I consider myself an extremely lucky person. Especially considering I am an open and out lesbian in a world that seems so hell bent on not allowing people to live an d be happy. I have a great family who has been there every step of the way since my formal self outing. I have some good frineds and many acquaintances. I have a great job with a really good company. I and I live in a nice little quiet nook in San Francisco.

What more could I want?

A lot more actually. I may be a forty-something goddess in control of her life. But I am also still a teenager at heart more often than I admit. I am fickle and want every freaking thing now. Change happens and I want it over and done with. I sen my eye or my heart on something and I want it started or done yesterday. I know this is not how life works. I cannot keep up the light speed change of pace I often expect in my life.

And this is where the battle begins.

Me fighting myself. Nichole vs. Nikki. It’s tantamount to insanity. The seemingly endless skirmishes with my own sense of self and desire class often sending me off on wildly divergent paths. The unfortunate victim in this constant flux is me. The wounds are often intense depression and even overwhelming anxiety.

Over the past month I have been stuck in a perpetual black hole of depression and questioning everything in my life. I can usually pull myself out of this funk within a few days or even a week tops. Not this time. It was so profound I upped my therapy sessions. Slept way too much and stayed up way too late thinking.

Thinking is my enemy. I have written several poems about my struggle. “My Enemy” being the most recent. I often write as a result of these “moments” of struggle. If I don’t write for more than a week it is not a good sign. It means I am losing the battle. Of all things I have struggled with in my life, depression has been the cruelest of foes. And the one battle where I have never really come out the victor.Though I keep trying.

Giving up is giving in. I have vowed too never give up. I have come to far and accomplished to much to just hand in the keys to my life and let something or someone else drive. Last week just before the Pride festivities I suddenly and inexplicably found myself emerging from the month long battle over depression. This time I really can’t put my finger on how I did it. I am just glad that I did. So here I am back to writing. Back to living. And back to enjoying the feeling of sunshine on my face.

She sits in her bed.

It is nearly 5:00 in the afternoon.

Her bedroom, her sanctuary. She is me.

My own best friend and worst enemy.

Do I even notice myself here? My bed is filled with blankets pillows and creature comforts. Kettle popcorn, computer pencils and drawing pad adorn my comfort zone. A scented candle burns on one of two night stands surrounding me. The rails of the canopy bed are hung with multicolored scarves and pastel sheers to soften my space. The white on white room is only mildly tidy. The colors of dark and unpainted furniture are all that break the white on white expanse of walls. A disorganized room for a disorganized woman.

I am in my head again. Deep within my head. I have been traveling there a lot more these past few weeks. My only distractions being reading my book “Curse the Dawn” by Karen Chance, drawing, playing my guitars, I have several, and my purgatory online, social networking. I go to work and the gym of course. Yeah I joined a gym a couple weeks ago. I am glad I did. It feels really good to sweat and lift weights. I have been so horribly out of shape. I am going to get my supermodel body if it kills me. I know I will never be a supermodel. A fetish or pinup model would be really cool. Oh yeah. That has been a secret in my heart for some time. I always wanted to be a supermodel from about the first day I saw Cristy Brinkley. I had a poster of her in my locker in Jr High. I wanted to be her. I still think she is one of the most beautiful women in history.

Still in my sanctuary. I am listening to chill music videos like Fink and Breaks Co-op. I keep trying to draw something through the haze of confused and trouble thoughts. I admit I don;t have a perfect life. I don’t have a fucked up life either. I have built something from nearly nothing… again. the hardest part about that is that I have NO friends here. Not real hang out any ole time hay stop by kind of friends anyway. I think I only ever had one of those my entire life. I like my job but I do not make friends with people at work. It’s just too complicated. It has nothing to do with being a lesbian either. I am out REALLY out in that regard.

I did manage to make what may turn out to be a really true and lasting friend up in Sonoma county. Dr. D. I call her. She has a heart of gold and deserves so much better than me. We have enjoyed each other company very much lately. I care about Dr. D so I won’t taint her life with my details here. Let’s just hope I don’t fuck up that relationship anymore than I may have already done. Side not: it’s almost comical that we talk on the phone frequently but neither of us can hear what the other is saying half the time. My friend in the stix.  

Half a bag of popcorn down the chute and I can tell the sun is setting. Not because the clock says 5:23 but I can sense it. I have one window facing another window in an alley of sorts. A void between two Victorian houses really. Not much light here but I still feel it. I think I am going to keep writing. I am not getting very far with the drawing thing today. Maybe I will do that tomorrow. Maybe not. I have several things I really need to do or plan. I keep putting then off too.

Is this what it was life when I was a teen the first time around? I’m here again. Young of mind and filled with angst, emotion and unsure of many things. I guess this may just be the price of coming out so late in life. I’m working on a plan. Not sure what really. I told Dr. D I don’t make plans anymore. She commented “Why, because you just breaking them again?” Ouch. Funny but not. She was dead on.

I’m still here in my sanctuary. A unsure, maybe fading place of peace and comfort.

Or

Am I just hiding from life and running from something?

Everything just keeps stacking up. Little by little. One becomes tired and withdrawn. One becomes trapped within the pain that is so great the ONLY way to stop it is to die. The outside forces keep beating and beating one down until there is nothing left but a corpse. Every person’s tolerance for emotional and physical pain is different. Everyone experiences life completely different. But what really drives someone to that ultimate moment. Is there one defining moment. Or is it just the weight of it all sitting precariously on the shoulder until that moment when the legs collapse form the weight.

She opened the drawer to her nightstand, the pale brown bottle of sleeping pills sit harmlessly under the child-proof lid. The long dried tears and runs of makeup down her face are the only signs of life once lived…. as she lies down a long forgotten calm quiets her breath. She comforts herself in the warm down comforter. The sun is shining and the sky is filled with blue… everywhere blue. But the beauty is gone. She sees only darkness. Her soft long hair gently spreads out over the pillow. She has put on her favorite nightgown. It is antique white silk with delicate lace and trim. It is old and worn but it is her favorite. As she closes her eyes, she gently and briefly smiles.

Something remembered?

She gently and silently stops breathing… her heart slows… it stops. Her skin goes blueish white and cold. She is gone. The pain is gone.

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What pain is so great that one must die to cease its consumption of the mind and body?
Did she kill herself because she thought it was best for her?
Did she kill herself because it was the only way to get back at others?
Was being alive such a terrible thing?
Was her existence really meant to be?

I wish I knew why she did it. She left us all with no answers. No physical scars or bruises, her beautiful body shapely and soft. Only we can’t see what is inside. I remember her saying how everything kept falling apart. She hinted of the pain of all the hurtful words. The relentless torments. But they were just words right? They cant hurt you.

Or maybe it was something else. She mentioned her financial situation was bleak, jokingly saying she would be on the street soon then she would not have to pay that overpriced rent anymore. I noticed she had lost weight… had she stopped eating? The cupboards were bare except for green tea and crackers.

I’m not too clear on this right now. I.. I am still numb that she is gone. My own tears still drying along my cheeks. Her family and friends had abandoned her, but she had me. She had the others. Loneliness and depression were always a part of her life. I came too late to ease her pain.

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On this day of Transgender Remembrance we honor those who have died, were murdered, for being different. Killed for being themselves even in the face of all those who apposed. But I can’t help but now think how many more were driven to their own end for being different. How far can a person be pushed emotionally before they snap?

It is often the dozens of little things that will bring down the strongest. A reed may bend in the wind. But pour over it grains of sand… in time it will fail too.