Never assume that just because a person looks together they have it all together. Maybe they’re holding on by a thread or a whole bunch precariously strung together. Every time there is a suicide it hits me in the gut like a sucker punch. My hearts breaks and my mind explodes. I get angry, sad, defeated. I ask myself why him or her? Why is that celebrity plastered over social media? Triggering. Then I remember my extraordinary non-celebrity cousin and 14 years later I still can’t bring myself to go to the bridge and face it. Her death. Every day when I wake up I have to talk myself out of it. Not today, motherfucker. Not today. Lupe’s waiting, your mom needs you. There are a hundred million logical and valid reasons to stay. Ice cream, beaches, van life, margaritas, babies giggling, the rebirth of nature. Spring blossoms in May. The truth is when you live with mental illness day after day after excruciating day it beats you up. It wears you down. Logic? There is no logic. There is only paranoia, fear, chaos, desperation, and insanity. Don’t look for a reason. Lord knows I’ve tried. You won’t find one. Survivor’s guilt is a bastardly bitch for a lunatic empath like me. I am so sorry someone precious lost their life today. I’m so sorry on average there are 132 suicides a day. That’s 132 precious lives too many. I can do all the right things, take my meds, exercise, eat well, be accountable, and still. It’s a millisecond impulsive misjudgment. I don’t judge; I understand too well. My illness has a mind all her own. My Crazy does not know that I have a superpower. My friends and family. Reach out. Make the time. You might just save a precious life. They are all spectacular and worthy. I’ll be here sword and armor ready if you need me. It’s been a long-ass exhausting journey. We all feel alone and discouraged. We are never abandoned. By faith, your god, and compassion. Hold onto to those, and to hope.
Call Me Lucky
Published in BLOG FEATURED Health & Wellbeing MENTAL HEALTH MENTAL ILLNESS POETRY Women