Dear Kate God Knows

Dear Kate,

Adah here again. I know you’re having a moderately-bad episode. I’m not sure why your episode affects my grammar and spelling but it does. Empathy, I guess.

Four years ago you were debilitated in a hospital bleeding internally not knowing if you would ever eat or live ‘normally’ again. You were afraid you’d never be able to smoke again. As it turned out your few cigarettes are good for your UC…the non-smoker’s colitis. (Typically smokers don’t get ulcerative colitis. Nicotine actually works to ease uc.)

Four years ago you were living in a locked rooms and felt terror every time you came home. You were just managing at teaching. You, hooked up to heart monitors,  sat in the hospital bed and dictated an affidavit to your mom for your lawyer during one of the worst hurricane’s the north-east coast ever had.

Four years ago you were afraid you were going to lose your house to Asshole. You were afraid of everything. You’re world was falling apart.

Four years ago you asked your dad for a rosary because you—who were “in negotiations with Jesus”—asked him to take the pain away. He didn’t. But, he helped you bear it. Mother Mary helped you bear it.

The one thing that you felt you could not lose—the one thing that you felt for sure you would kill yourself if you lost it. Without a doubt you would take your own life—always there has been the tacit agreement that if that one thing (let’s call it X) happened you could kill yourself. Not take the Nuclear Option but open your wrists  and smoke a cigarette while you bled out.

You told Ingrid, your surrogate Gran, yesterday about X. About how X might happen. You never spoke the words to anyone before. And, she, one of Gram’s closest friends and G-Pa’s “adopted” sister, held you like you sobbed and sobbed. But you were able to admit X might happen and that, well…it might…we’ll leave it at that. You said X out loud.

Two years ago this month you were getting your brain shocked because of your hourly episodes and constant suicidal thoughts. Your hair was falling out. You’d had to leave school. A month and a half later you OD’ed. Then you were certain—and you told your shrinks and therapists this: you would kill yourself if T. left you.

Tonight you sat outside and erased all the old voice messages from T. and his family. AND you just erased T. and all his family and friends—except Cinderella and her mother—from your contacts. You deleted him from your contacts and your phone messages. Okay, you still have the texts. But the other is a HUGE step.

When you prayed tonight all you could muster was a HELP. That’s okay.

And by the by--"Here I Stay"--yes, she stayed, but she was a ghost. Dead. 

God knows what’s in your heart. Saint Jude doesn’t need a novena to comfort you. They know your heart. Christ is helping to carry you, just HOLD ON a little longer. “It’s not dark yet.”

Now, go smoke and watch Reddington kill bad people. AND, color! Fuck those people who are all like--oh, coloring is mind-numbing. You should create your own designs. Eww. Well, if they lived in your head...they'd never make it out alive. And, remember photoshop? You never thought you'd be to doll, but you did and you were good at it. So if you want to learn to draw: you will. 

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: See the Xanax is working. Your episode is abating. The shaking is slowing.

PPS: Yes, you missed Mass again. But you did God's work today. You didn't have to. But you did and made G-Pa happy. You didn't want to. But you did so unbegrudgingly--as far as G-Pa knows. You and Aunt Faeries begrudged a bit--bit hey, you have to vent a little when you're going to see a big Injun's head.