don’t worry baby

hi friends! today’s the last day of teen suicide prevention week in south africa. i’ve already written about this but i was going through some of my stuff the other day  and found something weirdly specific that i’d like to share with you. is it a bit personal? yes. is it overly personal? yes. am i a chronic oversharer? also yes.

today i’d like to share a suicide note that ended up not being a suicide note from 2015. yikes. it’s a weird thing to share & put on the internet, but this week is important and this is important and i’m doing this. in june 2015 i wrote a note in my journal (named janine). this is it:


i am so tired. i’m just so tired of being tired and then not being allowed to be tired. i can’t do this. i wish it was different but i can’t do this every day. i can’t do this. i’m not even seventeen and i feel like i have forty lifetimes lived out inside me, each with a dreadfully unhappy ending. i can’t do this. i can’t just go to school and exist and come home and exist and get up and exist if existing is the problem. i can’t do this anymore.

i want to be sorry and i want to feel and i want hope that it’ll be better but i can’t do this. i can’t cry for help because nobody is out there and i can’t even cry these days because it takes too much to cry. i can’t do this. i wish i could tell you to show this to people after but you can’t because you’re a journal and nobody even i can’t fucking do this. i can’t do this.

okay, if someone finds this, and i half hope nobody does, i want you to know some things. i’m sixteen and i’m in my final year of high school and i want to stand in front of a fast moving vehicle twice and make sure there’s nothing after. i know it’s pretty disturbing because sixteen year olds are supposed to be living out the hype of grade ten and being a senior and kissing boys and drinking alcohol you shouldn’t but i…i am not them. i am sixteen and tired and the more i sleep the more tired i get. i have some friends at school but they’re not really my friends. they like doing stuff and leaving me out of them and then telling me that i’m not part of that part of the group. and i have some friends from my old high school but most of them are too busy living out their final year of high school to be bothered and…i can’t be bothered anymore. i’m too tired to do this.

i’ve written notes like this before but they used to be dedicated to whole people and how i wished i could have done more for them because any semblance of sanity or functionality disappeared once i let them down. i hope i haven’t made any promises to you. i’m sorry that i can’t live them out. i can’t live anything out anymore. i’m so tired, reader. i’m so tired and i can’t do this and i can’t feel so much and nothing at the same time anymore and i can’t long for life and love and normalcy when i look the way i do and am the way i am and i am so sorry.

i love you so much. i wish i was okay, i wish i could show you how much i love you. i love you, and i know you might not know me but i love you. i want you to know that you’re so strong and brilliant and i’m so proud of you for having made it so far. your story is so far from over and i am so excited for what you will become and what you are. i’m sorry i won’t be around to see it but it doesn’t matter because you will be and it will be brilliant. i know it’s a lot of pressure because this strange girl with nothing to show for herself is leaving you a message to continue when she’s quitting, but it’s all true. i believe in you. now and later and always.

if you meet someone who feels like me one day and you don’t know what to say to them, tell them…tell them that they’re enough. tell them that even though they are done, the world isn’t done with them and that there is so much left for them to do, see, live, love and be before they go. tell them that they aren’t cowardly or craven for wanting things to stop hurting. tell them that you care for them and mean it. tell them that one day they’ll find people who care about them as much as they care for everyone else. tell them that their capacity for love is endless and that everything that hurts sucks but that they can make things with it. tell them to talk to someone and if that person won’t listen, tell them to talk to someone else. to a billion other people who will. tell them that even though the world acts as though there is no room for them, that your world has room for them. tell them that they are brave and honest and raw and valued and important. tell them that they are important and that the world needs them. call them friend, and mean it.

i feel so at odds with myself. i wish someone would have told me the things i would have said. i’m so sorry. i’m so tired. i can’t do this.

tell them that it’s gonna be okay if they keep moving. tell them to get out of bed at least once a day. tell them that loving everyone is enough and that while nobody tells them that they are in love with them, that they are loved. tell them that their love is strong and bigger than their tired. tell them that the biggest thing they can do is try their best not to get lost in the nothingness that comes with tired and lonely and i want to die. take them outside. tell them to breathe and to touch and to do their best to feel. tell them to keep on. learn to live with them. learn from them and with them. live.

don’t tell them a sixteen year old told you this.they probably won’t take you seriously. (take them seriously.)

i love you, dear reader. i love you and my mom and my siblings and my friends and my “friends” and the kid who stole my shoes in first grade and the teacher who humiliated me in grade five and everyone else. i love you and it’s so not your fault and i’m sorry and i love you. you are so loved. i want this to be different. i want…i want to live too. i want to love too. i want to keep loving. i’m just so tired.


i didn’t kill myself that night. i read the letter again and again and again and felt too much like a fake to give all of that advice and then disappear. i’m still around, and every day is a struggle. i have a bunch of these letters and most of them don’t end with a realisation that i wanted to live. this one did, though. i’m grateful to my past self. i called SADAG and went to school, told my teacher i needed to be in therapy because i wanted to die, and walked out of class when she told me i was being dramatic. suicide is dramatic. it’s a matter of life and death. take it seriously.

do what you need to do to stay alive. the sun will rise and we will try again. don’t worry, baby.

love and light,
shalom xo

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it’s kind of a funny story

hi friends! it’s national teen suicide prevention week! a lil warning: there are a good bunch of triggering mentions of death n suicide ahead. so, if you’re not up for this, visit the lovely dora @ for the goldfinches or this post from matt @ the lil engine that couldn’t that always makes me cringe laugh in support.

In 2014, I did the best school project I ever have done – I got to create an anthology on whatever I wanted for English. I could talk about anything. I had to write a really big essay as the preface and talk about all of the pieces I’d be using, and I could write about anything. It’s still the most I’ve ever enjoyed an academic project.

The title of my anthology was “life, interrupted” and IT focused on mental illness in young people. It was a crazy experience because most all of the works I included came down to choices rather than first time reading. There’re only so many books, in my experience, that captured what I felt to a point where I could rest in the fact that I wasn’t alone if someone could write about it. I chose Susanna Kaysen’s Girl, Interrupted and Ned Vizzini’s It’s Kind of a Funny Story. Today, I’d like to talk about the latter, and it’s author.

IKOAFS is the kind of book that I had to stop reading after the first three chapters because it was too personal. It was too real, and too accurate, and Ned Vizzini was looking into my head and would tell people how messed up I was because they would know exactly what and how I was thinking. Because I was Craig, and I was Craig right down to the standing on the bridge and feeling free and wanting to jump a year later.

It’s Kind of a Funny Story is about Craig, a smart kid with some douchey friends (some (one) of which are okay) who finds himself depressed, and then suicidal. He checks himself into a psychiatric hospital because he wants to get better. He learns a lot & works through a lot. He realises he’s not into the girl he thought he was into. He meets people who help him to work it out. He starts taking his medication again. He chooses to live.

Ski. Sled. Play basketball. Jog. Run. Run. Run. Run home. Run home and enjoy. Enjoy. Take these verbs and enjoy them. They’re yours, Craig. You deserve them because you chose them. You could have left them all behind but you chose to stay here. So now live for real, Craig. Live. Live. Live. Live.
Live.

It’s Kind of a Funny Story, Ned Vizzini

This story is hard. It’s hard because it fits, because it’s mine, because it’s Ned Vizzini’s, and because Ned Vizzini didn’t live.

I’ve always hated the phrase, “commit suicide”. Since I was nine, I’ve hated it. If you commit something, it’s a sin. If you end your life, if you commit suicide, are you a sinner? Are you a sinner for feeling too much? Are you a sinner because it is unbearable to hold up a universe of suffering on a daily basis?  Are you a sinner for wanting it to stop? Am I a sinner because I wanted to?

(The answer is no. This is a topic for another day.)

Ned Vizzini died by suicide on December 19th, 2013. He lived, he inspired, he loved, he wrote, he tried,  he won, he became a beacon for depressed teenagers, he pulled me from the edge, and he died. It was said best here: “the great, unspeakable tragedy of The Bell Jar is now the tragedy of Funny Story.”

Everybody dies. The personalities of Ned Vizzini & Craig, the protagonist, line up really nicely. He captured Craig’s spirit because it was his own and showed Craig’s victory because it was his own. The whole book is based on wanting to kill yourself, and then not. Craig & Ned didn’t line up there.

It’s not as though it’s as simple as stating that Craig lived on and Ned didn’t. Ned could have ended things when he was 23, before he admitted himself to that psychiatric hospital. He didn’t. He could have not written IKOAFS. He did. He could have been so brilliant by doing so much less, but he did more and more and more than enough people will ever be able to thank him to. Ned was strong, and brave, and honest. He was talented. He was – he is – life changing and influential.

Life can be a lot sometimes.

This is Ned’s legacy: he tossed a bright, orange-and-white ring to us drowning kids and pleaded with us to stay afloat. And we read his words, and we understood, and we eventually made our way to shore.

If there’s something to take from this, from Funny Story, it’s what’s kept me around. It’s what keeps me around.  If you feel like you’re going to kill yourself, or if you feel like you want to, it’s a medical emergency. Call a hotline. Walk into a hospital. Call a friend who can look after you, if you have one. Don’t wait until you think you’re bad enough to be hospitalised. Suicidal ideation is a medical emergency.

Nothing would be better off if you weren’t around. I say that to myself every day. I have to do my best to believe it. I think you should, too.

South African National Teen Suicide Prevention Week runs from the 18th of Feb til the 24th. Take care of yourselves, and of your friends.

Live. Live. Live. Live.
Live.

love & light,
shalom xo

 

could this be earth?

this was written for “white” by frank ocean (& odd future at the time). i’m not sure what this is other than prose for “white”. listen to “white” below.


if a gravity wave hits a rotating thunderstorm, the thunderstorm can spin up into a tornado. nothing around the thunderstorm receives a warning beforehand. what gets swept up, gets swept up. i looked at her. i was swept up.

when someone puts their hands on you, their lips on yours, their body on yours, there’s little that holds you down. little is more important than trying your best to stop your body from betraying your mind: do you focus on the feeling or the memory? which will be preserved first? which will stay longer? i don’t know where i was, or how i hadn’t been carried away into another world where i could balance the two. i slept, and gravity kept me around.

after the big bang, scientists thought that the universe would slow down in its expansion thanks to gravity pulling it together. it hasn’t, though, and the universe has only expanded faster than ever before. for this to make sense, the theory that the universe contains enough energy to overcome gravity must be true. i revelled in the dark energy, and expanded ever outward. she rested in gravity, and stayed.

in the dark, she pulled me together. i woke to touches lighter than the part of me that stayed in space, and to everything around me being more than i remember leaving it. i fought for my brain to remember rather than my body, but i lost. the silence that was once lonely held me down and i asked questions of love, light, and space. gravity doesn’t give answers.

the thing about a tornado is that the start is hard to remember. i know that there is damage and that new buildings are rising where old ones were levelled. i know what i hoped for before, i know what i  danced to during, i know how i slept after. i don’t remember the start. i don’t feel the same as i used to. my brain doesn’t betray me anymore. i forget things like tornadoes, first loves, and time-specific dreams.

we’ll all fade to grey soon on the tv station.

monthly me | januARI ’17

deep breath. big sip of water. hope, dismay, repeat.

this is january.

january

january has just been a lot. i don’t know how else to explain it. this month i lost a job i never had (but 100% had in my mind), found out that i am fat (and had it consistently reaffirmed by people who think my body is their business), ran so many errands for my mom (because i’m not in school and i don’t have a job and i am essentially a bum) and wrote. i wrote some pretty good pieces this month. i’m proud of them. the trump presidency is…a disgrace and disaster of biblical proportions.

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i don’t know what we can do to fix it. i mean, i guess i have to become president. boop. but for real, it’s been a mess and i’ve been cutting ties like i do fresh bread because i’m not here for nazi sympathisers. watch your wrist if you punch one, friends.

from the camera roll

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i had no sleep and was thinking too much. so i got a breakfast bowl.

on repeat

talk with your fingertips
don’t stop the car, let’s drive

suck on your amber lips
just give me one bad night

i think of this song in the context of my friend, dani, and also how i’m tom incarnate.

friends, sometimes when you’re on, you’re really fucking on. (i’m gonna write a whole post on this song because it’s fits too well.)

obsessions

ARI FITZ.

man. don’t even let me start. this month has been januARI.

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ari fitz invented jawlines, facial expressions, cheekbones, tomboyish style, and tiny geometric tattoos. facts only. i’m enamoured with her style, her boldness, her carefree black girl realness & her die hard attitude. ari is intelligent and talented beyond measure, inspiring in a way i didn’t think i could think someone could be, and extremely gorgeous. y’all. my knees are the weakest.

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she makes videos every single day, and is the curator of the tomboy-style instagram & channel, the tomboyish (@the.tomboyish). ari is a big voice on androgyny in style & accepting and channeling one’s masculinity and femininity together. (did you know that androgyne is literally greek for male-female? andro – male; gyne – female. lit.) 11/10 would recommend. y’all seeing that? eleven out of ten.

other obsessions include

  • the never ending job hunt
  • the college apps check (login, sigh, logout, repeat)
  • crackerbread
  • tea in the morning

snippets of internal monologue

  • SHALOM. you can’t just run a 5k. you can’t just do things like that! do you understand?
  • are you ever going to edit that portugal vlog? (i did. it’s here.)
  • where in the HELL am i going to university LORD

today someone told me to keep writing. i had my freelance pitches rejected SO HARD, so i really needed to hear that. keep doing what keeps you up. it’s 5:21 AM here. here’s to february and resistance and progress. please, lord. progress.

love & light,
shalom xo