I finally want to be alive & now the world is on fire

This period of life is, undoubtedly, the most difficult I have lived through. I have experienced seemingly endless amounts of grief and loss. Witnessed changes in friends, loved ones, and myself. And, as the proverbial cherry on top, it has been difficult managing my feelings around the deteriorating state of the US Government, climate change, and everything in between. I feel powerless, voiceless, and am questioning the future (including the point of the future).

Let me be honest (and very clear): The world has always been on fire. Marginalized people have been oppressed, especially in my country, for hundreds of years. There is always someone somewhere hurting someone else. A wildfire or an earthquake. A hurricane or a tornado. Many of us have experienced a level of privilege that makes today’s events feel unprecedented and unseen. The Fray once said, “Mine is not a new story / but it is for me,” and that feels relevant for many of us today.

I wanted to die until I was 25, and until then, I never imagined there would be a future that I’d want to see. And now, at 30, when I’m more unsure than I’ve ever been about what the future will look like, I finally want to live to see it.

When I was a teenager and therapists asked me why I wanted to die, I didn’t know how to explain it — there was just something inside of me that was consistently trying to claw its way out, as if my depression were an animal trapped inside the zoo-like cage of my body. Everything felt chaotic. It seemed like everyone could see me — what I wanted them to see of me, at least — but would never believe the amount of mistreatment I subjected myself to when no one was around to watch.

Now that I’m older, the depression still lives behind the cage of my ribs, but I don’t keep it trapped anymore. It’s free to emerge when necessary and retreat when it doesn’t serve me. Does it still escape sometimes and cause unbelievable havoc and destruction? Absolutely. But in order to tame the emotions, I had to give myself access to them, first.

I have all the access now. Treatment, therapy, and medication have done so much for my mental health journey, to the point that it feels like, for the first time in my life, I not only know how to manage this existence, but I want to experience it. I want to cry in the laps of my best friends and kiss the back of my husband’s hand. I want to close my eyes through a scary movie and eat half my pantry when I’m high off an edible. I want to write poems and stories and share them with absolutely no one or with the entire world. I want to mourn what I’ve lost and love what I have.

I want to live, but I really, really hate that I am finally feeling this joy, this recovered sense of self, today, when every other notification I get on my phone is about the people I care about most in the world losing their rights, or about genocide, or about every terrible thing that’s happening in my city and every other city I’ve ever lived in.

Although I, a Black, queer, femme, am directly and negatively impacted by what’s happening around me, I also know I am still in a place of immense privilege to get to wake up and kiss the back of my husband’s hand, and cry in the laps of my best friends, and re-learn how to let myself feel this upending joy.

I feel guilty about it — understanding how much suffering there is around me — when I am, for the first time in my life, not feeling immense levels of despair. What does it mean about me, if I was at my unhappiest when I was ignorant about everything around me, and the happiest as I am becoming dreadfully aware of the terrible goings-on of the world?

It feels disgusting to even type that — that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. But it’s true. And I know that I have to let myself continue to feel joy, and sorrow, and everything in between, because if I don’t, that animal in my ribcage will eat me alive. It reminds me of a verse from Twenty One Pilots’ Migraine:

Allowing myself to feel my feelings — particularly the joy — as it comes, is the only way I’m going to live long enough to see a world where joy itself is a survivable pandemic: everywhere, contagious, inescapable.

Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo

Demi Lovato recently dropped a new recovery anthem and I’m so here for it:

all the love, all the warmth, all the light,

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who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.

who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent.

if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:

• National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988

• National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

• Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741

• S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)

• Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237

• RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673