I find the more I have to talk about mental health the more difficult it becomes. If I’m to be a hundred percent honest with you, I actually hate doing it. There’s never a great moment to slot it into a conversation. Also, it’s such a heavy thing to discuss. You know, it’s not like The Weekend’s game, or Cardi B beef. It’s depressing. There. I said it, it’s DEPRESSING!!!!
Talking about mental health is depressing. When I was asked to write this I was excited at first. I thought, “Yay! I’m going to get really creative and share a bunch of motivational stories and it’s going to be great!” But, a few minutes later, I realized how daunting this was going to be. I can’t lie here. I mean I could, but what would that help with? I could tell you the story of my friend who took her own life? And somehow pretend that I’m ok with it now, 3 years later, but I’d be lying. I could tell you the story of how I almost took my own life and tell you I’m totally fine now, but also, that would be a lie. Yikes.
In a way, I’m still kind of figuring out what I want to talk about here without making it, all about me. Also, I’m tired and I want to sleep. It would be nice to sleep. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. Sleep is easy and effortless and living though requires a lot. Living has prerequisites. I’m a 26 year old guy, by now I should have graduated, having a good job, and making some money. I should be living it up, going to the cluuuurb, popping bottles and getting the finest in life. I should be driving; how am I 26 and not driving? I should be having my own place, where I stay, alone, or with my girlfriend, or fiancé, or wife; The Prerequisites of life.
How can I not be anxious? There’s so much pressure in this world. I’m not even going to open the can of worms that is the Gram. Hayi, we’ll just get more depressed. Everyone in there seems to be living their best life. Sometimes it feels like this world is gauding me, showing me all of these things that I could be and reminding me I am so far from being any one of them. It’s easy to get lost in this psych. I can say that now, because I’ve opened up to myself. I had to introspect to write up to this point.
I haven’t really fixed anything, but I feel a little more aware of what’s going on with me; or at least what’s going on in my mind. Because that’s all that it is really this depression. It’s just a bunch of really scary thoughts going on in my head. I’ve never been MY thoughts. I mean, yeah, sometimes it feels like I am, but, the mind is just a tool and not who I am. A tool I’ve always been in control of. I’ve always been in control of what thoughts I allow to live up in there. There’s power in what I think. I could fail to hold it down and would do with a little help from time to time though. Not all the time, but once in a while. It would be nice to be reminded that there are a few people out there actually looking out for me, you know; just so that I feel, less alone.
I wonder what HHP’s last moments were like. Were his last reflections a question of “Bosso kemang?” Maybe he was tired of telling people they were “Bosso”. Maybe he wasn’t hearing it enough. Maybe his last moments were something totally unrelated to how his fans knew him. I don’t know. I guess we’ll never know. But he’s gone now and there’s no number of hashtags that can bring him back.
But did you know, today someone else felt like suicide was the only way out? It could have been anyone, your friends or your family members even your own mentor. It could have been you. I can’t really strong-arm you to care or really think about it. All I can do is share my journey through this mental health landscape. Perhaps you’ll feel less lonely too, I don’t know. Regardless of how you feel about it, I hope you’re being kind to yourself. Above all and everything else, I hope you’re falling in love with the being you’re becoming. A wise man called Ryan once said, “Wherever you go, you are always in your head.” Imagine.
aka Purple Saint
aka Daddy Indigo
aka Sir ‘Pout-A-Lot’
aka James Blonde