My Final Goodbye

 I guess the title is pretty misleading in a way....this is not my final goodbye, but I wish it was. I wish this was my suicide note. My heart is heavy and I just want to be done. I am sad, I am lonely, I am empty, I am terrified. No one truly cares besides my family. But are they enough to keep me here for forever? Can I hang on when I feel rejected by the rest of the world? I'm not sure I can; in fact, I'm sure I can't. I'm sure one day I will indeed be writing my final goodbye. I will lose this fight with my mind. Will you weep when I am gone? I doubt it. I will be another sad story; merely another statistic. "Why didn't she reach out?" you'll say. I have tried, and received not love nor support in return, so it's not even worth my time anymore. No one reaches in just to ask how I am. I put on my happy face and do life. So I must be ok, right? I must be smiling, laughing, and joking because I am truly filled with joy. For who could be such a great actor? But I am. I've been wearing this mask my whole life, so by now I am a pro. But that won't save me. Nothing will. Not the medication. Not the years of therapy. Not having my brain zapped in desperation. Not God. I am irreparable. There is no hope; no light. My heart is heavy and my mind is dark. I just want to be done. I want to say my goodbyes and know that those I love will be ok without me. I want them to be at peace knowing that I am no longer hurting. I don't want them to have to visit me in the hospital and watch me struggle like I do. But it's not that easy. So the tears will fall, the thoughts will tear me apart, and I will continue to stand. Not because I can, not because I am strong, certainly not because I want to; but because I must. No cry for help can ever be cried loud enough. I am alone in the deepest, darkest of pits and will never truly see the light. How long can I keep this up; this agony, this torture? How do I keep myself from writing my final goodbye?

My Story

There once was a day my world stopped;
my hope was gone, all hope was completely dropped.

July 9th, that was the night;
the night I decided to quit the fight.

I bought the biggest bottle I could find;
gave in to the demons in my mind.

I thought they would be better without me;
hopefully one day they would see.

I woke in that hospital bed;
parents right there, eyes so very red.

I couldn't explain why I wanted it to be the end;
how I saw no light around the bend.

They never asked and I never spoke;
I suppose their hearts were already broke.

What went through their minds that day;
what are the words they wanted to say?

It awkward you know;
explaining why I needed to go.

More awkward still is my persistent desire to end it all;
despite all the help, further and further I fall.

Day by day, I fight to keep my head above the water;
though I feel like I've already failed them as a daughter.

I've already given up, resigned myself to my eventual fate;
nothing will stop me, it's already too late.

I'm not saying I'm leaving you now;
I don't know when, but I know how.

It'll be in my own time, in my own way;
I become more burdensome day by day.

They tell me it not true, that it's not what I think;
it doesn't matter, my mind tells me things that keep me on the brink.

They feel so true, the thoughts when they speak;
never sunny, always dark, always bleak.

For now I'm here, I'm fighting the fight;
I press on through day and night.

I'm only here for them, I can't lie;
but one day, I'll have to say goodbye.

I don't really know why, but it feels as though that's how I must end;
but what will I leave behind, what message will I send?

I did all the things, but it won't be enough;
It's been too real, too lasting, too rough.

Please don't be scared, I'll be at peace in my mind;
finally free from the despair that I can't help but find.

When I'm gone will you see me as a coward;
one who gave up before life truly flowered?

I hope you'll understand that it wasn't the easy way;
it will the hardest decision to make that day.

But it will seem like all I can do, the only choice to make;
don't let it fool you, I don't want your heart to break.

In fact, freedom is what I hope you'll see;
You'll no longer be forced to worry about me.

For the moment, I'm here, I'm fighting for those that love me;
They'll miss me one day, but for now I'll just be.

Hold the hope for me

By now you probably know that I struggle with serious mental illness and have for several years now. In light of that, I've been wanting to write something for mental health awareness month, but I just haven't been able to find the words.

I was 15 the first time I remember wanting to be dead. At the time, I didn't want to hurt or kill myself, but I told God that I felt like it was my time to go. I guess I was wrong about that, because here I am. I'm still here after numerous suicide attempts (only 1 big one that required medical attention). I'm still here after 8 hospitalizations because the suicidal ideations got too strong. I'm still here, but I daily wish I wasn't. What I want you to understand is that there is no reason for this...my life is good. I have a job I enjoy and a supportive family who loves me more than I deserve; things are alright. The reason I think the way I do is simple, I am sick. My mind is ill and it seems after all this time that it can't be "fixed."

I used to hope for something to fix me. I hoped that the right medicine would turn off the thoughts. I diligently went to therapy each week. I spent 5 months in residential care. I let the doctors zap my brain 12 times in ECT. I sat through magnetic stimulation treatments each day for a month. Nothing has changed though; I've actually gotten significantly worse over time. Don't get me wrong, there have been glimpses of hope, they just didn't last and I don't know how to get that back.

The thing I hoped for the most for a long time was to get back the life I lead before everything went to hell. When it all hit the fan, I was about to graduate college and begin my dream job. I had to come home early from the way of life I loved and wanted to keep on living as a long as possible. Sometimes, people find out about my old life and ask why I'm not teaching anymore. The answer to that is simple; I'm scared.

The thing about living in places like I was living is that it's so much more difficult to access the resources I need just to stay alive. Finding a therapist is a joke, the doctor's office is almost primitive and I can't see making them understand what kind of medication I need and why, hospitals aren't near and I'm not even sure if they have psych wards, and the stigma is terrible. What would I do if all of my supports were suddenly gone and everything got really bad? How would I keep myself alive? I'm not sure I could and that's what's keeping me here for now...and maybe forever.

Another thing I miss about my life before is doing things. You see, I had a best friend who left when I got really bad. She didn't say I was too much to handle, but I suspect that's why she's gone. We used to do so many things together and just live a random and fun life. From pub trivia on Monday nights to Friday night wine and coloring night, we were always together and always enjoying the world around us. I miss all of that. I miss going to movies because doing so has been ruined by my social anxiety. I miss road trips to see musicals and trips across the country to go to Comic Con. I miss really living and enjoying life.

My life now consists of working and sleeping. Occasionally I'll spend time with my family, but usually I'm too tired for even that. It's not even exhaustion from working too much that does it to me; it lethargy. Exhaustion is something that you can sleep off and eventually stop felling, this is different. I can sleep all day and night and still wake up feeling like I never even slept. I am tired; all the time. I miss family dinners, baseball games, and bonding time with my nephews because I feel like I can't get out of bed no matter how hard I try. I hate this symptom of my illnesses because it keeps me from doing the things I have always loved as well as experiencing new things that life might have to offer. One piece of advice I can give you when it comes to dealing with this from your loved ones is this; don't give up.

Never stop believing that one day things will change. Keep texting. Keep calling. Keep inviting. REACH OUT! I can guarantee you that the hurting people in your life aren't going to tell you that they are struggling because they don't want to burden you. Don't let that detour you from loving on them.

Lastly, I want to ask you to stop telling people that they need to reach out because you're "always there" for them. While it may be true, we cannot understand why it would be. We see ourselves as the worst people you could ever imagine; worthy only of death Remind us of what's true to you. Remind us that you love us despite our illnesses. Remind us that our struggles don't make us less than. Remind us that we're not too far gone. Tell us about hope. Hold onto that hope that we have let slip from our hands; keep it safe for us. Trust me, when you reach in rather than telling someone to reach out, you can truly change a life. If you learn anything from mental health awareness month, let it be that.

If you've sat there and read all of that, I hope you know how truly grateful I am for your time. Thank you for letting me express myself, even when I didn't know what to say. Thank you for supporting me on my journey. Thank you for holding out hope; since I lost it long ago.

Be here, now.

They call it mindfulness; the art of learning to truly be present and appreciate where you are in the hear and now. It has been a big struggle of mine for so so long. This, I think, is probably not helped by my anxiety issues, but alas.

I have almost always been one to worry about things and blow things out of proportion before they even happen. This has been especially prevalent when comes to my mental health and the idea of getting "better." I do this thing where I don't believe that I can truly get better; but what's more, sometimes I doubt my even wanting to get better. Sounds crazy, right? But the thing is that I'm not sure what to do with feeling better anymore. I've felt so shitty and been fighting so hard just to keep from killing myself for so long, that it's like that's all I've ever known. Of course, I've known times that it wasn't the case that things, were so rough for me, but they're sometimes hard to remember. Sometimes it's hard to even remember how to function as a normal human being again. How does one maintain good hygiene, a clean home, normal eating habits, work life, social life, etc? It all just seems like so much that it still overwhelms me at times.

The thing is though, that I'm actually starting to feel better. I'm starting to feel what I think of as "normal," like me again. It's honestly a strange feeling. I'm slowly beginning to complete basic life tasks again. I'm smiling from a genuine place inside of me; laughing for real, not just to keep up the facade. Don't get me wrong, I still have my moments. The thoughts of leaving this world still cross my mind on a daily basis, but they are fleeting; nothing I'm seriously considering. The cool thing though, is that I'm thinking about the future again. I can see myself continuing on, aging past where I am now, doing things I've always wanted to do, and finding a career that I love. That hasn't happened in so long. What I'm having to learn though, is to accept all of this for what it is; to be truly present and mindful.

You see, for too long, I've ruined moments like this. Self sabotage has long been an issue of mine. I worry. I feel like this can't be real, like it's just a cruel joke. Good days will never last and I can't truly be better ever again. I focus on what I'll do when I spiral downwards again rather than being grateful for the good things that are happening in my life. This worry actually keeps me in my funk and tends to land me at the bottom of the rabbit hole that is the negative parts of my mind. I make myself worse! But it's different this time.

In talking with my psychiatrist recently, I reported that I had been feeling better, but I had no idea why. "I don't know why either, but I don't care; I'll take it," she replied.And I must say that I agree with her. I'm savoring this feeling. I'm doing things I love again rather than lying in my bed for days on end. I'm taking playing and being silly with my nephews and giving them all the time I can. I'm happy. I'm living in the present; I'm embracing it. I'm letting myself think about being more than my illnesses; letting myself dream again. And let me tell you, it feels amazing.

So long story short; be here, now. Don't live in the future, that allows for time to be over taken be anxiety. Don't live in the past, it leaves you longing for times that may never repeat themselves or hung up on all of the hard times that you've walked through. Be here, now. Laugh, smile, play; let yourself truly live and enjoy the life you're lucky to have. I know that's easier said than done and I kind of think that it's less about doing work to get there as it is just falling into these feelings. For me, it's about not letting my anxiety ruin the present by keeping me in an uncertain future, by worrying about when I'll get bad again. It's not an 'if' for me, it's a 'when' because of my illnesses and I've come to accept that. I'm learning, though, that I can face that when it comes rather than letting it ruin more than it already will. My illnesses don't have to control me all the times; sometimes I can stare them down and simply say, "not today, brain, not today." I hope you can learn to do the same.

Be here, now.

Fight On

I'm sitting here, fingers poised on the keyboard, ready to type whatever my mind might come up with; and I'm at a loss. I feel as though I don't really have the words right now, but I also feel like I need to write, need to share, need to engage in whatever community I'm considered part of. It's much like my life in general, there's a space there, a need to fill; but nothing quite does the trick. Do you know that feeling? I think the thing that I'm lacking is hope.

I've lost hope more and more as my mental illnesses have progressed; and even in times when they remain the same. It's the consistency, in fact, that gets me. The day in and day out with no changes to speak of is killer. I want to hope. I want to feel as though one day I'll feel better and stay that way. It seems though, that life keeps telling me that the staying better is just too much to ask for.

I came back from my vacation feeling absolutely on top of the world. I saw my favorite person on the planet and was reminded that I'm loved by someone who doesn't have to love me. I felt as though my ability to fight my mind had been renewed. I could do this thing. I could keep fighting. I could make positive change; because change actually felt possible.

I wasn't completely wrong. I came home and started doing things that I love again. I felt happy. Happiness, though, is fleeting. The darkness crept back in like it always seems to. Everything just felt like too much. Simple tasks became too much once again. My mind started fighting back against the progress I'd begun to make.

Let me tell you, my mind is one powerful mother fucker when it wants to bring me down. It knocks me down with the general apathy that comes with my depression, pulling the joy out of doing anything at all. Then it kicks me while I'm down by convincing me that the world would be better off with me gone. Then it keeps kicking and kicking while I stew in ideations and plans. It beats me to a pulp and I'm left to attempt to tend my wounds.

And that's why I've lost hope; things never change for me, no matter how much or how hard I try to make things change. I try to get back up only to be kicked in the gut by my own mind. *insert dramatic sigh here*

I keep trudging on though. I keep waking up day after day so that I can keep loving on my sweet baby boys who I love so very much. I keep putting one foot in front of the other so that my parents won't have to bury their daughter. I step into that ring with my mind each and every day, no matter how futile it may seem, so that my sister can talk to me on the phone rather than talking to a cold stone resting above me.

No matter how hopeless I feel, I fight on; I hope you will, too.

One Day at a Time.

Today I took a shower; today I ate a meal.
Could things be looking up; could this be real?

But, yesterday was not so good.
Yesterday I thought of ways to go; yesterday I said I would.

Today I laughed and played with my nephews.
Today I made memories I hope to never lose.

But yesterday was rough.
I've never felt weaker; never felt less tough.

Today my smile is genuine; today it's for real.
I think I can do this, I think I can deal.

But yesterday I wanted to cry.
I'll be honest, I even wanted to die.

Today I can see myself making it to the future.
Today my heart doesn't require a suture.

But yesterday I sat all alone.
I isolated and ignored my phone.

Today I feel like I'm here for a reason.
I believe I'm here for a lifetime, not just a season.

But yesterday I felt completely lost.
I wanted to be gone, no matter the cost.

Today I feel like I can fly.
It feels like there must be a twinkle in my eye.

But yesterday was not so great.
I suppose I made it though, at any rate.

Today I'll keep going, not fearing the sorrow.
I'll keep my head up, keep looking for tomorrow.

What will tomorrow bring?
I'm not sure, but to this feeling I will cling.

Tomorrow I'll get up to face another day.
I'll keep moving forward, despite what my brain might say.

I'll wake again and this mountain I'll climb.
I'll go on and on, taking it one day at a time.

I hate you; don't leave me.

There is a book on borderline personality disorder entitled "I hate you; don't leave me." I never knew until somewhat recently that the title of that book would, at times, perfectly describe my thoughts and actions.


In my last post, I wrote a poem to my favorite person, but I didn't really explain to all of you neurotypicals out there what exactly a favorite person is. The favorite person can be anyone; like a family member, friend, therapist, collegue, etc. The fun thing about it is that I've never really picked my favorite person, they've just kind of fallen into the role. For me, it's been a teacher, a couple of best friends, and now my former therapist who has become a friend. Once I have a favorite person, they become everything to me. I want to be around them all of the time; if I can't be with them, I want to be talking to them. I want to know everything about them, I want to be just like them. I take on traits that they possess and fall into being like them (we'll get to that later).


My favorite person becomes, in my mind, the only person who can support me emotionally. I must run to them in times of distress or elation; they have to know. Surely they care as much about my stuff as I care about theirs, right? They shouldn't have anything going on outside of me. After all, I don't have a whole lot going on outside of them since other people no longer really matter to me. So I pester, texting and calling over and over looking for attention that I feel like I desperately need. Attention, praise, love, etc from other people doesn't really matter to me; I need the attention of my favorite person to feel like I matter to someone in this world. When they give me that attention, they are the single greatest human on this planet; they can do absolutely no wrong. The thing happens when they can't give me the amount of attention that I feel I need.


When my favorite person is too busy to text me back, taking time for herself, or spending time with people who are not me, my brain spirals out of control. The first thing that happens is I get extremely anxious; telling myself things like, "you don't matter, she hates you, she's going to leave you forever, you deserve to be abandoned because you are the worst, etc." So I freak out and begin begging to be told that all of that isn't true; the "please tell me you don't hate me" and "please, please, please don't leave me" text start to fly even though I know that I shouldn't send them. Irrational Jacque takes over and runs with the terrible thoughts. I want to push the person away because suddenly they are the worst. They are a liar who was just putting up with me the whole time and never actually cared; I must rid myself of them before they can abandon me like everyone else has always done. Eventually I hear back, sometimes it's with a message asking me to chill out. Other times, it's just the reassurance and love that I'm looking for. And all of the sudden, a switch flips and rational Jacque is back. Then I beg for forgiveness, sending a million apology messages because I realize what I've done and I feel horrid for it. How could I have been so awful to the person that I again see as the most amazing human on the planet?


This terrible cycle is referred to as splitting. Basically, this is a thing people with bpd tend to do because we see most things in the world as black and white; people are either amazing or terrible, they love us or hate us, they're staying forever or walking away right this second, they can do no wrong or have never done right. These are things I believe even when the person's past and present actions probably don't prove what I think. There is no grey area. You can't be too busy to answer my text and NOT abandoning me forever, it just isn't possible. Makes no sense at all, right? Unfortunately for me, it makes perfect sense; it is a simple reality of life.


The thing that I hate most though isn't what this does to me; which I do hate, don't get me wrong. What I hate most is how I end up treating my person, I feel like I'm abusing them in a sense and I hate myself for that every single time it happens. I've already pushed one away, I don't want to make anyone else leave me when ultimately I act the way I do because I'm afraid of being left. I just can't figure out how to stop it, though.
Maybe one day.

Dear favorite person...

I have to fight for myself, you tell me again and again.
But, I lost the will; it's been gone since I don't know when.


I can't even function, barely making it through the days.
How the hell do you expect me to simply walk out of this haze?


No will to eat, no energy to even shower;
longing to sleep my life away hour by hour.


But even in bed I can't hide, I can't find a break;
I toss and I turn, my brain fighting to keep me awake.


You say it's me, I don't want to get better;
as though I have some control, like I hold the key to the fetter.


It's not a lack of want, but the loss of hope;
I'm sitting at rock bottom, clinging desperately to the end of my rope.


You tell me you feel like a broken record, saying it all like you have before;
But I can't do what you ask of me, it's so hard, such a daunting chore.


"You know what to do, you've learned all the things," you like to remind me, as though I don't know.
I can't even think, can't even move; how can I change, how can I grow?


Nothing seems to work, feels like I've tried it all;
now I'm left here helpless, feeling so weak and so small.


I feel like I'm losing this battle with my brain;
standing alone, watching my life slip down the drain.


I'd take even a rest, just a small reprieve;
maybe then in myself I could believe.


But right now I can't do that; right now I need you.
Please tell me it's all a lie, remind me what's true.


Tell me you love me, tell me I matter;
please don't walk away, don't get lost in the scatter.


Can you sit with me in silence? Can you hold me while I cry?
It will never make sense to you so don't even try.


Just be there and make it known.
Stay here beside me, unmoving like stone.


I know it's not easy, the holding my hand;
but with your help, I feel I can stand.


I'm not giving up just yet, more storms I will weather.
But, please, I beg you, can we do this together?

White walls and padded rooms...

I love my job, I love it so so so much. I love it so much that I happily worked 103 hours during my first pay period. And did I tell you I got a cat? I love my Maxie cat and the companionship she provides for me. So, life has truly been great lately. I've had several breakfast and lunch dates with my parents, been seeing my therapists, and been taking my medications as I ought to be. Unfortunately, my brain hates me....

March 6, 2018
I was doing my nightly duty of counting medications at work and all of the sudden a thought popped into my head, "I could slip a few of these from each bottle and no one would ever notice...I could just take them all when I get home in the morning and wash them down with a healthy serving of alcohol and it would all finally be over." This thought nagged and nagged at me throughout the remainder of my task.

March 7, 2018
Same shit, day 2.

March 8, 2018
Again the thoughts tugged at my brain and wouldn't go away. That morning I had a therapist appointment as I sat in her chair I heard myself say, " I'm done, I just can't do it anymore. I literally do not have it in me to do this for the rest of my life, I can't." I was terrified of the words that were spilling from my mouth. Terrified because I can't seem to control the way these thoughts come in and overtake me. Terrified because I was no longer scared of the thoughts, I was starting to see their validity. "Jacque, I won't send you to the hospital tonight, I think you're alright enough to stay home, but I'm either sending your mom or a police officer to check up on you tonight, you choose which it will be" were the words I got in response. My mother checked on me as I slept the day away as per usual since I had worked all night, I appeared fine because, after all, I was just sleeping peacefully.

Let's fast forward just a couple of days here...

March 11, 2018 (exactly 2 months after my return from my long term treatment program in California)
I had made up my mind. I wasn't going to steal pills from work, but I would get some somewhere to combine with those I already had at home and I was, once again, going to try to end it all. I like to ignore the fact that like 98% of suicide attempts don't actually end in death and think that may, just maybe I'll be in the 2%. My mother was set to be gone for a night on Tuesday to pick up my nephews from my sister, thus there would be no one in town to check up on me. "That's my chance," I thought as I ran through various options for plans in my head. I fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't have to fight myself for much longer. I woke up a few hours later to a text from my friend/ former therapist from California telling me that she was going to check in with me later in the day because she could tell from my texts that something was wrong. At first I told her she didn't have to do that, that I was fine...but later I sent another text saying that the thing that was wrong was that I probably wouldn't be alive after a few days. I thanked her for what she had done to try to help me and said goodbye. I only did this because I, mistakenly, thought that she didn't have phone numbers for my family and surely couldn't do anything about anything from across the country. Needless the say, my phone rang moments later, "what's going on Jacque?" I basically told her that I just didn't know anymore, that it all had come on so suddenly and I felt like this was going to be a cycle for the rest of my life; a cycle I could never break unless I took myself out of the equation. After some therapizing, the ultimatum came, "Jacque you either get to a hospital on your own of I'm calling your parents to take you there." Turns out she still had their numbers and actually could do something from across the country....so I called my mom.
My mom took me to the ER where they decided that I needed to be admitted for inpatient psychiatric care...again. Round 6 for those of you who are counting. Unfortunately they couldn't find a bed for me in town so I was sent to a hospital in Osage Beach. It was a rough night at the ER as I had worked all night and was basically running on zero sleep and trying hard to stay awake for the various tests and questionnaires they had for me. In the wee hours of the morning, I was loaded into an ambulance, we arrived at the other hospital around 4 am. I spent the next 8 days in that hospital having 3 different doctors talk to me, evaluate my situation, and tinker with my medications. (And no, the hospital didn't ACTUALLY have white walls and padded rooms, I just liked that for a title lol)

March 20, 2018
Now here I sit at my mom's house, which will eventually become my house too. The decision was made that right now I'm just still not really safe living on my own. So they're going to build me my own room here. In the mean time, modifications must be made like me keeping only enough pills for a week, spending more of my awake time with my family, and going to therapy more than once a week. Let me tell you that my opinion of all of this is that it sucks. I have been on my own for nearly 10 years now and moving back in with my parents feels almost childish. I don't want to have to make these decisions. I don't want to feel like I can't do things on my own. But I also don't want to do something stupid because my brain got the better of me, and I know this is the best way to keep myself safe; so that's what's going to happen.

For now, I'm stable. I would like to say I'm all better, but I just don't think that's a thing I will ever have the good fortune to be able to say. I'm still coming to terms with this, because it seems so vastly cruel and unfair that I should have to live with a brain that is near constantly trying to kill me, even in the happiest of times. But whatever. Mostly, I'm thankful right now. Thankful for good therapists and good friends who love me even though I couldn't tell you why, thankful for a family that has never left my side through my many storm, and thankful that I'm still here to tell you this story. May I be able to say that for many years to come.

I'll see you tomorrow.

All things good and holy...

Once upon a time, my life revolved around my religion. I was that girl with Bible verses tattooed on me. My Facebook posts were regularly verses or biblical words of encouragement. I went to church every Sunday. I attended youth group until I was old enough to be a sponsor, which I did. I went on mission trips, I worked at a church camp, and I was part of a campus ministry at my university. I talked the talk and did my best to walk the walk. So I’m tattooed and I swear and sometimes enjoy an adult beverage? My God doesn’t condemn for that. I’ve always tried to do my best and love people like they ought to be loved.

Anyway, as you may or may not know, I began struggling with depression at the age of 15. A few things happened around that time; namely the deaths of my 7 year old cousin and a fellow student from my school. I really began to question God at that point. If He did exist, I couldn’t see how He could be at all good. I mean, how could He let 2 such young people die? How could He let me struggle the way I was for no reason? It just didn’t seem right. It was pretty dark for quite some time. Later though, I found solace in the idea of God. I found comfort in the idea of always being loved and important. And I was perfectly happy that way for several years. My depression went up and down over the years, but never got to be too much for me to handle. Until it did.

April 2015, everything was going right in my life. I was doing all of the things I told you about earlier, walking the good Christian walk. I was just about to graduate from the Honor’s College at my university and had secured my dream job. Something wasn’t right, though. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, but everything started slipping. My life just wasn’t in my control anymore. I’ll spare you the details of the story, since you’ve probably already read it in the past. I sought solace in God the way I had when I was younger…but I found nothing. I found emptiness, loneliness, and even more darkness. I became angry with God. I couldn’t see how a God who was supposed to be loving and good would let me live in such darkness. I walked away from the church. I didn’t speak to anyone and no one made any attempt to contact me for about 3 months. When they did try, I wrote them off completely, saying it had been too long and I was too deeply hurt. And that was that.

I was no longer part of the church. I was angry at God. I felt hurt by God. I felt unloved by the God that was supposed to love us all as His children. I had been abandoned. Then I tried to kill myself. Obviously that didn’t work and some say there’s a reason for that. Some say that I was saved by something greater than all of us because I still have more to do on this Earth. I don’t know about that. What I do know is that I have come to a place of acceptance with God. I believe in God, I don’t think this Earth could exist in its wonderfully complex state without an intelligent designer. But I still have trouble believing that God loves us as much as I was always taught. I mean, how could I be loved so much and left to suffer for long and so deeply?

Here’s what I’ve come to accept though, God is real. That’s about all I know at this point. Do I feel love from God? Not really. What I do finally feel though is a sense of love from and for myself. And I think that’s the key. It’s not about finding the Divine on the outside. In my understanding of things, the Divine is in each of us and that’s what matters. I have found that piece of the divine within myself. There is a part of me that knows peace and love and I think I’ve discovered that part. It’s been through yoga and meditation and energy work and opening my mind up to finding God in other things and places that I’ve discovered this part of me. So maybe my style looks a little different these days. Maybe you won’t see me in a church or see Bible verses on my Facebook wall. What you will see from me, though, is love. I will love people, because that’s really all we can do in this life. I will love myself because, since we’re all one, I can’t love you unless I love myself first. So while loving me isn’t my strength, I’ll do so because I want to be better able to love you and the rest of the world. So maybe I do yoga and meditate and play around with healing crystals, but those things don’t make me any less of a believer than you or anyone else. Those things just mean I find God in a different place than you do. I find Him in little things, I find Him in the energy that makes up each of us, in the silence of meditation, in the strength of my body in a yoga pose, and in the vibration of a crystal. I find God in everything and everyone. Long story short, I’m not religious anymore. I subscribe to no religion; I subscribe only to love, that’s what truly matters in this world.

“This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples, no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple. The philosophy is kindness.” (Dalai Lama)

Pull the trigger

I spent 6 months away from home (roughly 1 month in the hospital and 5 months in a treatment center). I learned so much while I was away and I changed a great deal. I went from constantly wanting nothing more than to die to that popping up only occasionally to it popping up almost never. Don't get me wrong, the thoughts still enter my head from time to time. In fact, I just had a bit of a rough patch this weekend. You see, the thing that I knew, but didn't realize would have such a profound effect, was that I was basically in a bubble while I was in treatment. I had people to remind me to take my medicine every morning. If I was having a really rough time and needed to talk, I had access to a therapist at the push of a button or by simply walking down the hall if it was the right time of day. Everything was new and different there. I was far from home and my past and the memories of the darkest times of my life. Upon returning home though, everything came rushing back in like the tide. I was right back in the place where I tried to kill myself, alone again. I am surrounded by things like the store where I bought the pills I swallowed that night and I'm still not sure how to handle it. It doesn't seem rational to other people, but I have trouble even driving by the place. Over the weekend, I had to sit outside of said store while my sister ran in, unsure of why I refused to get out of the car. I started to have a panic attack and didn't regain normal breathing until we'd made it back home. Can I tell you how much I hate this? It seems so silly that something like a store can almost completely shut me down, can make me feel like I'm a failure because I'm having a panic attack and flashes of all the reasons I shouldn't be alive again. I lay in my apartment each night and wonder about that morning, wonder what it was like when the paramedics broke down my door and found me there. I flash back to that ultimate decision and the actions that followed. I often get very upset by this, so it's good that it only happens at night and I can sleep it off.

In the therapy world, things that set off these flashbacks, thoughts, and feelings are called triggers, and boy have I been inundated with triggers since I came back. It's like everything suddenly reminds me of all of the darkness I lived in for so long. Sometimes, it's a stretch, but my mind makes the connections to bring me crashing back into the past. I'm working on dealing with my triggers and learning how to live with them. The reality of the situation, I know, is that these things aren't simply going to go away. Even if I change my whole life, there will be things that pop up that trigger me. That's forever for me. What I'm focusing on is not letting that control me. For now, it means not shopping at a certain place, spending the majority of each evening at my mom's, and not having anything I could hurt myself with in my apartment. Sure this is mildly annoying at times, like when I need a kitchen knife because I'm cooking, but the annoyance is worth it until I feel more secure in my ability to face my triggers without giving in to them. Right now, all I've got is today. That's what I have to focus on, making it successfully to the end of the day. And, boy, does it feel like an accomplishment making it through each day! I still have lots of help from my family and my amazing therapist/life coach or whatever you want to call her, and I know that I will need that for quite some time, and that's something I'm learning to be ok with. No one can do this life thing alone, so even though it's tough for me to lean on others, I'm doing it.

I am surrounded by triggers and tough stuff here, but I'm still making life happen. For me, it's all about practicing mindfulness and staying in whatever moment I'm in. Letting myself drift into the past is dangerous territory and the future is so big that it scares me. But here and now, I am in control and I am safe and I can handle things. Remembering that keeps me moving forward and still looking up, even when I take a few steps back. I'm doing this thing. I'm hanging in there. I know I'm not alone. I'm not giving up ever again.

I'm both happy and sad...and that's ok.

"So this is my life and I want you to know that I'm both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." (The perks of Being a Wallflower)
I used to read this quote and kind of wallow in it. I read it as saying that I was always somewhat sad, no matter what. Even on the brightest, sunniest, and best of days, I was sad. I appreciated that a book actually got that. Charlie felt like I felt. Charlie had to be in a psych ward, just like me. Even if it was just in a work of fiction, I wasn't alone in how I felt. The thing is though, that I was always trying to figure out why I felt that way. Why me? What did I do to deserve to always feel sad? I've come to the conclusion that "why" is the most dangerous question I can ask, at least for big things in life such as this. There are 2 simple reasons for this: there is no one on this earth who can actually tell me why and even if there was, the answer would never satisfy me. I would always walk away feeling frustrated. And that's where I would stay. I would ruminate on the frustration until I eventually spiraled out of control, ending up at the bottom of that damned rabbit hole. Over the past several months, though, I have had a drastic shift in perspective. I have challenged myself to stop asking "why" and it is so freeing. (Not so) Simple acceptance brings so much more peace to my life.

I still love the Perks quote as it still resonates deeply with me. I think now I would just reword it a tiny bit..."I'm both happy and sad and that means I'm alive and it's amazing." The cool thing is that I am both happy and sad, but I now know how to make that ok. I've learned that feeling that sad isn't something to be ashamed of and it doesn't have to take over my life. I can acknowledge the sad, feel it, then let it pass by without clinging to it. And the happy, oh man, the happy. I know to be mindful and soak up as much as I can from each moment while I'm in it. I know to give myself over to the happiness even if that means I'm singing and dancing and acting a fool in front of everyone (that's exceedingly rare, btw). If it makes me happy, then who cares? I don't anymore.

Learning to live life again is cool. Learning to see the world with fresh eyes is truly awe inspiring. Friends, I want you to take a few things from reading this: you are NEVER alone, no matter how you feel....please never let your mind convince you otherwise; it's ok to feel sad, but don't allow it to set up shop in your mind; stop asking why, it will free you like you would never believe; embrace the happy moments as long as possible.

So this is life and I want you to know that I hope you're both happy and sad and that means you're really alive. And that, my loves, is the most amazing feeling of all.

Hi, I'm Jacque

New year.

New.

New.

New.

That word means so much to me right now. 1 year ago today I was in a very different place. I was fresh out of the hospital following my first suicide attempts. Everything was dark. I had no hope at all. I made plans to move in with my sister, but that was really more a safety measure than anything else. I couldn't be trusted to be alone if I was to keep on living. The thing is though that I still didn't want to live. I was trudging through day after day just existing because that's what we as humans are supposed to do. Therapy did not help. Hell, it was all I could do to convince myself to really open up to a therapist. There was no hope for me. I felt completely alone even when I was surrounded by people. I made the decision to move home because I simply couldn't stand to be away any longer. Looking at it from the outside, that probably looks like a terrible decision. But now I like to see it as the best thing I could have done. I was literally alone again. I felt like the biggest burden there ever was. I thought I was making life worse and harder for everyone I loved. In my skewed mind, one big loss would be easier for them than continually watching me suffer. I made the decision to take away their burden once and for all. I think most of you reading this know how the rest of the story goes. It's taken some time, but I now believe that everything happened the way it had to. I never would have gotten the intense help I needed if it hadn't gotten so bad. I would have eventually succeeded in doing myself in. But I lived through that night. Something or Someone bigger than me decided that there is more to my story. For a while I couldn't see why that was; I still felt useless and hopeless. But things have changed. Every night when I go to sleep, I want to wake up the next morning. I know I can make a difference in this world. I will do something meaningful. I am not a burden. My perspective shift still honestly baffles me, but I'm so grateful to be where I am now. It's cliché, but this new year really is a chance for a new me.

I so badly want to tell those who may be feeling like I felt that there is HOPE. 

It can get better.

 It won't be all sunshine and roses getting there, but the pain is worth it. 

You are worth it. 

You can begin again. 

We can fight this fight together.

We can be new.

Hi, I'm Jacque and I'm new.

The thing about Christmas.

My life has been odd since 2015, namely Christmasy parts of my life. 2 years ago, I worked with my fellow teachers to pull off a Christmas program that closed out the most amazing experience of my life. Then on a rainy morning, I packed up and headed back to the states. And I was home for Christmas.

Last December I was hospitalized for the second time in 2016. I spent a few weeks in the psych ward. I missed out on Christmas shopping. I missed out on wrapping gifts for my nephews. I missed out on making Christmas cookies with them for the first time ever. I don't remember much about that time thank to ECT, but I know I went home in time for the holiday. And I was home for Christmas.

This year is different though. I'very spent half of this year in some type of psych facility. I missed the first day of school. I missed field trips. I missed school parties. I missed so many bath times and bed time snuggles. I hate it so much. I hate knowing that my family misses me; hate missing them. And this year I won't be home for Christmas.

I'm having a very hard time with this reality. I'm missing so much! So many moments that cannot be recovered. And all because I just couldn't do it. All because my mind likes to hate on me and convince me that life isn't worth living. It feels like I'm the problem here and if I just wasn't around no one would have to be sad about me missing things, including me. I don't mean if I'd killed myself, because I have the presence of mind now to know that would have made things unfairly shitty for my family. I guess I just kind of with I never existed in the first place. Is this world actually a better place for having me in it? I have trouble believin so.

What I do believe is that there are people who love me, even though I don't know why. I believe that they deserve happiness; who am I to take that away from them in order to spare myself some pain? So here's the thing about Christmas, I'm going to miss this one, but I'm doing it for you. It sucks this year, but this is all in the hopes that I'll be around for many more Christmases to come. So for now, I'll decorate a palm tree, make cookies with my roommate, and be grateful for the Christmas that almost wasn't a thing for me.

Merry Christmas and all my love!

See Through

I tried to cover it up, tried to hide all the pain.

But when you weren't around I let my tears fall like rain.

You see through my lies; you see the real me.

Standing by me for all time, never daring to flee.

I don't understand your love and devotion;

seems as big as the sky, as deep as the ocean.

How do you feel when you see all this ruin?

To me it's as though I will never win.

You see through the laughter, the "happy", the smile;

knowing I've been broken for quite a while.

Although I'm broken I know you never see me as too much.

You're always there to comfort me; with even the slightest touch.

I'm sorry for the pain I've put you through.

Know it was never on purpose; doing this to you.

Thank you for seeing through when no one else can;

thank you for staying when you easily could have ran.

"Write about something that's see through." I love my expressive writing class because we have prompts like this one. This could be taken so very many ways; it could be literal and I could write about a window or a jar. I took it more figuratively and decided to write about seeing through me. So I guess in a way I wrote about something that's not actually see though because I think I out up a pretty good wall when I want to and not always transparent because there are things I feel like I need to hide. Meh, I do what I want. lol Anyway, this is the poem that flowed from me when I heard the prompt and I'm pretty happy with it. This poem is about my mom. No matter how good I think I am at hiding things, she can always seem to see through me. She's always saying that it seems like I'm not having a good day, even when I don't tell her that. I think that perhaps that's just the thing about moms, they just have that innate sense of feeling what their kids feel. I am so grateful for this; so grateful for the never ending love from my mom that I know not everyone gets to feel. Thank you mom for seeing through the fake me and really pushing to see me get better. Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader; thank you for giving me the world when you didn't even have it to give. You are amazing. I love you to the moon and back and a million red M&Ms! XO

On being suicidal.

I want to die.

I spend minutes, hours, and whole days plotting my demise.

I rationalize how the world would be better without me.
I see pictures in my mind; almost like gruesome crime scene photos where I am the victim.
I think up new ways to die on the daily.
 I lie in bed night after night wishing I wasn't breathing.
 I just want to be done.
I want to give up.
I am exhausted by the fight that I must fight day after day.

I convince myself that everyone who loves me is lying to me.

I am sure that I am the worst.

I know that I am a burden to everyone around me.
I am terrified of my mind.

I am a problem that needs to be solved.

There is only one solution I can see.
That solution leaves no room for a future.
That solution is putting myself 6 feet under.

This is how I feel like 90% of the time. 

These are the thoughts that own me when I fall down that rabbit hole.

This is what I'm trying to fix.

Because, honestly, I want to live.

I want to watch my niece and my nephews grow up.

I want to hear those munchkins' names on graduation day.

I want to see the world.

I want to change the world. 

I want make everyone's life better.

I want to see you smile.
I want to see me smile.
I want to know what joy truly feels like.
I want to walk in the light that went out so many years ago.

The thing is that all of that gets lost when I am cloaked in utter darkness. Nothing feels real and nothing matters, because I am ruining everything. Please don't take this as an invitation to tell me how great I am, I'm not looking for that. I'm not really looking for anything, I'm just trying to explain. I know that there are people in my life who look at me and wonder how I could ever be suicidal. My life is, admittedly, great. I am loved. I am cherished. I have everything I need. I am educated. I have held my dream job. I have had the opportunity to better the worlds of many people. I try to be there for others as much as possible. I try to give of myself. I try to appear put together. I try to be ok for all of you. The thing is though, that you just never know.

I live every day with this chasm of nothingness inside my chest and unfortunately no amount of love can fill it on the bad days. On the good days, I hear my baby boys say, "I love you" and I want nothing more than to live to hear it even one more time. On bad days, though, I can't even bring myself to so much as talk to them on the phone, because nothing matters at all; those little boys would be better off with such a mess of an aunt. My mind is a complex and frustrating place. I often tell my therapist that I feel as though I live in the middle of a tug of war; between wanting to live and wanting to die. Both sides pull at me constantly and sometimes one side or the other gets the upper hand. I think this will just always be my life.

I've come to accept the fact that the darkness is just part of me; but I've also come to know that the fact that it's there doesn't mean I have to let it win. There's a thing called Acceptance Commitment Therapy that has been absolutely revolutionary in my thinking as of late. ACT says that you don't necessarily get rid of the bad thoughts. What's important is not letting the bad thoughts take over. ACT is simply accepting the fact that you're having the thoughts and that that is OK.

Being suicidal is often something I feel guilty about; I beat myself up for wanting to do something that I know would rock the boats of more people than I can possibly imagine. Obviously this just leaves me feeling worse and wanting to die even more and it is so dangerous. But through ACT, I have realized that those thoughts will not end me unless I let them. I accept that I have those thoughts. I accept that I may never be free from those thoughts. But I also accept the fact that I have the power to let those thoughts roll on. I accept that I have the strength to climb out of the rabbit hole before I find the bottom of it. I accept the fact that even though a thought seems more than real, it may not be true. I accept the fact that my brain is sometimes an asshole and the answer is to just to say, "fuck off" and turn it off for a while.

I accept the fact the what I really really want is to live, even on the worst of days.





 Rereading this is strange for me. I was in a good place in life when I wrote this. I was still in residential treatment for my mental health and felt like I was finally making some progress in life. It was so nice to be in a bubble where all I had to focus on was getting better. I've been back in the real world for a few years now and it's not the same. It's not all sunshine and rainbows and helpful therapy and groups and living in a community that truly understands what I go through because they have been there, too. I've, unfortunately, lost touch with most of the people that I spent those 5 months with and feel alone in my struggles again. 

Mental illness is a bitch and I'm still struggling to find a foothold in life. I have since been hospitalized another 5 times. Fortunately, I have come to a point in life where I can tell when I'm letting the thoughts take over and I know to get my ass to the hospital before I do something that cannot be undone. I haven't attempted suicide in nearly 3 years and I'm proud of myself for that. I also haven't self harmed in about 4 months and I know from the past that I can keep that up for longer and I fully intend to .

At this moment though, the thoughts are starting to get the best of me again and I am in the scary part of my mind that seems to always lurk around the corner when I start to do well again. It hit me hard recently while sitting with my family and enjoying a night together. The idea of ruining their world is absolutely crushing to me, but I still have that part of me that is ready to leave this world. I hate that about myself. I feel so very selfish for thinking the things that I do.

It's now mental health awareness month and I all I hope is that my words bring some sort of strange comfort to another in knowing that you are never alone and that you can, in fact, keep going even when the fight is utterly exhausting. All I have ever wanted in life is to make a difference and help people. In my mind, I have already done that and perhaps my job on this Earth is done. I don't know why this is my thought process and why my death makes so much sense to me when everyone else thinks my life is worth saving.

All I know is that I'm still here right now. I still get up everyday and fight my biggest enemy; myself. 

I'm trying so hard to fight my mother fucker of a brain. I'm trying so hard to do this for my family. I'm still not at a place where I see the point in getting better for myself, but I can fight for the people I love. I fight for those 2 little boys that deserve to have their aunt around to see them grow up. I fight for my mom who has always worked her ass off to give me the world. I fight for my dad who loves me so well and is always there when I need him. I fight for my big sister who would fight anyone and anything for me. I fight for my step-dad who came into my life and loves me like his own, no questions asked. I fight because it's not fair to put them through the pain of just seeing me deal with these illnesses and it would be even more unfair to put them through the pain of losing a daughter/ sister/ aunt. I fight because I don't want to be just another sad story.

I'm just questioning of that fight is really worth it.

The change in me.

There's pain inside, I just can't hide.

It's stuck and I just can't seem to get away.

Please let me go, please let me out.

I'm all alone, I want to shout.

The end has come, it's done for me.

I'll go away, set you all free.

I'm so afraid; can't control it anymore. 

This world is something I just wasn't made for.

It's time to change; to trust myself.

Can't let my emotions stay up on the shelf.

I'm not alone; won't ever be.

You'very got my hand; you're guiding me.

There's light ahead; now I can see.

It's time to live; set it all free.

I'm lying to you.

Ever since I've been back in the world of the internet machine, I've been sharing things with all of you.

I shared pictures of my artwork.

I showed you the quotes that I posted at my house to try to keep some positive vibes around.

I posted pictures from family weekend.

I shared posts from To Write Love on Her Arms.

I told you that you're all making me feel very loved.

The only thing is...I'm lying to you, or at least I feel like I'm lying to you.

I'm doing that thing that we all do on social media, I'm sharing only the good stuff. I'm painting the picture that I want you to see.

In that picture I'm happy and better and everything is fine.

In that picture I never think about the fact that I think the world would be a better place without me. In that picture I don't feel alone. 

In that picture I don't feel like I'm a burden to everyone.

In that picture it's not dark as night.

In that picture smiling is not a chore.

In that picture I'm not anxious as all get out in normal situations.

In that picture it doesn't take 20 pills a day just to keep me functioning.

But that picture isn't the real one. That picture is the goal, but it's not my life right now. There are very few happy little trees in my world right now. My world right now is pretty dark. It's not as dark as it was, thankfully, but it's still pretty dark. I still fell most days like I am a burden to everyone, especially my family. It doesn't matter what anyone tells me or shows me, I feel like I'm such a burden. Much of the time I still feel as though the world would be a better place without me in it. It's been quite some time since I've felt like actually taking myself out of the world; I'm incredibly thankful for that. I'm learning lots of things to help with those thoughts, as well. I'm working to reframe my irrational thoughts into more rational ones. I'm working on using coping skills to pull myself out of the terrible thoughts so that I don't get stuck in them and just sit around and ruminate. That doesn't always work, but it's something. One thing that's been really bothering me as of late is my anxiety. It has gotten to where most of the groups that I'm supposed to go to freak me the fuck out. Luckily, I'm able to employ my coping skills such as coloring or playing with my fidget spinner when I'm having a tough time. I'm working and I'm learning and that's what matters right now. 

So I do feel like I'm lying to you by only sharing all of the good things, but honestly speaking, who really wants to know about the bad?

Fighting for my Life

Not that anyone really gives a shit, but I've been totally out of communication for about 2 months now and I thought I'd tell the world why.

You see, about 2 months ago my therapist and I came to the realization that I simply wasn't stable, which was completely true. I wasn't doing anything at all besides working; my depression had reached the point that I wouldn't get out of bed even to shower or eat. There was a constant thought in my brain that I shouldn't be alive anymore. I lost the ability to trust myself to keep myself safe from myself and my terrible thoughts. I was urged to go to the emergency room and see about getting checked into the psych ward. Seeing how wonky my brain is and how bad my suicidal ideation was, I was admitted.I spent about 2 weeks there, had some ECT (electric shock therapy) treatments, got some new meds, and was sent home.

The thing is that they never should have let me go home. I was home for one day and decided that it was time for me to be done on this earth. Long story short, my mom found me the next morning, passed out, and I was taken by ambulance back to the hospital. I woke up in the emergency room to my parents on either side of me, looking sadder than I've ever seen before. I spent another 2 weeks in the hospital. I got some more ECT treatments, had some more therapy, and was again sent on my way, being diagnosed with Major Depression, PTSD, and Borderline Personality Disorder.

I was discharged to a long term treatment facility that would hopefully help me learn coping skills and things so I could learn to be home alone again.  So I'm in southern California at a treatment center and have been for a month. My treatment team says I'll be here for AT LEAST 90 days, likely more. I can see why, because I'm still having trouble wanting to live. I'm scared to death of eventually going home because I don't trust myself to be alone with the terrible things that my brain comes up with. But I'm trying to learn what I need to in order to be able to trust myself again.

I'm trying so hard to fight my mother fucker of a brain. I'm trying so hard to do this for my family. I'm still not at a place where I see the point in getting better for myself, but I can fight for the people I love. I fight for those 2 little boys that deserve to have their aunt around to see them grow up. I fight for my mom who has always worked her ass off to give me the world. I fight for my dad who loves me so well and is always there when I need him. I fight for my big sister who would fight anyone and anything for me. I fight for my step-dad who came into my life and loves me like his own, no questions asked. I fight because it's not fair to put them through the pain of just seeing me deal with these illnesses and it would be even more unfair to put them through the pain of losing a daughter/ sister/ aunt. I fight for them and I try so hard to remember that on my really bad days.

So that's where I've been and why I've been so quiet.
Also, if anyone wants to be super cool, I love snail mail! Letters and care packages are my favorite! My address is:
Sovereign Health
Atten: Jacque Graham MH
1211 Puerta Del Sol Suite 200
San Clemente, CA 92673

Message in a Bottle.

I'm going to tell you a story. This story might surprise some of you. This story might disappoint some of you because it might change how you look at me. However you react to this story, it's ok. I've made my peace with it. I suppose if I disappoint you, you'll make your peace with it eventually, too. At least I hope you do.

Once upon a time, I was in an immense amount of pain. I still am, but we'll get to that later. I don't know if you've ever felt terrible all the time. And I mean all the time. Day and night. Even when you're with people you love. Even when you're laughing. Even when you're doing things you ordinarily love. It's like a night that never ends, a tunnel that goes on forever, a weight that is always on your shoulders, a fog that never lifts. It is utter hopelessness. It is depression. I have severe major depressive disorder and battled against it without any help for more than a year before I ever sought help.

When you're in pain like that for that long, all you want is for it to end. You want to feel better. Heck, you just want to feel anything. You spend days on end chained to your bed, sobbing, trying to remember what it's like to be part of the real world, trying to think of ways to do anything but what you're doing. Sometimes the only thing you can think of that will make you feel different comes in a bottle. So you drain as many bottles you can find. Perhaps the answer is somewhere near the bottom of one? Not that one. Maybe the next one? And you keep trying. But that bottles never seem to hold the right answer. They make you feel a bit lighter though, make the fake laughter come a little easier.

And feeling even a little bit lighter is nice. So you try to figure out how to stay lighter all the time. What good is it to only feel ok when you're home alone at night? So you get yourself there during the day, too. You put things that have the opposite effect of coffee into your travel coffee cups. As far as you know, nobody suspects a thing. You take stupid risks, opening cans while you drive, sipping from them as you're driving down the road. Work isn't off limits anymore. Heck, work is where you need to be the most 'on' for people. You have to appear happy and you don't know how to make it through a whole shift pretending if you don't have help.

You know it's a problem. You're hiding things. You're lying. You're making sure to throw bottles in the dumpster so no one sees your trash can overflowing with them. But you try to play it off like it's not a big deal, like they can't tell. In a way, you want someone to ask, you want help. You want someone to step in and make you stop destroying yourself. Every time your best friend asks why she has to drive to dinner, you want her to look you in the eye and tell you she knows you're lying. You want her to tell you that you need help. You want someone to be the one to tell you they love you too much watch you go down the road you're going. But no one seems to notice. There's a point when you want to see how blatant you can be about things before someone says something.

Then one day, it happens. That best friend of yours has not been blind. She has not been ignoring you. She just didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help. But finally, she speaks up. She tells you how dangerously you're living. She gives you the facts about how what you're doing is more hurtful than helpful. She begs you to stop. But you still don't know what to do. At this point, it's become habitual. It's just a normal part of your day and you don't feel normal without it. But she tells you that you're not in it alone. She tells you she's there for you; she'll hold your hand no matter how hard it gets. And she does. And you send text after text, day after day about how hard it is, how much your brain is screaming at you to make it feel lighter again. But she sticks by you and answers every message, helps you stay distracted, reminds you that you're never alone. And you make it through, slowly, but successfully.

You stop hiding things. The bottles disappear. You stop craving what you know is terrible. The darkness doesn't go away, but you learn to live in it without your crutch. Even after several months, you still sometimes get the urge to feel that lightness, to embrace that easy laughter, but you fight it. You know you would only regret it and feel like a failure if you were to give in. So you stand in that dark tunnel, feeling your way along walls that seem to never end. You can't see even the tiniest sliver of light ahead. But at least you're no longer stumbling through that tunnel; you're standing upright and strong. Nothing outside of your brain is controlling and you're no longer ashamed of everyday choices.