- may you fall ill every year on the date of my birth with the lies caught in your throat, only to be cured when you finally tell truths
- may every pen you write about love with spill ink; every keyboard you type on lose its vowels
- may your eyeliner be as crooked as your ethics
- may every favorite pair of chanclas break within a year
- may your first date with your soul mate leave such a bad impression that they do not accept a second date
One of the more helpful and insightful things I’ve seen about depression/suicide in the last couple of days.
I know this is late but I was in the hospital and dealing with my own suicidality when Robin Williams died. One of the hardest things for me to deal with about my chronic mental health issues (besides my symptoms) is that if I finally die because of them, almost nobody will remember me for my fight. No one will remember me for somehow managing to live past 16; 20; 22; 25. Instead I’ll be remembered for failing to live longer than I did. I can’t think of any other chronic high-fatality illness in which people memorialize your death as a failure instead of a life-long struggle.