Almost exactly a year ago I moved to Florida. I came here for my dream job. And before I could finish hanging all of my wall art, said job decided we didn’t need to live in this—what’s the word? Insane? Horrific? Damaging? —specific place. So, despite all of my desire to bolt, I chose to stick it out.
And I ended up meeting my best friend here. Except, he really prefers I call him my boyfriend. But I feel one title is not superior to the other.
But now that I have in fact stuck it out, it’s time for me to move again. Or stay. But we all know I’m moving. Because my liberal ass is going to get followed home sooner rather than later if I stay in Trump-mania.
And while that last line was meant to make you smile. It is also a dagger in the truest form. My boyfriend had a panic attack the other day. And while there were truly far too many traffic lights—it’s easier to blame the anxiety on them—anyone paying the least bit of attention can see the negative side-effects of living in a non-affirming state.
T/W: Suicide
Queer youth are five times more likely to die by suicide
We were never meant to make it this far. He and I were always supposed to be the heart-wrenching funeral the school made mandatory to attend. A cautionary tale. A loss our families always felt, of course, but never enough to truly separate them from the living.
And yet neither one of us died. We have panic attacks.
I think panic attacks are a side effect of having not died by suicide
I believe anyone who has a sprinkling of emotional awareness as to the state of the whole fucking world has panic attacks. And I think some of us find ways to elongate the times between when we can breathe and when we swear, we’ll never be able to again.
Some of the ways we buy time are by doing things. Some of these include drinking, shopping, eating, exercising, sexting with strangers, scrolling TikTok, vapid comparison drawing, etc.
And then there are the moments where you’ve gone down your entire freaking list—regardless of what’s on it—and you don’t feel the least bit better. And you wonder why it’s all worth it.
Now, I want to say that help is present, and support can be found through a variety of resources. But if you or someone you love is facing mental health struggles, I’d start by texting ‘HOME’ to 741741 to connect with a Crisis Counselor.
But because I’m a writer and not a counselor, I think it’s important I continue the train of thought that is this: Is any of it worth it?
I sat in my boyfriend’s parents’ living room and I listened. I watched them explain how it’s not normal to want to die. How people have anxiety, but not that much anxiety. Now, if you’ve heard this before, let me suggest this: try emotionally balling that or any similar statement up and punting it like the sporting ball of your choice across the playing field that is life.
Anyone who says it’s not normal to think about not sticking around is either lying to you or truly has never had that thought themselves. Which, if the latter is true for them, thank the fucking lord. But that doesn’t change the fact that they are the minority. We are the majority sweetie, because life is very hard.
Now, did his parents mean well? Of course, they did. They’re his parents and they love him. But this brings us to Miss Swift’s 14th lesson.
When tragedy strikes someone you know, in a way you’ve never dealt with before, it’s okay to say that you don’t know what to say
As a fixer, I’m still learning this lesson myself. And it’s an especially hard one to remain aware of when it comes to the people I love most. I want to dive headfirst into solving the problems those I care deepest about are experiencing.
Except, I’ve had to learn, more often than not, I might not know what the solution looks like. And definitely, more often than not, the ones I hold closest to my heart just want to know that I’ll be there through it all.
I’ve come to accept, slowly, that most people aren’t coming to me for a play-by-play of how we’re going to tackle the issue they’re facing. Sometimes, they aren’t even ready to go into problem-solving mode—even though I live-in problem-solving mode—because they either want to simply be listened to or reminded that it’s all going to be okay.
And as someone who has gone to people in my darkest times. Literally, I have shown up mid-panic attack and received plans I wasn’t ready to explore yet and, even worse, got nothing from those I loved, I can tell you that it’s okay if all you can say is, “I’m sorry and I love you.”
It’s also helped me to know that I don’t need to go to everyone in my inner circle. I treat my people like a committee and not everyone has the same skillsets. So I go to some of my humans for relationship stuff and others for work shit and so on.
Then there are the moments where people get involved in whatever it is you’re facing despite a lack of an invitation. This is when, I feel, less is more. My family makes food. We just feed one another until someone feels better. I know others do it differently. But truly, as long as you’re there for whoever is struggling, I promise you that’s more than enough.
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Written by Tori Muzyk
Illustrated by Francesca Mariama
