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Writer in Quarantine
I am writing and expressing and telling the truth to people for the first time. Therapists and doctors, they don’t get it either. This is my favorite: health professionals say, “It’s normal, many antidepressants make patients suicidal.” No, it is not normal. It is hell. And this: Oh are you sad today? Do you think you might be able to go to a movie with a friend? Take a walk, you will feel better.” Do you think I didn’t try that? Volunteer with some organization. I do. Get some exercise. That’s what I do. For 18 years.
Also, many kind-hearted and well-intentioned people say this: Call me if you think you are going to kill yourself. No, I won’t. Then you would try to talk me out of it. Anthony Bourdain, Kate Spade, Kurt Cobain, and Robin Williams meant business. They didn’t call anyone. I don’t understand, they say, they looked so happy. I don’t understand, how could they be so selfish and leave their loved ones with ruined lives? It is not about you.
I have lost, capitulated, gone down head first, heard my neck snap, felt the cold water as my body enters. Been taken to the hospital pronounced dead on arrival. I have seen the movie of my death.
Now I am healthy and whole. I beat the system one way or another, one more time, despite forces working against me. I am alive and that is what it means to battle despair and to win. No more, no less.
I created this life to which I have finally arrived. I am lucky to have co-creators along the way who accompany me as I create art, music, and movement. Sometimes magic. Experience love. Receive grace from friends and angels. Not sure which are which and it doesn’t matter.
