Did You Keep Going?

TW - Suicide

I’m an actor and a writer. Which makes my mind a dangerous place to be. I have been to some very dark places. "Of course this is all happening inside your head. But that doesn't mean it isn't real." -Dumbledore. When I was 12, I tried to commit suicide. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten. I’ve hesitated to share this openly because I don’t want anyone to use this information against me. But it doesn’t help anyone, least of all me, to keep silent about this. I’m in good company. I have spoken to MANY women over the years – typically women of color – who have shared their struggles with suicide. After everyone has left the office for the long weekend, and I hold her as she sobs. Over Tostino pizza rolls I pull out of the toaster oven when they come over for a visit.

When I attended family get-togethers, I was usually the only girl. And it was exhausting. When I walked high school classrooms, I was often the only person of color. And it was exhausting. In corporate conference rooms, I am almost always the youngest, sometimes by 20-35 years. And it’s exhausting. We are all “spiritual beings having a physical experience.” And that, in and of itself, is exhausting.

I often feel out-of-sorts – at odds with my soul. I am tired. I’ve made peace with that part of my life, and I know for me, no matter how difficult life can get, suicide is not an option. I didn’t choose when to be born so I don’t choose when I die. But everything in-between? Those are my choices. And for the past six months, it had been difficult to choose happiness.

My therapist has never agreed with me faster than when I said: “I equate accomplishment to love.” As a child who was taught to equate accomplishment to love, I grew up to be an adult who measures her value by her output. I challenged myself at the beginning of the year – if you never achieve anything ever again, for the rest of your life, can you live with yourself? Can you love yourself?

My friend Charles once asked me how I am always so positive. Am I like one of those celebrities who is secretly depressed? It stopped me in my tracks on a street in Manhattan.

“…this might just be my opinion, but I think you want space because when you invest in people, you invest 200% all the time and it can be really exhausting. Even just to respond to random ass texts of mine like these, you know? And you are a very charming person, and everyone wants a bit of your time, and it’s just hard.” – Cynthia.

These are two times in my life where I have felt seen.

Through therapy, I’ve learned things about myself. That I have an ambivalent and anxious-avoidant attachment styles. That I have Dysthymia, better known as Persistent Depressive Disorder. I have General Anxiety Disorder – my friend, Kelly, must be doing a victory dance right now. She had taken a class and as soon as she learned about this one, she said, “That’s Melissa!” and then told me in the office the next day. I guess I never really stopped to consider my crippling indecision, for example, as anything other than a quirky personality trait. For someone with countless binders, checklists, etc., suddenly, I have dis…orders. They’re manageable, but can be lifelong and may be worse at some points than others. That, yes, I did grow up in an emotional and verbally abusive household. That I need to stop adopting other people’s narratives. That I want to be understood. I’ve been accused about not knowing how to ask for help. For being fiercely independent. Sometimes, independent is another word for “alone.” I didn’t realize extreme independence was a problem. In fact, it’s something I celebrate and am quite proud of. Using mental geometry to get my queen size mattress into my bed frame in my studio with Herculean strength – back when I weighed under 100 lbs. I never want to be indebted to anyone. I did all my homework, schoolwork, and worked out interpersonal communications and challenges by myself since the third grade. I did have an issue with someone in school once – I wrote the email for my mom to send the teacher to get me out of that girl’s group. My parents never had to concern themselves in that regard.

Fear of abandonment. This one surprised me. It’s because I told her I hate people. And I do. People are the worst, but I fall in love with them anyway. And when they leave - moving, life, or death - I grieve them. I have a whole lot of love in my heart for so many people. I hate saying goodbye. She told me I get mad at them for leaving even if it’s not their choice. I make family everywhere I go likely because of the lack of emotional support I received at home. I have amazing connections with so many people. I show up for people in ways I never do for myself. I fly across the country to try to make it to your weddings and birthdays. And when I can’t, it kills me. I may not always be in the right frame of mind to answer your phone call. To answer your texts. I send gifts long after your important life event. I often fail to be the person I aspire to be. And then…I enjoy solitude. Quarantine was not difficult for me. I needed the break. The one constant refrain my therapist seems to have to slap me upside the head with each week is: “You need to draw boundaries. You need to think of yourself.”

I kept boxes of recycling in my condo for weeks after I moved because I didn’t want to take up too much space in the recycling bin downstairs and inconvenience my neighbors. I called Nasim, in fact, to ask if she thought the minimal I put in there was okay or too much. I speak to my parents every Sunday even if it’s inconvenient to me because I feel guilty and know they look forward to it. I often chop off my nose to spite my face. I put subtitles on because I don’t want the TV to be too loud and disturb my neighbors. I often play the role of therapist for my colleagues and friends. And every time I try to talk to my therapist about them, she asks, “How does it relate to you?” It doesn’t. Except that I’ve learned I’m an empath – I’m outraged when things happen to people I love. She’s told me I need to stop trying to solve everyone’s problems. Being an empath means I somehow know what your micro-expressions mean and process them faster than you can or even before you realize what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. I take on your pain as my own. I don’t disassociate. And that negativity builds inside of me. And I elect to carry your weight too.

“You are a terrible friend…” I gasped. “To yourself.” Lady, I’m in therapy. You can’t be pulling dramatic things like that to emphasize your point. She’s right. I am. I am never gentle with myself. I’m not kind to myself. My friend Charles jokes about how I beat myself up – I don’t need anyone to do it for me. I don’t give myself grace.

Nasim and I went to two seemingly sketchy places to get our second earlobe piercings and tattoos. If you knew us back in high school, you would have never believed it. It had been on my heart for a long time do this. When I told my brother I was getting a semicolon cat tattoo, he asked if it’s because I love cats and grammar. While absolutely true, “A semicolon represents a sentence the author could've ended but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life." -Project Semicolon. I have received signs from the Universe to do this, and when I finished marking my body with permanent ink, the Universe confirmed it when Pretty, our tattoo artist’s cat, graced us with her presence (check out the Polaroid below):

I’m not emotionally regulated, but I’m excited to be on a path towards being…regular. I knew breaking generational curses is something I wanted to do before I ever consider having a family of my own. I thought the work would be hard, and it is, but the hardest part turned out to be just starting.

I often wonder what would have happened if I chose to end my life all those years ago. I would have missed out on blasting music from the open car and dancing with abandon in the pouring down rain with my friends. Pursuing my dreams with the same abandon. I would have missed reconnecting with my family on the East Coast – in homes I once felt out of place. I would have missed out on heartbreaks and revenge vacations. I would have missed out on moving to Manhattan and adopting a cat and having a miracle story after spending five days in the hospital. I would have missed my brother’s graduation and making friends in all corners of the world – including a recent widow in line behind us who just needed a hug at Disney Springs. Hearing the applause from on-stage and having heart-to-hearts. Being on set, being waitlisted, getting passed up, receiving promotions, and publishing articles – the joy, the pain, the triumphs, the sadness, the laughter. I would have missed out on living life at the top of my lungs.

I measure success differently now: Did. I. Keep. Going?

I hope you keep going too.