TW: Self harm, suicide, trauma, depression, anxiety

I cope as well as I can.
I cope in the only ways I know how.
They work for me.
I cope by writing this poem.
I’ll cope by saying it out loud.
I cope by eating Reese’s’ ice cream
out of the container in Bethany’s kitchen
as we watch the Troll’s movie
for the hundredth time.
I take medicine.
I stop looking for a cure.
I accept myself.
I cope with dark humor
and big foot documentaries,
I cope by talking to God
and my mother
and I am trying to find the right therapist too.
I cope with Wawa egg sandwiches
and going to see Kubo and the Two Strings
by myself.
I drive to Point Lookout
in the middle of the night.
I listen to the waves.
I cope by painting my room,
I hang my art on the walls,
I cope by trying pizza
in every city I visit.
I listen to Dan’s EP on repeat
on my way to a job that I love.
I plan out the most perfect Halloween costume
for me and my friends
when it’s only June.
I wear that big ugly brown sweater.
I get a genie lamp tattoo.
I cope by standing with Ben
in the freezing ocean in September.
I go see my favorite band
and I pretend they played every song
they’ve ever made.
I text Chris to pray for me
when I’m too discouraged
to do it myself.
I believe God still wants to hear from me
even if it’s through somebody else.
I help Brielle move into her new apartment.
She places my first book onto her shelf.
I cope by buying a pineapple - shaped phone case,
then a cactus,
then Baxmax, Totoro,
a chocolate bar,
officer Judy Hopps
and Stitch.
I stand on top of a waterfall.
Tina and I send each other the same lyrics,
back and forth,
back and forth;
I never grow tired of our song.
I cope by celebrating my birthday
the entire month of February.
I wear a tiara and everything.
I know that’s a lot
but if I’m being honest
and I’m always trying to be honest
I don’t always feel like celebrating life.
I think it’s important to stretch the party out when I do.
I cope by cutting all my hair off
at 1 in the morning.
I never regret it.
I cope by begging my best friends
to take pictures in the photo booth with me
until they finally give in.
I am always watching for the sunset.
I drop everything
and live out of a car
with my friends for a week
just to hear their songs every night,
to push myself,
because I’m ready to be free.
I laugh loudly,
I laugh often.
I have a worn-out library card
and a favorite spot at the beach.
I keep Kate on speed dial.
I cry big, ugly, fat tears
over those YouTube videos
of kids finding out they’re going to Disneyworld.
I cope by checking in on Ciera.
I know that things are tough for her lately.
I find comfort in comforting.
I cope with visualizing
and counting
and breathing techniques
and telling the truth.
I cope with extra sleep.
Yes, Netflix I’m still watching.
I make all the women in my life
handmade valentines
for Galentine’s Day.
I wear a lot of yellow,
like school bus,
SpongeBob,
lemon, yellow.
I also wear a lot of floral print
that probably resembles your grandma’s couch
because I think it makes me look like sunshine
and a flower garden
and that really makes me smile.
I sing that baby shark song to my students.
I hold them extra tight.
I cope so much better now than I used to.
I was mostly just surviving back then.
I won’t spend much time
explaining my alternatives,
my worst-case scenarios.
Sometimes I still fall back on them.
They look like self-injury,
not always in the ways you’re used to seeing it.
Sometimes it’s just violent words
thrown at the person
who is the most gentle with me.
The shrapnel slices through my body too.
It’s skipping my pills
saying, “What’s the point if they’re not curing me?”
It’s refusing to be vulnerable with anybody.
It’s isolating myself.
It’s holding on to a mantra that just repeats,
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
And yeah, sometimes it cutting;
sometimes it gets physical,
but there are so many more ways to harm yourself.
I’ve learned that the hard way,
though lately, I’ve been finding better ways
to wash the pain down.
I chew it up
and swallow it.
The taste is bittersweet.
I am proud of myself
for keeping it down
but I wish it had never crawled in
through my bared front teeth
in the first place.
But I am coping.
I am dealing with it.
I am healing from it
the best I know how.
I cope by putting 8 post-it notes on the wall
I wake up facing every morning.
They say, “You will not always feel this way,
give it more time,
you never would have thought
you would make it this far,
depression is not terminal,
you have so much left to say,
you are still needed here,
keep going,
Janelle, you are loved.”