What Now? – Chapter 10

It is inaccurate to assume or to think that no one else hurts or feels pain. This is more common than we think or talk about.
Life is out there. Always.
Life is happening to everyone, right now in fact, which is of no surprise to anyone

Everyone understands what it feels like to lose or to fall or to be hurt. We all know what it means to be betrayed or lied to.
There is no one among us who doesn’t understand the feel of insecurity.
No one gets out of life alive, I say.
No one walks away without experiencing rejection or heartache.

However, I’ll agree that some are luckier than others. Some wake up to a better fortune and no, in the case of real life—my answer is no. We are not born equally.
I do not have the same opportunities as others. I am not equal to all. If I were, then I could walk on stage and sing as well as any singer. But no, I can’t.
Do you know why?
It’s because I can’t sing.
We are all unique.
We do not have the same talents or the same attributes. Not everyone has a golden parachute, and some have no parachute at all. To them, life seems like its in a constant state of falling and the upcoming ground and anticipation of the crash becomes insurmountable or crippling. The anticipatory fears of the pain or the shame of failure becomes unconquerable. This is life too.
But no one openly talks about this or claims their truths when it comes to their sad surrenders or their secret losses.
Life happens.
You will find yourself in the pit of some uncomfortable despair. Maybe this is something familiar and perhaps you find yourself in a case of “more of the same.”
I have listened to people tell me about the unfortunate chapters of their life and yes, I have heard them say that this is only a chapter—and that it’s not the book and that it’s not over, and that no—we are not dead, which means we are still at the entryway of a brand new comeback.

It is hard to see the other side of pain.
I get that.
It’s hard to get up sometimes. It’s hard to see clearly and it’s hard to find the inner growl or roar, and it’s hard to walk another step when you’re tired or your weak.
Or worse, it is hard to get to the other side when the weak side is so eminent or dominant and the battles in your head and your heart are the torment and the bully who refuse to set you free.
When you’re hurting and when your head is heavy—I’ll admit to the fact that it’s hard to look up and see the light.
It’s hard to see your progress. It’s hard to know that anything you’ve said or done has been worthwhile, and yes, this is life and yes, this is only part of life but equally, and more so, it’s hard to know if the fight was worth the battle or if you made any ground.
There are times when I swore I didn’t move an inch or advance.
But I have to realize that sometimes, holding your ground is more of an advance than getting ahead because the truth is anyone can move ahead when life is easy.
Anyone can find an open door or share a piece of the sunlight or have a moment when the winds are calm, and life is agreeable.

It’s not easy to stand your ground. It’s not easy to hold the line or hold your position because this is when the weight of the world is against us.
Life gets heavy, yet most people fail to see the victory in the fact that even if they were knocked back a thousand steps—imagine how much worse this would be if we failed to respond or if we failed to address the line or fight back or try at all.
I would rather fall back and be knocked down and lose than quit and let the tides of my disadvantages take me away.

I would rather bleed and hurt and bruise than let myself be taken away by the undertow of some unlikable or unfortunate event.

I am a survivor.
However, I am no better or worse than anyone else.
I have the benefits of hindsight.
I have the benefits of experience.
I have the benefit of finding myself in the worst places of all, and in my deepest pit or in my darkest times—for example, on an afternoon when I regained consciousness on the bathroom floor in an upstate treatment facility; and when I realized that despite my attempt, which just took place—something happened and something changed. For some reason, I survived instead of failed myself by my own hand.

I am no better than you. I am no stronger or more resilient. I am weak, in fact, and I struggle. I have battles with my own doubts and I hurt and worry and I fear that my life is not meant for the rocket ship to stardom.

I am not any better nor worse than anyone else and nor do I have the right to claim that I am an authority in life or that I understand more than anyone else does. I have no right to claim that my way is the right way. Above all, I have no right to say that I am bound for sainthood or that I am innocent.
I am human and therefore, I have sins and secrets and battles of dark thoughts. I have had trials and tribulations and more than once, I have found myself lost in the emptiness of indecision.
I have stood at the crossroads between abandonment and shame. I have scars and some that are deep, and some are visible and some are not detectable to the eye, yet—I see these scars more clearly than my basic reflection in the mirror.

I understand fear. I know this all too well.
I understand social and emotional intimidations. I understand educational and intellectual insecurities as well as my resentment and my disdain for social, intellectual and educational snobbery.

It was about this time of year—back in the summer of 1991 and I was young—of course, and I was a baby, in some ways. I was defiant. I was done. I was hated and hateful and I was misplaced and mismatched and confused and more, I was ready to resign.
I was ready to accept the abyss and cross the path of a lifeless abandon and heartily, I tell you that I was done.
I was wasting away and saw no hope and no future. To me, there was no justice and no peace. There was no silver lining and there was nothing (and no one) waiting for me on the other side of my devouring lonesomeness.

I had nothing and yet, I had everything.
I had no one and yet, I had everyone.
I could not see the value or the benefit of the next day or the miracle of the sunrise nor could I see or understand my worth or my value.

I had no answer for the question, “what now?”
So, in my defeat, I prepared myself to cast away and find some sort of gentle exit, as if to go peacefully and freely.
I supposed I would have slipped from consciousness and simply fell asleep or fell away, or found myself in the numb disposal of a resigning action to declare that yes, this was it for me. I had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore yet, somehow and for some reason, I did not pass or cross the threshold of an afterlife moment.

I woke up on the floor after the noose had slipped from my neck—and I couldn’t figure this out. I couldn’t understand why or how or if this was fair or if this was fate, or perhaps this was my destiny reaching in and telling me, “No, not yet.”

I openly discuss this as an advocate yet I am aware of the stigmas and the judgements. I understand the misunderstanding and misconceptions about depression and anxiety—and sure, I know about this from a personal perspective. I have my own history and like I said, I have my own scars.

I have met with people who tried to use my past against me. I know people who looked to expose my unfortunate moments, as if to dehumanize me or as if to devalue me.
But in my defense, and in all fairness and with transparency being my primary goal, I want to expose the truths, which most people fail to address—or should I say, I want to expose the darker things that most people refuse to acknowledge or admit.
No one wants to talk about this, yet this is more common than people think.

Life happens.
There will be times when life is good and the wind is just right.
There will be times when the answer to your prayers is in front of you, bright-eyed, ready, and waiting.
There are going to be moments when we face rejection and there will be times when we face adversity.

There will be heartache. There will be loss.
There will be moments when the storms refuse to let up or let us go.
But yes, there is another side.
There is hope and there is always a way to improve or to adapt. More than anything—there is always a way to recover.

We may not like our surroundings and we might not enjoy the aftermath of what happens or what takes place.
We might not get what we want and we might find ourselves in the onslaught of loveless moments or slayed by the battles of love, or lastly, we might not have the life we wanted but again—at least we stood our ground.
At least we drew a line in the sand and we refused to back down.

It’s easy to live when life is kind. It’s easy to advance when the terrain is fair and the slope is beneficial.
But just know . . .
The terrain will change. Times will change. And yes,
so will you.

I don’t know why I woke up. I don’t know why I survived myself and I don’t know how or if this is part of some greater picture. However, I do know that I have spoken about this honestly and openly in forums that range from corporate mental health discussions to classroom presentations. I have spoken about this in treatment facilities and in correctional facilities as well.
In fact, I have spoke about this in front of kids, adults, and professionals, and I have spoken about this in homeless shelters. Although the backgrounds and the surroundings were different—and, of course, the cultures were different too, the core of this message was the same. Hence, this makes my message relatable and understandable.
I told my story to a sea of acknowledging faces who nodded their heads.
So, to this I say:

“You are not alone.”
You are not the only one and no, neither am I.

There is hope and there is help.

So, what now?

Do you want the truth?
The truth is, I don’t know the answer to that.
But if you want, you and I can find out.
We can work on this. . .
Together.

Stay up, kid.
You mean more to me than you know.