I’m not ready to stop trying
I just don’t know how to believe in tomorrow, when I feel like there are so many challenges in front of me, today.
Today it’s raining.
And I am observing the rain.
It began lightly. A drop here. A drop there. A gust of West Texas wind that picked up the red dust in the parking lot, and threw it into the air.
My neighbors came in and out, one moving slowly, seemingly unaware of the occasional drops of rain on the sidewalk; the other, much more quickly, more eager to get inside before the downpour.
I went inside to grab my phone and boom — a thunderous roar. And then, the loud, steady beat of heavy rainfall.
In an instant, the whole parking lot is wet. Raindrops the size of my thumbnail come splashing down all at once, like a million paratroopers all landing in unison on foreign land.
The rain is loud, and the thunder is louder.
The sky is dark, and gray, and I can still feel the West Texas dust in the air.
My neighbor gets out of her car. She’s fifty feet from her apartment door. She’ll be soaked before she gets there.
The wind blows the rain sideways. It lands on my porch, barely an inch from my feet. It’s 96 degrees outside, and raining like it’s hurricane season, and we’re down on the Gulf.
The parking lot is nearly flooded. The rain is so loud it’s drowning out my thoughts. Thunder is hitting back to back.
I can still feel the West Texas dust in the air.
One year ago today, I was being admitted into the mental hospital for a nervous breakdown.
Well, officially, it was for suicidal ideation.
But unofficially, I had had a full-on breakdown. I’d been carrying a load far too long, and my nervous system refused to carry it anymore. I was going to have to put it down — or it was going to kill me.
Only, I didn’t know how to put it down. I’ve spent the last year, trying.
Fighting.
Learning.
Praying.
Crying.
Processing.
Journaling.
Confronting.
Tolerating.
Not-judging.
Grieving.
Forgiving.
Accepting.
Learning some more.
And, ultimately… observing.
One year ago today, I was hurting.
Avoiding.
Running.
Blaming.
Accusing.
Demanding.
Analyzing.
Expecting.
Refusing.
Rejecting.
Today, I’m observing.
Noticing what’s there.
What’s real.
What’s true.
And what feels true… but is in fact, a fantasy.
Today it’s raining.
The rain feels good. It doesn’t feel like it’s 96 degrees outside. It feels like I could step into the rain, and feel some relief.
I wish I could walk in it, and it could wash away the stink of the last year of suicidality, and restore me to somebody who always wants to live.
I wish mental illness could be washed away.
Wouldn’t it be something, if we could be baptized by one random, sudden rainstorm? And our minds and our hearts made clean, and life a simple, beautiful, easy, enjoyable thing?
I don’t know how to get rid of the stink of mental illness. How to be free of suicidal ideation. It’s lived inside me so long, I don’t think I ever will be free, completely.
Some days are better, after a full year of consistent treatment.
Some days, it still feels like I should’ve seen my attempt all the way through.
This life — this world — it’s not easy.
When I think about all the things that have happened to me… about all the things I have done to other people… about all the obstacles and challenges before me…
It’s easy to think that suicide would make it all go away.
I can’t think about the things I haven’t worked through yet.
I can’t plan for my future, without convincing myself that my future is going to be taken away from me, just like everything else.
I can’t make a five-year plan without my mind descending into utter chaos. I can’t picture me, living the life I’ve always dreamed of — and I can’t wrap my head around the idea that the life I’m living, is worth a damn.
But I don’t want to die.
I’m not ready to stop trying.
I just don’t know how to believe in tomorrow, when I feel like there are so many challenges in front of me, today.
But today, it’s raining.
And I am observing the rain.