A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I painted myself as a blue warrior. I don’t know what to do with this.
And then Robin Williams dies and Mike Brown, an unarmed African American teen, was killed and I don’t know what to do with that either.
To tell you the truth, I’m scared.
When I read that Robin Williams died of suicide, my heart sank for him. My heart sank at imagining how deep his pain must have been. My heart thumped with fear. I know depression and anxiety. So many of us do…I also know how it feels to be sucked into that space that convinces you that death is the only way out.
I am so grateful that I was terrified enough to get help just as my body started to digest an entire bottle of Tylenol. I am also terrified that the thing might come back at any time…maybe to visit me. Maybe to visit someone I love. I tried to shield my son from the story, but there we were in the furniture store, when one of the giant TV’s for sale, spilled all the details…”Suicide…” Dear God, please don’t let those couple of genes that did some interesting stuff with my wiring go any further. Dear God, please let my kid know what I almost didn’t know…that he is loved and that I will sit with him through anything…anything…
(And really God, if he never hers the word “suicide” again, I would be ok with that, because it scares me every time. I wish I were less terrified of this one thing, but I’m just not.)
And I can’t protect him from police, or neighbors, who find him scary. He will likely be tall like his dad. He’s gorgeously, deep brown just like both of us. He’s funny, silly, sensitive, and thoughtful, but I don’t know that in a moment, someone will do that brain shortcut thing and shoot. SHOOT.
My God, he’s my child. We’re raising him to be kind and respectful. Should he raise his hands? Or not? Should he speak or remain silent? My God. I don’t know what to do with all of this.
Messy Hands Studio 