It's been the summer from hell, and if it were up to me I'd be dead twenty times over. But to my amazement I'm still here. My survival is the result of several extraordinary kindnesses, which I think deserve to be noted. We can all learn from what happened to me: not only is suicide preventable, but it's within the reach of every one of us to change the course of a life.
For several years, I've been struggling financially—it's a painfully long time between book advances if you really want to write a decent book. The burden of trying to make ends meet without any income finally overwhelmed me in April, and I was diagnosed with a severe peptic ulcer. It felt like my own body was attacking me—exploding incendiary bombs in my stomach that peppered my insides with molten shrapnel. "You have to reduce your stress," my doctor said. I just nodded.
Shortly after the ulcer my dermatologist found skin cancer on my face, which required reconstructive surgery and left a nasty, jagged scar. All of which was enough to upset even the most balanced mind. But the worst was yet to come: right after I was diagnosed with the cancer, the man I'd loved for thirty-five years left me—without a word, without any warning. One minute he was reassuring me via voicemail that he was still in my life; the next he was refusing to answer my calls. Or my emails. Or my texts. To this day, I haven't heard a word from him.
This combination of events was just too much for me: I spiraled down into a vicious depression, so profound I could barely move. I replayed my relationship over and over, trying to make sense out of incomprehension. The more I thought about it, the deeper my despair became. It boiled down to this: If the world could be so heartless and cruel, I didn't want to be a part of it anymore.
My support team did what they could. My therapist phoned me every day. My psychopharmacologist prescribed drug after drug. My best friend listened to me moan. But I was so shocked by the savage nature of the universe that I couldn't understand why anyone who loved me wouldn't let me die.
Life doesn't care if you're suicidal. The gas bill needs to be paid regardless; the body still needs to be fed. In my writing group, I casually wrote about a dilemma I was facing at the time: I could either buy food or medication, but not both. I didn't write this seeking help, I was just cataloguing a fact of my life.
To my astonishment, a couple of days later I received a card in the mail from my group, with a check large enough to get me past my dilemma. I didn't have the slightest idea what to do: I was shocked and perplexed and deeply touched. I wasn't sure what the proper protocol was for taking money from friends. But desperation trumps protocol every time, and I quickly cashed the check.
A week later there was a knock at my door. I opened it to a delivery man bearing a glorious bunch of white lilies. They were from a young man who knew I was severely depressed, because I kept postponing lunch with him. He and his family had surprised me by their frequent emails voicing their concern; but nothing had prepared me for this. Getting flowers is always great, but these were extraordinary because there was no special occasion, and they were a custom bouquet: the young man knew from reading my book Manic that white lilies mean the world to me. Every day I inhaled that lovely fragrance I felt a little farther from death.
Shortly after that I forced myself to go to a birthday party for a friend I love. I swore I'd just make an appearance and leave. But as soon as I arrived, I ran into a man that I hadn't seen in years. He asked me how I was, and I didn't have the energy to edit. I told him my woes. It turned out he was suffering too, and by unspoken consensus we stepped away from the party and spent the next two hours commiserating. For once, I got to say everything I wanted and someone listened and gave a damn. As the day slipped tranquilly into night, I could feel my heart begin to heal.
Money, flowers, and an open ear: random acts of kindness performed not for gain or advantage, but simply because someone cared enough to make the effort. And in the doing, save a life. It made me realize something essential: The man who left me may have been cruel, but he was only one man. The world itself is capable of great compassion, and that's a world I want to live in.
So find a need. Surprise someone with your benevolence. You'll not only reap the karma, you may just rewrite a life.