How Reading and the Power of Imagination Saved My Life
- Bryn Wolanski
- 3 hours ago
- 6 min read
Trigger warning: The following article contains discussions about suicidal ideation with explicit descriptions. Some readers may find this distressing.
My name is Bryn, and this year I turn 36 years old. I have never told my story like this before, and never in this much detail. I’m hoping it gives others some comfort and strength to know that life can get better and is worth living. Keep in mind that despite how this all happened, I’m here to write this today. That being said…
The day I turned 18 wasn't fun or exciting. It was the day I was supposed to off myself.
During the 5-7 years before my 18th birthday, I had developed a sense of dread about life and an overwhelming, seemingly ceaseless case of depression. I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder, depression, anxiety, and was put on antipsychotic medication that did nothing for me (years later, I discovered I was misdiagnosed and that I was actually suffering from Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), so no wonder). I felt hopeless and just wanted the misery to end, but I decided to give myself time to see if it got better. If they hadn’t by the time I turned 18, I’d take myself out.
Over the years, the only thing that felt like it gave me any relief was reading books and writing. I got lost in other realms, put myself in the shoes of others, and embarked on extraordinary adventures. I wrote fan fiction in notebooks, took refuge in English class assignments, and even wrote my own book (which I never published, but I've tried to rework the cringeworthy parts recently to see if it’s still a relevant story today).
Escapism was my drug, and I was a heavy user.
The characters I read and wrote about developed themselves and took up residence in my head. I've learned this can be an occurrence for writers. I wrote out scenes and conversations with them and got to know them in an intimate, personal way. The relationships I built with them were one of the few things I could take solace in. Unfortunately, anxiety and depression never went away; they were as present as my imaginary friends. Even with all of my imaginative powers, I still couldn’t dream up a future for myself, which I took as a sign that I wasn’t going to have one.
Two years before my self-imposed expiration date, I went for a hike with my dad in a new park I’d never visited. We walked up steep hills and circled around until my dad deviously stepped over the wooden fence that was meant to deter hikers. I reluctantly followed him, and what I found on the other side was a breathtaking view. Far, far, down below was the remnants of a retired quarry, which nature was reclaiming.
It was beautiful. I knew in my heart that this place was where I wanted to die.
On the afternoon of my 18th birthday, I left my house and drove to that same park. It was cold and cloudy, as is expected in March. The upper half of the park, where my dad had taken me, was blocked off for the season to prevent possible accidents. I parked at the very bottom lot, which I’d never parked at before, and started the winding uphill trek up to the quarry.
I can tell you that there was doubt in my mind as I hiked forward. At that point, though, the overwhelming sense of the unknown and the fear drove me to continue. I didn’t cry for most of the hike, not until I got to the base of the final hill that would lead to the quarry. As I wiped away the first tears and started the ascension, I heard them- the characters I had developed such strong emotional bonds to.
You can’t do this.
Well, I can, and I am.
You have so much to live for.
I have nothing to live for. No plans, no future, nothing.
You may think that, but things change.
Nothing is going to change.
Fine, then consider this: If you die, we die, too. To be frank, we rather like our current arrangement.
That was, to be fair, a weirdly true thought that made me feel rather uncomfortable. My goal was to take myself out of the equation and not hurt anyone else (imaginary or otherwise). I wanted to be free, but I hadn’t really assessed what the cost of that freedom might be. I had carried the notion in my mind that I wasn’t meant for this world for years, and that I would put an end to my suffering on my terms. My eyes were flowing steadily, and I straddled the fence to climb over, heading to the edge of the quarry. There was a thin tree that had grown on the very last spot of earth before the drop. I placed a hand on it and looked down with a shuddering breath.
I told myself that if I did this, it would be done. I wouldn’t hurt anymore or feel like a burden. I wouldn’t have to be afraid.
You’re doing this because you’re afraid, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.
That is where you are entirely wrong.
Why? Because you don’t have a plan? You’re not afraid of dying, you’re afraid of living. We know you, and we know you’re better than this. You have worth in this world.
I have nothing- no plan, no future. I would rather do this now and spare myself (and everyone else) the time and energy of me killing myself after I’ve failed and disappointed everyone. Besides, I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t do this.
If you’re afraid to live for yourself, then live for us. We have stories to tell. Promise us.
I whispered my promise to the wind as I wiped away more tears. Even if I didn’t have a plan or any idea what to do, even if the prospect of failure was terrifying… It wasn’t about me anymore. I was going to be a messenger, a storyteller, a lesson, a conduit of creation.
The effort it took for me to walk away from that ledge was astounding. I was exhausted from the hike up and from the emotional upheaval and revelation I’d experienced. My legs felt like jelly, and it was a slower return to my car that afternoon than the trip up had been. When I got to my car and unlocked the door, I took a deep breath and murmured a thank you as I got inside and headed home.
This year marks 18 years since I made that fateful decision.
I’ve lived an entire lifespan of the teenage version of myself that I almost killed. I graduated from high school and went on to earn my Bachelor of Arts degree. I got my Master of Library and Information Science in graduate school and became a librarian so I can connect individuals with things that resonate with them. I got effective help for my mental health struggles, including Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and going to several doctors before finally being diagnosed with PMDD, anxiety, and depression. This resulted in experimenting with various birth control options until I found one that was able to help, as well as finding the right other medications that could help my anxiety and depression. (Personal note: women’s health is still a very “mysterious” subject, and there is so much research that needs to be done to help those suffering from cases like mine.) I fell in love with (and married) the man of my dreams. I even developed my own business, writing and helping others with their creative processes.
I have built an existence for myself that I never thought was possible. Let me tell you. You are not alone, and your life is what you make it. Even if you feel like you’re flying by the seat of your pants, it’s worth it. You are worth it. Never give up.
This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.