The worst thing for me is the loneliness, the isolation. Tonight, when the bad thoughts are out of control, when all my usual distractions – healthy and unhealthy – are not working and when I feel close to the end, what I want is someone to talk to, someone to call or text or message and talk to. But there’s no one I feel I can contact anymore and I don’t know if I have no one to turn to because I’m depressed or if I’m depressed because I have no one to turn to.
People are the key. This is a feature of my goodbye notes; my unsolicited advice to the ones I plan to leave behind: it doesn’t matter what job you have, things you possess, how much money in the bank. The people I care about know this. I probably wouldn’t care about them if they were materialistic and money-obsessed. Probably no need to waste time mentioning this between the goodbyes and the take cares and the I love yous. But it also doesn’t matter where you visit, the places you choose to see and live, even the experiences you have. These are important but are not key. People are key. Connections are key. Without them, there is nothing. Without them, I am nothing so it’s hard to see how it’s worth it. The Point is gone now.
The books I’ve read written by people who have experienced these depths all talk about one saving grace, one thing that kept their hearts beating and lungs filling and expelling invisible gasses: people. A person. That’s why they exist to write a book. That’s how they got through. A partner, a best friend, someone who was always there and who kept going with them.
I’ve read no books in which someone without anyone finds a way through so I don’t know how this will play out. What I do know is that if I had been George Bailey, Clarence would have taken one look through a me-less past and shoved me in the river himself.