I’d had no concept at the time that I could ever live with a mental illness and not want to die. I thought the two would go hand in hand forever. Meeting several people who also struggled through their 20s with mental illness but were flourishing in their thirties gave me hope for 30. If you’ve been struggling for years I’d like to tell you that it is possible to live with mental illness and not be tormented by it.
I began an exercise in 2015 where I would write down every good and unexpected thing that had happened the year before to serve as a reminder that life is full of possibilities. I was inspired by Derrick C. Brown’s poem “Instead of Killing Yourself” and adapted it to contain everything I had done in the year since I stayed alive from the last time I had started planning to end things. The beauty in this list is that it keeps growing with time.
In 2015 my list of reasons to wait before I killed myself included having my first kiss, getting my first car, eating lobster in Maine, seeing a Broadway show on Broadway, getting a volunteer teaching position in China, etc. The beauty in life is that the etcetera has endless possibilities and you can shape it to be anything your heart desires.
In February, I was in the back of an Uber driving from Brooklyn to Manhattan and staring in awe at the city lights ahead of me. I would stare at the city lights across the water and remember that life is full of possibilities. Tomorrow my whole life could change in an instant. For a split second I thought to myself “with lights like these who needs stars?” Then I remembered that I can have them both.
Another amazing moment of the trip was when my friend and I spent the night in a covered wagon out in the middle of nowhere. The stargazing was incredible; staring up at a dark Arizona night sky and seeing so many stars made me cry. I thought of everyone that was struggling mentally and wrote what came to my heart.
I wish I could show you the stars.
I wish for half an hour you could stare at the stars.
I wish your problems, numerous as they are
Would seem as small and far away as these balls of light.
I read once that most stars we see have died long ago
Though their light travels on.
I wish you could see that your problems already have solutions.
You just haven’t reached them yet.
I wish we could stare at the stars every night
I wish you could feel so small and completely held by something bigger.
I wish I could make you feel what I feel when I stare at the stars.
I wish you would feel that anything is possible
As we stare at the vast night sky.
Our covered wagon airbnb in Colorado City, AZ
If only there were some way I could bottle up the feelings I had this past week and disperse them into the hearts of everyone in such deep pain, I’d do it. But because I can’t, I will be over here typing until my fingers go numb to remind you that life is worth living. If it’s not now, I promise it will be some day. Keep holding on. You have so much life to live and I pray that your mind would stop lying to you long enough for you to see that.
S/O to Heather Sampson and Kalia Blake for editing
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