This morning I woke up to my mom handing me my broken remnant of a bracelet.
Maybe it’s time to let go.
It’s a bracelet made of threads and stings. To be honest, I knew this day would come. But I didn’t want it to come. I’ve been convinced that the moment one of the two bracelets I wear on my wrist came off on their own that it would be a sign. A sign for what though?
I suppose one could call this a friendship bracelet. You learn how to make these at summer camp at the craft tables. This is what I assume from tv and movies. The only summer camp I’ve been to was a science day camp and I can tell you we didn’t make bracelets. No, I learned to make these somewhere else. And I learned how to make these at age 20 not 12.
I’ve been wearing these two bracelets since November 2012. I learned how to make them on the second floor of Chicago Lakeshore Hospital. A mental hospital. A psychiatric institute. A crazy house. But that is a different story. A girl who’s name I can’t remember taught me how to make these in-between group sessions. When she was discharged and left behind a package of these colored strings I found solace in them. I made bracelets. I made and made and made bracelets. I gave them to the people in group. I gave them to the nurses. And then I made two pairs of matching ones. One for each of my best friends. The ones I had probably hurt the most. I don’t know what they did with their bracelets but since I put them on, they have not come off.
They weren’t friendship bracelets anymore, but a reminder. A reminder of where I was, why I was. A plea to never find myself locked away again. A bargain to grasp onto life.
Approximately six months later a bracelet has finally fallen away. Am I losing hope again? Or is it really a sign that maybe I need to move on? The thing is, I don’t think I will ever be ready to “move on”. You can’t move on from mental health issues. Mine are here to stay.
Then again, the bracelet was already hanging on by a thread. Maybe I’m just reading into it.
Goodnight, Dear Void 