(Written from my phone on 6/24/26)

I believe we are born in this world with an inherent gumption to live.  Like we came out the womb fighting to breathe, gasping for air, clawing at life.  Soon after, we were moving, then walking, and running, and so on.  At what point, does one decide they don’t want to live anymore; how does life become so intolerable that the only relief is death, the only way to cope is to die?

She came in the room we were sleeping in at my uncle’s with tears in her eyes.  I could see she was visibly shaking as I peered through the covers, as I was supposed to be asleep.  “Where were you mom?”  Sitting on the bed she kicked her sandals off and without saying a word she laid down next to me wrapping her arms around me.  I felt safe again with her next to me, like everything was gonna be OK again, together we would be ok.  She began to cry silently at first until her crys made the whole bed shake.  Through the covers I reached for her hand grabbing her wrist instead, she screamed “ouch, dammit!” Holding her bandaged wrist, she begin to rock back and forth in pain.  “I’m sorry” I said as I too begin to cry, “what happened?” “Don’t worry baby I’m ok, I just hurt myself.”

My 7 year old brain couldn’t piece it together that she had actually, really hurt herself, like she tried to end her life at the young age of 24 (I doubt that being her first attempt).  Later on, when I was a teenager she told me that “they” meaning her family had wanted to take me away from her, and that was her way of coping, to end it all.  As a child I remember my mom frequently saying she wanted to die and she wanted to die young, that she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to be on this earth anymore.  She definitely made a believer out of me because I seen it, I seen the pain in her eyes, I seen the scars on her wrist heal over time, I heard her cries for relief from this life, and I remember reading her suicide letter…

Waking up in a cold sweat was not uncommon, but waking up in the middle of the night to silence was. I immediately heard my mom snoring, and felt relief because I was safe if she was here.  Pushing the covers off of me, I tip-toed to the door and peered through the crack only to see the living room was empty of what would normally be a room full of dope fiends at different stages of getting and coming down off of a high.  Slowly I opened the door stopping everytime the creek became to loud, I didn’t want to wake her.  Walking past her I went to my aunts room to see if she was sleeping too, only to find the room empty.  I could tell she hadn’t been gone long as the room was still warm with body heat, and I could still smell their activities.  Walking back in the living room I looked at my mom under the covers and smiled, happy that she had stayed instead of leaving me again.  In fact, she hadn’t left since the man with the cigar next door had did what he did to me, my aunt’s friend.  Grabbing the covers off of my bed I laid down on the floor next to her and fell asleep.  Waking up some hours later my mom was still asleep, but she wasn’t snoring, I  made my way to the kitchen opening and closing the refrigerator a couple times as if food was going to appear. But nope, still just mustard and water in a old orange juice container.  Climbing up the cabinets I searched all the cupboards and found nothing.  Back in the living room my mom still had not woke up but she was talking in her sleep which wasn’t normal.  I begin to try to wake her up and at first she wouldn’t even open her eyes.  I begin to panic, crying I said “mother please wake up!”  Gently, at first I attempted to wake her then with all my strength and voice until she opened her eyes.  Through tears and relief I said “Hi.”  She seemed to look right past me and closed her eyes again. 

Was this a game, I thought to myself because this ain’t fun.  So I begin the process of waking her up again to know avail.  Sad, I picked up the phone to try to call my aunt Sandra.  I remember the phone just ringing and ringing.  Eventually I noticed a letter on the table and I distinctively remember it saying “Don’t let Joy read it.” Well that was my invite to read it all in it’s entirety.  The letter said a lot of things that I couldn’t understand, but I know she was sad because of what happened to me and she blamed herself that and she wanted to die, she wants to die, she wants to really die, she’s dying, she was dying!  Throwing the letter down I really begin to wake her up, mom don’t leave, me, please don’t leave me, please, please don’t leave me, don’t go!  Opening her eyes, she didn’t seem to recognize me, “Mom, momma are you ok?”  At first she didn’t respond but then she got up and I could see she was naked and she was talking but she wasn’t talking to me, she didn’t acknowledge me.  I decided that I was gonna go find my aunt.  But first I had to get her dressed because I couldn’t leave her alone.  I don’t know how I did it but I know I was sweating and tired by the time she was dressed. “Come on mom we’re going on a field trip,” I told her as I grabbed her hand and we made our way down the steps to Madison street where people either ignored a small child seemingly handling a full adult who was acting like a child down the sidewalk to Deanos where my aunt’s boyfriend stayed in the apartments above the restaurant.  I  had to knock on the door for awhile, yelling through the door “This is Joy is my auntie here.”  I think her boyfriend is the one who opened the door as I remember having to try and wake my aunt up.  “Aunt Sandra something is wrong with my mom.”  Getting up, she looked at my mom who was speaking in a childish half gibberish manner, “Barbara!” she yelled as if this was going to wake her up.  Next thing you know I remember being back at the house, and I  misspoke that’s when my aunt found the letter and told me not to read it, and I did, I think.  All I know is we ended up at the hospital, my aunt, my mom, and I where my mom got her stomach pumped and after that I went to my Godmom and God grandma’s house where I stayed until she got out of treatment.

When I think back to all the times I heard and saw her giving up on life it makes perfect sense as to why I developed that coping mechanism as a teenager and then a young adult.  Why everytime things became unbearable I wanted to die first, and pray last if at all.  And to think my children saw me do the same thing; coping with life by wanting to die.

Psalm 34:18 KJV
[18] The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; And saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.