My Last Meal Ever

I don't know when I'm going to die, guys. It could be in a prison, it could be in a hospital... it could be while hiding in an attic, after hearing the words, "Where are they hiding?"
Hey, man, we live in crazy times, you never know!

Anyway, point is, the possibilities are endless. What I do know is that I need one person to agree to make sure that I get to eat my chosen last meal. I don't care if my body is obliterated beyond recognition and this meal has to be pumped into my blood stream like a reverse liposuction procedure. This needs to happen, if you care at all. My request is short and simple, I just need some gluten slathered in MSG, then wrapped in cotton candy and dipped in melted peanut butter. Feed that to me and we are fair squared away, deal?

Who knows if gluten is really so awful or if MSG is really the cancer-causing enemy that it has become known as (P.S. it's not), but I know my last meal is going to be grotesque and satisfying. If you have qualms with my request, step away and don't come back. I don't need that kind of negativity in the last days of my hypothetical dying day(s). Days of hypothetical dying? Hypothetical days of dying....? You know what I mean.

While you're at it, fill my grave with lollipops. Like, just really go at it, spare no expense. Come on, I didn't request a fancy meal or a big hullabaloo, the least you can do is go out, buy 4,000 lollipops and blanket my dead body in them. Any flavour will do, I'll give you that. This is just in case there really in any chance of me coming back or not really being dead or what have you. Just to cover all our bases, make sure I have some lollipops, it's really not a big deal. No, of course I don't think there will be anything going on after I'm buried and dead, but what do I know? Wouldn't it be awful if atheists and agnostics were wrong all this time? Disappointing, to say the least.
What's so good about the after life? There is no potentially good outcome from one that I could think up. I mean, I get home sick if I leave New York City for over a week, I can't imagine what I'd do hanging out in Heav- well, somewhere else for eternity.

You worked hard and stressed all your life to create something for yourself and surround yourself with relatively decent people, then you're just pulled away from that and have to start over. Really, what are the chances that there is even an option in which everything is precisely as you want it all the time? What if you can't decide and you can't have both or you're stuck with both, and the two combined is awful? Sure I want cotton candy and peanut butter for my last meal, but do I want it forever and ever? Do I want to hang out with puppies and unicorns combined at the torso? No! Imagine the height difference; it would be horrifying!

I don't even want to imagine my loved ones in this after life situation. Are they happy to be there, away from me forever, while I suffer on Earth from lacking them in my life? Will they just forget about me or will they suffer for eternity, missing the people they loved? And that's just the positive spin on things, if all they get is purgatory or Hell? Well, no, thank you, sir and/or madame!

Where is the bright side in all of this? Now, the living life is no walk in the park, but there are bright points in it and you still know you're going to die after it all. If things are really bad, there's comfort in knowing that it won't last forever, but if you're already there? If you're dead and got the "end" and now you're just lingering about without a next step or any chance of "living like it's your last day".... M'kay, thanks, but no, thanks.

Let Them Be

If I am in your life, you chose me and let me in, and I am flattered. Nay, I am honoured. Thank you for allowing me into your life.

Sometimes, I also chose to have you in my life. Thank you for allowing me to have you in my life! Other times, I tolerate it. This may come through in subtle ways, if this is the case. If I politely and in a very submissive, passive manner allowed you to just kinda linger about in my world, occasionally meeting up and chatting, then that's great! But... never feel obligated to keep me in your life, as I certainly don't feel anyone is required to remain in my life (except my family. Sorry, guys). It may seem painful or uncomfortable, but just kick me out! Just say it or, heck, even disappear into oblivion. Trust me, this option sounds cruel, but it comes nowhere near as awful as being told how to act or that the personality I currently have is bad, wrong, or selfish.
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If you make a friend or an acquaintance and then expect them to be as attached, attentive, affectionate, and attuned to your needs as you are to theirs, you're fighting a losing battle. If they naturally are, congratulations! You just found a best friend!

If they aren't, go ahead and mention that you have needs, but don't shame, insult, or instruct them, unless they ask you to do so. Tell them that YOU like it when people contact you everyday or make plans every week. Don't tell someone that they are a problem or how they must act. That person is that person and you're entering into their world and their comforts.

Which is not to say there isn't room for growth and compromise, but if that person isn't fulfilling your needs, move on. If that person doesn't want to change or isn't satisfying you as a friend/significant other/etc., then rather than waiting around and asking them to change or getting outright mad at them for not being the person you thought they would or should be, just change your course.

If they insist on being your friend and ask to be in your life, yet continue to be someone with whom you are displeased, this is your opportunity to explain the problem and state your concerns. This is someone who wants to know how to change and wants to be the person you want. If they do not succeed, it is only reasonable for you to step away. If they ask you to change without your consent, then they are only there trying to harm you, your happiness, and your ego.

If you feel you are the one constantly making the effort, constantly being let down, constantly feeling deprived of affection and attention, then that person just isn't a good match for you. Let them go, don't drag them down. That person was him/herself before you entered his/her life. Maybe others have felt the same way you do and maybe you just have bigger expectations than others. Either way, there is no reason you two are required to be in one another's lives and continue to experience these negative feelings.

That person has every right to remain the person they always were, that person can resist your interaction, and that person can reject your efforts. You may take this personally, and it may be personal, but it may not be. It is your choice to make and it is your responsibility. Unless the person says something outright insulting, there is never any reason anyone should change personality traits for your sake, unless this is desired by THEM. Have respect and take a hint.

Doing comedy without doing comedy

If you were not aware, one of my many, very impressive credentials is "CSg". That is, Comedy School graduate. Oh, yes! For a wittle bit, I was devoting hours of my life (for a year, to be precise) to writing skits and stand-up, doing improv, and acting.

Don't ask me how that started! Well, it's pretty simple, actually. I loved comedy, I hated college... obla di, obla da -- I was auditioning for comedy school in a hotel room in Manhattan. Oh, what? Are you judging me now? Thinking about my bad life choices, the waste of time, how I threw money out the window? Well, guess what? You're right.

Turns out, I am absolutely a riot without any training at all! I had the teacher and the whole class rolling on the floor on day one.

Improvisation? Not my thing. Skit-writing? Not so much. But stand-up and acting are kinda my jam. I was on and off the stage for a bit and, admittedly, my social anxiety eased up a whole bunch. Turns out, if you're willing to go on stage an admit that you are a gerontophile who writes suicide notes for fun, you can do or say anything in any inappropriate setting. Unless, of course, that audience includes people in power, peers, or my family. Minor caveat.

After that year of debauchery and shenanigans, I continued in the stand-up circuit for a bit. An open-mic or bringer show here and there. Eventually, it pretty much stopped. To be honest, the reason it stopped was because of other comedians. You know, it's sad how many things I've had to stop because people can't act like decent human beings. In this case, there were issues with misogyny and vindictiveness and to be frank, excess use of substances in order to make life tolerable. All things with which I wanted no part. Maybe things are different now. 7 years later, in a world of #MeToo, consequences for one's actions, and vaping... but let's be honest, just because the commercial world "doesn't tolerate poor behaviour", it doesn't mean the mindset has changed. Is anyone convinced that the moment the media acknowledged that treating women like garbage and overdosing on Xanax isn't cool, the people who were committing these crimes all had simultaneous epiphanies and decided to get help and reform? mmmkkayy.....

This isn't why I quit comedy, though.

I didn't quit comedy, actually. My stage has simply changed. Honestly, scripted comedy was becoming boring. The moment something becomes uninteresting or stops being fun, there's little reason to stick around. If a writer can convince me that his/her material is at least somewhat unscripted, that person has my attention. Most of my jokes are off-the-cuff, sometimes really bad, sometimes embarrassing, and always meant with the best intentions. They often come to me when I am working with mental health clients. I also try to help those people to express themselves with humour. We allow it and work with it.

The most entertaining jokes aren't planned. They're sloppy and raw, and sometimes they reveal more than you intended. Now, that's comedy. The written stuff can be just as good and appear just as situational, but sitting down and stressing myself to write something that could just as easily have been accomplished in the moment and just as comical no longer seems worthwhile. Is it because I'm getting old and lazy? Probably not, I was born old and lazy. More likely because, as I worked with said mental health clients, I realized how their jokes came with ease. The room would fill with unfiltered commentary and would burst with laughter. Real, genuine, unexpected laughter that felt so, so good. The kind of jokes that kept you laughing even hours after you thought you were done laughing. The jokes that you think about weeks later and feel like a fool when you can't contain your smirk. I've never had that experience with written jokes because those are part of a formula, a package deal. If you don't remember the wording and timing and the moment,  it doesn't really work.

Stand-up comedy is still one of the best art forms, in my opinion. Unquestionably, it's a necessary art that the mental health world should keep an eye on and utilize in the field. However, do I want to be on stage, fighting for laughter and cowering from hecklers, quiet rooms, and cringe-worthy moments from myself and other desperate comedians? Ya know, when the comedian is so attention hungry that he/she is willing to say harmful or ugly things for a laugh? Gross. I'm over it. Maybe I'm even better than it? Comedy just needs a reset button or a new place in the world. It needs to go to its bedroom and think about what its done and what it can do.
Let's make comedy great again.

Turning the Boat Around

Label mood swings as you will and diagnose people willy-nilly, but all I know is that I am in a very different place, mentally and I am a very different person than I was 3 or 4 months ago. It was a long haul and getting through each day felt nearly impossible, but sticking it out was worth it. Of course, if I had died, I wouldn't have had to put up with it and I wouldn't have known, felt, seen, or dealt with any of it, but... for whatever reason, I pushed through it and it paid off! Fully aware that I can only speak for the past couple days and today, I do not know what tomorrow or the next day brings. This is what they mean by taking it one day at a time. Living in fear of those feelings (or lack thereof) returning is not a good use of time. It doesn't change anything, fix anything, or prevent anything, unless action is taken. Even then, there's no predicting when a state of mania will be subdued with angst and melancholy, but until that happens, it's all groovy. Not to mention, if you are capable of thinking that far ahead, then you am optimistic enough to think you will even get to that point! In which case, that's not too bad. If you don't think you'll make it that far, then, what are you even worried about?

Suicidal ideation is like any addiction, in that one is never cured. There is treatment and temporary relief sometimes, there is recovery and staying on the "will to live" wagon. However, those thoughts will always return throughout life.

If only there were some cure-all, some AA meeting for this addiction. Sure, there's therapy and even group therapy, but that treats in a very specific manner, it's treatment for a very specific depressive diagnosis. Imagine you entered the basement of a church or a hospital and found a picnic table covered in a white cloth. There's a pot of coffee and hot water, donuts and cookies, people standing around waiting for the event to begin. As it does, everyone sits down and prepares to be as open and raw as they've ever been. One by one, each member stands up, as they feel so inclined, and they share, "Hello. I am addicted to self-harm and suicidal attempts."
"I am addicted to indirect self-destructive behaviour." "I am afraid to be alone right now."
There are so many variations of semantics and syntax, but this room would be filled with people who either know their risks or have yet to make sense of them. They would have sponsors and alongside any psychiatric and psychological support from people with MDs and PhDs, they'd have alternative option from peers, therapists and counselors, friends, people who were and are on the same path... whoever was able to show up and speak up, they could and would have a place to go.

We need to begin a movement that deals with self-harm and suicide as a main attraction, not a symptom, side effect, or after thought. Because there are very few people who have never thought about giving themselves the ol' heave-ho. Whether you're diagnosed with something physical or mental or you're fit as a ferret or medicated up the wazoo, you're not safe. No one is safe from the consequences of existential awareness and presence and what pain it brings. How far it goes is where the influences, traumas, and precautions come into play. Children can contemplate suicide without even knowing that death is an end to a force, not knowing that you don't get 4 lives or that a magical kiss won't awaken you. Suicidal ideation and self-destructive habits can arise anytime at all without being provoked and without warning. Because of this, it isn't always possible to label who is at risk! We can't have every person who may harm themselves on a regimen or in a program, it's simply impossible. What we do need is a place that people can drop in impromptu and unplanned, just wander in and find relief from the obsessive thoughts, the painful thoughts, and mind control that plagues the good, bad, and ugly.

Plus, these resources have to be focused on those who cannot afford regular treatment. Not everyone can go to a private analyst and psychiatrist and get insurance and pay for prescriptions. Even those who can may not be able to attend and follow through because of physical or mental restrictions. There are so many variables that come into play and may keep someone from seeking help and being helped. If society focused on these people and found ways to help them, who knows what good could come of it. Less mass shootings? Less suicide? Fewer children and adolescents and grown adults who must suffer on a daily basis? The sky isn't the limit, there are no limits to what changes and reform can be made once the individuals are integrated and focused on and given a chance. People who are in recovery can finally be given a platform and a voice which could lead to the confidence to step up, maybe on a local level or a political stance. Whatever it may be, it's a path to aim toward and anything in that direction is progress. As of now, all we have is the bare minimum and that won't cut it. It's time for people in need to have their place, their time, and the people behind each of them to get where they need to be. The mentally ill, the hurt and "damaged" are a large majority of the population, it's time to treat them as such.

So, your kid's not a genius!

So, your kid's not a genius:

What to do if your offspring isn't the sharpest tool at the Juggalo Fest

I'll start by saying that I have never taken any sort of IQ or aptitude test. Heck, I could probably count the number of times I've taken an eye exam in my life on one hand. However, I have met many people who tell me that their pediatrician told them they were geniuses when they were just 2 days old. Then, they grow up and claim their kid's a genius right outta the belly bag (scientific terminology). A few people agree and, bada bing flada floom, next thing you know, kid's on the shoulders of a man in a funny hat, wearing Alice Cooper makeup, and does not look amused at all.

 

It's hard to challenge someone who claims their little cherub monster is special and does magical things. It's like those images that move if you turn your head, step back, and squint. Okay, so, they're a genius. You and your kid are geniuses. Actually, no! Right... you were a genius, until you realized that your 4-year-old is smarter than you. Thus, he/she is the genius and you renounce your ingeniousness. Something like that.

I've know many of these people. The question is, do they all have anything in common? Any traits or habits that may be the secret to great success? Yes. Oh, yes. They all seemed really stupid.

Obviously, when it came to their *specialty*, their jargon and BS-ery was on-point, but ask a history buff to grab a box of tea on the way home or hand a mathematician a wrench and you may not get very far. These are an entirely different skill set, though, why would I expect someone to excel at skills that require talents in a whole different portion of the brain? I don't. But, completely lacking basic life or social skills or common sense just doesn't feel all that genius to me.

One day, you'll be out for sushi with your one-trick pony and as the chopsticks are placed on the table, you'll look at each other and realize that this is not the life you had in mind. Sure, at the stable he could prance and gallop like a Pegasus floating on a cloud, and that's wonderful. However, at WuShun WuShuf Sushi Palace, those talents are meaningless.

At the end of the day, a parent wants to see their child be "the best" and succeed. They don't want to see their spawn struggle or fail, for a multitude of reasons. You could just tell them to suck it up and get over it or that there are worse things than a kid who isn't SPECIAL, but that only goes so far. Having a dumb, mediocre, average kid is not what you imagined after 9 months of morning sickness, oopsie poopsies (another medical term) and various other challenges of childbirth. You expected a thing just as perfect as you.

 
Guess what? That kid is absolutely perfect. No matter how much stress, exhaustion, frustration they put you through, despite all the trials and tribulations you must face for the sake of the creature you created, that beast demon is perfect for what and who they are. The world may never recognize it or celebrate it, but the world is hella dumb. Most people who are celebrated on a mass scale are horrible, awful, manipulative creatures who only focus on their own peace and comfort. As satisfying as it is to be told that you or your child are akin to Einstein or Mozart or Ms. Frizzle, this is seldom a true compliment.

Example time! Today I heard a college tour guide ask a group of teens, "Anyone planning on being Columbus in college and studying abroad?"
She said this with a large smile and great enthusiasm. When no one raised their hand, her smile turned upside-down and she looked disappointed in the group. My thought was, "That's like asking a group of Boy Scouts, "Hey, anyone planning on being Robert Mugabe in college and studying leadership?"
Sure, the man knew how to walk into a party and own it, but when the party's over, you gotsta go!

Einstein... had strict rules for his wife, Maric. The rules included: ‘she had to stop talking when Einstein asked her to’, ‘she had to serve him three meals a day’, and ‘she could not expect any physical intimacy from him’.
Einstein... the guy who married his cousin after separating from Maric, and still continued to have extramarital affairs.
Mozart... who loudly and publicly sang to the woman who rejected him the words, "Leck mir das Mensch im Arsch, das mich nicht will" (The one who doesn't want me can lick my ass)."
Mozart... a man known for his love of scatalogical humor. In case you don't know what that is, it's jokes about "defecation, urination, and flatulence, and to a lesser extent vomiting and other body functions." 
Aside from putting children in precarious situations and frizzy hair, Ms. Frizzle was perfect, but there are always exceptions.

The point is, any disappointment in your child will lead to a deep, secret, sometimes extremely unconscious resentment, a feeling your child will pick up on, no matter what you use to cover it up. This could lead to a downward spiral, a strained relationship, or self-esteem problems that seemingly arose from "nowhere". These expectations and high standards that do not exist or mean anything will control the life he/she leads. Meanwhile, it's all just a power game, a lie people are told and tell in order to feel like they have things in order, when, really, it's all just chaos. No matter how many facts, stats, books, or deep thoughts someone can list off, underneath it all, there is fear, insecurity, and great potential for failure.

Embrace those mistakes, that room for improvement! Be the parent who swoops in and recognizes the challenges, and is on the child's team, rooting for them, helping them, lifting them up, and guiding them. From the moment that kid is born until you're on a straw rocking chair with a catheter, that kid is yours and it is your job to stick with them through hell or high water, to offer solutions or consolation or a bowl of ice cream after a rough time. There's no walking away from that responsibility, no matter where or who your child turns into as they mature. Your one job is to be with them for the journey, even when you just don't want to do it.

The problem is not that your child is not perfect, the problem is that most parents fail to recognize the perfection. They can't be bothered to celebrate it and help polish the scuffs when things get hazy. Parenthood is a messy job without any rhyme or reason. This is why a willingness to learn from others, listen to and respect your children, and be better at parenting as whole, is the only way to move forward and make the best of it. Whether adopted, implanted, accidental, or scheduled, there is no better or worse, there is only an opportunity to positively impact humanity.

Children are not for amusement

As long as there is money and fame to be made from the internet, there will be child stars. Those children will grow up dysfunctional, particularly the ones on movie sets. These kids will experience a life differently than other kids. A life of recognition, attention, and "love". All of which sound like positive things, until fame eludes them or leads them down a dark path.

There is no false stigma or stereotype to celebrities. The fact is, when you're a known and beloved face, people want to be the ones to provide you with your drugs, sex, and alcohol, just to get in with your posse. This means excessive drugs, sex, and alcohol. Not necessarily an enemy when done in moderation, but since when has fame and moderation gone together? Say that fame doesn't stick; the child who was once fawned over and seen as perfect is not so perfect anymore. Maybe even a disappointment? No matter how much someone claims to love their child, there is bound to be disappointment or letdown if fame and money don't last forever. Even a child who becomes otherwise successful or average, this won't be quite the same. The kid will notice how much less attention they are getting.

Next problem, keeping up appearances. For the family to appear perfect, for the individual to appear perfect. This person is always ON and representing what is good and right and best. Their time and interests being swayed by sponsored products and having to always look put-together, thin, without acne or inappropriate hairs or messy hair or saying or doing anything that can be misunderstood or overly understood. Lack of privacy, late nights, early mornings, the online comments, the sexism, discrimination, the judgment of every life choice. Nothing is sacred.

While there is an ever-growing awareness and attention on these young people, there is never enough that can be done. There is an inherent trauma to fame.

Heck, let's say we're in a perfect world. Maybe 10 years down the line, maybe cruelty and harassment and expectations of famous people has changed. Maybe the kid's self-esteem can tolerate falling down the ladder of fame or they eventually duck out of the business. What kind of parent feels so empty and meaningless that they need their child to be someone worthy of note? Think about it. You had a kid, your body produced another human being and what do you do with this superpower? You throw that kid on a screen and use him/her as a tool for likes and comments and gushing. Which is one thing when it comes to family and friends, but it's another thing when everyone and their mother decides everyone needs to know their kid is beautiful and funny and "gifted". Apparently, every child that was born after 2000 is gifted. What a miracle.

Not only do I really not care and want to hear about it, but it makes that parent or those parents look really sad, stupid, and desperate (to me!) Maybe other people who eat up social media like a can of soup love getting involved with every adult and child's life and hearing about the adventures and misadventures of the ScoopPoopopalous family (they're Greek), but I think a child, a baby, a kid needs to have a life with their close family and a relationship before everyone starts freaking out about capturing everything on camera for an audience.

Maybe it's become even more obvious after I gave social media a try for a year. Between Instagram and Twitter and Facebook and Insta Twitface, I realized that it was exposing my life and me to people who have no right to see into my life. My privacy was cut off and I was being presented to the world like a desperate salesman begging to be chosen and loved. The only approval I seek is that of my loved ones, people I choose to be in my life and to whom I must show my best, my worst, my love, and hurt. Much like my other private parts, these are parts that I do not need or want to show to just anyone I meet. I respect myself and care about myself, so my private parts of all kinds remain hidden away and protected. It is nothing less than cruelty and mistreatment to put a child on display or to use them as a parent's product. If the internet pays you for your child's face, body, or opinions or even just seeks the approval of others, you've already done something unfair to your child, whether the kid "understands and likes it" or not, that kid is now in internet history and cannot escape it. Think about that before you post his/her face on social media or on a stage. Remember the long and short-term implications and what it says about you. Is that the parent you want to be and is that who you want your kid to be?

How to Open Up

Privacy is a rare commodity these days... they tell me. As far as I can tell, if you just stop telling everyone about yourself, your privacy remains private. I know this to be true because I did it for a long time.

For many years, I didn't tell anyone much about myself. Small talk was never something that seemed enjoyable and random fact-sharing was of no interest. Thus, I was labeled "mysterious" or "an enigma". The truth is and was, I found saying "I" or "Me" to be uncomfortable. You know what was even more uncomfortable than that, though? Being called out for being private.

This is why in the past few years I've been trying to catch up with the rest of society and my peers. Not that it's easy to collect years and years of pop culture references and it's certainly not wise to change oneself entirely. The plan was never to turn into an entirely different and self-obsessed person, nor do I wish to do so. However, getting into social media and talking about myself and my past isn't really the worst thing in the world. There are still details about myself that I avoid sharing and sometimes fun facts go unmentioned, but these are baby steps.

The thing is, not everything has to be about oneself, but not everything has to be completely alone, either. There's an in-between space where a person can share and not overshare, socialize but not go wild, and interact with the world without being a total sell-out version of the person they actually are.

Aside from social media, with which some people become obsessed or their privacy is completely taken away, there are other methods of being involved in the world. A lot of feelings and experiences are shared through music, for example. Art, photography, acts of kindness or cruelty, and everything else a person does expresses something about the individual; some more obvious than others. Not everyone can read body language and subtle hints, though. It all depends how much you are ready to share.

If you just want to jump into the pool and make a splash, try something like blogging or vlogging! Of course, these are just more ways of editing and controlling what you're sharing and how others will see you, but it's a start. Eventually, you may feel comfortable unedited and unfiltered. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for this, but it sounds like a great goal!

Just try to remember, being a quiet or private person occurs for a reason. Not necessarily "survival", per se, but it serves a purpose. Your upbringing and past experiences have given you an armour for various reasons, so there's no shame in making use of your protection. You're not a bad person for it, but because you're not a bad person, people should have the chance to get to know you! Despite lack of confidence or self-doubt, fear of rejection or criticism... it can be very liberating to feel vulnerable and at-risk. After all, all things must come to an end, including that shame. In 80 years, what will it matter? As for today, you're not likely to leave such a great impression on others that they cling to your embarrassing moment. It's probably just you. Silly you!

Obsessive anxiety and fear of judgment will leave you lacking. Imagine you can do no wrong. What would happen if you stepped up to bat and acted like that outspoken extrovert you envy? Would people be shocked or horrified or proud of you? Would they notice at all? Maybe you fear being ignored and forgotten despite trying to speak up.... In all fairness, there is a lot about which you can worry. There's also a lot of good that can come from it. New relationships, new opportunities, a smile or laugh, a great experience... the things that happen when you take chances and switch things up.

Often, we feel discomfort in colouring outside the lines. Being someone other than we are expected to be. As if someone drew a map of who you are and if you place a toe outside your designated quarters, you can't predict what will happen next. Will they focus on you for too long? Not long enough? Will something tragic occur? ...maybe something wonderful? Sure sounds like a lot more fun and adventure than just remaining the same.

Blushing, panic, sweating, racing heart, trouble breathing or swallowing, stuttering... the list goes on. All these physical manifestations of the racing thoughts of terror in your mind. Then, what- death? Unlikely. Maybe you'd rather be dead than face those consequences or whatever could come next. It's that unknown abyss of what happens after life or total embarrassment.

The witnesses will have two options: they can become/remain your friend or they can walk away. In the end, however, you were authentic. You released a true self; a secret; a locked away version of yourself who is going to get more and more resentful the more you ignore it. Act on it.
In any way you can, any chance you get. Share, tell, give in, try things. What that entails can be as big or small as you wish, but at least it's movement. Standing still has never accomplished anything.


UPDATE: It's funny how the mind works. After writing this piece, I felt an odd sense of unrest. I felt dirty and shameful, maybe even overly-vulnerable. It occurred to me just how much one exposes themselves through actions and words online. I tried to ignore it and recognize that it was my anxiety eating away at me. However, last night (aka this morning) around 3 AM, I had an obsessive thought in my mind. I felt a compulsion to delete all social media. Not Facebook, as I store my photos there, but Twitter, YouTube, Instagram.... Even though I used them for educational/career-focused goals, I felt exploited, by my own hand and the addictive media qualities. Unable to fight the urges, I went to my laptop and everything was deleted. Goodbye. No regrets so far. I don't miss the 2,000+ random people who served me no purpose. Their voyeuristic tendencies overwhelmed, angered, and bored me. What I saw of their minds and lives was not much better and I had no desire to know what they thought and felt... not if they weren't willing to share it with me in private. It was all meaningless data and I have no use for it. Or maybe, I just felt my privacy was being taken away and it was clearer upon writing about it. Fare thee well, social media!

Current Status

I am sitting here.
Waiting to live.
Or maybe,
waiting to die.

One has to happen,
or the other.

My mood is stable
My thinking is straight
I am optimistic
Hopeful
and dreaming.

But they tell me life is short
That it could end any moment
To live like today is my last.

Yet, here I sit.

How bizarre.

I was supposed to be....

I was supposed to be a travel writer,
But instead I tried to kill myself.
Shot down by fear, anxiety,
and the voices outside my head.
The plan was to go and never look back
Forget defeat and the 9-5.
All it took was one rebuttal
and I hid back in my shell

My dream was to travel for money
or to travel until money came;
To work and focus and see it all
and not give up when things got tough.
This proved to fail, just like me
I saw the flaws in my itinerary.
Just as I fell to the ground and shook,
but I have not given up.

The plan still remains just the same,
I know what I must do now.
All it will take is some deep breaths
and honesty to those whom I love.
They’ll doubt me, fear it, and condemn me,
Make me think I can’t make it on my own.
The good thing about dreaming big is,
there is no such thing as failure, only learning.

Safety and certainty aren’t what I seek
Stability and sanity were never meant for me.
Instead, I just need a world in which,
I can be whatever I believe I am.
Just when I spread my arms and fly,
I’ll see all of which I am capable.
So much more in the world awaits me,
and so I must take off.

Beyond Labels: Reviewing Diagnoses

There is a widespread misunderstanding when it comes to depression; what it is and what it is not. This is because people will often label others' conditions without understanding their condition nor the label. What madness is this?

It seems that, if anyone questions or doubts existence and how humans typically go about it, it is suggested that they are depressed. If someone isn't radiating "positive energy", smiles, and optimism, this is assumed to be depression. The general public has such a great fear of those who are not faking bliss and joy that they prefer to make these people into outcasts and rejects from society. An "exception".

Meanwhile, autism has a spectrum. A lot of good that does, but at least it acknowledges all the nuanced differences between those who have the disorder. It's a huge spectrum, nearly everyone is included. The entire category of "anxiety" is on the spectrum. It does not get much broader than that. For everyone else, it's either "high-functioning" or "low-functioning". This means, either you're doing a good enough job at living or you're considered a total mess. You had one job, to function as a human, and you're messing it up.

That's not fair and it's not accurate.

With most mental disorders or illnesses, they're seen as 'on' or 'off'. Forget episodes and degrees of illness, you're just depressed or anxious or bipolar, or you're not those things. We forget that being depressed doesn't mean you have it. Just like, if your father's great-uncle's mother was Native American, it doesn't mean that you're Native American. We all have a little something in us, a little  something weird, a little "off".  We're just very quick to box these people up and ship them off.

When I look at my own feelings, I feel I am more confused or perplexed by the world than I am depressed by it. Occasionally, this causes me to retard. I slow down and reflect. By my own experience, I can tell you, I don't feel down until someone points out that I seem down. Until then, I am just turning down my senses to avoid unnecessary distractions and I am zoning in on what I would like to improve upon in my life and in the world.

The usual and deemed offensive understanding of retardation is when someone is intellectually challenged. That seems like a complete misnomer to me. When we say someone is slow or retarded, we are assuming that the information we are giving them is of any import to them or their lives. We are deciding what they need. Aside from some source of nutrition and remembering to inhale and exhale occasionally, there are very few things we must do in order to survive. We tell others what they need simply out of the assumption that they need what we need, when that is hardly ever the case.

Think about it, our brains decide which tidbits of information are worth retaining. While we may not always deem retained information as important, for some reason or other, our brains decided it was something worth holding onto. For people who are incapable of memorizing or learning the same skills the rest of us learn, I think it's entirely possible that the information was simply not included in their must-have list. Sure, it makes things more challenging for the rest of us. We have trouble communicating with them or teaching them things. Sometimes their family members and friends have to work a lot harder to get them going, but all those practical things don't mean anything when it comes to nature. Nature doesn't take into account that others will expect that person to function the same way as they do. Nature doesn't have a blueprint and a list of goals. It simply gives and we receive. Yet, it is only "retardation" when it comes to mental development. We expect others to think and learn as we do, but when it comes to the body's functionality, we are much less demanding.

Society is nit-picky. Mental illness is deemed bad. If you're displeased with the body or orientation society has deemed appropriate for you, or the religion that is popular, this is all deemed bad.  However, we sympathize when someone has something like cancer or diabetes. We are rooting for them and will try to give them all the resources they need to order to feel better. We assume that the body's needs and functionality is more important than that of the mind. The body seems less intimidating for some reason, so it's easier to understand. Even when it presents the most challenging problems, at least we can relate to them, see them, go through them with the individual. These are easier issues to swallow, so we can face them. With such little understanding of the mind, it tends to go ignored and under-served.

One doesn't have to look too far to see how we are mistreating our species. We expect the most obnoxious and boring things from one another. There is so much humans could do, so much more fun we could have, so much more knowledge we could attain... if we stopped being so scared. We are literally a huge group of potential friends released on a planet with no rules or expectations. We have the choice to do everything or nothing or whatever we please. What do we do? Let's put on suits and sit at a desk all day! Let's write reports so we can receive more green paper with which we can buy a house to sit inside and watch television. Maybe twice a year we'll go somewhere different. But most of our lives will be spent on one tiny part of the Earth, hating the same things, regretting what we don't do, and yet, wanting more. This is what healthy and normal looks like.

Everyday, people are labeled as depressed because they're not okay with this; they are not willing to accept these expectations. To want MORE and do MORE sounds more functional to me. We don't have the option to change the entire world's view on these issues, we only can change how we live our own lives, with whom we surround ourselves, and the everyday choices we make.

I Can't Even Christmas.

Hello, there! Just your local Jew here! Sitting in my pajamas on Christmas Day, being a curmudgeon about this silly holiday. Come on, even Chanukah, one of the least important Jewish holidays has a better story than Christmas. The Christians can market a holiday, but if the Jews can't come up with one impressive story....

I talk big about hating Christmas, it kinda becomes my shtick this time of year. But, honestly? I don't hate Christmas! Everyone seems extra happy and positive and kind. Imagine if we could have that all year long? We wouldn't make it a month, but it's a nice thought.

The problem with this time of year is the countless greetings of, "Merry Christmas!" I'm one those horrible people who prefers nice, politically correct snowflakes to Christmas trees and Jesus staring at me everywhere I go. I have no qualms with Jesus, I imagine he'd be pretty cool and pro-Israel. Albeit, a commie with a huge ego, but we could chill. The problem is seeing his empty eyes as he Jew-shames me from the comfort of his little cross. Then, there's also people like the one I overheard at the mall the other day yelling, "Like the Jews from Christ, your friend is GONE!" 
What the heck, lady? We don't need that kind of slander and propaganda making rounds again. 

To recap, Christmas is great, Jesus is cool, and everyone loves the holiday lights. The problem is, I don't celebrate Christmas! Neither do other Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus, Atheists, Sikhs, Jains, and tons of other people. Of course, we don't expect you to know that, but we also don't need you to assume otherwise. Because we are SO over it. We are over being clumped into your religion and your holidays and your assumption that everyone lives the life you live. 

We get it, we're not like you. Our heritage and traditions aren't as big and bright and exciting as yours. We don't get you, you don't get us, that's okay. We're not as popular and we don't fit in quite as well. I mean, come on, you guys literally looked around nature, spotted the biggest, most space-consuming thing, brought it INTO YOUR HOME, and covered it in bright lights. You're the boss, the winner, good job!

When someone assumes I celebrate Christmas, I feel two things. First, I feel like that person is forcing themselves upon me. Not literally, obviously. It's just a feeling of being coerced into something without my consent, as though it's so important that every human being has to be involved. Meanwhile, my own interests and choices are meaningless to you. Maybe 5 people text me on Chanukah to wish me a good holiday. Meanwhile, everyone, their mother, and the pope text me on Christmas. Most of those people know I'm not Christian. This tells me that you know better and you just don't care. It's a complete disregard for a huge part of who I am. Is it spiteful merry wishes? Or do you think that if you make me feel included and welcome, I'll convert? What's the game plan here? Let me be clear, I will never choose an Italian sub over a bagel, I will never choose Coachella over a cousin's Bar Mitzvah, and I will always use my obnoxious "Jewish name" as an ice breaker. These are the things in which I firmly believe.

The second feeling is that of being identified incorrectly. Quite honestly, it's kind of racist/anti-Semitic. I mean, if you're Japanese and someone assumes you're Chinese or you're Bangladeshi and someone calls you Indian, that's not acceptable, right? This is the same situation. I'm proud of my heritage, even if I don't believe in its religious aspects. I believe in my traditions, I respect my ancestors, and I love my culture.

It's disrespectful, ignorant, and insensitive. I am not Christian, and there have always been people making me feel lesser for that. There's a lot of hatred out there, many people trying to end diversity! When someone assumes we ALL celebrate Christmas, all I see is someone who expects me to be just like them and assimilate. Do you know I couldn't find a single dreidel for sale this year? Wait, that's not true. I saw a SANTA CLAUSE DREIDEL! 

Sorry, friend, I'm a Jew. This Christmas, I'm gonna Jew so hard. Matter of fact, I'm gonna chat with Buddha, Mohammed, Vishnu... heck, I'll bring in some Greek Gods, I don't care! All of us are going to be here and we aren't going to celebrate Christmas. No trees, no jingle bells, and no freaking reindeer! How do you stake claim on an entire species of animal!? 

This is not a war on Christmas, this is a plea. Until the day when my Google Calendar tells me when EVERY holiday is, and not just Christmas and Easter, I will still hold a grudge. When people stop asking me about the "Jewish language", then I'll be more sympathetic. If a time comes when Bible-thumpers stop going around trying convert or kill everyone, maybe I'll hear you guys out.

Keep singing and being merry, but I want nothing to do with your glazed ham, and don't even mention a Chanukah bush! Unless it's an olive tree and it's going to light my Hanukia, I don't want it.

The Porpoise of a Purpose

Ugh. The age old question about meaning and purpose, it's so overdone and so futile to attempt an explanation. Life just is. I've accepted that, French cats have accepted that, why can't we all?

Well, maybe because it is a really difficult thing with which to come to terms. That was also a really difficult sentence to write, did I do it correctly? GRAMMAR!!

Let's think about this. The "purpose and meaning" issue, not the grammatical accuracy of my sentence. We are on Earth because of atoms and cells and sciencey-science and whatnot, yah? Yah. Now, why, or better yet, how would anything possibly give meaning to that? That would require thought, and thought requires a functioning brain, and that requires humans. Humans which are too small and insignificant to create anything... or, are we? We create more humans! And by doing so, we create an entire new universe upon which we assign meaning as it best fits our own needs and desires. This is why so many children grow up to do just what their parents do, with the same morals, ethics, politics, and priorities. Yes, "rebellion" may lead them astray, but in there, there is still a parental figure guiding them. As opposed to someone who doesn't have a parental figure or guardian offering them their wisdom and leadership, who then end up without a path, without a sense of purpose. A child without proper guidance is a dangerous thing. It must rely on instinct; survival.

****
I watched two videos of children being let loose in a house for a week and saw this in action.
I'm obsessed and fascinated. 
Boys: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCePbRdQmbE
Girls: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAfZqXqMGF0          
*****

Maybe it is not how you let your kids dress that determines their overall success and your parenting skills, but more so how well you give your child purpose. This may be the very reason parents stress about math class and dance class and hockey practice and "never giving up". Why fitting in and being normal are so imperative. These are things that help a child to adjust and settle into their individual worth, awareness, and presence. Without the stable and sturdy stepping stones and really good alliteration, children are led astray, on the wrong path, a confusing path, or no path at all. This may lead to failure to launch. After all, what sense does it make for a child to launch without any clue where they are headed? If absolutely necessary, said child will most likely go whichever way instinct leads the poor, confused kid.

This also reminds us that what we say to kids matters. When it comes to their goals and dreams, there's no benefit in telling them at what they're bad. Believe me, they have enough people doing that, especially themselves. Don't tell them what they are bad at, they'll figure it out. It's what they're good at- that's of what they need reminders. Mediocrity is only mediocre if you present it as such. Which is not to say you should coddle your kid, sugarcoat everything, and act like barely passing classes is good enough. Instead, let the difficult subjects counterbalance the good ones, even if it's just making paper airplanes. Who knows, maybe one day, they'll build metal ones or get really good at physics! Encouragement is key. Telling someone else that the thing about which they care and put work and thought into matters!

I believe that, at a very young age, children start searching for their place in the world. Once they recognize it, they can thrive in it or they can easily be discouraged. If you don't like their choices, don't worry that it will determine their entire future, but remember that you have a big influence. You have more power than you think, so let your kid share some of it.

If you are looking for your own purpose, stop searching for it. Whatever you're doing, whatever matters to you, whatever convinces you to get out of bed, get out of the hot shower, get out of your comfortable pajamas, and get out of the door- that's all you need. Whether it's your pets, your passion for coffee, your grumbling stomach, your fear of upsetting loved ones, or a job that means a lot to you, that is it. Like it, love it, or hate it- that's you. There's more to you, of course, and it will always be changing, but even when you don't feel and see it, it's there, happening. It's absolutely frackin' magic!

As the song goes (the song I wrote that no one knows) :



I’ve been leaning on these lies, praying heavily towards the skies
Making wishes overtime, looking all around for signs
Gotta make things happen, Aching wings are flapping
Make it over one more fence, don’t wanna fall from lack of strength
But I know I’ve gotta try and try   
Tell self-hatred and doubt, goodbye

What I Think vs. What I Know

Unfortunately, many of us tend to be a lot more critical of ourselves than we are of others. For example, if someone else does something embarrassing, most of us let it go and do our best to make them feel better about it, right? We don't obsess over it, think less of them, or treat them differently. However, if you, yourself make a mistake, whether it's large or small, you do ALL those things. To the point of extreme anger and disappointment, at times.

Due to this natural and unhealthy habit, we tend to hurt ourselves even more. For me, I'll either put myself in situations where I know I'll suffer and struggle, thereby confirming the negative things I've decided about myself or, I'll self-sabotage and end up in a self-fulfilling prophecy of things not working out. Once again, confirming all the things about which I was angry and disappointed. Not giving myself a chance and not giving myself any room to grow or improve. All that's left is self-doubt and fear. Before my boss or friend has the chance to tell me how awful I am, it's already been decided in my head, so I run for the hills. All the motivational quotes in the world about believing in yourself and not giving up won't change that.

The latest inspirational poster phrase is, "Be messy and complicated and afraid and show up anyways." First of all, can I get a comma? Second of all, this is just buying into the whole "adulting is hard", "I'm awkward", "being a hot mess is cool" thing. And, let's be real... no. The world doesn't need anymore of that. I don't want job ads telling me that I can wear a tank top to work and drink beer and play ping pong all day. Don't the "Under 40" people want any respect? Or, is that too old fashioned? As hard as it is to earn respect and do the work that typically earns the respect of others, I personally would appreciate a job and what I was doing within that job if people expected things of me; if the bar was raised a touch higher. Then again, I was that kid who liked the strict teachers. At least they taught me stuff and I respected them. Respecting someone and treating someone with respect are different things, by the way. I treat everyone respectfully and kindly, but that doesn't necessarily mean I look at just anyone and feel respect for them.

When I show up to work, I aim to be confident and prepared for my role. Thus, I am picky with my role. That may also be a mistake. Maybe survival ($$) comes first, then comes satisfaction with the position, but I never claimed to be so put-together. I'm figuring this thing out as I go along. Point being, those are my goals when going into a job. If I feel as though I am not completing my tasks as necessary and to my own best standards, then what makes me deserving of someone's time and money?

Now, if someone else were telling me these things about themselves, I'd tell them to put aside pride and all the tough guy talk and just get the job done. Believe in themselves and the process and "no one is perfect right away" and blaaahh blahhh... that's just how it works. Not because I don't think they are capable of achieving greatness, but there is nothing wrong with being average or learning as you go. There's no shame in failure or tripping up. It's a necessary part of the process. Still, I will be the first to admit that, it's SO HARD to face failure.

Mediocrity just seems so exhausting to me. Being as good as I need to be or should be is just not enough, it takes away the thrill and my control. If someone is superior or better at something, they have the opportunity to overpower me and make me feel inferior - I don't need more of that, thank you. I aim to be the best, whether there's recognition for it or not, I'll know it when it's happening. Just knowing that fact is all I seek in a job; that is fulfilling to me. The question is, if you never begin from the bottom, how will you ever reach the top? Well, world, that's my conundrum. That's what keeps me up at night. I do not know how to look beyond my needs being met instantly and see what I can accomplish given time and a period of vulnerability. Fear, fear, fear, it'll get ya. It always finds a way. Maybe us control freaks will eventually learn how to stop running away from our weaknesses, but until then, it may just start with self-kindness and forgiveness. Be gentle to yourselves, we're all sensitive, especially when you're your own worst enemy!

From the drunken side of life

Last night I went rooftop bar hopping with a friend. I just had dental surgery yesterday, so I couldn't eat or drink anything, but I wanted to dress up and go out... so I did.

It felt glamorous and exciting, as it's supposed to feel. This is why we go out, right? This is how these fancy schmancy places remain open! I also figured this was my chance to ask some "real" adults what it's like working the white-collar life. How they get by, why they get by, and what it will be like for me.

There weren't many mixed or varied responses. Most were brief and empty, involving the joys of alcohol making it all worthwhile. Many answers were just, "I don't know why or how, but I fell into it and just kept doing it."

Finally, one woman who was slightly less drunk, or perhaps more drunk, gave me a more detailed response. She told me, to paraphrase but not weaken her lengthy response, that we all start out starry-eyed. We come out of high school or college or postgraduate and we have this idea that we're going to be special. That something great will be thrust upon us because we did our time, we worked hard, we spent our parents money. Now we will make it worth their time and our time. We all plan to be millionaires.

Then, reality hits. But, that's okay! There's no shame in living the 9-5 life in a nice blouse for 'okay' money and not living our dreams. Because we're told that we need to pay the bills and we need to start somewhere. We're told that it will open doors and eventually lead us to what we really want. Because of this, our eyes and hearts remain starry, our passion and fiery drive pushes us forward through the tough times. The times we want to give up, we don't. The times we want to run away, we can't. Everyone has these moments, she tells me. Everyone feels downtrodden and useless and hopeless. Not always, but often. Life just does that, but we get through it because we have hope that it will turn around and be worth it. We each tell ourselves (and others reinforce the idea) that things will work out. If we just apply ourselves and push ourselves into the things we don't want to do, we will eventually be able to do all the things we do want to do. Everything happens eventually!

You're in your 20s with this attitude, then your 30s... then your 40s. Then, you find that you're in your 50s and you don't have time to think about being special or worry about being "more" or "better". You're just trying to maintain a lifestyle that's like everyone else's lifestyle. You're surviving. Around your mid-30s, you also discover that alcohol convinces you that it will be okay. She says to me, "You will notice that there are many bars in this area. This area where the cool, wealthy people work and live. I live over here and I've been to every bar. My expensive home doesn't make the job worth it, the alcohol does."

She told me that she drinks to get by, that her friends and bosses and co-workers all drink because there is no other way they would survive otherwise. Her first drink was at 32 years old. Her first well-paying job, her first meaningful relationship, her first look into the rest of her life, all after turning 30.

Today, she wishes she hadn't settled, she shares this information with the growing group of listeners. But she knows she can't turn back now. So, she'll work, smile, nod, then die. That's her plan. Her friends smile and nod. One man listening in smiles and nods. It felt like the room turned to smile and nod at this woman's life. To agree and acknowledge the same path they followed.

This is when I wondered if this is what lies ahead for me. I don't particularly enjoy drinking alcohol and I don't plan to work mindlessly and resentfully for the rest of my life, what other choices do I get? It's like they say, if everyone is always telling you the same thing and everyone agrees with that same thing, maybe they're right...?

Perhaps I won't smile and nod or drink and die. Maybe I'll grow to love the mundane life that everyone leads. It seems so odd to me, that with all the things happening in the world, how are so many people doing those things and still feeling empty inside? I suppose there's that whole existential reasoning thing that keeps us awake at night. That whole recognition that it's all without purpose, all goodness is fleeting and all badness is stuck to us for life. As humans, we cherish the bad, so it is only human to constantly come to that realization that a single moment of joy is worth savouring, but impossible to hold onto.

Is the best option, then, to just embrace the bizarre nature of humans, humanity, and existence? To accept the inevitable emptiness and meaningless, but go on anyway because death is supposedly selfish and the unknown is too scary to bear? Should I maintain my ignorant and naive optimism despite warnings? Only to then cower and cringe at those moments when I must face the open window?

What now stands out to me about last night was that in this lavish, beautiful rooftop bar overflowing with $20 cocktails, at some point, they opened the windows. It was surprisingly cold for such an otherwise toasty day. The chilly breeze was relentless, no matter where you stood. This is how I ended up amidst the crowds at this packed funeral of hopes and dreams, because no amount of high-quality makeup or exploding champagne could protect us from the changing weather. I suppose there is a reason they call it the 'little black dress'. These women have their safe, funereal wear to go out and mourn their fantasies, whilst men hang themselves with tightly wound silk around their necks. Constant reminders that it's only Thursday, which leads to another early morning at the office, so they can go out on Friday night and drink more. To return Saturday and maybe even Sunday, only to begin it all again on Monday.

Then they can joke about their fears and tears and hatred of Mondays with their co-workers whose red eyes and heavy eyelids reveal their shameful truths. But this weight spills into Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday. They'll wisely lecture others that life is too short and it's moving too fast, so we must enjoy! That is, enjoy two days of the week, two days of alcohol, two days of questioning one's will to live, and put up with another 5 days of self-doubt and self-loathing. Life continuing forward without affirmation or approval.

I hope to never turn quite so bitter and jaded as these white-collar drunkards. My blind optimism and ongoing need to pick myself up and lift my own spirits is what has always been my guiding light. But no one plans to fall to their knees and get beaten up by the world, do they? No one decides that the best life is one lived with regrets and a stock of anger and tears ready to expel at any moment.

Some get mad, some go mad, and some just live for the sake of living. I don't know if these are the only options, but they seem to be the popular choices.

On my way home, a man in his 30s invites me to have a drink with his friends. I asked what they're doing and he responds, "I dunno. Just hanging out, drinking too much for a Thursday, and complaining about work...."
I declined his offer. Enough of that for one evening, thank you.

I rock.

I rock back and forth in my seat, trying to tame the electricity in my stomach. I rock, and sometimes I lower my head between my knees, and sometimes I cover my ears. I sit down in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and I cry and rock and lower my head and cover my ears.

Because the world overwhelms me. It's the world surrounding me, the people getting too close to me. It's the overstimulating sounds of screaming and honking and elbows in my face and sides. Even with my ears covered, I hear the judgmental comments by passersby. I hear when they say I'm a mess or a weirdo or having a bad trip. It is a bad trip, one which I can't turn on or off.

There are times when my head begins to flail back and forth, too. It starts with my knee bouncing, my cuticles raw from being ripped and torn, the skin on my lips bright pink and scabbed. This isn't enough, the energy and raucous inside isn't at ease. It spreads to my eyes, darting back and forth, my neck jolting my head around and around and around like I'm possessed. I am possessed by the hurricane inside me.

Without time to eat or sleep or even fantasize, all my efforts are put into the task of senseless ticks, tacks, taps, and tones. The kind that forces strangers to place a hand on my knee. "Please stop." The kind that drives any sane man insane. To the point where I begin holding my own knee down and I look utterly bizarre as I struggle with my own inner willpower. A will to fidget and an opposing will to slow down, to rest, to make it stop. I am standing and bouncing and my calves are getting a work out, but there are no headphones on my ears, there is no tune to incite such enthusiasm. It is just my mind coaxing me- play, play, play.

Picking up a guitar requires too much focus and I certainly don't have the attention span for reading a book. Movies and television and even listening to a song is too dull and slow and precise for me. I crave speed and action, to gnaw and suck out the blood of an ocean crashing against plated glass. That CRASH, that is me pounding without rhyme or reason at the wooden table. Knock on wood if you simply can't sit still.

Seconds turn to days to weeks, and it all feels like one moment that cannot keep up with me. We are racing to infinity and I am in the lead. Without a sense of accomplishment or victory, just with deprivation and dilapidation; disintegration.

One's body begins to fail when it lacks basic human needs. When the sugar dwindles, the fats and carbohydrates and proteins have been used to keep my leg bouncing to a silent song, then everything begins to weaken. If only this put things on hold. Despite the weakness and fatigue, my nerves are still on fire, aching to react to fight and flight and leaps and bounds.

And when I am down there, on the ground in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, I close my eyes. Because if I open my eyes, I may realize that this is real. That I can't escape.

Not romantic, not broken

Like every other teenager, at 14 or so I started exploring my sexuality. Whatever that means. Most "normal" girls started dating boys at this age. Some girls even dated other girls! Not me, though. I wasn't dating anyone. I experienced a crush now and then, sure. I wanted to look good for the guys....

But looking back, I can't help but wonder if those were really crushes at all. If I thought someone was nice, society told me I should want to kiss them and date them. So, I wrote sweet letters to the funny guy in my English class. I told the guy I knew since kindergarten that I wanted to date him. I giggled and blushed and got rejected (every time), but I didn't really care. Those guys were still in my life and I felt just the same about them as I did about the girls. They were my peers and we were all together in school trying to figure out how to survive math class.

Eventually, the other girls and boys were matching up. They were teasing each other until asking the other to dance at a party. They were trying to get alone time and getting in trouble with their parents. That's when I started to wonder. Maybe if I dated these boys, they wouldn't kick the ball so hard in gym class? Then my nose might not bleed so hard when it hit me in the face.... Or maybe if I dated these boys, they would look the other way when I inexplicably vomited on the lunch table everyday. MAYBE if I dated these boys, they'd be so in love that they wouldn't laugh at me when I bought them a carnation on Valentine's Day. But I didn't date these boys, and I didn't particularly want to. Even when every other girl, including the lanky one with bad pigtails and a worse attitude had a boyfriend, I still didn't want to be in a relationship. I didn't want to devote a Saturday to meeting him at the mall for french fries. Nor did I want to wear his hoodie in 90 degree weather just so everyone knew we were a couple. I had no interest in dating boys.

"So... am I a lesbian?" I wondered this often. Later in life, when bisexuality was a hot word, I wondered if that was the label for me. Those terms didn't fit, either. As little interest as I had in getting boy slobber on me, the thought of girl slobber was even worse. Girls like gossip and they don't grow beards. Not for me.

Now what?

Years went by, college came. At 18 years old, I finally found a guy online who was pretty neat. He had a cool beard and cool thoughts on political stuff. He went to college for music, which was so cool! Plus, he was really into me, so I was like, "Oh. This is normal. I found normal!"

Then we met in person and he was cool, but he wanted to kiss me and put his hands on me. Immediately, this didn't feel cool. Not that it was wrong or bad, but those weren't my hands and lips, why were they near my skin? Ew.

Oh, yes, that was my reaction to being touched: ew. Every single time. I didn't like it. I didn't like the germs and someone else's saliva near me. I didn't like being touched or complimented or even holding hands. Flirting was uncomfortable, too. I simply detested everything about this new thing I was experiencing. He would also ask me questions about my habits and my body that sounded absolutely rude and gross. Would I like WHAT WHERE!? Do I want HOW WHEN!?

No, sir. NO to everything.

The only thing I could think to do was to stop everything. Stop dating, stop talking to new people, stop whatever was causing this displeasure. If I could just turn off that faucet, that'd be great, thanks. But I couldn't make it stop! Everywhere I went, there were men, and sometimes women who were asking for my number or offering me a drink. And, truth be told, I loved connecting with strangers. Going out to a new bar or restaurant or even traveling with someone I would otherwise never have met was so much fun! Usually, the guy would pay, so I wouldn't even have to worry about money!

Why would I stop this? Everyone else was doing it and everyone was telling me I should do it, so... clearly, this is what I should be doing, whether I liked it or not.

This worked for me until the inevitable moment would come: he would expect the next thing that normal people expect on or after a date- he'd want to get close to me. He'd want to kiss and touch and possibly even start a relationship. Oh, right... that. Ew.

Problem is, if I rejected him, I was told I was just leading him on and taking advantage of him. That's what normal people told me. Taking advantage of people is not something I do, so I went on a second date, and a third, and my resentment would grow. Eventually, everything about this person seemed horrible. They were no longer nice or friendly or funny or kind. They had no positive traits, they were just evil people sucking me into their lair of hot, sticky, disgusting saliva baths.

I wish I could say there were positive influences telling me what was so clear. I wish I could say that my support system was wise enough to inform me that I wasn't required to date. That I didn't have to get married and have babies and make a family to be happy or complete. If someone had just taken a moment to tell me that it's OKAY to not be normal, my life would have been so much easier. Maybe I wouldn't have hated college, maybe I wouldn't have hated socializing, maybe I wouldn't have even hated myself for being abnormal. Surviving my teens and my college years and 6 years of my 20s have been made unnecessarily stressful because everyone thinks I will find "the one" and that I will find my sexuality when I fall in love, because I WILL fall in love. Apparently.

In the meantime, I'm the poor, unfortunate girl who has never had a romantic relationship or been mature enough for one. I am faulty because romance is not something I want, and a mate for life or for tonight are of no interest to me. If I can't publicly display my affection, what use am I to humanity as a whole?

The world has told me I am useless.

But, really? I'm super fine with that. There are days when it bugs me, but I am lucky to be free of that pressure! I don't have to make anyone happy but myself and the people I so choose. I can do and go and be as I please. Without worrying about a jealous or abusive boyfriend. I've never wondered why the guy I love hasn't texted me in 2 days. There are no strings attached to me and I don't have to get approval from anyone but my teachers in graduate school, while there's no boyfriend to distract me from my professional goals. No boyfriend to break up with when I go traveling for a month. My dog doesn't have to approve or disapprove of a guy who comes in and tries to interrupt our happy family of two. I get to live alone, keep the toilet cover down, and never worry about a messy guy trying to ruin my organized lifestyle.

Now, that's what I call a success. With the freedom to protest injustice, foster homeless animals, give unto others, and take the last bite, I have no one to face at the end of the day but myself and my ethics and morals. This romance with myself has its ups and downs, and sometimes I need to buy myself a box of chocolates and beg for forgiveness, but I know just how to get it. Whether it's cheering myself up or calming myself down, the answer is always inside me without an ounce of falsity, passive aggressiveness, or concern that I'll leave at any moment. The trust is unconditional, the love is never-ending, and the memories together are priceless.

I'm not aromantic or asexual, I'm all I have, and that's everything to me.

Being Eaten Alive: What to do when someone you know is facing Depression

When you're living your normal life with confidence and passion and enthusiasm, Depression seems like a distant memory. A silly phase that's long gone. It seems like you've been cured, and so you're more willing to tell the world about it. Conversely, when you're facing the reality of Depression, it is a deep, hidden secret. This is why it's a problem.

Only a few weeks ago, I was living in my special, self-assured little world. I was social, talkative, optimistic, and feeling ready to take on the world! Sadly, the past few days have been much more Hellish inside my brain. I've reverted back to anxiety, seclusion, self-destruction, and obsession. As usual, rather than reaching out to others and requesting their help, I've become a hermit. I only go outside when I absolutely must, I only talk to people when I must, and my sense of self-worth and love is completely depleted.

Some people ask what happened, what "triggered" this, what can I do, they do, we all do? By nature, people are kind (despite what my intensely misanthropic Depressed brain says) and they want to be there for those facing this illness. However, the brain chemicals have no ears. They don't care who listens or hugs or "is there for me". Even if I meditate or chant or spin 3 times while lighting sage on fire, these things won't help. Maybe some people, though. Spin away, if it helps.

So, what can you do, as someone who is watching someone you love suffer? You have to do all you can do- you have to be aware and be patient. These are the two MOST important things you can do. Pushing someone to get out of their slump or making them feel bad about it is of no help to anyone, it may even be dangerous. A little nudge to go out or look at beautiful and happy things, and showing that you're there for them and love them unconditionally, this is all helpful. However, be aware that in the end, only the brain gets to choose.The brain gets to control the mood and thoughts of this individual. It really is like a demon taking over or being put in a hypnotic state. The person you once knew is under a spell of darkness. Until they are released, everyone is at risk. At this time, nothing is about you. What they do and say is probably not personal, their choices and feelings are not your fault, and if you can't "fix" someone, it is because they could not be fixed or did not wish to be. Depression is about the individual, it is so enveloping that anyone outside the individual is hardly present at all.

That is why awareness is extremely important in these cases. There are many types of Depressed people. Everyone expresses it differently and to different degrees. There are those who need to be addressed; who will do everything in the world to be heard and seen and loved. Then there are those who suffer quietly. Both types need help, but doing this boldly isn't always a good idea. Much like helping a stray dog who is nervous around humans, you can't just jump at them and scoop them away. Sometimes you have to ease them out with treats and kiss sounds. Other times, you have to accept that they'll never trust your hands. In this case, you just have to be on the lookout for changes in behaviour. The way they speak or interact with you, or if they interact with you at all! If suddenly this person seems to be in dangerous or harmful situations more often. If they keep "accidentally" getting hurt, or being put in risky situations, or spending more time with risky people, places, and things. If hobbies go ignored, responsibilities and usual habits go untouched. All these changes have the potential to be red flags. If the worst thing you can do is inquire or try to make this person's life a little easier and their worst response is frustration with you, I say it's worth it. If the person seeks seclusion, don't force them out, but do check in on them. If only a text or email or a random care package or letter in the mail.... Until you try, you don't know what will reassure this person or pull the demon out from them.

In this stage, the demon is more like a coma. The Depressed individual seems gone, but they can hear you and feel your presence. With enough persistence and care, it just might work. This may contradict what I said above, about the futility of your attempts to change a person. However, there is a difference. When you're showing you care, this is not an effort to help or save them, it is not insistent and rushed. This kind of expression is gentle and without a motive. You'll likely have a goal or intent, but when offering your hand, this should be empty of any purpose but to express a feeling of love without any strings or expectations attached.

All people experience Depression in different ways, some more obviously than others. But there are signs that a closer look can determine. If you want to make a difference and be the one who "caught them", it is possible. If you suspect someone is facing Depression to an extent that they need help, find a local resource, either a crisis hotline or online chat, or even a website with more information. If not for them, do it for your own understanding of the problem and 'what to do if'. Get informed, that's the best thing you can do before anything else. Knowledge is what will help you get through this difficult time.

Good luck and be well.

Something Beautiful

We talk about love, but we hate one another.
We talk about peace, but we refuse to sacrifice.
We are hypocrites, liars, and cheaters at our best.
But I've seen the beauty staring back at me,
I don't want to ruin or judge it.
I won't let jaded figures break it.

It's here reaching out for you,
all you have to do is let it inhale you.
Surrender and be sold to its will.
Give in to its positive light and indignant empathy.
You are its leader, but you're on its chain.
Let it lead and and be a slave to its movement.
Let yourself be moved. Let us be moved.

With all the negativity and hatred I've seen. With all the death and damage I've witnessed. Much like the rest of the world, I was feeling defeated. It seemed like the world was exhausted and whatever homeostasis we had was faltering and allowing destruction to take over.

However, my faith has been restored. Not only through the pleasure and bliss of my own optimism and initiative, but by the remaining good. It's there, it's everywhere, and I don't want it overlooked, ignored, unseen or forgotten. I am inspired to share this hope because of what happened to me yesterday. Several good things happened, but what stood out amidst it all was a simple kind word.

A client with whom I work at fieldwork reminded me of a love and peace about which I had forgotten. This individual is quite low functioning on the autism spectrum. Speech is difficult, movement is not fluid, comprehension and articulation in objective terms are very impeded. This person is an autistic transgender with physical and mental challenges of a great degree. She has been harassed, hated, unappreciated, and underestimated her entire life.

Although she often talks about her passion for cooking, most people don't believe she is even capable of doing this. Not for a moment do I doubt her. Not her sexuality, not her abilities, not her potential, and I have absolutely no doubt when she tells me she is drop dead gorgeous- because she is drop dead gorgeous. My relationship with this client has grown and blossomed in the year at a rapid rate. She will share things with me that she doesn't share with others, we have congealed into one fantastic being, and I am honoured that she could take me as a confidante and equal. I don't know if I am at her level just yet, but she doesn't let me feel lesser, and I try to comply and be my best.

For someone who has seen the world's darkest pits and experienced rejection her entire life, never have I met such a gentle "beast". Some see her as such and treat her as such. They take advantage of her kindness and desire to give and help and serve others. I'm in no position to get her away from this, but I do my best to offer words of strength and, most of all, help her recognize and take hold of her talents, abilities, and capabilities.

Having attended vocational school for cooking and then being a busboy at NYU, she has the knowledge to create and cook as much as she claims. The naysayers may be surprised by her unstoppable courage, but she is a force to reckoned with. She has a lot to say and offer, and I plan to be a compliant in her activity for as long as I can.

Right now we are working on getting her recipes written down. Once this is done, I hope we can find the funding to print her cookbook. I am not sure if this will just be one copy for her to hold onto and treasure, or enough copies to publish and potentially sell for her profit, but the long term realities are of no importance. Right now we are creating and moving forward on a school bus to victory.

This touching moment, however, it was a simple act. Yet, it placed a pin in my heart that will forever remain. This occurred when she saw a picture of a loved one on my phone. She must have seen the image for a nanosecond, but quickly asked, "Is that your family?"

I should mention that this person, although caring and considerate as could be, she does not typically have interest in the background of others. Certainly not "staff", as she usually considers staff to be different and not the same as the members. However, on this day she was curious about my photo. At which I informed her that the photo was indeed a family member. She asked if I loved her to death. I replied that I did... and even more. She then put her hand on my shoulder and said the words for which I've been waiting to hear. The words that I've needed to hear, and the lack thereof were tearing at my insides and torturing me. She told me, "I am sure she loves you to death, too."

I did not inform her that this family member had passed away. I couldn't tell her, and it was of no importance, anyway. Besides which, I was left speechless, with an aching in my heart that I wanted to frame. I wanted to allow us to sit within the frame and cry and smile and be ourselves forever. Unfortunately, I could not offer this, so I thanked her. So deeply and gratefully, this was possibly the most important "thank you" I've ever shared.

This is that love and peace of which you speak. Don't beg or search for it. Be it.

The Whole Story

People always say, "If I knew then what I know now...."

Unfortunately, you didn't, and it's impossible to fix that. What's done is done, you can only move forward. What you can change is other peoples' experience. No one else has to go through what you did.

This has been my experience in the mental health field. Don't get me wrong- I still love the knowledge, the clients, and everything I've learned. However, did anyone tell me I'd have to buy a metro card, travel an hour, and work for free for 400 hours while paying for my own analysis (at $100-$150 a session) and ridiculous fees for classes year after year? Sure, I should have known better, but I didn't. I just wanted to get a degree in a field about which I was passionate.

I think psychoanalysis is a dying art. It's dying relatively slowly, and it's doing so in a beautiful and graceful manner. Researchers and others in the field will tell you that talk therapy works. That it has the highest success rates. That is one of the best attempts one can make at successfully feeling better. Downside being that it takes time, patience, uncertainty, and... yep, money! Not that medication and psychiatrists don't, but insurance will do wonders.

Yet, I still believe in analysis, and I want it to thrive. Most of all because if not, I did all this for naught. My colleagues have done all this for naught.  That's a lot of naught. After all, the certificate program at my school is currently at least 10 years. That's about 1/3 of your career, 1/9 of your life, and that's if you make it through quickly.

No one told me that.

Here I am. No job, no money, and no certainty as to where I will be in my next 10 years. Best case scenario, I either do the certificate program and get involved with the referral service, in which case I can make a few bucks, and move onto a private clinic once I, presumably, get my license. Or, if I don't want to sacrifice all that time, I can find a safe job at a clinic or hospital. Not bad.

Worse case scenario, either a client staples my hand to my chin and forces me to watch him eat my goldfish... or I have a mental breakdown and check into a mental ward.

In the meantime, I'm struggling to pay for my required analysis sessions and tuition, I am struggling to stay motivated, and I am struggling to keep my eyes on the prize.

I don't have a solution to this yet, I don't claim to know the answer. As, part of life is surviving and tolerating those frustrating bumps in the road. One more year of school, though. That's my mantra: One More Year.

Let nature take its course

Having been told many times in my life that I have the commitment and vulnerability phobias of a man, I started thinking. It's rare, but I do think sometimes! I started thinking about the reasons "men don't like opening up" and all those other cliche masculine things.

I started by thinking about why I don't like to open up. Maybe part of that is because the people who raised me and with whom I was raised weren't really the touchy-feeling, mushy-talk type. It wasn't the norm, and anything related to feelings, emotions, or vulnerability was seen as stupid and went ignored. Many people see this as unfortunate; as if I was deprived because no one asked me how my inner-self was doing. How about this: get over it.

As someone in the mental health field, this seems contradictory to my practice. My whole education and message is for people to "open up". The difference is, I hope people will open up to ME or another professional or a trusted family member or friend who: A- wants to hear, B- has the strength and time to hear, C- knows what to do once they have heard.

In the end, we make our own choices, we deal with our own problems, and we respond accordingly. I don't believe that those who mindlessly offer their feelings to others for the sake of "bonding" are better off. I won't say I haven't tried. Once or twice I gave the old venting and releasing thing a try. It didn't feel good and cathartic, it just felt like I was putting my problems on someone else while also opening a can of worms that no one was prepared to mop up. Most people are not equipped to deal with the people they know, or think they know. Once they see that reality and once you release that reality, there is not usually any turning back. There's no "Oops, that didn't work. Nevermind!"

This gets me back to my original thought. Why do girls typically complain that men won't "open up", or why will my acquaintances make the same complaint? After all, they want to help and they want to trust me and want me to trust them, and well, they want a LOT... a lot that I don't want to offer. Why does telling one's secrets open them up? Especially if it is pulled out of someone? If you are going to pressure someone into removing a bandage, you better be able to heal that wound! If you can't, then that's a selfish pull and that's a harmful pull, and there is no way in heck I can trust you.

Maybe that bandage will remove itself one day. Maybe if you wait 5 months or 10 years or a lifetime, that person will be ready to expose themselves. Or, maybe they have been all along, and you just haven't been listening with the right ears. The secrets and stories might be there all along, they just might not be the ones you want or expect.

Privacy is a beautiful thing. If someone feels comfortable telling me, "I don't want to talk about that," it reveals a lot. It also means that person trusts me! They trust me to respect their privacy, to not push them, and if they leave it open-ended, all the better. There is often an inclusion that they don't want to talk about it yet, which means there is an implied future wherein it will be revealed or the issue will be touched upon again in some way. That is, if they are not pressured. If there is pressure, there is stress added to an already-tender spot.

It can be frustrating when you want to know that deep, dark secret. I know that. However, it is seldom that one expects answers without a selfish greed. I find it difficult to imagine a situation in which someone requesting answers does so for altruistic reasons... though, I'm open to examples. For the most part, however, telling me I'll feel better if I tell you my gossip is a lie. If it's true, it's likely that you got lucky, it's a coincidence.

Not to mention, sharing secrets is definitely a point of vulnerability. Revealing secrets can lead to chaos for some. Yes, it does mean I trust another with this vulnerability, but there are many ways it can backfire, this will only prove the honesty to be a hazard.

Yes, this means I fear vulnerability. Don't we all? As humans, as animals, as living, sentient beings, we avoid actions which will put our safety and comfort at risk. Sometimes it is healthy to overcome those fears, but other times it is of no benefit to us or others. One must weigh those options. Chances are, though, if I don't feel my private thoughts, feelings, or experiences are best shared, I probably have reasons for it. Vomiting my background onto your shoes will possibly make the nausea disappear, but I may still feel sick and you'll have vomit on your shoes. As with most things, pressure and guilt do more harm than good. Let nature take its course.