... and on 'em, today.
Today is To Write Love on Her Arms day. It's supposed to be a day to recognize the daily struggle of people who suffer from depression, addiction and self-harm. And no, regardless of the title, it's not just about girls.
I've never dealt with clinical depression, myself, but I have had some pretty low points, so I feel for those who have to deal with these issues on a day-to-day basis, and would like to share a quick story.
In the late winter of 2001 I was living in Barrie, alone with my ex-husband and expecting our first child. We had no money, no jobs, no transportation, no phone and at times, no food. We were cut off from our friends and family and frankly, life sucked. I remember one day having to go to the food bank, which was a forty minute walk from our room we rented. They loaded me up with bags of food. I had no money for the bus, let alone a cab. The Food Bank people took pity on me and put me in a cab home.
One day, I was walking up the long hill from downtown back to our shitty little boarding room that we had rented because it was supposed to save so much money, and I stopped at the bridge on Sunnydale Road and looked down and just stared at the cars whizzing by on the highway below. I was so overwhelmed with my situation and I couldn't see an end in sight. I watched the cars and wondered if I had the guts to climb up and fall down to the highway below.
I have terrible vertigo sometimes.
I thought about my baby, and if she really deserved to be brought into such a shitty, hopeless situation. I thought about my ex, and my family. I thought about the people in cars below, about the people who would have to live with the vision of my body crashing through their windshield. But Goddamn, it was so fucking hard to keep going when things seemed like such a goddamned unending struggle. Eventually, I turned and dragged my feet the rest of the way home.
I don't ever drive down Sunnydale Road.