A Letter to My Suicidal Self

Dear My Darkness,

I don’t even know where to start or even know where to begin … I just don’t want you to feel that it’s your end.

I’ve heard your cries, I’ve felt the tears run down your face as they seeped through the fabric of your existence. I’ve inhaled your anger, your pain, and your exhaustion. I’ve tasted every tear (poignant in nature as it pierced through my tongue) that fell on the palate … the plate of your frame. I heard every word you screamed (until the ringing in my ears was a constant echo) the other night  … eerie and sacrilegious … “I f@@king hate you!” “I don’t want to be you anymore!”

As you stood in front of that elongated mirror the other day, you didn’t recognize your beauty, your strength, your wisdom, your hope, your freedom … But, I did. You felt as if you had lost your femininity. You felt as if your womanhood was stripped until you were unidentifiable … Until your gender was unclassified. In your eyes you were lost … You escaped from the prison of utter disappointment, the prison of a failed marriage and disintegrated relationships, the prison of jaded religions, the prison of financial ruin, the prison of another’s disorientation. And, some days you felt like a prisoner (on death row) trapped in your own body. You felt you had no where to go … Had no one to turn to .. Even felt God tuned His back on you. I traveled though the darkness with you; Even as I tried to lead you into my guiding light.

I too crave the love you one day hope for … the love that you one day inhale and undoubtedly exhale … the love that will be shared with your soul man. You yearn for the love that’ll Illuminate your heart. The heart that has lost its spark … The heart that has lost its beat … The heart that is enslaved by anger, bitterness, resentment, jealousy, despair, and even deceit.

Yes, this world is a shit storm … Loose, hard, and vile shit flying in all directions. We will not lay dormant in a pool of foul fecal matter. We will not fear the fearful … We will not surrender to the hateful … We will not incarcerate ourselves until we “dry rot.” We will not be prisoners of our own war.

We made it 38.5 years together .. let’s continue this crossing of life together … This journey of resilience and discernment. I’ll hold your hand, I’ll walk with you … I’ll wade through the river of Jordan with you.

Life is a beautiful canvas … Colorful and  limpid. We must use the brush of life and continuously paint with strokes to the left and paint with strokes to the right … there will be as many ups as there are downs. We must seek the light of a better day before darkness casts its grueling spell.

I love you … You’re my inspiration … You’re  my protector as I am yours. You’re my soul sister … You’re my spirit animal. You are a survivor … You are me as I am you.

This is our new beginning my sister … You are the love of my life.


*If you know someone who has lost the map of life, please reach out to them, walk with them, talk to them (not at them), lend a helping hand. I hope to reach the masses  with my letter of truth. It’s evident that in many communities, certain life elements are frowned upon and/or not discussed. We all must realize suicide is a disease (depression is the culprit). We must find a cure. Please share this letter as it could be one’s ticket to freedom.



Your Light

Suicidal Thoughts: My Battle with Depression

Depression and the zest to commit physical, mental, or spiritual suicide is (has been) running rampant through the hearts, minds, and souls of many people, including myself. Depression can (and will) hit you harder than a freight train crashing into a crowd of onlookers or zoned out tourists in a state of “awe.” Depression will break you down into miniscule pieces of scum until you are no longer recognizable … your reflection becomes your enemy and your existence seems obsolete. It can hit anyone (no matter your social, economic, religious, sexual, or psychological status) at any given time.

My Story

It all started when I was in my late 20’s … I woke up one morning, removed myself from my squeaky bed, and walked into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. The face I once loved, I hated. The figure I once envied became an indistinct memory. The voice I once had was nothing more than a faint whisper. I could feel the devil’s son’s lust creep up my night gown … I could feel his breath against my aching neck … I could feel his dark, vile, dreary, and lonely cast overpower my feeble frame. The image I saw was not that of a woman, it was more so the image of a corpse or a famished zombie. My eyes were red and my skin was clammy. I felt like a stillborn baby just extracted from its mother’s womb. I was possessed by the spirit of the devil’s son … his name is/was depression.

I didn’t want to live in this world of distrust … this world of disorganization … this world of chaotic disorder. I would sit on the floor (indian style) in total darkness with my head down as tears flowed down my face. My house was in total disarray (dishes piled for days, soiled clothes scattered up and down the stairs, and unfinished meals decaying on my best dinnerware). The stench of death reeked from my body. I didn’t want go outside to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin or feel the breath of the Universe race against my back. I would often dress in all black because I wanted to be casket ready. Suicidal thoughts consumed me … drained me … almost killing (murdering) my creative self.

People would often say, “Stop being depressed.” My only response would be, “WTF do you mean?” Depression is not some common cold that easily goes away with Robitussin, a few cough drops, a good night’s sleep, and/or a call to the doctor the next morning. It is an ailment that attacks you like a blood thirsty leech … latching onto you until life no longer offers you support. Depression is a serious “out-of-body” disease that can (and will) destroy daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts, uncles, fathers, sons, grandfathers, grandmothers, etcetera, etcetera … leaving the all-so-familiar question of, “Why?” unanswered. Most of us that suffer from depression do not make it out alive. I chose not to seek help from a professional therapist or expose my body to prescription drugs (often leading to an addiction and/or a chemical imbalance). I sought help from family members and close friends. I even kept a daily journal (expressing my feelings).

I ask that everyone bow their heads in a moment of silence in remembrance of all those souls we lost … every one doesn’t have the strength or the support to create a happily every after.

This story of mine is to be continued …

My battle with depression is not over, but I have learned to channel my deleterious thoughts into something more positive and meaningful. This blog has become a form of therapy for me … allowing me to express my inner most “unfiltered” thoughts (from dating douchebags to taking dumps). I’ve recognized the elements that bring me the most joy and I tend to eliminate those things that cause me to go into a state of “derailment.” My creator is not through with me yet. I still have many, many more miles to burn. My passport to living life will receive uncountable stamps, nationally and internationally.

I can only share with you a portion of my story … my chapter (which I still seem to edit). I hope to reach the masses or just one person who doesn’t feel his/her life matters. We all have a purpose … we all are destined to be greater than the eye can see. If someone you know is battling depression, please be their strength … be their spine … be their backbone. They seem weak, but you are strong. Listen to them without judgement. You too can save a life.

Today, as I stand with my head held to the clouds … I can honestly say, I’ve never been happier. Always remember there’s never an end to your story … there’s always a new beginning … a new chapter to compose. I will continue to place my steel plated, pastel pink boxing gloves on each hand and continue to beat depression’s ass … TKO Mofo!

This is the time to LIVE … this is the greatest time of my life.