I was 16 when I decided to take my own life through a drug overdose. My clinical depression and borderline personality disorder had spiraled out of control. I lay down on my bed, swallowed a bottle of pills, and felt my consciousness slip away.
I woke up in a place that felt like Oz. It was all vivid colors and sunshine. I tried to stand, but realized that my body wasn’t with me. I couldn’t see where I came from or where I was to go. I could see a field with an uncountable number of flowers and low, rolling hills. The field stretched further than I could see in every direction, except towards the sunset. There was a clear creek, like the ones I grew up near. The creek was winding its way towards the setting sun with the light reflecting off of it. The colors of the sky were scattered across the creek like billions of tiny gemstones. I walked to the creek and tried to run my fingers through it. But I couldn’t feel anything. I inspected the flowers near the bed of the creek. While studying the tiny purple petals, I realized that I was meant to love. I knew in that moment that I was not going to die. I was to inspire the people I meet with the love. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them I was in a hospital. I never shared the experience, but now I am far more focused on empathy and understanding of others.