My Tribe
Tribe. I always hear people talking about their tribes or reading articles about how we, especially women, should have them. And I always roll my eyes. I’ve got a few good friends and some family. That’s certainly not a tribe. They’re not braiding my hair or making me dinner. We don’t have matching shirts, and we certainly don’t go on camping trips together. They’re just my people, and I can count on some of them, and others, not so much. That’s not a tribe. Right? Wrong. Turns out, I do have a tribe. Mine saved my life. Three-ish weeks ago I had a psychotic breakdown. This was different than the last two really bad ones. This one was ME breaking down, not my medication. I wanted to die. I wanted to cut myself. I wanted to burn myself. I wanted to slice my wrists open or swallow a whole bottle of pills. I felt that everyone, except for Lorelei (which is the thing that holds my place here on earth), would be so much better off without me. I was crying all of the time. Everything h