the first time i was raped

 so, if the title wasn't clear enough, this will be about rape.

if you have experienced rape, please be cautious reading this post, please protect yourself and your mental health. some of this things may be triggering or cause flashbacks if you've been through a similar experience.

your safety is the most important.

i've never told this whole story to anyone before. i've told parts of it. but stories deserve to be told in their whole. you can't acknowledge the truth without acknowledging the WHOLE truth. when you leave out or dismiss parts, say they're not as important, it makes that part stay there and hold on still waiting to be seen and heard.

so. here it is. in the whole.

the first time i was raped i was 18 or 19. i don't remember exactly when, i already had my son, but hadn't moved for college yet. it must have been late 1999, early 2000.

my brother had graduated from community college and taken a job as a sheriff deputy a few hours away from where we grew up.

one weekend he invited me to come stay with him and his roommate. a rare weekend away for me, the closest thing to a vacation a single teen mom could get.

the night i stayed, my brother ended up getting called into work, so he got his roommate to agree to take me to dinner so i wouldn't be stuck just sitting in their apartment with nothing to do.

the roommate and i drove and hour over the 4th of july pass for dinner. it was a fairly nice restaurant. i remember it was all wood walls, like, logs of wood, and maroon table cloths. any place with a table cloth was fancy to me.

i had never met my brother's roommate before this. he was a regular dude, early 20's. nothing particularly stood out about him, i don't even remember his name. his dad was the sheriff so that's how he had met my brother and they ended up roommates i guess? never really new how that happened.

the guy was super intense right from the beginning. during dinner the conversation somehow turned to his plans for marriage and how he wanted to get married and settle down right away. it was a LOT. i remember my antennae perking up and being annoyed right away. being a teen mom, i had very quickly come to recognize what i called "white knight syndrome" where guys would try to "save" me or "rescue" me from my perilous plight. it was incredibly insulting. i was in college, had my own apartment, i was raising my son. i didn't need RESCUED. i didn't need SAVED. i wasn't baby daddy hunting to get some guy to take care of me, I WAS TAKING CARE OF ME. 

it had happened a few times before and i already knew very well how angry guys could get when you have to break the news to them that you're not a damsel in distress and you're not particularly interested.

this time was just a little more tricky since we still had to drive an hour back to their apartment FOR THE WEEKEND

i knew how to be polite but not answer questions, change the subject, try to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation of "no, thank you."

by the time we got in the car to head back over the pass, the guy was saying that i was the perfect woman and i was a perfect mother and would make the perfect wife. it was so incredibly uncomfortable. i had known this guy for 2 hours: one driving, one dinner. and he was telling me i would make his perfect wife??

i was creeped the fuck out. i was so uncomfortable but had no other way to get back to my brother's apartment and no way to get home and no way to...anything. i don't even know if i had a cell phone then. or maybe did but it wouldn't have had much reception. there was no uber, no lyft, i had to ride back with this guy so i just tried to keep as quiet as possible.

on the drive back the guy "suddenly remembered" that he had promised friends that were out of town he would feed their dogs for the weekend, it was on the way.

i don't know where we were. we turned off the highway and he drove 20 minutes up a dirt road into the mountains to a cabin.

any alarm bells that had started to go off were quieted when we got to a really nice big cabin/house. lights were on, inside was very nice. very country cabin, big kitchen leading to a great room with a nice couch in front of the fireplace to the left, and a kitchen table/chairs to the right. he went right in, all the alarm bells went away, this was ok. it was a real house. these were real dogs. it was ok.

 i sat down on the couch while he fed the 2 huge dogs, shepards i think, and he offered to pour me a soda (i wasn't 21 yet). it tasted weird to me, but it was a ginger ale and i didn't like the taste anyway.

but it turned. something started to seem odd. he was too familiar with the house, moved around like he was comfortable in it. it was a regular country house. i had several friends that had grown up dirt roads in beautiful cabin homes. i was a city girl through and through. but country homes were always so beautiful and elegant to me. but he was too comfortable...it felt like...like he had home court advantage.

things get hazy from there. i remember starting to feel not right. there was a bedroom to the right of the couch and there was a bed straight ahead as you walked into the room.

i did NOT want to have sex with this guy.

i had *just* had a baby. sex was traumatic and scary and life changing for me. i did NOT want to get pregnant again. i was also still very religious and conservative back then. i was not into casual sex with someone i had JUST met.

also, i didn't like the guy. i had no plans on ever seeing him again, ever. i just wanted to get back to hanging out with my brother for the weekend then home to my baby and work and school.

it didn't go that way though.

i told him no so many times.

i remember "just the tip" and "just a little more" and not much else.

i don't remember leaving that cabin.

i don't remember going back to my brother's apartment.

i don't remember much else of that weekend.

there was a cave in at the mine where the roommate worked and he was stuck underground the whole day, keeping me safe away from him until i left to go home.

i tried to tell my brother.

he assured me his roommate would never do that.

i somehow reasoned that the roommate breaking his leg and being stuck in a landslide was enough of a swift karmic punishment that i should just stuff it down and pretend it never happened.

because i thought i deserved it.

i mean, i was a teen mom. i was damaged goods. i had baggage. i was trash. i had sex outside of marriage before, obviously it meant i was "that way." i was LUCKY someone like him would even take me out to dinner. i was LUCKY someone "didn't mind" that i had a kid already, i was LUCKY someone didn't care that i was damaged goods.

these are the things that lived in my head. these were thing things people whispered that they thought i didn't hear. these are the things the ladies in the church said to try to be reassuring. this is the way my mom treated me. hell, my own brother didn't even believe me. he believed some roommate he'd had for a few months over me, his sister.

i was LUCKY any man was willing to sweep in and rescue me and that very thing infuriated me more than anything.

i've spent a LOT of years with those voices in my head. i was admittedly a bit quick on the eject button any time a date talked about taking care of me. being fiercely independent and PROVING i didn't need someone to take care of me became my main focus.

hell, it still is.

i've been trying to prove to everyone for 20 years that i don't need someone to take care of me. ESPECIALLY with someone who would treat me like that guy did.

well, i did not see that coming.

there's an old writing legend of the story taking a turn even the writer didn't see coming.

what do you know, that's a real thing.

i'm really struggling with control right now. it's been a month of unemployment and i've been on a few interviews but have yet to land anything.

i'm scared. i'm fucking terrified.

and i'm going to have to ask for help.

i'm going to have to say i can't do it on my own.

i knew that was going to be hard because i don't like to give up control, who does?

but it's been more than that. there's a looming sense of failure. there's a fear of needing rescued.

this feeling that saying i need help now somehow means i deserved to be raped then.

whew. that's a hefty one to unpack.

that's what happens when you stuff trauma down for 20 years. i doesn't go away. it just hangs out waiting for you.

i've been carrying that around for 20 years. that feeling of: if i fail it means i deserved it. i should have been grateful. i did need a white knight. i should have been glad someone was willing to tolerate my damaged, less than self.

whew.

but here's the thing.

it doesn't matter how "damaged" i was. it doesn't matter how much "baggage" i came with. it doesn't matter ANY of it. it doesn't matter how lucky some people thought i should feel.

I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE RAPED.

full stop.

i said no. i did NOT want to have sex.

end of discussion.

anything happening NOW, twenty years later, does not change that.

needing help now, in the middle of a global pandemic and record unemployment and record deaths and political and social unrest and unexpected unemployment does not mean i deserved to be raped then.

needing help anywhere between then and now would not have meant i deserved it.

time to let that one go.

mental health care

a little over a year ago i signed a contract with my therapist that i would not end my life or self harm before my next session.

it wasn't a REAL contract. there was no double signature, stamped and notarized agreement.

it was a hastily written agreement on a yellow sheet of legal paper with her signature and mine.

to me, it's a real contract. i still think about it every day.

self harm has never been my thing. suicide has never been my thing.

pervasive thoughts of death and how little i care about staying alive from day to day? that's my thing.

"i've had a good run" is something i say all the time, half joking (because it hasn't been good), half resigning or almost welcoming the thought of things being over.

it's not great.

today i had a call with HR about some concerns i've raised at work and some problems that have developed in my department.

today is not a good brain day for me. yesterday was a TERRIBLE work day, i was still reeling from that, while dreading the resulting call with HR (it's like being called into the principal's office no matter how old you are).

today started out rough.

the first thing anyone asks you in any meeting is "Hi, how are you?"

i should say, the first thing anyone who DOESN'T KNOW ME asks is...

i don't bullshit. i gave that up a long time ago.

with the guidance and honest feedback from friends i've learned to be a little more...tactful when i answer (thanks to a good friend who chewed my ass for being too blunt to a poor drive thru worker on my way to my dad's funeral), but i will always answer honestly.

today i had to remember that my honest answers can be terrifying, even when tactful.

if you ask me "are you ok," and i'm NOT ok, that's the anwer you'll get.

when you're talking to HR, that takes on a different life.

today they both asked me at the start of the call if i was ok and i answered honestly NOPE.

they were both concerned by my reply, and thankfully so. i do appreciate they HEARD my answer instead of just brushing it off as part of introductory conversation or an employee with a greivance.

i then followed up and explained: NO, i'm not ok. BUT, i own and control that answer. no, i am not at risk for self harm. no, you do not need to be concerned. i am not ok, but i have the tools, the practice, and the self awareness to know it's an issue i'm working on.

my mental health, my response to my mental health, my behavior around my mental health is MY work to do. it is MINE to own and be responsible for.

i thankfully have had access to enough therapy at different times to know that answering honestly is what works best for me. you can't fight something you can't face. i know my demons by name. i am very open talking about my specific struggles because when you SAY it it takes away some of the power, some of the fear. it gives you a specific thing to work on.

i know mental health care is still a devise topic. so many people are still ashamed. so many people still think it's imaginary or "that time of the month" or someone being difficult. so many people have been straight up abused or tortured for their mental health issues (so thankful i'm not a kennedy).

and here comes the soap box:

MENTAL HEALTH IS NO DIFFERENT THAN ANY OTHER KIND OF HEALTH ISSUE.

you heart can have electrical wiring issues and doctors will give you a medication for that.

you pancreas can have a chemical imbalance and doctors will give you a medication for that.

your reflexes and response times can be slow and doctors will treat that.

your muscles can be damaged and injured and doctors will treat that.

WHY IS IT ANY DIFFERENT FOR THE BRAIN?

if you tear a hamstring you will have medical help, therapy, a treatment plan that is openly discussed and adjusted to achieve the peak recovery.

why not make that available for a traumatic brain injury?

NEEDING MENTAL HEALTH CARE IS NOT A

part a

so. big announcement: i am changing jobs soon. like, very soon. like, monday.

this has been a while coming; i’ve been scouting on the dl for several months now. there are a myriad of reasons for this change that are all separate but all the same.

when people ask me why i’m doing this, i’ll say the polite, politically correct, short form answer: i need health insurance. part time work doesn’t provide medical insurance, retirement, paid holidays, pto...you get the idea. i’ve been working 50 hour weeks from 7-5 M-F but can’t afford to buy insurance off the exchange but i make too much money to qualify for state health insurance.

i made the change to get health insurance. it’s polite. it’s simple. it’s true.

it’s a comfortable, socially acceptable, easy answer.

i worry so much about not making other people uncomfortable. i worry about not being “that person” at events. i don’t want to be the debbie downer. i spend so much time thinking of the simplest, best way to say things so i’m not a burden to other people. maybe a little bit of truth mixed with plenty of jokes and some self deprecating jokes. i try so hard to minimize everything. make it palatable small little perfectly proportioned doses of “my crazy.” 

that’s literally what i call it. “my crazy.”

the real reason, the fraught with terror, over-analyzed decision and thought behind this change, all the circumstances that piled up to this...they’re ugly. they’re messy. they’re complicated. it’s all the worst stuff. no one wants to hear that. no one wants to hear my sob story. everyone has their own shit. this is mine. i just need to learn how to deal with it better. suck it up buttercup. it’s bootstrap pulling time. don’t you dare burden other people with this. they all have enough going on. 

these are the things i say to myself. and i do. i keep it to myself. i have maybe 3 people that know what’s been behind this. like, REALLY behind this. 

and this is such a hard thing to say, but someone has to start saying it because i don’t think i’m alone in this and that’s heartbreaking if other people feel this way.

here we go.

i have pervasive suicidal thoughts.

i'm changing jobs because i need medical insurance. i need to be able to get back into therapy. i need mental health care.

like, I NEED mental health care.

i’ve been struggling with pervasive, intense, can’t shake it suicidal thoughts for a year now.

chronic pervasive suicidal idealization. 

up until may i had state insurance and was seeing a great therapist weekly.

in may, my financial review came up and since the last renewal a year ago i’ve had a MAJOR change in household. when my teenager lived at home we both qualified for state provided health insurance. when my household changed, it disqualified me for coverage. that meant no more therapy. which i need to deal with the whole reason there was a change in household. that’s a fun little infinity loop.

since may i’ve really struggled with a growing pile of things i need help sorting through. my over thinking, self hating brain has just been spiraling. the CPS reports i had requested from my case back in december finally arrived. it’s pretty hard to read the interviews and reports and the things my own kid said against me. i’ve really been struggling with why my own kid would say such blatantly false things about me. blatantly. false. told them i had multiple pimps. told them i’m an iv drug user. told them i abuse him daily and put out cigarettes on his arms.

none of those things are even in the smallest portion even a tiny bit of truth.

the report goes on for several pages and there’s some really ugly things. and people signed off on this. the grandparent he’s staying with signed off on these reports. and do people really believe this about me? they signed the papers. that means they didn’t DISAGREE.  he’s telling all these people just horrible made up things. how can my own child hate me that much? how can my own kid want to hurt me that much?

man. that gets into some pretty. ugly. corners.

i’ve also been struggling with just- existing. when you live alone there’s a LOT of quiet time. that’s a lot of thinking time. that’s a lot of time to finally process YEARS of trauma. that’s a lot of nights realizing how you respond to things, decisions you make, roadblocks in relationships...all the things. all the parts in life that have been hit by the ripple effects of years of stuffing trauma away. of just getting through it. just keep going. don’t think about it, just get up and go to work. take the kids to sports. do the school meetings. get the groceries. keep things working.

and then when you stop and all those ripples catch up it quickly turns into a tidal wave.

things have been rough at work too. one of my bosses and i have VERY different viewpoints on life. it’s challenging to work for someone who is staunchly opposed to all the basic parts of my life: LGBT is a lifestyle choice (and a wrong one). women’s rights are just an attack on men. vaccinations, religion...we’ve had some interesting discussion.

and don’t get me wrong, it’s not an openly hostile environment. it’s not in my face very day. and i know, work is like family thanksgiving dinner: never discuss politics, religion or relationships. but that’s where i spend 80% of my life. those are almost exclusively the only people i talk to, ever. and people need connections, conversations. 15 minutes chatting with a coworker so i’m not completely isolated all day every day is necessary. but sometimes you learn things about people you can’t unlearn.

i’ve also realized in the last few months just how bad my anxiety is and how far back it goes. i don’t think many kids lay awake at 8 years old counting to sixty over and over and over again while staring at smoke detectors to make sure the damn thing blinks and is working WHILE simultaneously planning 2 different escape routes. i don’t think most people spend HOURS, DAYS, YEARS going over every interaction with friends and strangers trying to suss out all the wrong things said, all the ways i potentially offended them, all the “weird” things i said that will make them never talk to me again. added bonus: the whole ghosting trend in dating has really not done me any favors.

it’s been a lot. and somewhere, in the back of my head this whole time, the WHOLE. TIME. is the though: maybe you just shouldn’t exist anymore. look at all the bullshit surrounding you. think how much better things would be for everyone else if they didn’t have to listen to your bullshit. omg. you’re such an energy drain. don’t you dare talk to anyone. they don’t need to worry about your dumb ass. don’t say anything to panic anyone. just figure out a way to not exist. i have notes saved in my phone like this:

“wouldn’t it be ironic if the loneliness from cutting all the abusive people out of my life is what ends up killing me.”

i slowly and repeatedly sift through all the ways i couldn’t off myself: i could never leave a mess for some poor unsuspecting person to clean up after anything involving a gun. besides i hate guns. i couldn’t take pills. some poor first responder would have to deal with that. i can’t do anything that some unsuspecting person would have to encounter.

then it shifts a little- whatever i do needs a body for verification so my life insurance will pay out. i have friends listed as beneficiaries that could really use the money...as much as they would be mad at me, i have a decent policy that could really change some lives.

but yeah, i think about death on the daily. 

i’m not so much thinking about a way to die as much as just not being particularly attached to staying alive. 

it’s exhausting. it really is.

but i’m working on it. i’m changing jobs. the environment will be better, i’ll have benefits, and i’ll be able to walk to work. that’s a pretty good hat trick of mental health and self care.

real talk

ok. fine. i’ll talk about it.

this post has been wandering around my head for WEEKS but i’ve been too terrified to actually write it down. i keep SAYING don’t be afraid to talk about it. don’t be afraid to tell people. being afraid of it makes it worse. makes it stronger. so take that power back. get rid of that energy drain. don’t be afraid to reach out. don’t be afraid to be honest. don’t be afraid to talk about it. DON’T. BE. AFRAID.

and then the bloggess posted an article about talking about it (if you don’t know the bloggess, go find her). and there’s been some not so subtle signs from several corners of the universe kicking me, ever so gently with a steel toed boot, to write about it. talk about it. get the poison out. 

so. here we go.

trigger warning: this post is going to talk about suicide. REALLY. REALLY. talk about suicide. it’s ugly and real and honest. there’s no sugar coating, no tip-toeing, no delicately talking around the issue. it’s blunt. it’s me. the only way i know how to be. 

a few weeks ago i had a really shitty week at work. a really, really, incredibly shitty week at work. a week that made me feel like i am TERRIBLE at my job. and i’m not terrible at my job. i’m very very good at my job(s). it all ended up working out, mostly, but it was a BAD week. between a terrible client, being on hold for SEVEN hours with quickbooks- it was bad. it was absolutely, totally  wrecked, bad.

now, i’ve had bad work weeks before. i’m not perfect at my job, but after 20 damn years i’m pretty fucking good at it. then that week hit. and my work was the ONE THING i felt like i’ve been holding together the last year.

parenting: terrible

finances: terrible

friendships: terrible

relationships: terrible

but work. WORK. the one thing i’m good at. i’m fucking good at my job. the one piece i could hold together.

and that last little tiny toe hold felt like it was falling out from under me. the last piece of my maslow’s hierarchy was crumbling.

it was a bad week. a really bad week.

and i started making a plan. not the good kind. the kind that, looking back, makes me want to hug myself.

i started to make a plan to end my life.

i have to move in april, right? so what if instead of getting ready to move, i just get everything ready for...

i could have everything ready for my dad’s birthday. one last steak and whisky then...

fuck that’s scary to write. and it’s scary to feel.

so. that’s where i was. it was bad. it was ugly. it was dark. it hurt. it scared me. and i didn’t like it. i don’t like it.

i made it through the weekend, made it to the next week and then had another bump in the road when my teenager texted me for the first time since october. great? right? no. it was a huge long attack accusing me of abuse, again, telling me how horrible i am, again, and telling me he hoped i was sitting at home alone and miserable (and i was doing exactly that. ouch.). it was ugly. it hurt. it was completely out of the blue and unexpected. it made me realize that...it made me really realize how long that road is going to be. if he’s even open to getting help, if he is able to GET good help, i’m still not sure...

that’s a really long road. 

and i started thinking about suicide and my plan again. like. really thinking about it.

SO. OK. SELF. LET’S REALLY THINK ABOUT IT.

you think cleaning up your apartment, getting everything in order, having instructions, a plan...think that will all make it better?

survey says fuck off. steve did that. how well did that work out? did all his organizing and getting things lined up make it any better on the back end? did it make losing a brother hurt any less? or did it BREAK. YOUR. HEART. that no one saw it? that you didn’t see it? make you so angry that you didn’t talk to him more? that you didn’t know?

you’ve been in that exact spot. how did it feel? do you want someone else to know that feeling?

his apartment was nice and clean. cool. did that make emptying it out any less traumatic? do you remember how fucking endlessly long that day was? driving back and forth with dad for HOURS to find steve’s car in an impound lot? watching steve’s mother pack up things that belong to a son she’ll never see again? did it hurt any less to have to pack up all your brothers nicely organized things, but not knowing what to do with them? pieces of him- what do you do with it? why would you want to put your friends through that? or the apartment manger. or whomever gets stuck dealing with it. you know your brother wouldn’t have a clue. you couldn’t do that to someone. you couldn’t intentionally leave a shit storm behind. even a well organized one.

so. that bullshit part of the plan is out. what’s next?

oh, think how much good could come from your life insurance policy. yeah. because we all know my friends are the type to think some sort of payout is better than a friendship? you know your people better than that. they would literally practical magic your ass back to this realm just to kick it for even thinking that. nice try. next.

ok. how about: “you’re not supposed to worry about what other people think. you’re not supposed to base your decisions on the impact it will have on others. just worry about yourself first.” ok. let’s rip that thought apart: a) that’s not you. you know that. you think about other people. always have. probably too much. how things will affect them. will it hurt them? you need balance in that department. you’re working on that. be nice to yourself. but it will always be there. not caring at all is not the balance to always caring. find a middle ground. 2) you can’t intentionally inflict pain. you can’t passively inflict pain. it isn’t in you. maybe it’s narcissistic to think people would be sad if i was gone. they would be hurting. BUT I STILL THINK IT. and i don’t want to...i can’t knowingly be the reason people are sad. i don’t want to be the reason people hurt.

so that part is out.

so. how would you do it? seems stupid to not be an organ donor. you’re healthy. or at least have a majority good parts. pretty sure there’s not a way to make both happen. NO. FOR FUCKS SAKE. DON’T GOOGLE THAT.

so. you don’t even know that part.

so what part DO you know? you know you’re sad. you’re hurting. you’ve been through a major, unexpected, traumatic life change. and now your brain isn’t being friendly. ok. let’s work on that.

#1 call your therapist. DONE. back to weekly appointments.

#2 ok brain. we’re going to fucking figure this out. let’s get some mental health going. let’s get a plan together. a mental health care plan.

OH. SNAP.

replace the word mental with...heart. or kidney. or pancreas.

you make comprehensive health care plans for the rest of your body. parts that can heal themselves, maybe be replaced, maybe managed.

if your heart is an asshole they can do surgery or stints or bypasses or other things i’ve heard on greys anatomy but can’t remember. they’ll give you medication or treatment. they’ll 3d print you a new one. i saw it on tv. it must be real. 

if your kidney craps out they can transplant a new one. or medicate the crappy one.

low blood pressure? high blood pressure? diabetes? infection? break? sprain? medication. meditation. injections. cast. physical therapy. 

we do it for all other parts of the body and we’re not terribly embarrassed.

so why can’t we talk about the brain that way? why are we so embarrassed that brains might need help the same as a  kidney might? because we’re still scared of it? because we still don’t understand it? because there’s more questions than answers? it’s the most delicate, most important part of the whole meat factory. it’s the part that makes the rest work. it’s the breathing and the memories and the personality. its understanding. emotion. logic. it’s feeling and facts smashed together in one bone cage. we use a small percentage of its overall power and barely understand even that. it’s mysterious and unexplained. and yes, sometimes parts of it don’t work right. like any other part.

ok. so. let’s make a plan. and for fucks sake, can we please admit how serious this is and stick to a plan this time? this is more than just a bad day. a little bit of pms maybe. stop downplaying it and dismissing it as being dramatic or over reacting. this is literally a matter of life and death. you’re in a fight for your life right now. so time to get back on the right path. time to fight. ok? so what does that look like?

back to basics: vitamins, water, real meals, sleep. brain and body need good fuel to operate. it’s not that hard. just take the damn vitamins. it takes 2.3 seconds. drink the water. no, coffee doesn’t count. EAT. more than bread and hummus. real meals. protein. fats. carbs. vegetables. fruits. all that crap. pyramids and portions and whatever. all those pinterest recipes? that fancy new instapot? MAKE IT WORK. sleep? make it happen. turn off the tv. put down the damn phone. use essential oils. sleep sounds on alexa. smoke yourself to sleep. just SLEEP. have a bed time. stick to it. 

people: you need people. that means leaving your house. so make a schedule. no. a schedule isn’t dumb. it’s practical. people have entire meetings for schedules. tuesday, thursday and sunday can be gym day. yes, the gym is damn near the worst place on earth but it’s $10 a month. it’s out of the house. and it’s healthy or whatever. go walk on a damn treadmill for an hour and listen to music. or podcasts. for fucks sake, you can even watch netflix on your phone on the treadmill. no excuses now. whisky wednesday. do that. you love your bar. you love the people there. you’re comfortable there. go there. friday nights and monday nights you can clean and get all the chores done. yes 2 days for cleaning is plenty. quit being so picky. sheesh. saturday’s GO OUT. find a book reading. a concert. anything. a comedy show. a movie. OUT. get out. netflix will still be there when you get home.

ok. what about *actual* people. like, ones you actually talk to. you can ask them to help without making them responsible for you. simple things. it’s not their job to keep you healthy. it is your job to reach out. they can say no if they’re overwhelmed or uncomfortable and that’s ok.

ok. so you need to TALK. find one person and ask them to check in every few days. have conversations. talk about things. talk through things. talk about nothing. just. talk.

ok. so you need to be real and work on that balance of not worrying what people think. practice being REAL. ok. sounds stupid. but ask one friend to hold your toes to the fire to post REAL, unfiltered snapchat pictures. walking stella on a saturday in mismatched jammies with no bra on, glasses, retainer, no make up and bundled up for winter. it’s real. so show it. to more than your neighbors. be a real person. no one has run away screaming yet. BE. REAL.

ok. so, the gym. fuck i hate the gym. but ask someone that goes ALL THE TIME to bug you if you haven’t mentioned it in a few days. you can check in from the treadmill and so can they.

and remember, this is not THEIR responsibility. it’s YOURS. you take the vitamins. you do the work. you reach out. this is YOUR mental health care plan.

and i’ve been doing it. it’s been a few weeks. it’s hard. as. fuck. but i’m worth it. that’s a big statement for me. i’m worth it. i can say that now and mostly believe it. that’s progress. i’ve been doing the things i need to do. ive been holding myself accountable. i’ve been kind when i’ve missed one bit. i’ve allowed room for imperfection without abandoning the whole plan. that’s progress. that’s huge progress.

suicide is scary y’all. it’s not the first time it’s wandered across my brain but  it is the first time it tried to really settle in and make itself at home in my thoughts. and i’ll tell you what. i did not care for that one bit.

so i’m working on changing it friends. i’m finding ways to make sure those thoughts know they’re not welcome. making sure they don’t get comfortable hanging out. i’m working on changing the negative thought patterns. i’m working on building safety checks. i’m working on LIKING myself. i have 38 years of really, really hating myself to learn to undo. it may be a pendulum effect, please bear with me if i become an egotistical asshole for a minute. i’ll find the balance. i have to find the balance.

i’ll get there. that was a shitty week. wasn’t my first, and i know it won’t be my last. i’m making sure of it. i’m here to fight. i’m in this for the long haul. good bad, bumps and bruises, i’m sticking around. 

and that starts with not being afraid. being able to talk. not being ashamed. not hiding. not giving myself another reason to hate myself. 

if you need help, it is scary. i won’t lie. but there’s help out there. there people and resources. REACH. OUT. just beyond that dark shadow there’s help. whatever you’re going through, it’s a shitty week. sometimes that shitty week feels 20 years long. sometimes it’s one really bad day. and i don’t know if it gets better. i decided to make a change and fight for myself but that doesn’t mean i suddenly woke up to woodland creatures cleaning my house and rainbows shooting out my ass. i’m sure it will get better, and even if that takes a while, i’m tough. i’ve seen some shit y’all. i’ve been through some pretty hard moments. and i’m still here. so i got this. if i made it through 2009 and 2010 i can make it through 2019. 

if you need help, REACH. OUT.

find a friend. find a neighbor. most jobs have an employee assistance program. if you’re too scared to talk to a friend, if you’re struggling with embarrassment, TALK TO A STRANGER. there’s a reason “the comfort of a stranger” is a real thing. so make a call. 

call: 1-800-273-8255 24 hours a day. literally ANY. TIME. there’s someone there to talk to. there’s someone there in spanish. there’s someone there for hard of hearing. there’s someone there on text if talking saying the words out loud is too hard today (text 741741). because that’s a real thing too and it’s ok. 

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SUICIDAL TO CALL FOR HELP. bad day and just need someone to talk to? they’re there. have a friend that you want to help? they can help you find ways to gently help.

it’s not weak. it’s not failure. it’s HARD. AS. FUCK. to ask for help. it’s hard as fuck to say some of the painful stuff your brain thinks up. it’s hard as fuck to choose not to believe the negative. it’s hard as fuck to fight to make things better. it’s not weakness. it’s not failure. EVERYONE. and i do mean EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. ON. EARTH. has bad days. don’t believe the social media hi-light reels. EVERYONE. EVERYONE has bad days. and no two bad days are the same.

suicide isn’t the answer. it really, really isn’t. my brother took his own life. he planned, arranged, tried to make it ok. i can tell you there’s no “good” way to leave people behind. there is nothing ok about being on the other side. i know it didn’t solve a single damn one of the problems he was fighting. suicide likes to pretend it’s a good solution. it like to slide up next to you and lie it’s face off about how much better it will make thing. THAT’S A LIE. it doesn’t make anything better. it’s just- stops everything. your life is your story. want it to have a good ending? maybe even a happy ending? maybe even a fairytale ending? then you can’t stop it right in the middle of the bad part. sleeping beauty would have been a shit story if it was just like- oh. she’s sleeping. the end. harry potter would have been terrible if he had just been like- I DON’T KNOW. confession: i never read the books. but i’m 100% sure based on the movies if he’d been like- oh. this teacher is mean and quit it would have been a shitty, shitty story.

i’m going to make my story good. i’m going to try my damndest to give it a good ending, in 60 or so years. that’s a lot of pages left to write. this is just a dark chapter in the middle. this is just a storyline arc, not the denouement.