Sometimes I feel like dying.

Not in a suicidal actionary manner that the statement would otherwise be connoted.

But my premonitions and forthcomings often take place in a funeral setting or sitting in a high school computer lab, jaw slightly open, staring at the screen.

I am neither the attendee nor the body in the seated classroom, yet I can see it all.

I am the topic of both settings.

Weirdly, is the most free I have ever felt for being just a dream.

It is morbidly humorous because most would probably consider such a provocation to be a nightmare.

This is not a cry for help or something to worry the masses, but a daily motivation:

to be original

to love uniquely

to create an environment through mere presence that strangers and lifelong relationships feel safe

to leave an imprint more than physically upon those who believe to know me.

To know me, is to truly love me.

Something I am not quite sure that anyone has ever done.

Again, this party carries no pity for such thoughts.

It really just is what it is.

A lot of short term gratification with a reputation for undying emotional dependency.

That is what we love in the 21st century.

We love to know that other people are aware of the fact that sadness, depression, self-diagnosed mental illness is the way to see who is actually down for your cause.

“My confession of mental illness and past traumas are what will get you to stay.”

Admitting that to someone of affection who appears to be on the fence of departure from your grasp, that is bravery apparently.

“How could anyone possibly love me for being genuinely happy without any experiences of catastrophic upheaval?,” says the echo in your mind.

Excuse me for my hypocrisy on this matter, but damn.

Can we stop acting as though mental illness is something trendy and fucking be compassionate?

This is for those who do and do not feel the same every season.

Not everything is about you.

Stop belittling the potential cries for help.

Give people the time of day.

Even if it is a smile at the person sleeping on the sidewalk. We all start from somewhere.

It is not weird to implement what feels like “random acts of kindness” into your life.

But do not force it.

Allow these acts the possibility to happen naturally.

Before you are the one,

in that classroom chair,

jaw slightly open,

staring at the computer screen,

reading,

IN LOVING MEMORY.

-t