So love ’em while you can 
Cause life’s too short not to give a damn 
Love ’em while you can 
Cause you might not get a second chance to 
Tuck in your babies, make sure they’re okay 
Hold ’em tight cause this life’ll get crazy 
No one knows when the good Lord’ll take ’em by the hand 
So love ’em while you can

~Rayne Johnson

There are some specific moments, in life, where we’re blindsided by such unbelievable and unexpected events. It’s like our world stops spinning. The sudden jolt, as everything abruptly comes to a halt, it knocks you right on your ass. It’s the strangest thing, too. The way everyone around you, your neighbors, strangers at the supermarket, coworkers…they’re all still moving about. No one around you, outside those also experiencing this loss of gravity, even seems to notice your desperate struggle to find some solid footing. You do your very best to pretend the oxygen hasn’t been completely sucked from every room you’re inside. Trying not to lose your shit, in this foreign and hostile place you’ve found yourself in. Part of you wants to scream, to cry out, to beg and bargain and plead, with who and whatever might possibly listen. Part of you feels so damn angry. You want to punch a wall, or cuss some unsuspecting idiot out. On some level, though, you know it won’t make a difference. Things are never, ever, going to be the same. Life, as you’ve known it, isn’t going to feel familiar. At least, not for the foreseeable future. Maybe, never.

We’ve been inside the haze of yet another one of those events. Truthfully, I think I’m stalling. Even here, in my writing. Because what I’m about to share is still something I’m not quite sure I’m willing to accept, for myself.

Adam and my teenage niece was in a horrific car accident. She was with a friend, who entered an intersection, as a semi truck was passing through it. Her friend was ejected, from the car. Our niece was wearing her seatbelt, but sustained multiple serious and life threatening injuries. Her neck was broken. Her spleen ruptured. Several ribs, along with other bones broken. The most critical of all, are her brain injuries. She has several brain bleeds, and severe swelling. She’s on life support, and all we can do now is pray for a miracle. She’s our sweet Mj’s cousin, and they’ve always been close. I look at my babies, and I can’t begin to fathom the pain of seeing one of my own children like that. The way everything around you must shatter, and the helplessness of not being able to make your baby better. There’s such frustration, in knowing there’s nothing any of us can do, except pray.

I know you don’t really know my family, my niece, or her parents, but please say a prayer for her. I’ve never asked for anything like this, but I know it matters, and for now, this is the best I can possibly do.

Hug your loved ones. Hold your babies a second longer. Love them, while you can.

It’s always the beating of fear in my heart
Something I can never show
I’m never defeating what lies in the dark
Hiding in the truth of

How far it goes
How deep it flows
Nobody knows, nobody knows
Invisible, Invisible
Nobody knows

Torn apart by the undertow
Another loss is another blow
The loneliness in this bucket is all I know
If I could set fire to this vulture in my soul
Watch it glow and call it art
Maybe this sickness would leave my heart

But until then I won’t hold my breath again
Bikini Bottoms wearing thin
I’m going in

I’m battling my demons
Bury them so deep inside of my mind
Tryna find some peace in
Pain without a meaning
In my life
I’m battling my demons tonight

~Jeris Johnson & BOI WHAT

I have officially been weaned off of my antidepressant. For the first time, in nearly two and a half years, my feelings and emotions aren’t being guarded by medication. My sleep doesn’t require a sedative. I no longer feel dependent upon the protection those tiny pills afforded me. I’ve also gained some weight. The scale tips in at just barely under 100 pounds. 99.6 pounds, to be precise. Which is another genuine reason to celebrate. I’m proud of myself. I honestly didn’t believe this was possible. I couldn’t imagine my mind and body healthy, ever again. Like truly healthy. Not propped up, barely being held together. The stubbornness in my nature isn’t just a curse. It’s also a blessing, because it’s where sheer grit and determination eventually always manage to find a foothold.

I’m damn proud of who and where I am, right now. It hasn’t been but a couple of weeks, since I took my last Mirtazapine pill. Already, the changes are noticeable, and holy shit it’s incredible. I’m beginning to feel like me. I’m finding so many pieces and parts of myself. Ones I’d either forgotten about, or believed had died along with all else, I’d lost to the flames that burned so much of what used to be mine. There’s this silliness, and real joy, beyond any I’ve experienced in far too long. It’s hard to put down in words, but it’s the truth. I have laughed more, in the last week, than I probably did in at least a hundred of them. There’s this amazing relief, like releasing weights I wasn’t even aware I’d been carrying. I’m not afraid. Not a prisoner inside my own mind and body, anymore. Nothing else holds power over my home, my family, or me. Not a pill. Not a single self righteous, ignorant, spiteful prick.

Life is certainly far from the versions of perfection I used to imagine, or pray for. That’s okay, though. Right now, in this moment, I’ve got more than enough. I can actually, it turns out, live without plenty of the things I thought my very existence depended upon. My value and worth aren’t found within those who insist on calculating these things, for themselves. This is a lesson it’s taken my whole life, til very recently, to come to appreciate. The measuring sticks, held up by folks who refuse to count what doesn’t exist exclusively for their benefit, mean diddly squat. I am so much more than the still, framed snapshots, chosen and displayed at the discretion of others. It isn’t my responsibility to ensure they see me. It’s not up to me, whether they’re willing to look beyond any of the doctored images, portrayed as if that’s who I really am. There’s no point in fighting to convince anyone to love me, to want me, to appreciate me. I can’t prioritize absurd, bastardized opinions, any longer. What matters is right here. My focus is being directed towards that. God, does that feel good.

I’m happy. I’m grateful. I’m doing pretty fucking fabulous. And, I absolutely mean that.

Having said all of this, my next blog post will likely detail the all but guaranteed return of a not so gentle touch of my husband’s hand, reacquainting itself with my behind. There’s a story, there, and I’ll tell it… Just as soon as I confess it to him.