Alive

            I’m glad I survived. I am glad that I am still here today. I’m glad that I did not succeed. That those pills didn’t do the work I intended for them to do. That I was pulled from that water when I was eight. I’m glad that I am alive.

            I don’t think that I have ever actually said that until just now. But it just hit me. Hit me how thankful I am that I am here today. Writing this. Because I would have missed out on so much if I had succeeded in killing myself. I would miss out on the amazing friendships I have built over the past year. I would have missed out on the amazing people I have met. On the things I have done. The trips, the crazy adventures. The beautiful things I have seen. I would have missed all of that.

            So I’m thankful to have lived. I am thankful to be. That my choice not to be failed. But at the same time I do not regret that I was in that place. Or at least I am not ashamed of it. I have been suicidal. I have made multiple attempts to take my own life. And I am aware of the fact that due to my illness I will almost certainly be in that place again. But I hope that I can look back and know that IT DOES GET BETTER. As cliché as that is. I’m learning that it’s true.

            But the fact that I have lived through the dark is nothing to be kept a dirty secret. There is no shame in it. I’m learning that as well. And I am coming clean. I’m writing about it. For myself and because I want others to know that they are not alone. Because I know that knowing that I am not alone if one of the most powerful forces in the world.

            I recently read a piece I am working on for my Prose Forms class at an open mic. In it I was trying to explain what it feels like to be manic, and what it feels like to be depressed. What it feels like to be in my mind. How much pain my own head can cause me. It was something I wrote for myself. So I was shocked when after reading a girl came up to me in tears to thank me for what I had read. That hearing someone else share their experiences, to hear someone else who lived with the same demons speak, that it gave her a feeling of connection. That knowing she was not alone was comforting. Hearing that made me be the one in tears. The fact that I was the one whose art was letting someone else know that they are not alone. That I was capable of doing what so many writers, and musicians and artists of all sorts have done for me. That was incredibly powerful.

            So I am glad. I am glad to be here. And I am also glad that I lived through the things I have gone through. That I have been in those dark places and come out. That I have been shaped by that pain. Because the girl I am today is not perfect. She is broken and still hurts a great deal. But she is alive. Not just that but she is learning how to live. I know I will be in that place of despair again. That my illness is not something I can run away from or hide from. But I also know that I am not alone in that darkness. That I have hands to hold. And that for all the pain, all the hurting, all of the blackness there is also light, and love and life. And I am ready to live.