In a world where everyone struggles to survive whatever the cost, how could one judge those people who decide to die?

Veronika Decides to Die

Many of us battle demons, manipulative, calculating demons. Set on protecting us from experiencing any further hurt, they would prefer we never experienced anything again, either good or bad, rather than risk further damage to psyches already battered by life. Such loyalty is meant well, but the price paid can be the ultimate one.

Such is the nature of deep depression, in my case that which comes along with bipolar disorder, a chemical imbalance of the brain distinguished from mental illness by its measurable medical component. Though partially controllable by a combination of medications and regular therapy, there is no cure. It’s something I face anew each day, never knowing what the next day will bring, never predicting if I’ll be up or down. Many others face similar uphill battles, for this and so many other reasons.

Being depressive by nature, when my therapist recommended I read Paula Coehlo’s Veronika Decides to Die I was initially startled. I’d tried reading it before, I told her, and found it too depressing to continue. “Finish it,” she said. “You’ll be surprised. It isn’t what you think.”

Weeks passed, then months. I intentionally didn’t make time to get to the book. Then, about a week ago, my doctor announced she was going on vacation. “This,” she said, “is your chance to finally finish this book.” I had two weeks. Surely anyone who reads as much and as quickly as I do could finish such a short book in that time.

More to appease her than anything I capitulated. Seldom does she order me to do anything. There was obviously a higher reason she felt I needed to persevere and learn the lesson Coehlo had to teach. It was time I faced this demon head on.

Veronika, the title character, makes up her mind before the book begins that life is too mundane and depressingly predictable to be worth the effort. At twenty-six she’s doing nothing more than going through the motions of life. She’s incapable of feeling. Nothing touches her, nothing interests her, makes her happy or angry. Inside she already feels dead, so what’s the point of living? She attempts suicide, having saved up weeks’ worth of sleeping pills gathered from friends sympathetic to what she insists is merely a sleeping problem. On the day she decides it’s right she takes the pills, swallowing them one by one in case she changes her mind mid-way. But she doesn’t. She takes every pill, then lies down to die.

But death doesn’t come immediately. As the minutes pass Veronika becomes at first agitated, then bored. She reads an article in a magazine, feeling a stab of irritation that the article’s author has no idea where Slovenia is located. Such is her anger that she decides to write a letter to the editor, one final act of rebellion while she has the strength.vUltimately the pills start taking effect. She’s nauseous before sinking into oblivion.

Hours later Veronika wakes strapped to a bed, a bright light shining in her face, the bustle of people all around her. And it hits her, this isn’t heaven. She has survived. Depression descends at the thought of her failure.

When she’s well enough a doctor at the asylum tells her though she didn’t die she’s done irreparable harm to her heart. He gives her just a few days to live; there is no hope. Initially she rejoices for she would die, just not as quickly as she’d originally hoped.

This was the point where I’d stopped reading the first time I attempted the book. The complete futility of it all and the inevitability weighed on me. The scenario was so depressing I never had the strength to continue.

Persevering this time, I read how the days wore on for Veronika. She met other people, befriending one or two, learning their life stories. Finding the ward had a piano she indulged a passion she’d kept hidden away since childhood—becoming a pianist. She played for the other patients, one man in particular becoming transfixed by the beautiful music. Though mute and supposedly beyond the capability for appreciation, he was drawn to her music. Day after day she played, and day after day he was there. Interest bloomed, then love, a love they both realized was doomed.

With each passing day Veronika knew she was that much closer to death, yet at the same time she fell more in love with life, more engaged, more passionate. Music reawakened her soul, and the man touched her heart in a way no one else had before. Just as her life slipped away she began living fully.

It’s what happens after this that is the reason my doctor wanted me to finish the book. I can’t reveal the twist out of respect for others who may wish to read it, but the part containing the real lesson is already largely covered by what I’ve been able to relate.

Yes, life can be boring, and at times mundane. It can seem to lack any obvious reason why we should bother living to see another day. At the same time, the potential for finding passion never goes away; it is never too late. No matter what adversity you face, no matter what obstacles, there’s always that one thing (or, if lucky, more than one) to keep you challenged and interested, to make life worth living. This is the thing that creates beauty in life, making it so full to bursting that every trial is worth it because of the existence of it.

Veronika Decides to Die warns us not to let life get near to slipping away before indulging our passion. Before you make the ultimate decision to end your life remember what’s been important to you. Even a dream never fully realized, or a passion discouraged, can be resumed. Look for that within yourself, push aside the dirt covering the flower and let the sun in. What blooms is what’s been inside you all along, waiting dormant. Cultivate this, and before you know it what blooms is a garden, a beautiful, variegated garden lying in each one of us, waiting for the spring to come alive. As difficult as it can be to remember, we all have the potential for contributing great beauty to the world, each in our own way.

I understand now why my doctor felt this was such an important read for me. I know what she’s saying, and why she’s saying it. When the darkness returns, like it always does, it’s this lesson that I—that all of us—should remember. The battle of good vs. evil will rage eternally, but all things must and will pass. While we linger we owe it to ourselves and to the world to cultivate our inner garden, cultivating our unique colors, inspiring others to do the same. Together all our voices, our words, and our colors create the symphony that is life, making it all worthwhile. This we must do, so long as we have breath to live. Then, when the end does come, we can say with confidence that we have lived. We have been here, left a mark, and all our collective beauty will resonate so long as there’s life left on earth to see and appreciate it.


Lisa Guidarini subsists, almost entirely, on her twin passions of reading and writing (running just ahead of her love for Goose Island beer and Asiago cheese). Her day job, unsurprisingly, is at a public library where she works as Adult Program Coordinator for the Algonquin Area Public Library District. (To this day, she still wonders that people really pay her for the privilege of working in a library.) By evening, she is a graduate student in a distance learning program through the University of Wisconsin—Madison’s School of Library and Information Studies. In her spare time she tends to her family, including one husband, three children, and two rambunctious Jack Russell terriers. She also enjoys digital photography, visiting old cemeteries, and the occasional old-fashioned road trip. A member of the National Book Critics Circle, she also blogs about anything literary or otherwise interesting. You can reach Lisa at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it