You know it’s not all you, right?
Like, it’s you, but it’s not all you.
You didn’t get here on your own. You have people that helped you — sometimes just enough to reignite that cold kernel of belief in yourself. Other times, heeeeey new highlighters…or an ice-cold bottle of something alcoholy. What.Ever.
My survival of life has been dependent on my very own tiny village. A palm full of people who, without them, I just couldn’t have.
I have trouble expressing my emoticons sometimes. It’s hard to be vulnerable, yes? So, in the way a psychiatrist might make you communicate using hand puppets, I must do this to get my feelings out of my inner innards.
This…is my puppet.
Thank you: a note of thanks…to you.
You’ve really done me a solid.
You come in here like you’re all “whaaat?” but you know.
You’re always there.
You keep me sane. You make me crazy. In a way, you keep me regular.
But you are there.
When you are weak, hey I get it man. It’s ok. But I like it better when you are strong.
Your strength makes me stronger — strong enough to lift my 45lb head even when my heart feels 10x heavier than my huge head…that I just mentioned, like, two seconds ago.
You are the birthday kid I elbow through a crowd of 9-year-olds to stand next to during the cake presentation.
You are the grown-up I race home to with my macramé dinosaur/macaroni crown/masterpiece painting of confusing color combos, barely able to stop from hopping up and down with excitement, because you are attaching my work to the fridge.
I value my village. I heart you. And because there are no emoticons in this program: hug, kiss, hug, kiss…BIIIIIIG hug, BIIIIIIG kiss…now back to some regular sized hugs. Now some hand sanitizer and a breath mint.
While being your own island is desirable — like, so, so desirable — sometimes, it’s so not worth it.
You need your village people. You need them to live, man.
P.S. I am not high.