escape grace

I sit here with a cigarette cocked on my lips, the smoke curling around my face, my eye winked shut.

Yesterday I woke up and let my mind jump off our second floor balcony. I stood there, one leg dangling over. I watched myself fall and heard Wallie's shrill bark. I stepped off the stool and went back inside.

It took me 24 years to get out of Bellevue. Two years and four months later, I have a therapy dog, an apartment in Seattle, 67 plants, and six mental disorders.

I paid for my freedom with one night in jail for domestic violence and six months waiting for my family to drop the charges against me while facing threat of jail. I paid for my freedom with three separate visits to the ER for suicidal ideation, one visit lasting 15 hours while being restrained and the last one in February resulting in a ten day stay with the hospital.

These days I am borderline, bipolar, depressed, anxious, agoraphobic, and have PTSD. These days I am dissociated, I am standing on 1st Ave S choking down cigarette smoke and throwing up on the sidewalk every morning. These days I keep myself in a weed daze, I am self medicated, I am self sabotaging. I pick at my skin until I bleed. I am a walking disaster. I am myself.

And I'm still here. I'm not ready to leave yet.