two weeks ago, my book turned a year old.
last year was the worst year of my life. really, the last year and a half - but we can round down for the sake of piety.
i lost so many people i love. i totaled my car. i lost my job. i lost my health insurance and had to go through cold-turkey adhd medication withdrawal. the light in my life was slowly escaping through some hole in the universe, one-at-a-time. a new, terrible grief - one almost every other week.
this time last year, i was being abused by my ex partner. she'd finally escalated to physical abuse midway through september, but the emotional abuse was equally draining. she even made my book launch about her.
i was utterly and completely lost. a husk of myself. i would look in the mirror and think - who the fuck is that?
one of the only good things i had was you, my community. the gentle way people would share their own stories. the response to the book. the incredible, unfathomable support. the many, many, many touching and thoughtful ways you all held me up. i would put my hand across the keyboard and think thank god there is a piece of me that remains untouched.
even only a few months ago, my love, i was in great danger of suicide.
i am writing to you because i know we are often there together, aren't we? you, i mean, reading this. the flattened days and the ache that seems so wild it consumes all, eviscerates everything. i assumed - after so long - there was no path out. i was just going to be like this, for possibly the rest of my life. it was all just going to be grief, stretched out in a flat grey blanket.
i am writing to you on the other side, bonedeep in happiness.
here i am, and writing stupid pretentious poetry on the internet, and my heart is singing. i just got back from playing board games with friends. a girl left a perfectly-ripe pawpaw fruit on my front doorstep tonight, just because i mentioned i hadn't tried one yet. i ate it hunched over my sink, marveling that there are still new things in this world: the serenity of undiscovered fruit. i am writing her a poem after this as a thank-you. we have plans next week to make cookies and watch gay movies, to attend zine festivals and put in vampire teeth.
i giggle about such silly stupid things. i am torn blissfully asunder just by the sun carding her fingers through the trees. i love birds in puddles again. i can look at the moon without feeling guilty. i stay up late texting my friends, kicking my heels, snickering. we split a bottle of wine and try new albums together and put on posh accents. we make halloween decorations with hot glue. we have an overly-fancy pasta dinner just for the excuse to dress up.
i wiggle to music i just learned about, like, last week. i sing again, about everything, tone-deaf and tunelessly. my life is so full it is practically bursting. every day i feel like i find something new i had somehow forgotten: clouds parting, rain falling, homemade ramen. there is something so incredibly fucking magical about laughing, i mean. just the ability - the freedom - to laugh recklessly, and laugh often.
i tell people i'm just completing side quests. i am no longer sick with dread, with the sense i am wasting time - i am just enjoying it. i stick my hand into moss. i stutter through new dance moves. i make art. my purpose is just to exist, which feels simply - immaculate. i had heard that phrase promised to me so often (it's enough to just exist) but good lord it has been so long since i actually felt it.
but here i am, and the ground is no longer electric.
and you came with me, in some small way. we existed at the same time, didn't we? our lives entwined because we have the same lapping darkness. i am lighting a candle, in that place. i am telling you - they weren't lying, there really is a way out of this. we really are on our way out, beloved. i am so glad you are still walking, my hand on your wrist. i am so glad i am still here with you.
to think of what we would have missed.
