The Suicidal Party Girl

By the time I was 13, my thoughts went from my own to a voice. A soft voice that would whisper in the quiet hours when no one was looking, 'You don't matter.' These thoughts were my bullies, and my friends. They guided me as I grew up. When I experienced any pain or disappointment, it was intense and I thought I was going to die. But happiness was a fleeting emotion, I would watch drift away as the hurricane of suicidal ideations would form. My childhood was structured, censored, and the perfect environment to foster a happy princess. But as I would try to crinkle a smile, fat tears would roll down my check. Young adulthood started with a bang! Because I didn't want to get up each day, then why not live in the moment? The world is burning, why not go down with it? The thrum of a bass, as the heat of liquor and the intensity of weed merged into my brain. This is what happiness feels like, right? Buy the jaw-dropping outfit, so you can be the center of attention. Every eye on you. Every man grabbing you to validate their wants and your fears. Every woman questions their sexuality, as their hands find their way on your ass. But you're the star, so be grateful and put on a big smile! Make everyone feel comfortable, laugh at their jokes, do something absurd! Flirt with the DJ, makeout with a stranger, and keep the party going. Host the next event. Find the next best outfit. Find the hottest person in the room. Have sex with them, until you can't remember your pain. Forget everything, even that fucking voice! Just keep partying. It will go away, eventually. Don't think. Don't process. Or you might break. What if I'm already breaking? Losing sense of self, sense of life, sense of hope. At 21, they told me the answer: bipolar. It wasn't a dark chapter in my life, that would go away and be replaced with euphoric happiness. I wasn't suffering to be rewarded in the future. I wasn't God's strongest soldier. I was undiagnosed, unmedicated, and begging for this world to help me. But who cared about a bipolar Black 22- year-old college student, who couldn't find a reason to live? Who was I asking for help? The world? My family? My friends? The liquor stopped tasting like water, the weed stopped being intense, and the outfits got too expensive. What is a party girl supposed to do without a party? I craved defeat. I wanted this world to win. Then, on a muggy summer morning, while crying my sorrows into the wind, the voice started to change, but it wasn't a ominous figure of my imagination: it was me. Or an older me. In therapy, this is called a "breakthrough.' The older me, in a playful yet seductive voice said, 'You could leave this world. But dang, no more becoming an author. No more traveling the world. No more having a family. No more kissing people. No more late night drives. Is this what you want?' And for the first time, I said, 'No.' I was tired of living in death's embrace, when I've barely embraced my own potential. She said, before disappearing, 'Then get your ass up, and fight for our fucking future.' It didn't happen overnight, and I still enjoy a casual sip, the steady pulse of a beat, and a hit of a joint, but this party girl found a way to live without the partying.