"Charlies' Last Letter"

Michael Brook - Charlie's Last Letter

During the last week of classes before my college graduation, I also attended my last counseling session. Graduation seemed to line up perfectly with a natural ending to my time in counseling. I was in a very positive place— with much thanks to Lindsey, my counselor— and was ready for the next chapter. My last session was meant to be one of closure, and I had the opportunity to reflect on many of the moments that had gotten me to that one.

“These moments will all become stories someday.”

Those moments—many of which were dark, lonely, and painful—were now just chapters in a bigger story. The hours I spent bawling on a bathroom counter or in a bookstore parking lot and realized I was struggling with something more real than I had previously allowed myself to admit. All the times I was asked if I was OK and chose to lie. The letters I handed to Lindsey, admitting things I couldn’t bear to say out loud. Together, these moments reflect a time in my life when I was empty, numb, exhausted. At the time, they felt endless, and I thought they were my whole story.

“This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive.”

Looking back now, I can tell you exactly how these moments led to brighter chapters. In the end, they gave me the courage to create an even happier story than if I had merely been content. For every painful moment, there were beautiful ones that reminded me I was not just the sad, empty person I once believed I was: the night I slept under the stars in the Australia Outback; the day I spent 12 hours doing random acts of kindness through a club at school (and realized I was proud to be part of a school I was once unhappy at); many evenings filled with laughter in the townhouse I shared with four amazing roommates; the day I watched a friend, who had left school to get treatment for an eating disorder, get married.

During those moments, I couldn’t help but briefly look back and compare it to the months I spent believing I was a sad story. These moments would have been great no matter what my past had been like, but because I had struggled, they were so much more meaningful. Because I had known emptiness, in those moments I felt something much better than just “happiness.”

“In this moment, I swear, we are infinite.”

Infinite. A word that is both vague and oddly specific. It has no real definition or limit, and yet, I know exactly what it means.

Infinite are the moments that are the complete opposite of numbness or emptiness. Moments when you are so full of emotions, they spill out of you through smiles and laughter. Moments that nearly bring you to tears, because you once didn’t believe they were possible. You can’t plan these experiences. They usually catch you off guard. But those who have known emptiness can also know what it is to feel whole, to feel full—to feel infinite.

I know my story isn’t over, and there will be more difficult chapters ahead. I will see pain again. I will know loneliness again. That’s just life. But I also know these chapters come with the promise of more infinite moments—and those are worth holding on for. 

—Jess Cooney, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern