365 days since I thought
The afterlife might be a more welcome stage
For the stale antics of my bipolar fairytales,
How Brother's Grimm only seemed to fall grimmer,
And I was oh so tired
But too wired to sleep.
365 days since the end neared
As I recklessly abandoned hope that suffering might fluctuate
And stole the heartbeat from my own chest with bottles of pills,
Leaving only a trail of words amidst chemistry and calculus to
Explain what could never be explained.
It's been 365 days since and I died
And 365 days since they breathed life back into my body.
It's been 365 days since I forgot why I had ever intended to live in the first place,
And I have spent all 365 days picking up the pieces.
Those first weeks were brutal.
10 days in a coma so deep they suspected I might never awaken,
And the first hours without the tube,
Struggling for air in a world full of oxygen,
Whole body exhausted from fighting so hard for what should come so naturally,
Until they put the tube back in,
And I wished feverishly they had let me slip away under my haze
Into the blackness I had planned for myself.
No better metaphor had ever existed for the mental state I had occupied,
Surrounded by people and resources who could not or would not help me,
An outside world that demanded I apply more willpower or skill to beat an illness I did not know I was suffering,
Sick mind and tortured soul unable to see in a deeply fogged mirror.
I can honestly say 365 days later I am grateful they didn't let me die,
But that gratitude is bitter and sharp to the tongue.
It aches with deep shame and regret,
Of never being able to undo that night but being unwilling
To part with the lessons I've learned.
I am glad I did not die.
I hurt, though, because they could not let me go.
And even now, with wonderful girlfriend and newfound explanations,
With EMT class and badass haircut,
Solid housemates and a clearer mind,
Even with so much good in my life,
When I find myself thinking of the pain of teaching myself to merely stand on my own two feet
Or the loss of my voice and change in my body,
I sometimes wish that the coma tunnel had not opened up.
When I find myself thinking of my roommate and the paramedics
Scooping me off the floor or mother's anguished face,
I wish at times that I had not been around to see it.
It is with a heavy heart and guilt in my bones that I say this,
And YET!
There is more new joy to be had.
There is some peace to be found.
There are thoughts to pursue and ideas to be contemplated,
The gentle and loving embrace of my partner.
There is music and rhythm to run to.
There are people to help and cupcakes to be baked.
I must not forget that being saved does not happen all at once.
365 days later, I am still being saved, everyday.
Yes, by medication and therapy,
Yes by the people that bring me joy,
But most importantly by myself.
I worked hard to celebrate 365 days,
Even if it is painful,
Especially because it's been difficult.
I've spent 365 days finding a new me
And learning to accept her.
She is new, a young and sometimes delicate version.
It is hard when her foundation is built on ashes and blood.
I am not pleased with why I ended up here,
But I am proud to have survived the journey.
After all,
A lot can be accomplished in 365 days.
I wish I had known then how much can change.
I am glad I know now.
