How is possible that for some people, the most tragic of circumstances can cause them to become an unexpectedly optimistic person? The same question might be asked of a tree. How can a tree that's been charred unrecognizable by fire still find a way to send out shoots, and given enough time, eventually burst into the magnificence of a whole new tree? How can a flower, after the harshest of winters, push through the frigid tundra and bloom with the encouragement of just a few rays of sunshine? This is life-and life always finds a way; that's the beauty and majesty of life-it never gives up. More accurately, life never gives up on us. The bystander can't see the roots underground that nourish and sustain the tree and the flower. They only see the devastation of the fire or the impossibly hard ground. What they don't see is the hope waiting to burgeon just below the surface.
A year ago I would have bet you a million bucks that the exciting growth that is happening in my life today was absolutely impossible. When my teen daughter, severely depressed for 4 very long and turbulent years, finally gave in to her unrelenting depression and committed suicide in the next room as I slept, I would have told you in no uncertain terms that my life was ruined; certainly my career as a counselor was ruined, and that my heart was irreparable. In fact, here's a quote from my autobiographical book, "Once The Storm Is Over: From Grieving to Healing After the Suicide of My Daughter," taken directly from my diary: "I am ruined. Ruined like a woman whose unfaithful husband leaves her out of his thoughts when he goes to be with his mistress. Her note said she was leaving to be with her father who had passed. That she missed him. Just like that. As if what I gave her, although imperfect, was wholly inadequate. Women of ruin let their hair go grey, letting the foolish and naïve dreams slip through their lifeless fingers, letting their surety go slack, letting life be not what they were told, but what they were left with. Who am I now? I am a saint burning sanctimoniously atop a pyre of unfortunate circumstances."
In 2013, my peaceful life came crashing to a gruesome end. The result? I was poisoned and blinded by anger, soaked in failure, and overwhelmed by soul-crushing grief. My deep blue skies and happily-ever-afters turned into a living nightmare. I thought of myself as a laughing stock; a colossal failure that others would point to and say: whatever you do, don't be like her. In short, I was bubbling over inside with self-hate and self-loathing, and there was no rescue; no escaping the truth: my smart, beautiful and tortured daughter would never be coming back. Everyday I blamed myself a little more-the shame was like drinking a little more arsenic every day. I wondered if I wouldn't just call it quits myself because death sure seemed more attractive than going on without her. I longed for her; I yearned to escape to the afterlife and find her. I would grab her and hold her, and somehow, someway make her see what she couldn't see because of the curtain of depression that had fallen over her eyes: that she was my darling, my everything, and that there would be no living without her. This deep hopelessness endured for a year.
Have you ever been hopeless, helpless, depressed? It runs in my family; I've battled it for decades now. It used to be much worse: when I was first diagnosed it was crippling. At one point I was living in the attic of my parent's home because I couldn't get out of bed long enough to get to a job or go to my college classes. I remember days so bad that I honestly didn't have the strength to brush my teeth or change my underwear. Depression forces you into this closet where it's just you and the darkness of your mind. No light can get in, and it wouldn't matter if there were a thousand caring people standing outside of that door-they couldn't get in because it's a hell only big enough for one. That's why whenever I'd knock on my daughter's bedroom door she wouldn't answer. It's not that she wanted to shut me out, and she didn't want to die the gruesome and terrifying way she did. She had been locked inside a dark closet with monsters for 4 years, and death seemed alluring and radiant compared to the terror of her own mind. I understand the dark closet, because until my doctors finally discovered the right anti-depressant for me, I lived in there for 10 years of my life, too.
Why didn't I give up? I had a daughter, and I went on for her. When you're depressed, the key to survival is to find one person to go on for. And if you're suffering depression and saying to yourself, there isn't one person in my life who cares-that's the same thing my daughter thought, too. The truth is, the closet door shuts out all the love people feel for you. It's not that they aren't standing outside the door loving you, because they are. It's the door-it's so thick, so sound-proof, that it blots out any light or love. What you've got to do is shove that heavy door open and scream for help as loud as you can. What's inside the door will tell you not to. It will tell you to keep your mouth shut, that nobody will understand, or worse, they'll think you're crazy. But if you listen to the monsters, if you don't yell for help, they will get you and steal your precious life. And even when you can't find a reason to go on, you're here for a reason. Lots of people haven't figured out why they're here, you're not alone. There are millions, even billions of people wrestling with these existential questions. But they don't give up because they've seen that life can change. Life always changes and it can get better. Remember what I said-life never gives up on you. Life never gives up believing in you-in your potential, in the unique contribution you are meant to give. Look at my life-it's been in shambles, in ruins more than once. I've been through the fire and I've been through the storm and I am still standing. Not only have I survived it, but I'll be damned! Today beauty is growing right where the devastation used to be.
The miracle of life is that while we give up on it, it never gives up on us. The best reason to go on is because life put you here-and that should tell you that you're here for a reason. Here's to life, and here's to you...and here's to never giving up.
To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0
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