I used to not be able to be alone. I had to have people. It didn’t matter the type of person, it didn’t matter where I was.
I guess I have a face people talk to. Complete strangers will tell me their entire life story standing at the gas pump. I don’t particularly mind. In fact, I used to soak it in.
See, I’ve been conditioned to not be alone. I was never allowed to lock the bathroom door “in case”. All of my childhood memories include my older brother. I’ve never lived alone. I was only married a few months before I got pregnant.
I have always had people around.
Then why did I go out of my way to purchase a tag from Sarge that specifically says ” You are not alone.”?
I have sat on my bathroom floor covered in feces and vomit completely alone.
I have sat on my porch watching the cars drive by, hoping one of them will stop and ask directions.
I have sat on the side of the road, hoping that someone would offer help.
I sat on my bed, so utterly alone, starved for attention from the man sleeping next to me.
I have been alone. Waiting. Hoping. Scared.
I have been alone with my thoughts swirling in my head, the blood pounding in my ears. “Do it. Everyone will be better off. They may even be relieved, if they even notice.” In those dark moments, there has always been someone saying to me “You are not alone”.
The ugly harsh truth that even I gloss over, simply because there was so much more important things, is that Boo killed himself.
He walked into the bathroom, put his shoes on the counter, smoked a cigarette, opened his phone to a picture of his daughters, took every single pill in the bathroom, and laid down on the floor. I would give everything I have, and more, if I could have convinced him that he wasn’t alone.
I can’t change the past. I can affect the future, though.
I can very easily be alone these days. In fact, my alone time is so rare that when it happens I turn off my phone, turn off the lights, and sit quietly on my pet bed basking in the quiet like some people bask in the Sun.
However, if and when I ever feel alone and my badbrain is weaving a tapestry of destruction, I now have tools to fight.
You may think a small leather tag is not a tool to combat depression, anxiety, fear, anger, and self hatred. You’re right.
But the people wearing those tags, carrying them in pockets and purses, are powerful beyond measure. I’d throw my lot in with these people any day.
Because I’m not alone.