Road to Recovery

Friday, May 29th, 2020 – I lost my shit. More unarmed / innocent Black people dead at the hands of armed white men. A global pandemic on the tail end of round one with round two sitting patiently in plain view. Rumors of “murder hornets” emerging from Mother Nature’s mad science lab to decimate the remaining honey bee population as well as sting the ever lovin’ hell out of any human they came across. And lest we forget the ever present escalation of global warming set to end life as we know it all the way around. On Friday, May 29th, 2020, it was all. Too. Much.

Side Note: #BlackLivesMatter!! Regardless of gender, orientation, identification, socioeconomic standing, judicial history, age, etc. (sigh) For real and for always. Back to blog post.

Friday, May 29th, 2020 – I’m in the bathroom at work after lunch, sobbing quietly yet uncontrollably. Took me around eight minutes to pull myself together so I could go back to my desk. I finished out the day, then wept during the entirety of my evening commute; using my stash of take-out napkins to dry my cheeks and wipe my nose.

What reasons I’d had to keep living dwindled to just shy of non-existent on Friday, May 29th, 2020. Being dead is a fear(?) of mine so committing suicide wasn’t a strong option. However, contemplating my ending became a near constant activity that day.

Then on June 2nd, 2020, I hear a white man I know use the images of Black people looting / rioting in protest as justification for police murdering Black men. My earlier suicidal contemplation turned to planning. I didn’t see the point in remaining in an existence where humans who looked like me could be killed with so little regard. Granted this was FAR from the first time I’d heard such a sentiment around the casual practice of assaulting and or murdering Black people but on top of EVERYTHING(!) else, hearing those words was the proverbial straw.

Fortunately, I had the where-with-all to call for help. My sister kept me together enough to make it home safely, then my mom stepped in and technically held my hand while I found and arranged for professional help.

Side Note Part 2 – #NotSponsored (do you need to say that on a blog post or is that strictly a YouTube term? Hmmmm?) I wanted to mention the expert counseling I’m receiving through Better Help. They are an online counseling service that matches clients with licensed, certified therapists who then provide counseling via telephone, video conferencing, or online chat. I was matched with someone who has had similar experiences as I have, so she gets why I’m feeling the way I’m feeling and is better suited to helping me navigate my way through the healing / recovery process. So, if the culmination of:

  • this global wake-up call, aka Viral Pandemic
  • effects of global warming / climate change,
  • continuing exposure to, or for some of you, first-time awareness of, the damaging effects of systemic racism, misogyny, homophobia,
  • a rise in televised, real-time, violence,
  • job, food, and economic insecurity
  • etc.

has you feeling lost and a million miles away from your reason to live, I highly recommend doing what you can to get signed up with Better Help. Click HERE to go directly to the site.

It’s now July 7th. I’m on my way back to a sense of purpose, self-worth. Its not a quick process for sure. I’ve had 40+ years of living conscious as a Black woman in the U.S. of A – that’s 40+ years of being told either directly or indirectly that I didn’t belong, didn’t matter; that my body wasn’t my own to govern; that the color of my skin could get me killed just because, and so on. 40+ years of watching people move further from the idea that we’re all in this together to selfies, selfish consumption, and blatant disregard for life in general. As much as I’d like to snap my fingers and be back to feeling as if I have a place in this world, that’s just not the reality of recovery.

But I’m committed to the journey. I’ve got my counselor helping me and I’m excited to see how things turn out.

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