I haven’t written for a while.
My laptop gathered dust. Ashes from a fire that burned me one Sunday night, leaving my world black for weeks.
Bipolar crashes don’t happen often to me, but when they do, it takes a while to crawl out the wreckage.
It takes energy to stay awake. Written words are impossible.
This time was a little different though.
Yes, I lined up the pills and my shaking hands played with them like chips through my fingers at a roulette table. Gambling with the game of life.
But no, I didn’t let death hold my hand for long. I reached it out to a friend that loved me instead.
And we walked through the dark landscape together.
I didn’t feel as lonely or as sad as I did the last time I walked that same terrain.
And the road didn’t seem nearly as long.
Instead of months, it was only a few weeks.
I think he saved my life.
It was the first time I made the choice to not withdraw.
It was the first time I felt OK enough to not skip even one day of work.
There were sacred moments when the sun struggled through the clouds and I smiled.
I squeezed his hand tighter.
We kept walking.
One foot in front of the other until the end.
And then he let me run.
Now, I’m writing again.
So if you get anything from this post today, please let it be this: REACH OUT.
It won’t last forever. That is one thing I know for sure.
The green leaves will grow through the black earth again.
But it really is a lot easier – and safer – when you aren’t alone.
And you’re not alone.
Even if you don’t have anyone close that you can hold onto (and for 38 years I didn’t either – I honestly understand that ice cold pain), there are a number of support groups, counsellors, and 24-hour hotlines ready to hold your hand.
I’m here too.
I answer every single mail I get.
I know that your fires will come. The sky will blacken. The smoke will blind and choke you.
But I also know that you can make it through and breathe again.
And never let go.