If That Were True – My Reason

I have come back to the reason why I started writing in the first place.
This was to find peace. I wanted to know if peace was real and I also wanted to know If happiness was real. Is life real? Is love?
Is it?

In fairness, I know that all of this is real. I know that love is real. I know that happiness is real as well; however, I can see and understand why both of these seem illusive at times. I can understand why people think they are either unable, incapable or undeserving of both.
But still, I know that peace exists. I know that love is real and that happiness is a true thing.
I know this with all of my heart.

I began here and from here, I traveled the world. At the same time, the circle I traveled was very small. Therefore, I never saw much. I never left the country.
I left the state a few times and yes, I have seen nice places and done nice things.
In all honesty, I did not go anywhere but here. I have come here consecutively, every day, without fail. I have made this trip on a daily basis for more than a decade now and each day was made with the same intention.
I want to find peace. I want to find happiness. I want to find love and more, I want to incorporate all of this into my life. I want the dream, like anyone else does.
I want to see this. I want to build it and yes, I want to perfect this, more and more, each day.

Moreover, I began this journey to understand more about the terms of depression and anxiety. If it were true that I live with both depression and anxiety and if it were equally true that what I live with is resistant to medication, I wanted to know if peace is still possible.
Could it be?
It has to be . . .

I have been asked about my writing –
I’ve been asked about my motivation or why I choose to write about subjects like mental health, or life as I see it, or love or the old days, or nostalgia.
I choose to write what I write as a therapeutic tool.
This helps me. I can find peace here.
I allow the feeling of my fingertips pushing the keys to act as a singular accomplishment. Therefore, each letter has a point of its own. Each word is its own creation and each sentence is like a villager building the village, which is a paragraph and each paragraph is a home or a building.
Not all topics are sad and not everything has to be so goddamned intense. But yes, it is safe to say that there is a weight that comes with the topics of mental illness.
The word depression has a “stay-away” power which I understand that my subjects are not for everybody. Even better, I understand that my writing is not for everybody either. Perhaps my style of writing is only good to a certain few.
And that’s fine.

I would rather have a dialogue than be just another writer. I would rather have a conversation. I would rather speak than preach and I would rather connect and relate to people than please the almighty literary world.
I am not trained or schooled for this.
I do not have the ivy-league background nor even a basic literary background.
All I have is me.
And that’s fine.

I suppose there are others out there who are similarly impacted by the world.
Perhaps this is why I write what I write.
Perhaps there are more people who are like this than not.
So, I toss this out there, just in case someone finds it and says, “Me too.”

I have come to the conclusion (and I’m sure I’m not alone with this one) that the world is a highly critical place.
Safe to say that there are people who love to point fingers. People love to find someone to blame and sure, there’s always someone out there who loves to point out mistakes, just so they can laugh. Meanwhile, a person could do everything great, solve problems, get through the day and make it home to finish it with an evening meal – but still, their faults and their flaws and even their tiny mistakes are far more exploited than a person’s good deeds.
I can see how this is true.

I saw a video this morning.
This part is not mine at all.
However, the video is viral and easy to find.
While I say this is not mine, I offer this as part of the reasons behind why I write or why I choose to get up and come here each morning.

The video explained how Einstein was teaching a class.
He wrote on the board how 9×1=9
He continued the times tables all the way up to 9×10.
Only, Einstein wrote 9×10=91
And the class laughed.
Einstein waited for the class to be silent.
He made the mistake on purpose.
Einstein explained that despite the nine other times when he analyzed something correctly, everyone else was fixated on that one mistake.

I call this a parallel.
This is the case with life. Such is the case with my life or my anxiety; and certainly more, this is absolutely the case when it comes to the overanalyzing mind and the depressive mindset.

So –
This is why I made the commitment to come here, each and every day.
I started out by typing with only one finger.
I typed in call caps. I could hardly spell, let alone use proper grammar.
I can’t even say that my grammar is perfect now; however, I can say that like Einstein and his lesson to the class, whether I write one book or a thousand or whether I correct my grammar or fix my speech; or whether my content is helpful or meaningful, and whether I am good at this (or not) or whether I come here each and every day – people will always be there to point out the flaws.
I do this to myself as well.
I can say this is one the problems that comes with depression or anxiety and with insecurity or low self-esteem. I can say the problem is that we fail to see the goodness or recognize the achievements.
We fall short when it comes to this and find ourselves operating from our back foot with a disadvantage and fighting an uphill challenge all the time. Hence, times like this are more prevalent than, say, the glories of a day under the sun.
We are too fixated on our faults and caught up in our own supposed ugliness. I see this.
I can see how this makes it impossible to recognize our own beauty.
And yes, I want to be beautiful.
I want to be good.
I want to be worthy and worth the risk.
Of course, I do.

I want to be pure and more than anything, I want to be good enough. I want to be invited and included. I want to be wanted and desired or considered and regarded.
However, the problem is not whether this exists or that I am worthy (or not) and more to the point; how can there be peace when we are fixated on our faults or wrongdoings?
How can anyone be satisfied with themselves or comfortable like this?
How can anyone be happy when all they focus on is their faults and their unhappiness?
Depressions and anxiety are a dark covering that shades the eyes from the vibrance of a brighter sun. This mutes color, silences laugher and mutes the world of softer sounds – except for the whispers which are loud like a terrible scream.
This is what depression and anxiety does.

There is no reason to pretend anymore. There are no reasons to hide the truths. This is it. We are where we are and whether we pretend to be better or not, pretending does not change the truth.
So, let’s put the control button down for a while.
Let’s be clear and honest and more than anything – let’s go over the facts of life.

Yes, we are imperfect.
Yes, we have faults and flaws.
We have mistakes and sins and secrets. If it were true that this is all we are, then how would it be possible to find peace like this?

I cannot say that I know what life is more than anyone else.
And neither can you.
No one has their doctorate on this – and I mean, sure, there are trained professionals and there are people who have made a great impact on the mental health world. There are people who have come up with amazing breakthroughs and yes, I credit them.
But life is not a one-size-fits-all thing.

We all have our own hang-ups and biases.
No two people are exactly alike.
At the same time, loss happens. Life happens.
Love happens too and sometimes, love goes away or fails and in the case of heartbreak – the question comes up: Has anyone ever died from a broken heart.
And the answer is yes.
Of course.
Is loneliness a killer?
Yes, it most definitely is.
What about depression and anxiety?
Once again, the answer is absolutely yes.
Drugs kill people.
Alcohol kills people.
Oh, and here’s another thing –
People kill people.
We kill each other all the time. Daily and sometimes hourly
I mean this in both a literal and a figurative sense.

I am not my past or my mistakes; however, if I am not careful or depending upon the conversations, it is easy to take on these things as if this were me. If that were true, then no.
I would not be the man I try to be. And there would be no peace this way.
Not now. Not ever.
If I were my mistakes and my crimes or my secrets and my sins, then I would never have a moment of peace. I would have no soul because if it were true and this was me, then I would not care about anything but myself.

Good people do bad things.
This is true.
I know this because I am one of them.
I know all about my mistakes. I know about my sins and more, I know why I did them too. I know everything when it comes to me.
If fact, I know me personally.
I talk to myself every day.
This is not to say that I allow my faults to be okay or that I do not have to account for them. This does not mean that I do not have to hold myself accountable.
I do.
However, if I were a bad person – or better yet, if I was who I fear I am or who my insecurities tell me I am, then I would never have the conscience. I wouldn’t care about my wrongs.
But I do care and I do want to be better.
I want to improve.
I know about my wrongs and yes, I do hold myself accountable.
I have to.

I know all about this and I know this all too well.
However, I cannot live in the past, nor can I change the past from what it was. I cannot re-litigate the terms of what happened yesterday. I cannot unsay anything or undo what was done, nor can I correct what happened or “fix it.”
I get that and I’m sure you do too.
I can’t fixate on my problems or the violence of my inner judgment.
I have this moment though . . .
I have now.

I recall a time when I was young and punished by my inner thoughts. I tell you this as something which has improved. However, I reveal this purpose.
There would be times when I heard a sound in my head. The sound would be like a brick as it breaks through a window. It was violent. it was angry. But also, this was internal.
I would hear the glass break which, to me, I saw as a symbol of my inner hate. I considered the sound of breaking glass as a symbol of my rage – and even the trickling aftermath that lingered of the tiny pieces that fell afterwards, to me, I read this as a sign of my body reaching its breaking point.
I just couldn’t take anymore.
How could there be peace when this exists?

I began to document this, long ago, and even in the opening dialogue of my book Operation Depression, I described a moment when I was beaten to my knees.
I broke down. I was on my knees and looking at the ceiling of my small apartment.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I was looking up at the celling as if I could look straight through; as if to ask why have you forsaken me?
I came to a moment. I had a supplication between me and whatever Power there is.
I couldn’t face my own reflection in the mirror.
I couldn’t take the life I was living.
I couldn’t face the facts that yes, this was all due to my choices and as a result of my choices, my loneliness was the consequence of my actions.
This is hard to face.
However –
This was all very true.

I decided to make a decision – either I end it all or from this point onward, no matter what happens and no matter how bad things might be or how hurt I may feel, or regardless of how desperate things may seem – no matter what, and no matter who cares or who reads (if anyone at all) and regardless if I am alone, loved, unloved, or unwanted and unchosen – I have to come here each and every day.
No matter what.

I never thought any of this would lead me to anywhere.
And maybe it hasn’t.
I have traveled around the world yet I haven’t gone anywhere
(except for here).
I don’t even have a passport, which is fine.
Either way, my trips are postponed for now.

My studies on my own mental health as well as my studies and interaction with others who live with depression and anxiety have shown proof that yes, life is very cyclical.
We have ups and downs. We have good days and bad.
I have learned that it pays to understand our fixations.
It pays to notice our focus and our achievements.

I might not be as smart as Einstein or as good in math.
But, I understand his lesson to the class.
It’s good to note our mistakes.
It pays to learn from them (so we don’t repeat them).
But we can’t live in them.
We cannot allow this to outshine our successes.
And –
We can’t improve if all we do is hold onto flaws.
We certainly can’t find peace like this . . .
That’s why I come here, each and every day
Even if you don’t show up –

At least I did.