Suicide is not a bad word.

and in order to stop it, we must start using it.

Hello Beautiful human,

Fall has officially arrived here in Vermont. The colors are changing into their spectacular hues of scarlet, apricot and gold. And as they do, I, myself, am changing too. I feel it in my thoughts and moods, my rythms and proclivities. Most of all, I feel it in my body — in my longing for more time earthside — more time connected to this place — more time connected to my people. Yes, I feel it in my body as I long deeply for less time lost to the vast emptiness of dissociative fugue.

This week, as I continued to de-hoard my garage and list everything on facebook marketplace, I learned about the the loss of a peer who I spent some time with in a psychiatric unit. We weren’t close. We really only shared a few meals but even though I never knew them beyond the bounds of that ward, they were my people. They were my brethren. They were my community. So today, instead of sharing scribbles of pain and rage that have yet to make sense, I am honoring my body and choosing to…