If you’re not new to my writing, then it’s no surprise one of the topics I talk about most often is mental health.
If you are new to my writing, then, HELLO!
I want to be raw here. I want to be brutally honest about my experiences and connect with others who may be on a similar journey. I am as transparent as they come. In the best of times, I am quirky, loud, rebellious, eccentric, and full of energy- I will sing at the top of my lungs and dance through any room I come to. But in the worst of times… I am completely shut down. Silent. Angry. Questioning. Dissociated. I want to scream ‘GO AWAY!’ at anyone who comes near me. The difference between those two sides of me is about 10 seconds and a discerning look from a passerby.
I have always been someone who longs for connection; which is probably why my mental health journey has been such a long and winding road. It’s a complete juxtaposition to be someone who craves connection, but at the same time be stuck in such darkness that you’ve completely closed yourself off to it. I’m on the outskirts of it now, with the ability to be able to look back and figure out what got me through. I want to share that, and I want to talk to people and guide people no matter what part of the journey they are in.. because I’ve been there too. I’m still there- walking with you.
A lot of what I write and how I think comes from somewhere that would make a great title for a poetry book someday… now that I think about it. “Conversations with my Father.”
Last night we were talking about our past, who we were, the decisions we’ve made, and how we’ve grown as individuals. I was emotional, thinking back on some very dark moments I’ve had over the years. I told my dad that no matter how deep I was, there was always something that pulled me back, but I couldn’t put a name to it.
No matter how many cliff sides I stood over, dangling a foot off the edge, no matter the heartbreak that impaled my very existence, no matter the grief that swallowed me– There was something else there.
Something that ran up behind me, wrapped its fingers around my spine, and pulled me back to reality.
This is my interpretation of his answer to me, which will forever be etched in my brain:
Some people call it resilience.
Some call it strength.
Some call it courage.
But really, it’s none of that.
It’s much simpler.
It’s a singular thing that everyone possesses but few know how to nurture. We get glimpses of it, and then we shun it in favor of the darkness that seems to loom in times of desperation or hardship. We search for it in material things, in people, in substances, in books, in melodies-
When it lived inside of us all along.
Light.
But it isn’t a beacon- it’s not so bright that it’s blinding; it’s a whisper. A shadow of something more.
It’s a pitch-black bedroom with the gleam of a street lamp through the window at night. It may not blind you with its brightness, but it is there. Always waiting for you if you need it.
It may be tucked in some dusty corner of your soul that you’ve been too busy to explore but that light exists.
The light will pull you back every time if you’re brave enough to let it in. If you sit still long enough to remember it’s there.
I’m not saying the recognition that there is “a light” in us, will solve our problems, or make us less susceptible to bouts of depression or anxiety. What I’m saying is merely something someone told me once: “How many times did you think something was going to kill you, and how many times did it not?”
Well, if you’re reading this, then the answer is..it never killed you. And why? Because the light that inherently lives inside of you pulled you back.
That light looks different to everyone, it feels different to everyone, but it exists in everyone.
Turn on the light.
-J.