Please Note: Before reading my letter, I'd like to let you know that in it I describe my experience with suicidal ideation. If you believe you will find this content triggering, I encourage you to read one of the other letters of IfYoureReadingThis.org, or to prepare to access any support systems or resources you find helpful if you do become triggered by reading my letter below. The national suicide prevention hotline is 1-800-273-8255.
If you’re reading this, your life can be beautiful.
“I wish I could experience a beautiful life.”
I started crying when a girl in my zoom therapy group expressed this desire. Albeit, at the present moment it doesn’t take much to bring me to tears. Last semester there were many days when I walked around campus visibly crying.
For so much of my life I’ve tried to maintain the facade of perfection. The idea of telling anyone that I couldn’t control my own brain, that life was too hard, felt embarrassing. Why can’t I experience a beautiful life like everyone else? I didn’t let down my walls until merely functioning became unbearable. I sat in my poetry class yet all I could hear were the thoughts spiraling in my head. I couldn’t go to water polo practice because every time I put my head underwater I wanted to stay there. I regretted the lack of long-sleeved shirts in my closet; my arms screamed my hurt to the world.
The therapists in my partial program preached radical acceptance; you have to acknowledge reality in order to change it. While this concept, along with many others on their endless handouts, felt trite, it challenged the way I had been living my life. Instead of trying to understand my depression & anxiety, I tended to fill my days with work, school, and time with others. I ensured that I remained alone as little as possible because I couldn’t deal with my thoughts. I turned all my anxiety outward, redirecting its focus from myself to those around me. Attempting to push my deteriorating mental health to the sides only backfired, landing me in the emergency room.
I’m realizing that continuing to live after hitting rock bottom doesn’t come with a manual. You can’t google “how to return to society after being in a mental hospital.” I have lost the ability to engage in small talk because it feels disingenuous to engage with friends who have no idea what happened last summer. All I want to do is shout “I TRIED TO KILL MYSELF.” I abandoned all hope for a beautiful life. At the same time, I don’t want to tell anyone because I hesitate to burden anyone with that knowledge. Can I engage in meaningful relationships without disclosing this part of myself? I don’t know yet.
I can’t state with certainty that I want to be alive. However, I can say that I want to want to be alive, and that is enough for now. Slowly, slowly, I am trying to figure out how to make my life beautiful. I’m trying to separate this search for beauty from an aspiration towards perfection. I’m learning to love my messy bits. I’m learning to acknowledge that my emotions can be irrational yet still understandable. I’m trying to figure out who I am and how I want to interact with the world around me. There are still many days when I lie on the floor, but they are no longer my only days. Maybe a barista remembering my name at my favorite coffee shop is the only beautiful thing I found today. Maybe a friend’s hug momentarily relieved the burden of this life. Maybe that is enough for today.
If you’re reading this, you deserve a beautiful life. I hope you repel the ever-present incapacitating voice in your head. If you’re reading this, life can continue after hitting rock bottom. If you’re reading this, embrace the messiness; that is what makes us human. Beauty doesn’t lie in perfection, but in the passionate, the messy. If you’re reading this, your life can be beautiful.
Anju S., Boston College ‘23
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