17, 520 hours.

730 days.

104 weeks.

Two years.

It’s no secret that there are two things I don’t have the best relationship with – math and time. Time is a weird construct, and I’m convinced math hates me on a personal level. So then, that begs the question, why even start with that?

These numbers have lived rent-free in my head ever since I woke up on December 12, 2021.

Why?

Because I shouldn’t be here, it has been two years since my inner demons should have won. I’m Kris. Let me talk about the journey I’ve been on since I tried to let the demons in my head win.

CW/TW – Implied suicidal thoughts.

Fair warning, it’s a hefty and heavy read, I made a shorter video skimming the surface of all this stuff as well.

The world in which I grew up never really spoke about things like mental illness, suicide, or self-harm. It was spoken about in whispers, if at all, or became something that would immediately end a conversation. 

The ability to put things into words for me is the ability to make things more conquerable in reality. And I think that’s a big part of why I spent so much of my life trying to talk about these things, and it helps with my healing process.

But let’s rewind.

I was in an awful place two years ago, even before the incident that led to that horrible moment. This is not the fault of anyone for not really clocking it; we all are busy as hell humans. Besides, it didn’t help that we were easing out of lockdown, and everyone was just trying to navigate this new era of existing amidst a pandemic. And truthfully, I was very ashamed of telling others about the darkness that had started to get a stronger grip on my senses. 

I didn’t just stumble into that point of no return. In hindsight, it was unfortunately clear how far I had sunk into my depression and darker thoughts. I was barely going through the motions of existence. I suffer from body and gender dysphoria, so it didn’t take a lot for me to have another reason to not look in the mirror. Maybe if I had looked at how much I was fading away, I could have done something sooner, but this comes from a different person. Being stuck in that, I don’t think I could ever have been wise enough to have that perspective.

You could have asked me about it. Hell, some of you may have damn well actually asked me how things were. But, I’ve historically done a bad job of putting my needs first and being truly honest with others about how I am actually doing and not just making a joke and finger-gunning away from the situation before you actually got any insight. I wasn’t caring for my body, mind, or soul during this time. I was just there. 

Then it happened – an issue that isn’t exclusive to me; it’s just something that can and has happened to anyone. It wasn’t even entirely a surprise when it happened. The most surprising thing was the absolute lack of everything. 

I had previous experiences with my mental illness taking me down this dark path, but never before had I encountered something this empty. I had believed for so long that reaching that point would have had an intense wave of emotion. I was expecting great sadness, massive anger, literally anything at all that would push me over the edge. But there was nothing. I had checked out in every way I could comprehend: no emotions, nothing left, just a concept of a person.

I refuse to get into the logistics of my attempt. That isn’t what this is about. And I beg of you to please use the existing crisis hotlines or free services if you are going down this path. The only detail that matters is that I left myself no room for error. I may have been numb as all hell, but I had used bits and pieces of plans I had created in previous dark moments. I gave myself a 99.5% chance of success at this. I was sure that my story was done. I had made peace with that. The story should have ended right there. You shouldn’t logically be able to read any of this.

But 0.5% chance of failure. And yet, the odds decided to humble me.

There aren’t enough words to describe my shock waking up that next day. Shock that was followed by pure RAGE. But I couldn’t focus on the rage because I was late for work. 

In retrospect, I really shouldn’t have gone to work. I should have done something like getting checked in somewhere or something. But my brain was barely functioning. All I knew was that work at least gave me an excuse not to make worse decisions in that same place. I could at least work and try to figure out what the hell had just happened. 

Spoiler alert: it’s been two years. I still don’t really have any answers to how I actually have survived to this point. I’ve been doing my best to rebuild from the remains of that part of my life and make something solid going into the future.

I may have been horribly lost in the fog and darkness in my own mind, but there is one thing I was confused about but pleasantly surprised by back then – my community of people showing the hell up.

My work was completely understanding in me trying to figure my shit out that day and the days following. Some of my friends made sure to sit me down and decompress after work to just figure out what the fuck was going on; others straight up said – we’re coming to get you. I’ll never be able to really articulate how thankful I am for all the friends who helped get me to a safe place in those days. 

They made sure I ate, that I was near trusted loved ones, and ultimately that I could just focus on actually feeling all the emotions I had tried to run from and ignore for so long. Those days were miserable, but I started those ‘1 Reason A Day’ videos for some ungodly reason.

Part of me did those videos because I knew many people worried about me, and they weren’t all exactly within easy visiting distance. So, at least with these tiktoks, I could film something to show I was here. Broken beyond anything I could have anticipated, but still here. Besides, sometimes just being able to put things into words made things significantly less scary, and at the very least, kept it out of my head so I could maybe detangle it later.

If there is anything I’ve learned about my mental illnesses over the years? It’s there to make me doubt absolutely everything. I was confused and surprised by the outpouring of love and support because my mind was adamant on the fact that people only saw me as useful for their own benefit; that I didn’t actually have people there for me. I was so happy to be wrong because y’all came through when I needed you the absolute most.

Everyone who showed up, just thank you so much. Whether it was through physical means or emotional, I would never have made it to this day on the other side of what seemed like a final game over. Despite my brain being my number one enemy, my heart is always holding onto the faint hope that my core belief that I need to try to do good by others and leave this world better than I found it because one day, I pray that it finds its way back to me tenfold when I need it most.

As someone who had forgotten what it meant to do anything beyond a bare minimum existence, I had a long journey of healing, unlearning, and growing ahead. But, that road began with those tiktok videos.

I was struggling to get out of bed, but I like having tangible goals or anchors to ground me in reality when things are getting bad. So I just wanted to find one thing each day. Just one thing for my brain to focus on to drown out the absolute quiet of my mind after everything that had happened. 

I was living. I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy each morning, but I was at least doing more than surviving each hour. But slowly, I was able to lighten the load on my mind.

And now here I am. While I haven’t needed to record the videos as often, I still film them when the idea crosses my mind. But here’s what I have been able to enjoy since that failure upended everything I knew:

• I got to love the little Florida man, Bolin Arkansas, for almost two years and give him a home while he reminded me to not shut down and stay quiet.
• I got to see an incredible sunset over Provincetown. I woke up ungodly early just to watch the sunrise over Scituate Harbor.
• Acquired 5 incredible new tattoos that made looking back in a mirror worth it again.
• I got to spend time with my growing army of nephews.
• I Had an incredible experience at my undergrad’s alumni writing retreat.
• I Went on an adventure to Queens with my fellow grumpy grandpa and we watched one of the most exciting baseball games I’ve ever been to.
• I got two custom-tailored suits and got to wear them to two incredible celebrations of love.
• I had an amazing gender-affirming photoshoot that made me feel like a superhero and actually like I could feel comfortable in my own skin.
• I started a new job that grew into an even cooler opportunity that is full of new challenges and changes for the better that allow me to gain a semblance of stability and set roots down instead of running away from my problems.

In these two years, I’ve really just learned that I am so tired of running. I’m tired of running away from my problems. I’m tired of restarting in new places and trying to rebuild a community. I’m tired of shutting down and thinking that I can’t get a break. I’ve been to many places in the world, but at this point in my life, I just really want to build a home that I can come back to and be myself in.

I’ve done so much as I creep closer and closer to 30, an age I never even really comprehended getting to. Other than the laughable idea of people in their late 20s/early 30s being considered real adults in my youth, my mental illnesses truly never thought we’d get this far. 

But then again, I got to dream about a future for the first time in my life. When I watched the sunrise over the harbor, two older women with coffee thermos shared between them were just catching up on their lives while the sun slowly rose over the water. And in that moment, I realized how much I wanted that. 

I don’t necessarily need that to happen with the love of my life, although that’d be a sweet moment, just be able to sit with a friend as I’m gray, gay, and with body pains that make sense with my age, and just watch the sunrise as we spend a moment together.

There is nothing in this world that is promised. All we get is the time we get. In my perspective, I’ve been living on bonus time ever since that day, and I have been doing what I can, spending as much time and energy as I have making the most out of moments with folks while I can. 

Certain things can be replaced. People can’t. It took me a while to really have that lesson sink in, but at least I’ve learned.

Gods know I’m not straight, so I can’t really be surprised at the fact that my healing process isn’t. So, while I would like to be like, ‘everything’s going to be perfect, and I won’t have bad days ever again’ – that’s just not realistic. 

I would honestly be thrilled to have minimal character arcs of struggle going forward. I would love to meet my person, build my community, have my home both physically and emotionally, and grow old, surrounded by love and creating memories while I try to leave this world better than I found it.

There’s so much adventure ahead. There’s so much healing ahead. The road ahead won’t be easy, but I can only believe that from the remains of who I used to be before that day, I have been able to scavenge the best parts, combine them with who I am today, and use that to build an even brighter tomorrow for the best life for me.

It’s been two years or 104 weeks, 730 days, 17,520 hours, or 1,051,200 minutes since the worst failure in my life. I don’t know where life will take me, but I just know I will chase that moment of sitting by the water with a friend to watch the sunrise in our old age. Here’s until tomorrow.