Summertime and the living’ was easy.

Starting this blog was. something. that. I was terrified to do I wasn’t sure if me displaying my emotions all  over the internet (again) would be a good  Idea, but  yet here I am again, displaying my emotions all over the internet because we’re in the middle of  a global pandemic, and I dont have the ability to talk to people so that I can kinda mentally sort t things out.

I’m gonna tell you right now, this post  is going to be full  of grammatical errors and possibly some curse words…

both of these things add  character so you’ll be alright.

Today,  like most days.. I work.  Today was a day literally straight out of hell work wise, If you can’t guess I’m a broke mid 20 year old  and I work in the service industry, so today was just a day where everyone decided that they  were going to come  together and figure out how to make everyone’s lives miserable. I had  two customers cuss  me out because they didn’t like the fact that they  had to “wait outside to come in the store”. and needless to  say I need  to find a job.. QUICK.

right now  I’m  just having  a little bit of  a rough moment, having to process through all of the  emotions that I have is a seemingly endless ordeal, so let  me get  to what seems  to  be the most consistent thing in my life.

as long as  I can remember i’ve been surrounded by death, I think my earliest memory is being a little girl  (no  more than 4) and I would go to  funerals constantly because that’s all my V-PK teacher did (that and  make really delicious banana pancakes). I had on  white  stockings, and  black shiny shoes  and  I was bored out of my  mind, but somehow also fascinated  with the idea  that people were sad over someone who was  sleeping.. and the lady (Mrs.Cooper) would tell me that “they’re up there  sleeping with god” and I being a  young  curious person with  an overly vivid imagination would think about someone laying on a cloud resting, and kinda looking down at me  24/7. which was at   first  kinds terrifying because even at 4 I was having a quasi- existential crisis because it made me think of the great beyond and I couldn’t  possibly wrap my mind around that ( I still can’t but honestly that’s what Xanax  is for)

I had a couple of thoughts the older I got  on what it’s like to be dead and I would literally sit on my bed, and think about what it’s like to take that last breath and  see what happens. Not entirely sure if that was the first sign that I had depression or if I was  just curious but  I would just think about it.

until one day, I got sick and tired of thinking about what it would be like, and actually tried to see what it was like on the other  side.

 

-TW SUICIDE ATTEMPT-

I was 8, It was a Saturday and I  had on a  pink t-shirt and a pair of  blue gym shorts. I was barefoot because I wasn’t the type of kid to wear shoes when I was in my own backyard.

for reference my childhood home had a HUGE backyard, we had 5 mango trees, one avocado tree, and 4 coconut trees. we also had gyanabana tree, a pool and gazebo. there was one tree that I loved most of all, It was a mango tree  with one really long sturdy low lying branch that I would use  to climb up to get to the top. It  wasn’t a tall tree, but it was wide enough for me to cozy up with books and snacks.

I decided that I would take a piece of green  rope that my  grandfather  had given keto use as a jumprope, tie it to one of the higher branches, slip a loop over my head and jump?

I remember being nervous because I didn’t want my mom see me, so I grabbed the rope, put on my shoes (why I’m not sure) and made a dash to the tree.

Getting the rope tied to the tree wasn’t hard, and I did that quite easily. It was getting the rope around my neck that was the hard part.  I somehow managed to get it around my neck, and I felt a light of excitement dash through me.. but it wasn’t excitement as I think about it now. It was relief. even at 8, I was  bullied relentlessly, I was fat,  my grandmother (whom I adored) would always call me fat, laugh at me, or just be really critical of me. I had a mom who I knew loved me, but would constantly criticize me for my grades, my weight, my hair, or even my appearance. Things were less than ideal and when you have no way to express how you feel to the people who you love and you KNOW if you even UTTER the words “I’m sad’ your ass is gonna get beat.

so I took all the courageI had and I jumped.

 

I remember feeling the rope pulling at my neck for a  second and then I was on the ground. I felt my eyes burn from tears, and I started to cry. I was upset because I wasn’t able to enter into the land of “sleep” and I still had to be this awkward, ugly, lonely black girl who only had her imagination as company and somehow endure this for the rest of her life.

Ive never told anyone this story.

 

but I think about it a lot.