family

[CN: suicide, overdose] Gratitude stops me from ending my life, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to end my life. Even the fierce love I have for my family doesn’t mean I don’t feel utterly hopeless sometimes.

I always loved you. Even when you weren’t speaking to me. Even when you scratched my face out of a family picture. Even when you slammed the door and said, “You’re not my parent.” Even when we fought about school and grades. Even when you were a teenager and didn’t come home at night and Dad and I stayed up all night scared to death, wondering where you were.

I've been really trying to think about every purchase I make and its overall impact on the world. However, I recently broke code and indulged in the Marimekko for Target collection.

Immigrants are pushed out of their home countries due to social, political, or economic forces beyond their control — poverty, genocide, wartime.... I doubt many Salvadorans of my mother's generation fled El Salvador to go “find themselves.”

Recently, I was looking through some old pictures of myself.... Like every other person on this earth, I have my insecurities. As I was looking at these photos, I found myself picking out my faults, finding things that I would like to change, putting myself down for looking a certain way or not looking a certain way.

Growing up, I'd been taught to never think, breathe, or even utter this F-word.

Here’s the thing: I have benefited greatly from reading stories from others, the daring narratives of those who have histories similar to my own. We feel more human when we hear that other humans relate to an experience we maybe thought was our very own private hell.

It wasn’t until I hit my twenties that I ever remember hearing anyone discuss the topic of mental illness like it was an actual thing you could take yourself to the doctor for.