Flannel Covid Diaries: Lent Day 31
Covidtime Log Day 03212021
How uncomfortable do you need to become to finally realize that you need to change something?
A year ago I was a complete and utter mess. In a hazy fog of failure, sadness, grief, hopelessness, and depression. I feel like that the Universe knows when you're not really feeling great and decides to teach you a frightening lesson in resilience. It's amazing how much one can experience heartbreak before one actually feels like physically dying. I was suicidal for months and I can talk about it now because it's no longer part of my existence, today. I did not speak of it or discuss it with anyone because I don't want to be a burden to others. I did have a few friends who checked-in on me regularly cause they knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the tone in my voice or my lack of enthusiasm for anything, but they knew I was not doing okay.
The funny thing is that people who don't truly know me probably won't believe me when I say, "no, I'm not doing okay." If you did know me even a little bit you'd understand if I'm at the point of admitting that I'm not okay, I'm probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Which I was going through at this time last year. Everyone's breakdown or how I view it now breakthrough is different. This goes into what I want to discuss today.
I'm not really sure how to start this so I'll just begin by saying, I am and should be a statistic. There are many times I've wanted to kill myself. And, before you say anything listen to my story before you try to give me words of comfort and support. That's not why I'm writing this. Disclaimer: I go to therapy and take meds regularly.
Jane Elliot (a well-known antiracist) would go into towns and give talks about race and white privilege. She'd go into farm towns and non-BIPOC town folks would say, "We grew up poor. We worked hard on our farms and were able to go to college and make something of ourselves." And, she would tell them (paraphrasing) that she wasn't saying that their lives weren't hard compared to Black folks, but think about what it was like growing up with the struggles that they had, but imagine what it would have been like if they were also Black. Some people would say, "it would have been the same." Really, really would it have been? Because when she asks non-Black folks to stand up if they would like to be treated the same way Black people in America are treated, no one stands up. Because we ALL know Black people in America are not treated the same way as non-Black people or First Nation people (because First Nation is different from Intuits or Indigenous Peoples from Canada). American racism is very different from racism in other countries because there's still racism outside of America and we can blame that on colonization. Let's focus on the United States. I needed to give you a bit of background in order for y'all to have context for those who are not BIPOC. So, the stories I'm about to tell will be more impactful.
I've had three close friends die in the past ten years, two of them died by suicide the third died because of poverty (poor healthcare). The four of us all have something in common we are all non-binary, queer, cis-females of color. Asal was 36 when she killed herself, she was a Persian immigrant, and just a brilliant and dynamic person. Robin was 47 and a beautiful Black woman who was such a kind human being, smart, funny, misunderstood and very well-accomplished. Cris (AKA Chicken) was 44 and half Filipino, they could have been a Doctor. Should have been a Doctor/Veterinarian, but was still a caring hardworking person who saved humans and animals alike. Loved by so very many. Friends and family and close strangers. I do not give them the level of honor they deserve to try and define them in single sentences and basic descriptive words. You would have to of known them to truly experience the amazing light that shown so brightly in all of them.
We all struggled with identity. We all struggled to have long-term loving relationships. We all struggled to find a place in the world where we felt we fit it. I have outlived all of them. The amount of time I've had on my hands because of the pandemic has given me the opportunity to stare off into the distance basking and pondering. Privileges that my three friends no longer take advantage of. However, I feel they no longer struggle and suffer or are in pain. I guess I take some cold comfort from knowing that.
We all struggled with being able not to use the public restroom without being told, "you're in the wrong bathroom!" No, bathroom police this is the right bathroom, please wash your hands and move along.
We all did not come from wealthy families -- we were either working class or middle class.
With every death that enters my life, my own mortality comes into question. Why them and not me? Why am I still around and these amazing and beautiful people are no longer with us?
I supposed at an existential level the Universe isn't done with me, yet. I know that it's not my fault they are dead. But, for some reason, I feel compelled to try to live my life as boldly and as out loud as possible. Also, as I get closer to 50 I'm starting to really have no more f#cks to give.
If you think you know me, you don't. You know the person I allow you to see. The persona of Vangie. I barely even show people the surface. I am much vaster and deeper than one can imagine. My experiences are multi-leveled and I've lived many different lives and I've reinvented myself over and over again.
When people ask what my year has been like and I say: after having to deal with a breakup; learning my mother was dying and coping with the grief of her death; coming back to a half-empty townhome I had to pack up and move out of; while trying to negotiate finances with an ex who was telling me she "hated me and regretted the last two years;" being let go from my job (which was fine cause I really couldn't focus on work); then being told we were going into self-quarantine because of a global pandemic, and that was just the first three months. Other than all that, I'm fine.
But, I really wasn't fine. It wasn't about me just telling people I wasn't fine, I needed to accept that I truly wasn't fine. When I finally admitted to myself that I needed help, and if I didn't do something soon, I would be dead. When one has to reimagine their life from what it was or what they knew it to of been to what they think it is or can become is nearly impossible. Especially, when you can't even see past the grief.
We have lots of limiting beliefs about ourselves. There is a belief in our society that our relationships, careers, friend groups, and affinity group associations give us value. That things and stuff can heal emotional pain. All of that is garbage. When you are at the end of your rope and nothing seems to matter anymore, what happens is that clinging to those thoughts and ideas only made me more depressed and hopeless. I needed to break free from what other people thought about me because I needed to care about what I thought about myself. The most important relationship that should have mattered was the one with myself. That was probably the relationship I worked on the least.
This past year I decided to heal. Heal all the hurt and harm that I'd experienced over my lifetime that I had not addressed and dealt with. I cried, a lot. I grieved for months. I allowed myself the opportunity to figure out what works for me to self-soothe to find a healthy way to deal with uncomfortable feelings. I went to therapy and tried to find a sense of normalcy and routine. I did this alone. Every night when I went to bed I didn't have someone there to comfort me, hold me, and tell me everything is going to be okay. I had myself to comfort me, hold myself, and tell me that everything was going to be okay. In the beginning, I might not have believed, that everything was going to be okay, but I knew eventually I would. Because I've gotten through bad things in the past, I can get through this. I had to. I had to become best friends with myself. I needed to stop the self-hatred and focus on self-love. When I say I had to learn to fall in love with myself I say this in a deeply spiritual way. When we talk about being happy the greatest gift we can give to ourselves is self-happiness and joy. It does not come easily, but when you do figure it out it feels like nothing is impossible.
Self-exploration is frightening, but I knew if I didn't do it I'd probably kill myself. If I didn't start healing I'd continue to keep hurting to the point I couldn't take it anymore. I think that's maybe what makes me different from my friends. That I was willing to do the hard work. Not saying that they weren't capable of doing the work, but I know that at some point you become exhausted. On top of that, the work is scary. You have to go through you can't go around or over or under. We need to ask the hard question and hear the answers we don't want to hear. Who we truly are deep down inside. Especially, when you're already feeling crappy about yourself. Right!?
I finally admitted to everyone that I was really not okay. And, I had to stop caring what people thought about me because shame kills. The two biggest lessons that I learned this past year are forgiveness and grace. Two things I was willing to give to others but rarely gave to myself.
You are not who other people think you are. You are the only one who knows who you truly are. At the end of the day, and for some reason if you don't like who you are just ask the hard question. Why?
You will become what you think you are. That's it. That's the message. At the minimum, we must like ourselves. If we don't it will either kill us or we will make other people's lives miserable from our own self-loathing. I am grateful and thankful that I am still here.
I am still here.
There memories will always be a blessing.
If you or someone you know is having suicidal ideation please reach out to a safe person, professional, and/ or contact the Suicide Prevention lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255) www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
Suicide prevention resources: https://afsp.org/suicide-prevention-resources
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