I remember in 2005 when I asked the Universe to open up its arms and swallow me whole. Swallow me whole, as I swallowed all the pills I could discreetly remove from the medicine cabinet. At the age of 16, I had planned out the first of two suicide attempts. I told a higher power I was sorry. I asked a higher power to take care of my 9 year-old-brother and 2 year-old-sister. And then I asked this same higher power to make me leaving this earth as swift as possible.
It didn’t work, God didn’t listen. Instead it provided me with a hospital bed, two angry parents, and a very confused little brother who asked me not to do this again. I remember neither of my parents understanding why I would do “such a stupid thing.” I also remember being so upset in that hospital bed that evening. Not because of what had happened, but because of what did not happen.
This was also the day I stopped taking God seriously. All this praying for an escape, praying for peace from a mind that was bullying me, and doing what Sunday youth group taught us to be “His will” seemed a little phony, and very much one sided. It was obvious that day, that He had picked and chose favorites, and I, Yetti, just wasn’t one of them.
I was so very upset that day. But today, 10 years later, not so much.
You see, it was a gift. A ” pass go and collect 200″ reward. A second or third chance to get things right. To push forward. To get burned. To fall so hard that I wouldn’t want to get up. To then change my mind and get up. To figure it out. To create my own escape. To find the peace I had been desperately begging for at age 15. To discovers gifts, a passion, and a burning purpose that is pretty much hard to ignore.
It was a gift.
As was this year, yes cue the cliché new year post every blogger has embarked on these past few days, but it was.
In 2005, the universe gave me the gift of my life, and in 2015 the universe gave me the gift of purpose. Because without purpose what sane person would tell the world they suffer from depression and anxiety and work towards healing, dealing and feeling through the darkness in the open, in front of others.
In 2015, the universe gave me the gift of support. Because how else would I get through this year without a Fidelis and Shiko to help me get out of bed, or a Mariel to drive 3 hours to make sure I didn’t endure that doctor’s appointment alone, or an Akudo who will hop on facetime or skype to watch me cry it out, or a Roconia who traveled 10 hours with her sister because she could read through the lines to know I needed her in Massachusetts, or an Ayan who puts that psychology masters into good use helping me make sense of my thoughts during corporate plantation hours, or a David who knows when I am lying when I say “I’m alright,” Or family members who don’t necessarily understand the workings of depression and anxiety, but try or pretend anyways.
In 2015, the universe gave me the gift of fear met with faith. Because that’s what dreams, passions, and purpose are made of. They are made from the doubts that keep me awake at night but are often forgotten when it’s time for action. They are produced from the long evenings spent in a makeshift home office that has way too much heat and not enough daylight. They are born from the crazy ideas and anxiety attacks that scream “SHOWTIME” when least expected. They are my vulnerable moments delivered all throughout this year through blog posts and workshops that have been executed by fear, graciously accepted with kindness and faith, and wrapped and sealed tightly in sparkly black girl magic.
Hell, in 2015, the universe gave me the gift of magic. Because it’s December 31st, and I managed to survive it all, very much bruised, but still holding onto most of my sanity.
And even though I’m sure it’ll take me another 10 years to appreciate the scrapes and bumps of 2015, I know somewhere through the cursing and the in-the-moment resentment, these will all be reminders of the gifts of the Universe to keep me going.
Hey 2016, I’m willing to receive.