“’Cause my mind won’t stop, it’s just 11 blocks, I know that you’re home…Someone stop me please from hurting myself, ‘cause I’m two blocks away and you’re hurting my health…Somebody stop me, I should be going home” – “11 Blocks” by Wrabel
My #RecoveryHome lies amongst Hope Avenue and the Recovery Residence stone marking. My Recovery Home houses a rainbow lighthouse to the right of my home’s property, and a gazebo to the left of the house. The house has heart-shaped skylights on the roof, and a green front door with a pastel yellow, pink and green iris in the center. There’s a stationery room within my Recovery Home and the hilltop residence overlooks a small town down below. There’s a Barnes & Noble, a Target, a Paper Store, and Michael’s Arts and Crafts store down there. There’s probably a café, too. And there’s definitely a library—probably one like the Thomas Crane Library in Quincy, where there’s apparently some awesomely hidden stained glass hallway. My Recovery Home features the best of the best.
Down the front path, where there is a tunnel of trees shifting from spring to winter to autumn, there is Lapse Circle, Relapse Boulevard, and Bloomingdale Cove. And then there is where the mental health conditions I live with reside. You might think they would reside within my Recovery Home themselves, and, maybe to an extent they do. But really, they are housed all on their own on Kill Yourself Road. Recovery isn’t all rainbows and sunshine, and my imaginative plane of #RecoveryHome keeps that thought alive.
Where OCD, depression, self-harm and chronic suicidality reside is a broken down home that once saw better days. Now, it’s old, dusty, and filled with creepy crawlies. It’s not a place apt for housing life. That’s why I’m building my Recovery Home 11 blocks away. It’s a bit of a walk, I’m sure, and as it should be.
My mental health conditions paint their home in a shadow of disillusionment. They make it seem like a home worth living in, but really, they’re awful, hideous roommates. They leave their dirty dishes sprawled across the kitchen, there are several openly and blatantly obvious suicide methods lying around the home already set up and “ready to go,” there’s food decaying in various corners, and the floorboards are barely held together. The air is putrid and I think the septic system is busted.
And still, they make it seem like the house is in tippy top shape.
But, in reality, it isn’t. And I just can’t stand living there any longer.
So, I’m packing my bags and moving out. I’m moving 11 blocks up the street, and I’m telling all my friends, family, supportive networks, and the community that I’m heading on this journey. I refuse to be silent about my story.
I’ll be walking past Coping Lane, and stopping by the Coping Tree to collect my keys of coping strategies. It’s time for me to re-recognize that I don’t leave these keys just on the tree; rather, they come with me upon my journeys and I use them to unlock higher levels in recovery.
I’ll be visiting Life Worth Living Alley, a golden walkway which sparkles in the sunlight. I’ll spend time at the Resources Reservation Park, to guide you through your own potential pitfalls and struggles. The park features a platform from which I’ll interview our community’s resources, to talk about what they do and their role in all of our journeys. At the Community Center, I’ll ask questions to our community and receive responses to their views on stigma, advocacy, and the outlets that exist within our world to promote mental health awareness.
Together, we’ll clear up misconceptions about suicidality and talk about how to continue talking about it through the Say the Word Suicide presentations in the large, white building dedicated to all those who we have lost to and whom have struggled with suicidality. The building is a memorial and an avenue for change in our future.
Lastly, upon my journey I will take a very important, very crucial lock. This lock is metallic silver, and there is no external key for it.
This lock represents the promise I am making with you all through this article. I safety contract to returning in the spring 2017 semester to explore all of the writings and streets listed above. I safety contract to not returning to the battered home eleven blocks away; I safety contract to not acting on any of my suicidal thoughts and self-harm from my writing this article December 5, 2016, to January 23, 2017.
The key for this lock resides within my soul. And, I don’t say my soul is the color of a sparkling rainbow with a bright white light for nothing.
Stay safe and good luck.