One year ago, on March 21st I thought about and planned on taking my life. I woke up so sad, so depressed because I knew that I wanted to die. Life was no longer worth living to me. I was filled with so much sadness. so much hurt, pain. At that point in my life, I had experienced so many losses back to back, that my mind, body, and spirit had no time to recover. No time to heal. Sometimes we take our minds through so many experiences that can become traumatic to our health. We force ourselves to keep going, to keep pushing, and if we don’t take a moment to recognize the trauma and prepare for healing, we begin to breakdown. Breakdowns such as physical: losing weight fast, not eating, overeating, passing out, or even an injury. Or Breakdowns such as mental and emotional: depression, anxiety, and thoughts and acts of suicide. We make our bodies keep going and going, until finally it says no, and shuts down.
As a black woman, I have faced many traumas in my Life. Being diagnosed with depression was one of them. Now I must admit that mental health is something that is not really discussed within the black community. Nobody talks about the uncle or aunt in the family that is abusing drugs/alcohol due to their depression. Nobody even really acknowledges it because we often feel like prayer can replace action. Some people also go to the extent of believing that depression is not something we can be because essentially, we don’t have time to be that. Life for black people in America was built on trauma. Every generation has their own traumatic experiences and instead of talking about it, and seeking professional help, we just pass them down to the next generation instead. Black people, and especially Black women, are a group of people who have been constantly beaten and broken down, yet are required to push through and ignore the need for healing because life is still happening. Bills are still due. Food is still needed. A family still has to be provided for.
Growing up, I struggled a lot with finding my voice. I was always overlooked, overshadowed, or silenced. In more ways than one, life growing up let me believe that it was better to keep my feelings inside than to voice them. This perspective carried out in my friendships, relationships, and even at work. I became the person who would get offended and then not say anything to you about it because I didn’t want to offend you. For years I walked in the shadows of my peers. But not because I wanted to. But because I didn’t know my own strength…
Yesterday my dog Kash was hit by a car. He was a little under a year, and his life was taken away from him. I saw my dog bleed out of his head in the middle of the road. I held my dog until he died. I took my dog to the vet and waited for him to be cremated. That was another moment of trauma in my life. I even thought that a traumatic experience yesterday was going to place me back into a depression. Especially since my dog was killed a year and a day later after I wanted to kill myself. However, it was at that moment, that I realized how instant life was. I was with my dog all day, playing, and hugging, and then, BOOM, he’s gone. He’s taken away from me just like that. All of those moments we shared, I will never get to experience with him again. This parallels with my own story because if I would have taken my life, I would have missed out on a year worth of experiences that have molded me into the woman I am today. A year's worth of adventure. Furthermore, I would have taken away the possibility of creating new memories with the ones I love.
Yesterday, March 22nd, was the day I found my voice. I mean truly. I understand that the reason I submitted to silence for so long is that I was afraid of my own power. I was afraid of being better than the people I idolized. I was afraid of challenging the thoughts and opinions of the ones I loved. I was afraid of being wrong. Even more so, I was afraid of being me. But even with this new discovery, I know I am still on this journey to figuring out my mental health and how to engage it positively, daily. However, even with that, I know that writing is my sanctum. It literally has been my saving grace for many situations including rescuing my own life. Therefore, the best thing I can do to support my mental stability is to write more poems, publish more books, updating my blog, and continuing to tell my story. So cheers, to a year of not just continuing life but instead, learning how to relive it!