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 hurt, most of all my head and heart. Those things can only take so much and when they crack, they bleed out. 

I tried to manage by myself like I always do, and I couldn’t. I failed. I couldn’t have a conversation without losing it. I couldn’t work. I looked awful. I was dying. I got to a point where I had to tell people. The first person was Matt. He didn’t behave well originally. In fact, he down right handed me the knife, even if it was unintentionally. And then he got it. It clicked. I told two of my friends. They got it, no problem. I told my co-worker. He saved me, too. I told my parents. Matt told my mother-in-law, father-in-law, and sister-in-law. That’s my fucking tribe, and without them, I don’t know where I’d be. 

I was surprised by the response and support I got from the tribe that was always there. I was even more surprised by the people who are, generally speaking, pretty self centered. They didn’t belittle. They didn’t try to fix. They let me know they were there. My co-worker whom I save on a regular basis, checked on me many times a day. He called from his office next to mine to check in. He made it funny. My family gave me space. My friends gave me permission to be a mess. I allowed myself to be a mess. I’m still here because of my tribe.

I am now happy to wear matching T-shirt’s and they can braid my hair. I won’t go camping with them because camping is stupid, but I’ll get drunk with them by a fire at a bar. I’ll never find the words to tell my tribe how much they mean to me, how big of a part they played (are playing) in my continued existence, and how they showed me I am not alone. That last part is a big deal. I’m fiercely independent. I’m secretive and I put on an heir of togetherness all the time. I depended on myself because that’s all I knew. I wouldn’t let me down, and if I did, it’d be familiar. My tribe showed me I’ve got allies. My tribe showed me that I matter in a time where I very much thought I didn’t. Thank you for saving my life.