Hanging the fuck on

In order to love and be loved, I must choose to live.

I found these words I had written on a crayon drawing I made in a random art therapy session at mood disorder camp.

Out of context it seemed like a cheesy inspirational saying, to really experience and feel love you must “live out loud.” “be in the moment,” etc. We are told by motivational speakers and bad romantic comedies that we don’t want to passively live life, we want to be in the thick of it, and they are probably correct.

Yet for some of us, we are just trying to hang the fuck on, so we sit in a room of other people trying to hang the fuck on, or balance the fuck out, or feel like they can get through the day without breaking the fuck down and we write on a piece of paper anything that will help.

So I sat there staring, being told to draw a picture about what makes me happy and peaceful. Ending life came to mind, but I sensed that was not what the art therapist was looking for.

So I wrote a thought that comes natural to most people. If you’re dead you can’t love people or feel their love, and for a few hours, on that day, that was enough to keep sick me alive.

And I am healthy now, but as I looked at the piece of paper last night, I did not think “Duh, of course.” No, for a minute I remembered, with too much ease and intensity, what it felt like to need those words to stay alive and what it felt like when even those words didn’t seem like enough.

And then I thought of this weekend, being surrounded by those I love and those who love me, celebrating another year, and I felt grateful.

And that’s what life is for someone like me, feeling grateful and safe and healthy and loved, and in that same space also sensing the “ending it all” instinct and knowing it will probably always be hanging out in the background, a little too close for comfort. And so I do what I need to do, what I am healthy enough to do, I equip myself with the coping stuff I need and, every so often I look at the camera and yell “Munroe!”*

*A reference to the 80s sitcom Too Close for Comfort, if you didn’t get this, good for you for liking books and being outdoors, more than you do bad tv. If you did get it, we’re soul-mates.