Learning How to LIve

Our lives are made up of fantasy and instinct; what we picture for ourselves and what we want for ourselves. How very similar they sound, but how different they really are. Although, honestly, it seems often what I pictured for myself was what I always wanted. It just looked so much prettier at the age of 15. My world was sopping with romance; romantic tragedy, romantic comedy, romantic thriller, whatever it was, it would be too beautiful to take your eyes off of it. But dust settles on life's allegory like anything else that lies complacently against the open doors we continuously fail to step out of. Did I ever once picture for myself, want for myself, to be independent, successful, strong? Was there always a man, always pain, always struggle? My stories endings were vague and as equally unattached as the meat of my stories attached themselves to everything in life I believed to not be capable of. The future me was always beautiful and young and dignified and loved, she was wanted by a single man. Life was complete. Why didn't I ever picture myself a brilliant success, happy, confident, alive with energy and passion. There was always turbulence, as a little girl could I honestly not picture anything else? I need to see my future differently, I know what I want, but still, can't see it. I want my own column in a newspaper or magazine, I want to talk about experiences and how I perceive them, in a funny, beautiful way that keeps people coming back for more. I want to be proud of what I do. I want to be off the internet and facebook and netflix and words with friends and every other god dam distraction that tears me away from challenging myself. I want to live a life of color and happiness and laughter and confidence. I want to put love second for once in my life. Although I never pictured a child, today I want one. Perhaps I never imagined I'd be alive past 30. I spent my life contemplating suicide. Maybe I need to look at myself like I was just given a second chance. I've lived four years longer than I thought I would allow myself too. I'm starting to think I'm never going to do it. Which means that for the first time in my life I believe I will live a full life, It occurs to me that I may not know how to live, I'm learning for the first time. Why am I so hard on myself? I'm seriously new to all of this. I've spent the past 30 years trying to pick the best ways to die, how I can leave romantically, tragically, beautifully.  For the first time, I am eager to learn the best way to live.
Or is it more, is it genetics?  I look at my mom and her mom, how very alike we all are. Are some families just more predisposed to happiness than others?

Maybe I just finally learned that movies go on past the love scenes and the musical video montages breaking everything down into the most outrageous joys and sorrows that exist in a lifetime. I never thought there was a middle, a filling. Did I never want to do the work to get there? To achieve those outrageous joys and sorrows I depended on so badly. Was it pure laziness? Fear?

A Beautiful Mess

I recently got out of a six-month long debilitating depression that was accompanied by a state of complete loneliness and destitution. In my darkest moments, I found myself on websites, researching the quickest and easiest ways to end my life because I was terrified of the risk of physical pain as well as what the end would actually look like, or what it entailed for that matter. I came across a forum that had started; there were thousands of comments from people just like me, talking about how and when they were going to go through with it, how tired they were, how lonely they felt. I wanted to reach out to them, to tell them they weren’t alone. And it made me think about what, in modern day life, contributes to a person’s sense of isolation. I thought about Facebook and that feeling of failing, missing out, and loneliness that seems to accompany my frequent visits. I realized that, here I was, contemplating suicide then posting funny pictures of my dogs and silly things that happened to me. It dawned on me that my double life was subscribing to the growing state of isolation that people struggling with mental health issues are faced with as a direct result of social media. 

Only a select few really knew the reality of my internal struggles, I didn’t see the point in letting the rest of the world know. They would just think I was crazy or pathetic, that was my perception of it at least. How hard it was to share my truth when the rest of the world seemed so happy, so stable, so beautifully put together.  So instead of giving my loved ones a raw, beautifully un-put together understanding of my own sense of alienation, I perpetuated the problem altogether, never thinking for a minute that there were people just like myself. 

As a result of this little lie I was trying to live, I couldn’t write, I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t laugh or play my guitar or even read a book. The bigger I smiled, the lonelier I felt. I had fallen into this horrible pit of self-betrayal, losing every bit of myself with each smiley face and funny meme I delivered with the hope it would bring me that sense of connection I was so longing for. 

Not a stranger to depression, I have invested much of my life to developing coping skills, sometimes just to stay alive. I was never lazy when it came to my health, which only adds to the frustration I feel when I fall back into another “episode.” The fact is, I have spent most of my life watching people who seemed to float through their own lives so effortlessly, feeling envious of their calm demeanors, weekend plans, and ability to socialize and problem solve with such grace and dignity. I wanted to be them, but the harder I tried, the more isolated I felt. My social awkwardness and shame over everything I thought I was supposed to be was a ball and chain on my soul. The truth is, I’m tired of it. I want to be released from that ball and chain, to fight back against this shame and the belief that I am not good enough. This is not to justify or excuse shitty behavior, but rather to recognize that it’s there. Every moment I spend denying who I am, I become less and less of a person. And the only thing getting me through each day is the knowledge that there are plenty of people in this world who can relate far more than I realize. So I want to give back.

Which launches my statement of purpose.  After three full days of being out of my shell and actually wanting to live, I decided yesterday to post my truth on Facebook. Here is what I said: 

Day 3 of surfacing from the longest and hardest depression I think I've ever experienced. Although depression isn't something new to me, it is never an easy challenge to overcome. I think about all the silly posts and smiling pictures I placed here on Facebook and regret not being straightforward with what was going on with me. I perpetuated the stigma and sense of loneliness that so often accompanies a mental health crisis when social media is involved. And for that, I want to reach out to all those struggling with anxiety, depression and whatever else interferes with your ability to be happy and say that you're not alone, in spite of how pretty everything often looks when you are on the outside looking in. I want to thank my many angels out there for holding my hand through this, for loving me when there was no way in hell I could love myself and for making me laugh when it was nearly impossible to simply smile. Liz Moses, Jana Valeo, Stephanie Mooney, Paul Steeb, Jeanette Brousseau, there were moments these last few months where I literally owe my life to you guys. I know I will never be completely in the clear from my struggles with mental health, but I will look back at this time with the knowledge that I was and never will be alone. If there is anyone reading this who has or is facing that all consuming and overwhelming sense of despair and desperation, I just want to put myself out there. Whatever you are struggling with, you're not the only one, and I'm available day or night. Sending an abundance of love and gratitude into this little cyber world, thank you again, it's so good to be back.

Following this post I received comment after comment from people thanking me, telling me I was brave, that they loved me, that I wasn’t alone. I was, to say the least, completely, and very pleasantly, dumbstruck. All these people experienced the very same emotions and thoughts. How often do we hide behind our white picket fences and photoshopped smiles thinking the façade is ours, and ours alone? This is by no means a criticism to anyone sharing their joys with the world through social media, but rather it’s a friendly reminder that the world is not one dimensional, that there will always be sides and directions that we can’t see from our vantage point.  Unfortunately, the phenomenon of social media really seems to have accentuated this extreme disadvantage we are all at.  I used to be ashamed of my transparency, I thought it made me weak, I thought if I could hide the messy pieces of myself, I’d be less lonely, I’d be more desirable, I wouldn’t be judged for my many, many flaws. But the responses I received on Facebook as a result of this post made me realize that my transparency is my greatest strength and, at times, all I have.

So I am writing this for anyone standing on the outside looking in and believing that they are a lonely mess, in an otherwise beautiful world. We are all beautiful messes, and this is my attempt to abandon the false impression that I am anything but just that, a beautiful mess.