Tyson

There was a boy once

My first best friend

Whom I clung onto like lightning

Like the brother I never had

Because he saw me 

At a time when no one else did

When I was paralyzed with fear

While everyone around me kept saying, “oh she’s just shy.”

I remember it 

Remember vividly sitting alone in the corner of the gym

Crippled by my terror

Watching all the other kids play freely

Not even wishing I could join them

But desperately hoping I could remain unseen

That no one would speak to me 

Because the terror of being in the world 

With so much unprocessed trauma raging inside of me 

Was unbearable 

And impossible for a five-year-old

Six was not much better

But then

All of a sudden

There he was 

Walking through the crowd

And looking me in the eye like he understood

Reaching out his hand 

And saying I should join them 

This boy, so much wiser than his years 

So much kinder than his peers 

Because why would the most popular boy in school

In the oldest class

Care about the tiny girl hiding in the corner 

Wishing with every fiber of her being 

Not to be seen

I trusted him before I wanted to 

I didn’t want to leave that corner of safety 

That self-created isolation

My island of peace

But he wasn’t afraid of my fear

And was patient with me when I wasn’t

He just kept trying

Every day

Just kept being a good friend

Long before I let myself be one to him in return

He was the brother I didn’t know I needed 

Who not only protected me from the world

But encouraged me to rejoin it 

Even when I had no desire to 

He was someone who used his power for good

Because he knew everyone loved him

Yet he would stop a game half the school was playing

Because he saw me fall down and skin my knee

Or heard the new kid 

Who was so desperate to be his new best friend

Bullying me 

And he was having none of it

Because somehow

Even as a child 

He knew 

That what I needed more than anything 

Was to experience a world that was fair and good and kind 

And so he created it for me 

And for that I will always be grateful 

Because it was Tyson’s love and friendship

His confidence and personality

That allowed me to find and believe in my own

How I Feel Today

I feel like my mind is too full

Too many thoughts, racing, unorganized

Too many memories and feelings to process

There is the sharp, stabbing, overwhelming grief of living my life in attempt to stifle my true nature

To understand how to live in a world that was not designed for me

Of trying so damn hard to be good

To do things the right way

There is also the resurfacing of the pure, bright joy I experienced as a child

Doing things that made perfect sense to me,

Even though they sometimes got me in trouble

The curiosity, the excitement, the thrill of being alive

There is the heavy sadness of untreated depression

The fear that it’ll pull me under 

The hope that now that I finally have a direction and a reason for the way I’ve been feeling 

That it might all finally get better 

There is the exhaustion from a too busy life

Without the benefit of executive function

There is the need and desire to make sense of it all 

To reassure everyone that I am okay

And the desire to be okay

To get back enough of my childhood self to feel like an actual participant in my own life

Without the hell I raised that most likely made everyone around me’s lives more difficult

There is also the mischievous edge of wanting to do some of it anyways

To create my own lighthearted chaos because there’s part of me that fucking loves it

Distracting someone when they’re working 

Rushing up behind my family members as they enter a revolving door so they are trapped in the experience with me 

Just silly, ridiculous things that the immature part of me finds ridiculously amusing

I haven’t enjoyed life consistently in a long time 

And I have long lost the concept of what a sustainable life looks like for me

I hope ADHD medication helps 

But I also hope I can find a way to be me 

Whatever that looks like 

Reasons to Stay Alive

I called a suicide hotline today.

For the first time?

In memory at least.

The reality is that I’ve been living with off and on severe depression with bursts of suicidality for the better part of the last five years.

Horrible way to say that. 

The better part.

Because of course that has been anything but better. Good. Best.

It’s been a nightmare. 

Because in addition to the absolute horror of being depressed and suicidal is the soul-wrenching fear of being depressed and suicidal again.

Because I thought, after 16, I would never be there again. 

I remember my guidance counselor’s words so clearly, “I think it’s situational. I don’t think you have a chemical imbalance.”

And I think he was right.

Oh, but young me. 

That scared and freshly scarred young girl. 

She thought it meant freedom.

Thought it meant two years till never feeling this way again. 

Two years to living free, happy, at ease for the rest of her life.

And yet here I am.

Again. And again. And again.

And so I didn’t understand.

I thought there was something deeply broken and wrong about me.

Because I didn’t understand.

Situational.

SITUATIONS affect me deeply and profoundly.

Environments affect me deeply and profoundly.

People and trauma and stress affect me deeply and profoundly.

It doesn’t mean I’m broken. 

It doesn’t mean I’m hopelessly lost, never to be found or loved again. 

It means I need to remember that if and when I find myself in an unmanageable situation I need to change it before my life is on the line.

Because there is a strong inner negative voice.

What I described on the crisis line today as a demon inside me.

One that takes all my thoughts, my fears, and emotions as a challenge.

Collects them greedily, hoards them like precious pieces of an imperfect weapon.

Waiting for me to give it the final piece.

The straw that will break the camel’s back.

And that final piece will be what completes the weapon he uses against me. 

And so yesterday, when it came swift and fast, the way in which I should go home and kill myself, it shocked me into silence.

Froze me to my bones and put the fear of “myself” back into me.

But it’s not ME who wants to die.

It’s this monster inside of me who is just waiting in the wings. 

For me to stumble.

To fall.

To be too tired to get back up. 

So he can finally cut me down for good.

But goddammit if against all my weaker instincts I do not keep standing back up to fight.

Broken and bloodied.

Bruised and beaten down.

But that spark of life inside of me says to stand.

Please, stand up.

And so I do.

And I did.

I decided not to let the monster win.

To not keep trying to manage an unmanageable situation on my own.

To get over the fear, the shame and judgment and guilt of not being able to do this on my own.

And I made a call that gave me the hope to carry on. 

So thank you from the bottom of my heart Samaritans help line and Prague Therapy’s website for the resource. 

We deserve to have our lives saved.

And please, if you’re reading this, don’t give up. 

It is never as impossible as it seems. 

The Worst Thing

The worst thing about chronic illness 

Is telling myself I’m just not resilient 

Me who has run ultramarathons 

Crossed oceans to make a new home on a continent far from everyone I’ve ever known 

Not resilient 

Not strong 

A weak, broken thing 

A liar 

Because apparently what my body tells me isn’t real

What I experience isn’t real

Even after all these years 

I can’t make myself believe me 

Waking up on stretchers

In ambulances

In pools of my own blood 

Spending nine years trying to pretend this isn’t happening 

And failing again and again and again 

Because it’s so surreal 

Seems insane that two so very different versions of me

Could coexist inside this very same body I never believe 

This same body that is crying out to me for help 

The cruelest part of me leaning in close o whisper in her ear

“You don’t deserve it.” 

And the rest of me shocked into silence 

Wondering what the hell is wrong with me 

That I’m so committed to hating myself 

And wondering when I’ll finally let go of this game 

And who else, how many others, are torturing themselves in this way 

Because we’re so committed to the irrational belief that we don’t have the problems we do 

And that we definitely don’t deserve help 

That we’re probably lying to begin with 

Us, who are often so committed to the welfare of others and so unwilling to give ourselves that same love 

The Trauma Is

In truth, I wish I’d done things differently

I wish I had held onto that feeling of betrayal and anger

That I had left that night

Gone home and cried 

Instead of staying there and abandoning myself

To be honest, I don’t know if it would have mattered

If it would have sped up my healing 

Maybe it would have 

I don’t like the acronym PTSD

I’ve never understood the phrase post-traumatic

Because I am post and past nothing 

I am still very much living in the trauma of it all 

Because the trauma wasn’t just 

That night 

That moment

That sneer 

The dismissal to my what the fuck was that?

The trauma is still living in the same small town as my abuser

The trauma is thinking about it every day as I walk my dog 

Making sure to give him enough exercise without getting too close to that part of town

The trauma was being afraid to tell my friends what happened

Already too scared that somehow it was my fault 

That it would mean something about me 

That I, who grew up around abuse, had yet again become the victim of it 

That my choices with men don’t seem to be improving

The trauma was coming face-to-face with my own victim-blaming 

And the acutely painful awareness of how easy it is to become one

The trauma is knowing that he will keep winning over women

Because he looks and acts the part of a good guy 

The trauma was realizing that I thought it somehow made me a better person to have not experienced physical abuse

And wondering what kind of person it makes me now that I have 

The trauma is knowing our society will never believe but always blame women

The trauma is being told by a friend to call the police

But knowing that it likely wouldn’t matter

Because I am a foreigner and he is not 

He grew up here and I did not 

The trauma is knowing that even if the police did come 

They probably went to school together 

And are maybe even friends 

The trauma is knowing foreigners here are often dismissed in grocery stores for not speaking Czech 

So why would the police be any different? 

The trauma is knowing he will get away with it 

Because I never want to face him again

The trauma is living in fear and trying to make myself okay with that 

The trauma is making my life smaller because the fear tells me I cannot handle being too close to where he might be 

The trauma is limiting my life 

Making me question myself and every decision I make 

The trauma is knowing I cannot spot an abuser even though I grew up with one 

The trauma is knowing I may never be safe around men

That many women aren’t 

So no,

I do not understand what you mean by post-traumatic

Because I am still very much traumatized 

So Much of My Life

I’ve gotten to be myself

So little of my life

So much of the rest of the time 

I spent trying to hide 

Who I am

What I thought

How I felt

I miss her, this girl 

This realest of me’s 

The truest of us 

Who’s only wish, to be happy 

Where did she go?

Or where did we leave her?

So lost and alone, left here without her

And she won’t even remember

Never one to hold a grudge

She’ll come in smiling, laughing

Like who am I to judge?

She’ll give us a hug 

And say thank you for waiting 

That one kind touch 

Keeping my heart from breaking 

Looking at that girl, glowing 

Not believing she’s me 

Because how would I know 

How to be that carefree

At the End of My Life

The Devil and God have been warring inside me 

The darkness that never sleeps 

Using all its endless energy to drag me out and down

Away from myself and any semblance of truth 

To separate me from myself and everyone around me 

So that I will see them as enemies

Forget my humanity and hate my neighbor

Why does she have what I don’t?

Why does he get to go on nice vacations when I don’t?

Forgetting that the darkness’ true game is distraction

Because if I am so busy hating my neighbors who have more than me 

I will forget how much I can help my neighbors who have less

That humanity, in the end, was the whole point

If I am so busy chasing things I will forget all about people 

And that being together is what matters

Building together is what matters

That we are powerful and capable and strong and at peace, together

Not when we make Materialism our God 

I don’t want it to be read aloud at my funeral 

That she got so many things

Spent so much money 

Felt like she was finally better than everyone

I want it to be said 

That she cared

That she cried

That she was there with us

That the world broke her and broke her heart so many times 

But she did not give up 

She did not give up on herself

On her joy

On those she loved

On community and connection

She did not forget her power

She stood up for what was right 

Got loud when someone was too scared to use their voice

Chose to help instead of hurt

Again and again and again

I want it to be said that I was a good person

I want to look myself in the eye at the end of each day and know that that is true

I want to die knowing the Devil didn’t win

But that by God if he comes for me or my people, we will not go down without a fight 

To Make it Work

While I agree once I’ve done it 

It feels like an insult when I’m in it

“Just take action.”

But depression is having none of it 

Because when I’m depressed I’m not just crying 

I’m bitter, angry, full of rage 

Hateful most moments 

Like an animal in a cage 

Almost daring people to give me advice

Just so I can bite their heads off 

It scares me 

Because I don’t know where it comes from 

And scares me when I think maybe I do 

But I think it can be easy to get angry 

When we feel helpless and all feels hopeless 

So yeah I feel better now 

But I was really not okay for a while 

And there was a long time when taking action felt like the problem 

Because everything I did to improve my life blew up in my face 

And it made me want to stop trying 

But I guess it’s kind of like 

Driving down the wrong road

And you keep adjusting things don’t matter 

Like your speed 

Or that AC 

The music you’re listening to 

And yet even though you know you haven’t changed direction 

And you know you’re going the wrong way 

You’re still pissed you’re not getting there 

Because you look over to the other lanes

See the cars full of smiling faces 

And it makes you sad 

But then it enrages you 

Because they look like they aren’t even trying 

And you are doing everything you can to make it work 

It’s Time To Wake Up

I need to tell my story 

She thought in the dead of night 

Sat up straight, panting 

Covered in sweat as the fear slid away from her 

Not a dream, but a nightmare 

Its claws still sunk deep into her skin

Dark and slimy 

Leaving ghost tails along her tendrils 

The shiver along her spine 

Reminding her of the truth 

From where the nightmare came 

Waking up to it as if from a dream 

The last four months 

Blowing away in the wind

Like the ash still coating her mouth 

“Oh.”

How silly it is 

How easily we forget our traumas 

How good her brain is at breaking her 

Making her believe it is madness 

And not her mind’s earnest attempt to protect her from it 

Because it did not want her to become what happened to her 

Knows how she is

How she gets 

But yet it saw 

And it was too long,

Her mind thought 

To stand by as she tortured 

And blamed 

Herself 

For this choice

This decision 

This momentous life change 

Not working out

No

Remember 

I’m sorry 

You have to wake up

And so she is 

The cruel truth 

This remembering 

Bearing its teeth 

In a sharp, sad smile 

yes

This is what trauma is 

Not the night itself 

But the four months she dissociated from it 

Because it was too painful to bear

The four months she spent 

Twitching in her skin

Afraid of 

Every noise 

And eye contact 

The four months

She again spent 

Apologizing for her existence 

Because her abusers have always told her she had to

The four months she spent

Thinking she was losing her fucking mind 

Because she was so, unbearably, not okay

I’m sorry

Her mind whispers

Ever and always 

The overprotective best friend

Who only ever wanted to save her from pain

By making her forget 

It’s Exhausting

Is it stupid to want that?

I ask myself

Counting out my desire to dream

Before I even get started

It’s dumb to care

Embarrassing to try

What if you fail?

Ah, but what if you soar?

The hope holding my wings in the wind for seconds 

Before I come crashing down

I try to think back

To remember when I became so committed 

To not believing in myself 

To thinking there’s no possible way

To knowing everything is a waste of time 

Despair doesn’t look good on me 

Bitterness sickens my stomach and poisons my thoughts

My worldview

Strengthens my jealous 

Jumps from friendship to disconnection

Oh it must be nice

Must be so easy for her

But wait, what the hell?

She’s my friend and I want even more for her

I celebrate the good that life has given her 

Glory in the excellence she’s achieved 

She deserves this 

Has worked hard for it

And even if she hadn’t,

I would want this for her

This happiness, this success, this ease, this joy

This life 

So then what is it 

That turns friends into adversaries

Compassion to competition

Why is my defeatism so interwoven with my envy?

It’s sadness, deep down.

And fear. 

Anger is never the end of it, nor is it the beginning

It’s my sadness that life didn’t turn out to be what I thought it would be

Or what I wanted it to be 

The classic tale of looking back on my life

Of looking around the present 

And wondering what the hell happened

We are such curious, predictable creatures

Having existential crises since the dawn of time 

(maybe)

And then judging ourselves for it

Convinced we are the only ones failing 

That everyone else has it figured out 

And that no one else does or ever has

Felt this way

That we, alone, are failures

Alone in our wrongness

Our weirdness 

Our otherness 

It’s exhausting how mean we are to ourselves

Ironic, that giving up on ourselves and the world is

So exhausting 

It is actually easier to live 

To hope 

To dream 

To believe we still have a chance 

To know that sure,

Things could have been different,

But maybe they can still be great 

Maybe they already are