Parts Unknown

I'm gonna go ahead and preface this post with these three very important words: I'm fine, mom.

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This morning I woke up to the news that Anthony Bourdain had passed. Suicide. I literally screamed in bed. And then I burst into tears. I cried in the shower. I cried through the blow drying and the dressing and the (half-assed) makeup-ing.

My 8 o'clock session was going swimmingly until I burst into tears, AGAIN.

I managed to make it through the workday relatively tear-free, but then the waterworks flowed again whilst I sat alone at the laundromat, watching two weeks' worth of clothes toss and turn and churn.

Just to be clear, I didn't actually know Anthony Bourdain. What the fuck is wrong with me?


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It's nearly 10pm and I think I've maybe gotten a handle on why this celebrity death has kinda sorta rocked me.

Reader, if you've been a ride or die, you know I, too, have battled some fucking demons. Shit has been tough for me (mostly because I'm neurotic and moody and aloof as fuck), and there have been a handful of times when my brain almost fooled me into thinking life was maybe, possibly just too fucking painful. But then someone saved me. And I think that's why I'm over here bawling my fucking eyes out, feeling all the feels. See, life is pretty good for me right now. I'm doing the things I want to do and building the life I so desperately needed. I'm fine. But there were so many time when I wasn't fine, so many times when frustration and shame and debilitating anxiety threatened to take over.

Like that winter in Korea. You know the one. I was fucking miserable. Life felt empty and weird and all my friends at home were moving on without me. I was nearing thirty, directionless, flying solo, and questioning why the fuck I ever thought it was a good idea to move BACK to the other side of the world. But someone reached out to me and gave me a home. Jamie was the dude who cooked for me, watched Jersey Shore with me, and let me cry in his bed when I just fucking hated everything. He was gentle with my mind and heart, for I think he knew I was maybe a little fragile. His friendship is what got me through that winter and let me come out the other side. His friendship is what allowed me to laugh off all the absurdity of my life in Korea and to embrace the people around me, many of whom I still count among my closest and dearest friends (I'm looking at you, Casey the Human).

Jamie literally saved me from myself.

Or like the fall of 2006. I was kinda sorta newly graduated, definitely newly single, and living alone for the first time. At the time I don't remember feeling lonely or lost, but in hindsight all the signs were there. Things came to a head when I got caught drunkenly fucking a pirate on the bathroom floor at a Halloween party. We were both so hammered, we never skipped a beat. I don't even know how we ended up back at his house, but I do know that his car was outside. I woke up feeling disgusted and embarrassed and ashamed beyond belief. Twelve years later I am able to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all (sorta), but at the time, it was a symptom of a much larger problem. Anxiety and self-loathing are two of my greatest hits and I think that fall was marked by a great deal of both. But someone reached out to me and acknowledged that I was maybe standing on a ledge, if only figuratively. After two days of calling in sick and dodging phone calls, my mom hauled her ass over and climbed into bed with me. She is the reason I went to the doctor that day and finally admitted that I was having a hard time keeping it all together. She was the reason I filled that first prescription and why I kept filling that prescription and why a year later I was able to stop filling that prescription.

My mom literally saved me from myself.

Or like those entire two years after I came home from Korea. No need to rehash how fucking miserable I felt upon returning to a life that was no longer familiar and no longer mine. Reader, I struggled. Every. Damn. Day. But someone reached out with such gusto and conviction that I couldn't do anything *but* surrender to her friendship. I don't know if Erica knew it at the time, but I was in desperate need of a kick in the ass. What she gave me was so much more. She made me believe that I could do the thing, if I just took small bites and didn't look too closely at the big picture. She made me believe that I was smart enough, that I was deserving enough, and that it didn't matter if I sometimes didn't know what I was doing. Every day I still struggle with the battle between perfection and good enough (ask my supervisor how long it takes me to write an eval...), but because of Erica's mad cheerleading skills, I think I'm able to navigate that battle just a little bit better.

Erica literally saved me from myself.

There have been others throughout the years who have reached out to me to let me know they see me (lots, actually). And I think that's why Bourdain's death hit me so hard today. Those people who reached out to me in my shittiest, darkest times are literally the reason I get to sit here today. I'm saddened that Bourdain chose to take this path; I imagine he, too, had loved ones reach out to him. But sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes YOU'RE not enough.

I don't know how else to wrap this up. It seems so fucked up to say I understand that feeling, to say I get his choice. So I guess today I'm thankful my loved ones reached out. Today I'm thankful I'M enough.