The Meaning of Life

     The last year and half of high school, I didn’t live with my dad and step-mom, I’d moved out. I lived in an apartment paid for by my best friend Linda’s mother. It was her 17^th birthday present and just my luck, her mom needed help paying the rent on it. Using money from my retail job, I got to live cheaply in a nice place that was not ruled by parents. Linda and I were inseparable. We played soccer together on the junior varsity team, our friends were friends and she had a car. We spent many nights in that apartment doing what teenage girls do: baring our souls and hearts with the utmost trust in each other.

     This night began like so many others. We played Mario Kart on her Nintendo 64, listened to the same sad Matthew Good Band song on the radio, ate Ramen and talked boys. Suddenly, however, things turned scary fast. Linda was upset about her current interest, I knew that, but we’d discussed his worthlessness so many times that I couldn’t believe just how upset she still was. Linda brought me a pillow she’d been hiding from me. It was covered in words and pictures drawn in Sharpie. She was and is a talented artist but her choice of expression was so bizarre to me in that moment. She told me about each word, line, quote and image. I started to realize how deep her emotions ran and how much she needed me.

     As I began to use the same words I’d used before, she got angry. Linda was afraid of being alone; afraid of being unloved and afraid people would find out just how much she didn’t love herself. Everything happened so suddenly, I don’t remember how she managed to get the large kitchen knife in her hand. One minute we’re standing in the living room fighting and the next minute she’s backed up against the wall in the kitchen brandishing a huge knife in my face. I distinctly remember thinking, “Don’t be afraid. It’s not you she wants to hurt. Don’t be afraid. Don’t let her turn that around on herself. Don’t be afraid.” In that vein, I started yelling at her.

     “Go ahead! You’re really that mad? You really want to use that thing? Well do it, then! I’m standing right here and I’m not stopping you. Cut me if you want, but who else will bother to tell you the truth when you need it and lie to you when you don’t?” She really started to cry then, let me take the knife and balled up on the floor, defeated and defended at the same time.

     After my mother’s death when I was 8, I’ve done all I can for those around me who try to choose death over life. I know what it’s like to be the one left behind and I refuse to be that again when there’s something to be done about it. Linda is now in a loving, happy and committed relationship and following her own dreams of art. I’ve taken my friend Lynn, 30, with Type 1 diabetes to the hospital many times when she’s let her blood sugar get so out of control her doctor said she would have died if I hadn’t brought her. She used to get that way after thinking about her unfair life of pills and shots since she was seven, her inability to get pregnant and give birth and wondering if she’ll find someone who doesn’t care about all that. She’s now taking good care of herself and living her life happily. I’ve prevented another suicide in the form of an ex-boyfriend Alex, 38, who is currently a father-to-be again after 20 years, a grandpa-to-be and an uncle-to-be, all within the next three months. He is also pursuing a degree in nursing to be able to better provide for his new daughter the way he couldn’t provide for his first two children.

     Regardless of my seeming optimism, I’ve never been one to say that life isn’t hard. My own experiences aren’t rare but they have shown me how easy it really is to decide to take your own life. Barely hanging on at the end of your rope with no one to turn to and nowhere to go is a scary place. Even if you only feel like that’s where you are. Suicidal thoughts and tendencies don’t only affect hormonal teenagers like my first experience. They claw their way into the brains and hearts of educated adults with loving families like Lynn. They creep in and settle into the hearts and minds of fathers who feel like they’re not good enough for their kids and don’t know how to change themselves for the better like Alex.

     I’ve learned how to deal with these situations through trial but thankfully without error. I know that I was given those chances with those people for a reason and not just to be there for them. I’ve also been the one contemplating fatal actions. However, these experiences have taught me that no matter how futile we think our lives are, or unloved we think we may be, someone does care and our lives do have meaning. I’ve managed to find my meaning in pursuing a degree to be a teacher. I want to change the lives of children. I want to be the teacher they remember years later as their own kids start school. I want to be the voice in their heads that prevents them from becoming the ignorant youth I see myself surrounded by today. I’ve also found meaning in the eyes of my toddler son. Everything I do, I do for him. No matter how difficult my life gets, I know that when he grins at me and calls me “Mama” I am the entire world even for one small person. Each life has its own personal meaning and only by living will we find it.

Final note: If you find yourself thinking suicidal thoughts or feeling totally alone, please call 1-800-273-8255 to talk to a volunteer who chooses to be there for you. PostSecret is also a wonderful resource for hope and finding others who feel the way you do. Or you can talk to me. I’m always willing give advice or just lend an ear. You can find me at mamapoodle09@gmail.com and @MamaPoodle on Twitter.