I Have Decided Not to Die (Ted A. Richard

I Have Decided Not to Die (Ted A. Richard - Church Point, LA)

In Dustin Gaspard’s song, “Just a Little”, he asks, “Am I living longer or just dying slower?” There have been many times in my life that I’ve pondered the same thing. I had spent the past twenty-seven years trying to recreate my first fifteen seconds of fame by devoting my second attempt at success in life to making my next fifteen seconds of fame mean something different; I succeeded each time, but different didn’t necessarily mean good.

Beginning the journey of my second life was also the beginning of my downfall into the abyss of alcoholism and substance abuse. I saw my life spiraling out of control but refused to do anything to make the rest of my life any better; I was dying anyway, so it really didn’t matter.

I remember seeing a movie called “The Help”, which began to change the trajectory of my life in only my second year of sobriety. There is a line near the end of the movie where Allison Janney’s character, Charlotte, tells her daughter, Skeeter (played by Emma Stone), that, “I have decided not to die”. Those six little words helped to shape what would become the rest of my life; once I decided that I was no longer dying, I actually began living. Once I became sober, I was able to more clearly see the path that had been laid out before me; I decided to not let the mistakes of my past determine my future. Sure, I took many forks and detours that prolonged my trail, but the destination remained the same; I was now living in my own fabulousness.

I decided to refuse to let the rest of my life become a punchline to a homophobic or racist joke. By actually owning to all of the things I had done, hurting both myself and others in the process, I had learned that my life and my story of recovery and survival could somehow help someone else to see that there is a better life on the other side of addiction, and that the reward is well worth the fight.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

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