(TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of death and killings)
"Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality."
An excerpt from a beautiful piece of literature by the great Emily Dickinson, who revolutionized the concept of death from a scary phenomenon to something, someone - inevitable. I held onto those lines like a prayer script, an incantation, a new religion to redeem myself, or finally end my existence.
Just like how Emily Dickinson portrays death as a personified entity that most of us don’t want to meet, yet it is inevitable that he will show up in front of us, or knock on our doors and fetch us for a ride towards eternity. For people battling with mental health problems, the relationship towards death can be a little complex.
Death can be a taboo or a censored word for many of us. But for some, it is someone, something familiar; perhaps, an acquaintance. Someone, something they can run to when life feels like everything or nothing at all. For the past years, death became the easiest I ran to, my most familiar acquaintance, but I wouldn’t call it a friend, I guess. No friend would steal happy moments, no friend would want to leave your loved ones. No friend would want to hurt you. It was a love-and-hate relationship toward death. That I realized, maybe, just maybe, it is all fair in love and death.
Battling with unwelcomed and harmful thoughts for how many years could rob you of so much; family, friends, loved ones, opportunities, and even life itself. It wasn’t the absence of anything that caused me those thoughts, nor to find familiarity in death, it just happened- my mind got sick. It took me years to realize that my mind was sick, not me. It took me years to realize that those thoughts should be killed, not me. It took me years to realize that my mind needed to heal, so I could heal. And, within those years, I found love, in various forms.
I found love in the face of my grandmother who always checks on me. Which I didn’t notice before because I thought death was the closest and the only- I had. My grandmother’s love grew like a wildflower inside my heart through the little things she did, asking me about my week, asking the simplest and repetitive questions, cooking my favorite food, preparing my bed, and giving me snacks. I found love in the laughter of my friends. I found love with how we cracked jokes even in situations we shouldn’t, I found love when we laugh in the middle of a breakdown. I found love in the name of service. I found love working with people to serve the people. I found love in sacrificing my own sleep, time, and energy to serve others. I found love in the lives of others. I found love, and at the same time, I found- my lost life.
This is when death became a distant someone. Death became blurry because love became clearer. Now, death is a distant acquaintance, an old memory, or perhaps, an old friend.
Today, in celebration of World Mental Health Day, to those who don’t think of death anymore, may we never find our way back to his doorsteps. To those who are still at the doorsteps, may you continue fighting, you are never alone. You have me, you have us. There is no exact format nor the right prayers and incantations to fight death, but know that there are people fighting with you, especially on days when you feel like death is the only one you have. To you, to me, keep going until death becomes a distant memory and an old friend.