Member-only story
Oliver Queen, the Green/Arrow, saved my life.
(Warning: this post discusses Depression and low self-esteem/self-worth, as well as referencing suicidal thoughts and feelings.)
Oliver Queen, you have saved this girl’s life.
People who’ve read a lot of my internet-ness before will be aware that I credit a lot of things for saving my life — from fanfiction to meds, from blogging to Fall Out Boy. With what feels like millions of other things in between.
I mean all of it. Completely.
When Depression sinks it’s teeth in so deep that you think you are the worst creature to ever draw breath — that, in fact, you’re probably hogging oxygen from someone who deserves to breathe it more — you need more than just one thing to rescue you.
One of these days, I’ll have to list all of the things that’ve kept me on this earth. That have allowed, and keep allowing, me to survive.
Of all the things on that list though, some would be underlined, with little hearts around them.
The TV series Arrow is one of those things. Oliver Queen is one of those things.
Every time I tried to write this post before its present version, I had to stop. Because it never seemed to really, truly, explain what I wanted it to explain. It never seemed right.
The only time I even came close to starting to say what I wanted to say, my computer died and took the file along with it. No backup.
Which kind of felt like a sign — maybe I wasn’t ready to write it then. Maybe whoever out there who needs to read it wasn’t ready, yet. Maybe I’ve inherited too much hippie-thinking from my parents.
