Second. Seconds. Always.

"The day after Neil killed himself, you went to his desk, opened the official DPS book, and wept.

That's how it'll be for me today.

But I get it. I really do. And that's why today will be tough

-August 12, 2014. 7:37 am"

Yesterday, first thing in the morning, I found out that Robin Williams died of an apparent suicide.

For the rest of the day, I saw posts remembering and celebrating his work, his person. I spent most of the day either crying or stopping myself from crying. I couldn't believe that my beloved Mr. Keating had died the way Neil did. It might sound trite, but the first time I watched Dead Poets Society was the first time I fell in love with teaching. (And with Ethan Hawke. But that's a story for another time.) And then for quite a while, I used that same movie to teach poetry to my students. Every year. So, yeah. That movie meant something to me. He meant something to me.

I also saw numerous posts about depression, addiction, and suicide. I read an interview years ago where he mentioned that he had been battling with depression, too. So I have known about his struggles for a while now, but his suicide was no less shocking.

And everything just got too real. Everything hit a little too close to home. The past month...epic. Too close to home.

I struggled to get through the day. I managed to pretend long enough so that the kids wouldn't notice, but it was such a difficult, difficult day.

And then on my way home from work, I got mugged at knifepoint. Because, sure, why not?

I got off the LRT and started walking my usual route along EDSA (a walk that takes me from Taft to Roxas Boulevard where it's easier to get a jeep—yes, I do this every single damn day). Since there were so many people walking around me, I thought it would be safe to transfer my backpack behind me as my back was starting to ache. I suppose I wasn't walking as quickly as usual or whatever, but I suddenly felt a presence behind me. Just as I was about to turn around, I felt something sharp on my right hip. "Wag ka na lang lumingon para di ka na masaktan." ("Don't turn around so that you won't get hurt.")

I froze and in seconds, he was gone. Or rather, the knife was gone. He was just a knife to me, dreadful synecdoche. A cab passed by in front of me and I hailed it and got in. I checked my bag and realized my phone was gone. Perhaps my phone was the only thing he managed to grab in the few seconds he had me paralyzed. I think that's the only thing he took. I haven't really assessed the damage. I can't even look at my bag right now.

So, let's look at the last few weeks, shall we?

• My spouse has left, marriage is over. (Again, and for now, I'd like to keep it that way. There, there. It is what it is.)
• I got charcoal pumped into me. (Because, yes, again...I know.)
• Robin Williams has died. (I still can't quite explain why I feel this a little too keenly...or maybe I can and I just won't.)
• I was mugged yesterday. (Still surreal.)

But.

It's my 2nd Other Birthday today. And today I celebrate the fact that I did not die. Not two years ago, not a month ago, not yesterday.

I did not die. I lived.

I think, I need to change several things in my life right now (y'think?) and I will.

Tomorrow. I'll start tomorrow.

Today, I am afraid and wary of humanity. Too many. Too noisy. Too dirty. Too...there.

Today, I shall lie in bed. And read yet another article on Robin Williams. On depression. On suicide.

Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll continue making airplanes out of old photographs with my daughter. (Hey, that's one way of getting rid of those damn pictures. And it was her idea. Burning photographs, so high school.)

Whatever. Sorry, I'm not making sense. I made it this far into this blog post, right?

Some guy had me at knifepoint for a few seconds. Big deal. (Actually, yes, big deal.) Now to get to these demons with their whispers. They never leave.

Today, I say to them, "I lived. I'm alive."

Happy 2nd Other Birthday to me.