One of my best friends asked my resident advisor for advice while I was in the hospital last year. "What should I do to support her?" he asked.
The response was "just be there for her."
It's true. On days when I was tired and just wanted to give up, I had no more tears to give or words to say. My eyes would glaze over when people were talking to me. My heart would be pounding. I would feel like my organs were on the verge of exploding. I was a shell of a human. I didn't want to be alive because I felt dead already, hopeless and convinced that there was nothing left.
The best thing anyone ever did for me was sit with me. My two best friends came to the hospital five times a week during visiting hours, and we just did puzzle after puzzle. We played the Game of Life. We ordered Thai food off UberEats and just ate in silence. My parents and my brother cancelled their travel plans to visit me. We didn't talk much. When they asked how I was doing, I just didn't know what to say. But we spent a lot of time just sitting at the end of the south wing. Sometimes they watched me draw. Without them, I don't think I would be alive today.
When I can be there for someone, it makes me feel like there's a purpose to my life. I want to be there for my friend performing in the student-run opera show, and I want to greet them with a bouquet of flowers when it's over. I want to be there for my friend, who told me today that she felt depressed, that it was getting worse, and that she was too unmotivated to seek out help; I tried to be there for her by sitting next to her as she filled out intake forms. I want to be there for the homeless vet who sleeps in front of the bank at night, by bringing him food from the dining hall and offering him money on Venmo when he can't pay his imminently due phone bill. I have a hard time connecting with most of the homeless kids at the youth shelter, but I can be there during the overnight shift when they are asleep at night, doing the laundry and sweeping the floors. I want to be there to surprise my friends on their birthdays because they matter and deserve to be recognized for the great people that they are. I want to be there for Cilantro when she's looking for a play buddy at 8am in the morning or in the mood for cuddles. I want be there for my grandparents, even if my grandpa loses his memory over time to Alzheimer's. Being there for people who need me is one of my life worth living goals. I need to be alive to be there; I can't be there for anyone if I'm not here in this world. That's what I remind myself when I'm convinced that I want to disappear.
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