A Life Worth Living

A Life Worth Living

Kaitlin was struck by how forgettable the room was. Nothing remarkable, nothing to distract from the uncomfortable silence. Walls absent of colour. Everything faded into the background. Even the window seemed to have no view, no purpose at all. On one side, there was a small wooden table and two chairs.

Kaitlin preferred the oversized recliner on the other side. Like her, it seemed out of place. Everything else was strictly functional, yet the recliner was all about comfort. Kaitlin knew that if she sat in the recliner, she would be more prone to crying (which she hated), but sinking into the cushions made up for the tears that would come. Besides, being emotional always seemed to encourage the therapist, as though it meant she was on the edge of a breakthrough.

The therapist had selected the arm chair across the room and she sat waiting for Kaitlin to respond to her last question. Although there was no shortage of thoughts inside Kaitlin’s head, she knew better than to let them out. Hence the silence.

“I don’t know.” Kaitlin said quietly.

It was the truth. If she knew, she wouldn’t be here. She didn’t know the answer and sharing the incomplete thoughts in her head was never a good idea. People got offended. Or scared. Or worse yet, worried, and then they would watch her every move. That was worse than being ignored.

It didn’t make sense to Kaitlin. Her actions had not been about harming herself; they were about relief. She understood that people would be sad, but that would pass with time, and she was going to finally be at peace. If they truly cared, wouldn’t they want that for her? Wouldn’t death be a kindness?

It wasn’t so. What she saw as potential for peace, they saw as harm. They thought being alive was living. And so here she sat trying to find a solution that could work for everyone.

“What would make life worth living?” the therapist tried again.

It was the ongoing theme of their sessions. The therapist was convinced she needed ‘life worth living’ goals. As though there was some version of life that would make her fear death rather than dread living.

“I’m not trying to be difficult.” Kaitlin felt the need to defend herself, to explain that after fifty years, she wasn’t convinced that her life could be different. Some people just couldn’t be fixed. She was just one of those people who wasn’t hardwired to be happy.

“I don’t think that you’re being difficult.” Not deterred, the therapist tried a different approach, “Tell me about a time when you were happy.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have an answer to the question. It would be easier if she did. Kaitlin wanted to make her therapist happy and she was almost ready to make up something just to do that.

She was kind and seemed to genuinely want to help Kaitlin. That hadn’t always been her experience. Since her twenties, she had seen more therapists than she could keep track of. What would start as compassion, validation and confidence that they could help, would end in frustration. Kaitlin would be left feeling she had failed therapy because she was uncooperative or hadn’t tried hard enough.

It was always the same, being told she needed to stop people-pleasing, open up and communicate her needs. Apparently, that didn’t apply to therapists, because if she didn’t say and do the things that would please them, therapy would end and Kaitlin would be alone again.

She wasn’t trying to be willful (her mother’s favourite description of her behaviour). It’s just that any faith she once had was long gone. Faith was dangerous. Hope led to hurt. She wasn’t sure how much more hurt she could handle.

“I can’t.” Kaitlin admitted, “When I look back, the moments when I thought I was happy were only a delusion.”

“Can you explain?”

Could she? Was there a way to make her understand that there had been many times over the years that she thought everything was going to be okay. Maybe even better than okay; that she was finally going to be happy. Not just that momentary feeling of happiness, but the kind that stuck around. But it wasn’t to be and she now realized that trying to find it was more painful than not having it.

She could talk about travelling with friends, getting to see new places, eat great food and try new things. But inevitably, too much time spent together would spell the end of friendships. Kaitlin would become irritated by her friends or them by her.

Kaitlin would become less – less overwhelming, less opinionated, just less – to try to keep everyone happy. But it was exhausting and would become too much work to maintain.

What about hanging out with friends, playing cards, or golfing? As good as it might feel in the moment, Kaitlin knew it couldn’t last. When it ended, it would be more painful than any potential joy she might have felt.

Friendships were short-lived, she just wasn’t inherently likeable. She had accepted that a long time ago. It was hard to like her and over time, friends would drift away or Kaitlin would do something that would end the friendship (even if she never understood what it was or why it happened). That always made it harder.

After fifty years, it just seemed like work, with little or no benefit. Every path led to the same destination, just different scenery along the way. But Kaitlin needed to come up with something soon because she was running out of time.

Not only was another session ending without any answers, it was only a matter of time before she would have exhausted yet another person who said they would help. Kaitlin wanted help because there were only two things she knew to be true: that she was going to have to keep living and she couldn’t call this living.

What would make ‘life worth living’? At this point, she’d settle for a ‘life less difficult’ but Kaitlin knew that wouldn’t give her the passing grade she wanted. As a child, she had never really failed at anything she put her mind to, but now it felt like she was failing at everything, including therapy.

They were nearing the end of the session and even though the therapist would suggest differently, Kaitlin did not feel like they had made any progress. Would there be a day when everything would just ‘click’? A day when she would be looking forward to the future, wanting to make plans, try new things and engage in life?

The only thing Kaitlin knew for sure was that it wouldn’t be today. The therapist was wrapping up, confirming their next appointment, reminding Kaitlin of her ‘homework’, and finishing with the obligatory statement of hope for the future.

And with that, Kaitlin left the non-descript room, knowing only that she would be back again next week. To her, that was progress. Perhaps not everyone would agree. But she was planning to come back, and as long as she kept doing that, maybe there would be hope after all.