We are not prisoners of our pasts, but we are pioneers of our futures.
It robs me of my passion, absconds with my happiness, and snatches my vitality.
The answer I immediately reach is: You don’t.
“It’s all in your mind.” We know.
Last year, when I felt the beginning of my all-too-familiar seasonal depression trying to make its way into my home like an uninvited distant relative, I decided something needed to change. So, I just said “fuck it.” I threw open my door and invited that bitch in to make some Christmas cookies.
“I had a dream that I killed myself and God showed me a bird’s-eye view of the effect my death had on my mom and dad.”
An entire day passed during which I could only cry. I had to stay home from work. I couldn’t eat or drink or brush my teeth or even sit still without falling completely apart. I didn’t beat it.
And maybe for one moment you aren’t that girl with depression. Maybe in that instant you don’t feel so empty.
I want us to actually get to a point where mental illness in the Black community isn’t a shock or a surprise to anyone at all. I want us to get to a point where it is simply viewed an overall health issue.
You are impatient with those you love.