today i write
not a poem, but a sort of story.
last weekend at about this time exactly,
i contacted the national suicide hotline.
i wasn't suicidal, necessarily,
but i sure as hell wasn't safe to myself.
i spent that night crying, reading stories of recovery while i waited.
i stopped the chat request when i was next in line because the wait time was too long,
and went to bed in a dark room almost as dark as my mind,
a late night call to my love only a temporary help for my suffering.

the next morning
i felt the same.
a bit later i contacted the helpline again.
this time i let the chat connect.
we talked, i was able to unload.
and after that,
for the first time in a long time,
i felt peaceful, and not only that
but like i could truly fight again.

i guess what i'm trying to say here is
there is a way out.
there is hope.
it looks different for everyone, and it may be hard.

but don't
            stop
                 fighting.

you are loved. <3