Like every Tuesday, I rode the metro home from work. On this particularly dreary day, I noticed a distraught girl sobbing with an open seat next to her. Despite being an overcrowded metro car during rush hour in the nation’s capital, no one chose to sit next to her because of the blubbering and snotty tissues.
I sat next to this girl without hesitation.
I started chatting about mundane topics such as the depressing weather and how my socks were soggy from my useless, cheap rainboots. After twenty minutes of small talk, I learned her name was Anna, and that she was plagued with severe depression. Anna explained that she had been battling this insidious demon since junior year of high school, where she concocted a plan to relieve her pain permanently. She said she always had an inkling that she may die at her own hands, she just didn’t know when or where or why. She was saving her concoction for the day she hit her breaking point. Apparently, I met Anna during her breaking point. She informed me, a total stranger, that her plan was to get off the metro, go home, and commit suicide.
I neither freaked out nor judged this stranger regarding her misfortune. Instead, I asked why she felt the need to do such a thing. I listened to her vent from one end of the line to the other. I did not even get off at my intended stop but instead ended up riding the metro all the way to the end of the line with this girl. I’ll admit, her life sucked.
Dead Mom. Deadbeat Dad. Shitty job, shittier boyfriend. The only fulfilling part of her life she mentioned was her cat, Ripples.
When the train finally stopped, Anna and I came to an agreement: not today. She was to go home, light some candles and incense, take a bath, cry, eat a pint of ice cream, cry some more, and then go to sleep. If she woke up and still felt the same suffocating dread, then we could revisit the conversation. I promised her we’d cross that bridge together when we come to it. She’d had this plan in place for almost a decade, so why not wait one more night.
Besides, who is going to feed the cat?
I did not invalidate her feelings of depression and desire for suicide. Instead, I welcomed them. I told her that it was perfectly okay to feel the feelings that she was feeling. In fact, embrace them. Wallow in them. Let them wash over you, but don’t drown in them. Question why they are there and why they are so strong. Where did they come from? What can do when you experience them? Where could they go once you’re done with them?
I reminded her that most people would probably feel the same way if they heard the story that I heard. Even more, I reassured her that every human being feels similarly during many points in each life. Regardless of a person’s circumstances, in a brand-new Ferrari or a broken-down Fiat, every single person on this planet gets sad. The trick is persuading yourself that sadness isn’t a bad thing. If you want to live a full life, it’s actually supposed to happen.
On a mountain in the east side of Kyoto, there is a temple buried deep in a cave underground. Those who enter must do so holding hands because they must lead each other single file down a stone corridor in complete darkness. Just as your eyes dilate to night vision, you come upon a glowing orb placed in the center of a perfectly circular cave. Your pupils immediately constrict at an almost painful speed since you’ve seen no light for the last three minutes. You circle the orb for a couple seconds before exiting out another long, dark corridor that brings you to the sunny mountainside. I thought it was a fun, silly temple when I walked through it at 13, but now that I’m a decade older, I realized that it was symbolic.
The walkthrough represents how people can’t possibly appreciate light if they don’t experience darkness. Think about it – if that glowing orb had been placed in broad daylight on that mountain, it would’ve been cool, but not nearly as meaningful. Feeling your way through darkness is key to enjoying light.
Anna gave me her number that rainy Tuesday. I’m happy to report that she texted me the morning after, thanking me for my compassion. I’m even happier to report that more than three years after that morning, I’m still getting texts from her. She still gets waves of depression from time to time, and whenever they wash over her, she texts me pictures of her Ripples and her newborn daughter, Clara, along with those two simple words: not today.
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