An honest view of mental illness proceed with caution.

This is an example of the worst of me… but I truly believe its important for other to see this side of me.

Am I ok?

I mean honestly, I have no clue, but I don’t think people want to hear that. I don’t think most want to know I spend my lunches in my car crying and most evening debating with myself on why its worth it to live another day.

Is this normal?

I have no fucking clue but it is my reality.

I spend most of my day awake wondering what I have to do to make the pain stop.

Make the pain from being a failure your whole life wash over you and to accept it.

To accept you may never find that piece of happiness you crave.

To accept you will most likely be alone the rest of your life and just accept it and cope.

To accept most will never get the darkness in your soul and to be glad most can’t feel that pain.

Almost 20 years ago, I laid down to die, truly believe it was best for everyone if I did this. I took enough of everything to make it all stop. But while I lay waiting to die, a picture of my brother started talking to me. Basically screaming at me to call 911 and to snap out of it. The image of him told me I couldn’t leave him.

Well for some damn reason my ass crawled to my phone and dialed 911. I remember clearing the conversation with the lady at 911.

“911 what is your emergency?”

“my brother told me to call.”

“and why did he want you to call?” she asked

“i got sad and realized I can’t do life so I took a bottle of vodka and 30 xanax pills. That was about 45 minutes ago. I think I am gonna go to sleep now, but my brother really doesn’t want me to.”

“can you unlock your door?”

“yeah, can you make sure my cat is ok?”

“you and your cat are gonna be ok if I have anything to do this is.”

I remember the paramedics getting there and asking why I did it. I could only say I was tired. Because I was. And I had planned it well. I had had dinner with my aunt and uncle and saw my little cousins one last time. But that picture of my brother was the only thing that got through to me, only my brother could make stay.

And guess wha….t I still am tired. All those years later. Mental illness can be treated but it can’t be cured. So while I hope I die from “natural” causes, I will be kind enough to future me to know if I do kill myself I was probably exhausted felt that was my own option left and you know what that ok. I will never judge others for how they cope with their battles with mental health and I sure as fuck won’t judge myself.

So yes most days I find reason to keep going and keep fighting, but I also know the pain I feel the pain that I don’t think will ever go away. And I have the right to acknowledge the darkness and try and cope with it.

So Jessica its ok to have bad days, weeks, months and even years, in the end the only metric that matters is if you stick around. So remember you have been fighting for over 20 years and that nothing to scoff at.