Letters from a Carefree Black Girl

Letters from a Carefree Black Girl

CW: Suicide, self harm

I've always had a somewhat deep connection to the number 19. That was my birthday and also my death date, or so I thought. Today I'm going to share with you all something I'd never tell anyone. On February 19th, I planned on drinking just enough antifreeze that would make that day my last. I'm not going to dwell too much on this, but here's what I'll let you know: Things sometimes seem to be constantly going downhill despite what it may seem like on the outside. The relationships in my life are suffering, my mental health is poor, the list goes on. Simply put, it was just too much for me handle. So I had my plan to end my suffering. I did just that but in ways I didn't know were possible for myself. 

Instead of doing what I originally planned for that afternoon, something inside of myself (and greater than myself) told me that I could do better. Be better. Let me be the first to say that this “something” was not God. I have a feeling it was my ancestors or maybe even the voices of the children my work has yet to touch. Or maybe I was just too high and paranoid? Either way, I'm grateful for it because I finally have my optimism and hope back. I'm promise I'm trying my best to beat this. Happiness is such a foreign concept to me now. I'm hoping to change that. 

I made a commitment to myself to work harder and smarter. Radiate a light so bright that strangers can't help but to notice. To remain when negativity tries to make its way into my life. To remember that this is bigger than just me now. I'll let y'all know how that goes...


Words by Maya Clark // @mayaexplains