I'm sorry I've been so quiet recently. Shortly after the debut of my "not-a-one-woman-show", "Music For the Changing Voice" (that amazing photo to the right was created for the show by Peter Stranks), life as I knew…
As I know I've said in these entries several times, there's nothing like an annual holiday to help you mark the days and see the changes that each year brings. This year and this Valentine's Day is no different.
September 10, National Suicide Prevention Day. So little-miss-truth-and-beauty should probably write something inspiring, eh?
And yet, I feel like a total faker writing on this topic, since I was wrestling with my bullshit brain over this particular issue as recently as last week. (Now, don't go panicking on me, I wasn't in any imminent danger, I can keep using cutlery. It's just that there are still some bits that sometimes need some wrangling, or distracting with shiny things occasionally.)
But... I do know a bit (!) about suicide prevention.
Back when I was a kid, and I didn't really have any understanding of just how fragmented my brain and soul were (a pretty genius survival technique – thank you, neurochemistry – which got me through some desperate times, but wasn't terribly useful in later years), I already understood there was an internal battle. I knew there was a bit of myself – or perhaps even a few bits of myself – that flirted with the idea of "accidentally falling" off the subway platform just as the train was coming. Nothing that could be seen as intentional, of course, because that would open up a whole whack of unpalatable scenarios, depending on whether I succeeded or failed in my "accident", but... you know... elbowed off by a distracted commuter, caught by a big whoosh of air... anything that could keep me from being hospitalized and never taken seriously again if I survived, or turned into "the bad guy" if I succeeded. Fortunately, there were a lot of other bits who thought this wasn't such a good idea, and so I would plaster myself to the back wall until the train had safely passed. That way, even if one of us got the urge to dash, the rest of us could probably catch her before she reached the edge. To this day, when I go back to Tronna, I still tend to hold myself at the back of the platform, because the memories of those days are so intense, especially in the stations that haven't been re-tiled since the '80s (which I think are most of them... amIright?)
So... forget being a faker. I am a MASSIVE SUCCESS STORY when it comes to suicide prevention. I'm here to tell the tale.
Alrighty, I'm not Chinese (at least, not that I know of...), but my Shambhala group celebrates the lunar new year, and we're not even going to be doing that until Saturday, so I don't think I'm THAT late with…Read more