Home for the Holidays

All my life - and especially now with the holidays approaching - I've had an aversion to "family." I'm obsessed in the sense of tracing my lineage and finding out where I come from, but when it comes to holidays or gatherings, I feel physically sick and want to run off somewhere. I can't stand being in the same room with so much family. Sitting down around a table like it's some big event with people I know so well just doesn't sit right with me. Everything feels so fake.

My Mother, The Critical

It doesn't help that my mum has always been hypercritical of me. I get that everyone's mum is critical. It's what they do. But mine has it down to an art. It's easier to go down a list than it is to just state the things she does...

1. My Tattoos: When I first got a tattoo (mind, I was 24 and hadn't lived in her house or anywhere near her since I turned 18), she demanded to see it. I refused to show it to her because - though it was on my arm - we were in a public place and she was going to make a scene. It was a big tattoo. True to form, she asked why I would "do this to her" and proceeded to cry dramatically and call me a branded cow. She then wailed about how I couldn't be buried in a church cemetery anymore (yes I can), even though our whole family has always been cremated and she knew that I wanted the same. We'd never discussed burial for anyone in our family before this point, but somehow that was now an issue. Any tattoos after that were met with scornful looks, snide comments, and lectures about how I needed to "grow up and knock that shit off." Anytime we go anywhere, she asks anyone we know and anyone I introduce her to what they think of my tattoos, trying to get them to tell me they're horrible as if saying it enough and having people agree with her can magic them out of my skin. She's asked my husband, my close friends, my not-so-close friends, almost strangers, waitresses, people she works with, and even my in-laws.
2. My Clothes/Hair: Nothing is good enough. She always complains about what I wear, pretty much demanding that I dress up even for going to a diner where truckers frequent. She constantly wants me in uncomfortable clothes because they're "grown up" and "feminine." Even when I dress up, she keeps looking me over until she finds something wrong with me.
3. My Car/House: If I have anything in the backseat of my car - mail I just picked up, boxes for moving, a gym bag, etc. - she calls it filthy and disgusting and complains the whole time. My house? Same. I once tried to avoid this pitfall by scrubbing the place from top to bottom for two whole days, wearing myself out. I put away pretty much any sign that the house had people living in it. I thought she would catch the sarcasm. Instead, it still wasn't clean enough and she set about rearranging my furniture without permission (again) and cleaning counters.
4. Places We Go: I spend a lot of money to take her out when I'm with her. Places she likes, nice places that she never could afford on her own, shopping, eating, movies, the works. I even pay her for gas. $20 every time I get in her car. She says that's about the cost of the gas we use (it isn't, she can fill her tank for a couple bucks less), and I agree because I know she doesn't have money. Is all this enough? No. The service is slow, the selection isn't to her liking, the lights give her a headache, the perfectly cooked food isn't perfect enough, the movie wasn't good, the seats were too soft, etc. I even took her to the beach for three days. NO expense to her whatsoever. She complained that we had different rooms, she complained about the delicious seafood, she complained about the heat and sun, and she complained that I didn't want to go see a boring movie with her because I insisted we should try things that we wouldn't get to do normally when we're back home.
5. My Husband: Everything he touches is golden. Everything he does is sunshine and rainbows. She never stops talking about how wonderful he is. Daughters are supposed to be able to talk to their mothers about their problems. I mention something, and it's immediately my fault. I'm not good enough for him. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not doing this or that, or giving him children, or dressing sexy or overly feminine. It's always because of me. Sometimes, even if it was my fault, that wouldn't excuse a problem we're having. But to her, it does. It's always my fault. And if I don't change everything about myself on a huge bulleted list, I will lose him.

Thanks, mum.

Family Guilt and Fake Smiles

Even if I could get past all that criticism enough to choke down the holiday cheer and overly seasoned food, it's still a mess. With my brother and his (girlfriend? fiancé? mother of his children? I don't know) not talking to mum, I now have to split my very limited time between three families, all demanding to see us. My in-laws don't actually care about seeing me, so lately I've taken to leaving my husband with them and splitting the time between my brother and mum. Both very tense situations, both tackled alone. Then I have to face the questions from my mum about why he isn't there, doesn't he like her, because of course it's not enough to have just me. And when she requests just me, it's always to help her with errands or chores or stress about her jobs and money issues and health issues and my dad. Always kind of negative. And if I don't get time to see someone, they lay on the guilt really thick. They don't understand that because they're petty enough to refuse to be near each other, that puts me in a difficult position and leaves me with no time to see my husband. And what with his job being 100% travel, I see him roughly 32-38 days each year.

Let's say it somehow works out that I have time to see everyone. From there, it's just a bunch of fake smiles and pretending to be okay, pretending that every second I'm not looking for ways to escape and hang myself with the shiny garland. It's listening to loud people say the same things over and over, getting increasingly drunk and/or bitter and/or grumpy or outrageous. Then comes the sentimentality that makes me cringe. I hate sentimental emotion. HATE it. I feel as if I'm quite literally drowning in their emotions and it's too much for me to handle. I feel so disconnected from all of it. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in, just going through the motions and trying to breathe until I have to walk outside and get fresh air or vomit on all of them. Then people kind of treat me like I'm ruining the fun when they don't realize how close I was to puking and committing seppuku with the carving knife in front of them. Light meat or dark meat? Nah. Blood or vomit is your choice. Pick what you want to be covered in.

Farewell to My Lady K...
K, a girl I was quite close with and loved dearly, died last year the day before Thanksgiving. She was vibrant and full of life. She was a rebel that did what suited her and didn't take shit from anyone. She wanted to live in Florida for a few weeks? She made it work. She wanted to go cliff diving? She made it work. Anything she wanted to do, she somehow did. And when people gave her a hard time, she simply let them go. She didn't need that in her life and she refused to feel guilty for making herself happy. She wasn't hurting anyone, so why should it matter? I loved that about her. I loved her. I half wanted to be her and half wanted to marry her. So when I found out on Thanksgiving as we were all cooking, the house packed full, that K had died from complications of a car crash the previous day... Part of me died with her. I couldn't fake the smiles anymore. I couldn't choke down the cheer. I imploded. I collapsed inward on myself and made a shameful scene of crying. She was so young and it wasn't fair that it happened.

And now that Thanksgiving draws near, I wonder if I will be able to fake the smiles again. I wonder if I'll feel even more disconnected from everything happening around me. I wonder if I can tolerate the overly seasoned food and the criticism and being spread far too thin, of having no one understand and no one to talk to, an ocean of their emotions and big personalities drowning me, sickeningly cheerful Christmas music blasting so loud that I can't even think... I'm guessing not.

Here's hoping your holidays are far more tolerable.

Have a horrible or awkward holiday story? Have holiday stress?

Hate this time of year with the burning fire of a thousand suns?

Leave a comment or email your story for our "Collective Misery" project.

Elision

This is my instrumental. I don't understand words.

This is my language. I can't articulate.

Music does most of the talking. Lyrics that I didn't write scratch the surface. The music is most important. The beats, the melody. I think in emotions and sounds. I do not speak in my head as others do. My brain already has made the connection and talking it out in my head slows me down. I do not need to tell myself what I already know. Skip it, make the connections, synapses firing, delivering knowledge and carrying out the commands to the rest of my being.

I look at you. I don't know what to say. Words aren't relatable to me. I hum. Humming shows you my emotion. Humming shows my thoughts. I am not made to be a being that communicates and thinks in words. Why would you speak when you could let the sounds say more effectively what you are in that moment? I often find songs in instrumental versions because I understand them better without words. As if they are speaking another language when they sing. Music is universal. Music I understand. No words. No clutter. Only emotion and sound.

I can't articulate to you. I can't speak aloud. I don't know what to say, so I drum a rhythm on the table. You don't understand. I vocalize a complicated melody. You still don't understand. But I can't speak.

I do not vow silence. I vow sound without words.

I count numbers like scores that validate my existence.

I did not do this for myself out of selfish anger. I did this out of love. Count one, count two, let the echoes carry your anguish.

And then to the elision. The continual elision that is my life.

And this is what I say...

Sail by AWOLNATION

Sail
This is how I show my love
I made it in my mind because
Blame it on my ADD baby

This is how an angel dies
Blame it on my own sick pride
Blame it on my ADD baby

Sail, sail
Sail, sail, sail

Maybe I should cry for help
Maybe I should kill myself (myself)
Blame it on my ADD baby

Maybe I'm a different breed
Maybe I'm not listening
So blame it on my ADD baby

Sail, sail
Sail, sail, sail

Suicide In The Trenches by Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.    

- Siegfried Sassoon

Death Letters, Part Two: Fear Itself

Dear reader,
Merry Samhain and Happy Halloween. This is one of my favorite days of the year and it always makes me contemplate fear. I had a lot of it growing up as a child - the fear of strangers, fear of the ocean, fear of the dark, and (my most paralyzing and panic-inducing) the fear of being lost. Later on, after early childhood, it evolved. The fear of the dark and the ocean stayed but in place of the others, there were new fears: the fear of fire, fear of clowns, and an acute fear of ghosts and demons (and other things unseen that my paranoia exaggerated).

After a particular traumatizing series of events including physical abuse, self harm, suicide attempts, side effects of medication (that gave me mood swings, disconnection with reality, memory gaps, sleepwalking episodes, and horrifying nightmares that blurred with reality often), I decided that it was better to be feared than be afraid.

To keep from being afraid, I knew I would have to learn to become fear itself. When you are the dark, you will no longer succumb to the terror of what it holds...

Athazagoraphobia: The Lonely Child
Growing up, I was left on my own a lot. Not in a neglectful sense (at first) where a parent might leave a child all alone at home, but in the sense that I was left to my own devices. My father was always out to sea with the Navy (and when he came back, he was neglectful), my brother wanted nothing to do with me when he wasn't in school (unless it was to bully or torture me mentally), and my mother (suffering from cancer unbeknownst to us) had a hard time keeping up day to day. She did her best, but since I was always such a quiet and introverted child, she usually left me on my own to do workbooks or play or read. Naturally, this left me with a fear of being left behind by my family, forgotten and lost. I was always quite clingy in public because I was sure that my family didn't care about me. If they went too long without looking at me, they would forget that I existed and would simply leave me behind forever.

"...[T]he fear of being forgotten can arise in childhood if the individual has been left alone or has been ignored for a long time. Many sufferers of this phobia report feeling 'inconsequential or unsubstantial' due to the feelings they undergo when left alone.

[...]

Often, such people are inherently introverted, depressed or tend to lack the ability to interact normally in society. They are, by nature, shy and passive. At the same time, it is difficult for the person as s/he undergoes deep turmoil thinking repeatedly of 'simply fading into oblivion'." FearOf.net

This fear may have persisted if not for witnessing my brother grow into a more and more troublesome person. Once my parents divorced, my father cut himself out of our lives, and all of my mother's energy and attention went into my brother. He was rather difficult - violent, verbally abusive, occasionally disappearing for days at a time to various friends' houses without warning; more than once he was on missing posters because of this. I was pushed to the side yet again, this time neglected and regarded with impatience and anger (due to the tempers my brother left in his wake); I would often go without eating a meal or two because no one was paying attention. Sometimes whole days passed where my family never spoke to me or looked at me, busy yelling at each other and escalating occasionally to violence. I was singled out in school because I was brilliant and gifted, but didn't speak much. Often I would get flustered at the sudden attention or doubtful of myself even if I was right, so I would answer incorrectly. This led to ridicule by teachers and classmates in varying degrees and bullying later (which only continued until I was twelve, thankfully). I learned to like being alone and often wished I would be lost so I could find a new life without anyone else. Attention became a negative thing and to this day, I prefer to watch and be behind the curtain.

The center of attention is a dreadful place to be.

Achluophobia: Darkness in My Head
Nothing is so complex to me as my relationship with the dark. I am nocturnal. The night is my home. The stars are friends and the moon is all the light I need. In the night, I am more creative and awake than ever in my life. More alive. But the darkness, the blackness that suffocates and is completely void of light... That is what terrifies me. A child may be afraid of the dark because they imagine monsters, but when you get older, you realize that monsters are real. Perhaps not in the sense that you once imagined, but in more terrifying forms. Murderers, corpses of loved ones who have passed, and the own demons in your head.

As a child in Washington and Indiana, my imagination was highly developed far beyond most adults, and traumas I'd seen and heard, strangely horrifying nightmares corrupted it. My imaginary friends weren't always nice. They started out that way, friendly grown-ups or children my age that mostly wanted to tell me secrets or watch me. But they quickly took on the qualities of bullies, my older brother, my father... Anyone who made me feel sad or angry, scared, or like I didn't want to exist anymore. Whenever this happened, I tried to stop talking to them and make up new friends. The old friends were never happy and would make the new ones "go away." When I finally moved to sunny Florida at the age of (about) five or six, it all stopped (only to come back later when moving to Alabama at age eight). Once I hit the age of ten, I no longer had imaginary friends or anything of the sort. But the feelings they gave me back then always remained, always at night or when I was alone. I would be trying to sleep or play quietly in my room and I would suddenly feel sad, lethargic, paranoid - as if I was being watched. If I tried to ignore it long enough, I would end up feeling dizzy and nauseated with an accelerated heart rate. (At one point in my teenage years, I spaced out only to find that I'd been laying on the floor and staring at the wall for nine hours. I promptly threw up.) This usually resulted in my fainting. But being alone in bed at night, this went unnoticed. And when someone came to check on me if I was playing, they would assume I'd fallen asleep.

I would go on to get a reputation for sleeping a lot.

Fear Becomes You, My Dear
Looking out my window at the falling leaves and the dry, brown grass I think about what this holiday means to me. I used to relish the chance to dress as a princess or angel - someone loved and adored. Then my view of the world soured and my desires changed. It quickly became not about the candy and games, but about the different masks I could adopt. Even though I was quite young, I wanted to become more and more terrifying things. Halloween was the chance to be someone braver than I was, someone who ran with her fears instead of from them. I was just as frightening as them, so they could not scare me. And being as frightening as them allowed me to know them as I knew myself, to become like them and be stronger for it.

Samhain is the time to unify myself. It's was, and is, spiritual to me. I've since gotten control of the strange discomfort and the paranoia that came over me when I was alone for too long. I can now spend time comfortably alone... With my little black cat. I've transformed bit by bit, and this time of year gradually took on new meaning. As I crossed into adulthood and left home at eighteen, it became about connecting with external and internal fears, becoming one with the unknown and often unseen, facing my mortality and honoring the dead, honoring myself, and embracing the darkness inside me - because whether I like it or not, the darkness and fear, the twisted nightmares and corrupted imagination... It's part of me. There is no night without day, and I am not complete without this aspect.

"I expected my shadow and l would join together like drops of water..." Hook

That's why I've become so "morbid," as normal people say. That's why I think and speak about things that other people cringe away from. I am learning to tame the darkness within me, learning to join with my fears so that I will never have to be afraid again.

In this world where only the strongest and most cunning survive,

it is better to be feared than be afraid.

Merry Samhain.
- An INFJ

The Death Letters, Part One: The Problem with Heaven

Dear reader,
Do you ever think about death? I do. All the time. I think about how I'll die and what I want to happen with my corpse. I think about if I'll be able to hang around a bit after death or if I have to move on. I wonder what I'll see. Other dead people? Creatures? Sparks of light and energy? I wonder if my cat will be able to see me. Will I be another thing she stares at and follows around a room, freaking everyone out?

And the people. Who will outlive me? Which friends? My spouse? My brother, my mother? Will my father outlive me even with his excessive drinking and smoking? Will he grieve for me and all the lost time, or will he be as indifferent as ever? Or will he go to his grave, never once thinking that he outlived his child?

And what happens after all of that? Reincarnation, becoming one with some cosmic force, paradise, punishment, or a vast nothingness - ceasing to exist and having no consciousness?

Paradise isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I have a personal saying: "Eine Geschichte ohne Konflikt hat keine Bedeutung. Ein Leben ohne Kampf hat keinen Zweck." Which, translated for those of you that don't speak German, means "A story without conflict has no meaning. A life without struggle has no purpose." If everything was perfect, it would be boring. Think of it in terms of a movie. Who wants to sit and watch someone succeed in everything, have a comfortable job, and go about their daily lives in monotony with not one bit of conflict? Life is the same way. Sure, it sucks when you get turned down for a promotion or get your heart broken. It's awful when you break a limb or have your car break down. But for all the bad, there is good - and it makes the good that much better. You appreciate it more because you worked for it, you suffered for it, you earned every bit of the goodness through everything you endured.

That's why I have a problem with the notion of Heaven, a paradise where nothing bad happens and we all live happily ever after. I don't want that. That's miserable! Who wants to live a perfect and boring (semblance of a) life for all eternity? Where's the struggle, the motivation? What is there to fight for? Where's the purpose? If you take away struggle and conflict, you have nothing. It's what drives humans: the idea of something better. And you can't get better than perfect.

Paradise is already lost, Milton.
John Milton - author of one of my favorite works, Paradise Lost - believed that you can't have good without evil. And it's true. If evil ceased to exist and you never knew it, how would you know what was good? If you never knew sorrow, how could you know happiness? One cannot exist without the other because they are known only by comparison. Think about it this way, if you were always sick and bedridden, kept company by those who were ailing as well, you'd never know what it was like to be healthy. That would be your "normal" and that's all you would ever know. Healthy wouldn't exist for you.

By that token, a paradise with no pain and suffering, with no burdens or obstacles, with no struggle and nothing to overcome - essentially stripped of those human elements - is no paradise at all.

To live is to suffer.
It sounds bitter and, perhaps, melodramatic but it's true. To suffer is the way of man. It's the human element. We suffer, we struggle, and we overcome or let it consume us. Either way, our suffering - much more than our success - shapes us as people. We are a block of marble. When something impacts us in a negative way, it strikes the marble, removing chunks. It pulls our shape out, our character. It carves out who we are. The storms - the wind and water - smooth out the edges and reveal our form. And the joy? The joy ads the final touches, the moment of triumph, the light shining out from the center of the marble to make it all worth it. But without the suffering, without the adversity, we'd still just be a big block of marble with no meaning, no purpose, and no definition.

I'm not saying our mistakes and the like define us, but it helps us change and become something more. Think of it in this context: which will likely have a bigger impact - eating an ice cream cone, or having a bully push you down and take it from you? Obviously the bully. Maybe you'll fight back. Maybe you'll reason with him. Maybe you'll become a bully yourself. Or perhaps think that it's better he took yours instead of someone else's, and that will set you on the path to be a protector of others.

But the point is that moment will impact you and shape you and give you much more than Suzy Paradise will get sitting on the bench and enjoying her fudge pop.

- An INFJ

I'm A Hypocrite

When people tell me their problems - which they always do, even strangers - it's a burden. Sometimes. When they can tell me calmly and without being overly dramatic, I can take it easily.

YES:
I missed my sculpting lesson because my dad had to work and I couldn't go. What if I fall behind? What if I lose my edge and become worse and worse? What if this affects my future? I'm worried.

NO:
My dad had to work and couldn't take me to my sculpting lesson. He doesn't care about me! I hate him and I hate everyone! I'll never be good enough! No one cares what I want! I might as well kill myself!

The overly dramatic types make me sick. Not as in I'm disgusted by them, but as in physically sick. They stress me out and make me tense, and their negativity makes me feel negative. And then comes my depression. And, lately, anxiety. (I'm just a bundle of fucked up shit, aren't I? No, that was rhetorical. Stop nodding.)

In my group sessions, I was told as an empath (and INFJ), people will open up to me because I'm easy to talk to. It's just how I feel. I put people at ease and make them feel like they can tell me anything. And I actually listen. They see that. I give good advice. They feel that. So I find myself attracting all kinds of people. (Lucky me.) Substitute teachers would talk to me about their kids or divorces or what have you during lunch or recess or break. Strangers would gravitate toward me and open up about their whole lives. Even my own father once confessed to me that he was so stressed about the future that he thought about killing himself. (Great parenting, that. But I never expected much from him.) Even my own mother told me things that I really could have gone my whole life without knowing, things that were negative and have been a burden on my life ever since. Things that I carry with me to this day.

So in my group sessions, I was told to stop taking the negative as much as possible. This was triggering my stress, anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts. I was told that to minimize it, I would have to discuss with my friends and family the impact it was having on me and ask them to find other outlets for their problems and negativity. I told my friends in the kindest possible manner to fuck off with their problems and ranting, and just pair up with each other. (Because I'm sweet like that, giving them solutions.)

I tried to make them understand what I lived by my whole life:

1. You're not a special snowflake; everyone has problems.
2. Have something negative to say? Keep your mouth SHUT, even if it's about yourself. Negativity begets negativity. What you put out is what you get back.
3. If it's a burden on you, then it's a burden on others. Say nothing. Better to suffer alone than force others to suffer with you.

So now we come to the hypocrisy of it all. I had an anxiety attack this morning, which made me a bit vulnerable, so I spouted a problem that's been on my mind to a dear friend. She says it doesn't bother her and that she feels like it's her purpose in life to be there for people and help ease their burden.

I think to myself, "This girl is not an empath. She's not an INFJ. I'm really shitty at this, then, because she's better than me."

I can't even take it when people simply say "I'm having a bad day." (YOU'RE having a bad day!? So is Syria! Think about THAT!)

Once upon a time, I felt like that too. I felt my purpose was helping others and protecting them, standing up for what was right even when no one else was, listening to anyone who had something to say... But here I am, a fucked up meatbag, and this person is consoling me? On top of that, I - who's sworn never to burden others (and hasn't 98% of the time through my life), who tells others to talk to someone else - I am blathering my problems and burdening someone else!? Even if she says she doesn't mind, I'm a hypocrite for talking to her about my problems. I just turned around and threw my issues in someone else's lap. How is that right? It isn't. And even though I don't think she'd ever use it against me, I've been very wrong before. That's how I started hating people in the first place. One too many wounds. And I've put myself in the position to be stabbed again.

What is wrong with me!?

But... I'll admit, it was nice having someone to talk to for once. Even if it was wrong to burden them and put out negativity. Even if now they can take that little white flag of surrender and impale me with it.

Paranoia (Might As Well Sink)

Paranoia is my norm.
Someone posted an article on things narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths do to manipulate the people in their lives. We have only one mutual friend. She and I argue a lot and I don't doubt that she probably vents to him; they're good friends, so why not? So when he tagged her (and only her), paranoia kicked in. Is this about me, I wondered. Is this what he thinks of me? Does he secretly hate me? Do they regularly talk about me and what a bad person I am? All this time he's being kind to my face, is he telling her to ditch me? Is he only around so he can watch me and have something to bash on behind my back? The stress hit, then the physical pain began. I'm not supposed to get worked up, I reminded myself. It's bad for my health right now. But I can't let it go. It's all I can think about. I'm constantly stressing about how people see me and what they're doing/saying when I'm not around. I'm always thinking that they're talking badly about me and laughing at me.

I'm not that way...
I tell other people to give me the benefit of a doubt. That's because I'm a fairly straightforward person. If I don't like you, I'll tell you. If I have a problem with you, you'll know. I say things to your face. I'm pretty obvious with how I feel about you. If it's not obvious, don't assume because it's almost always not what you think. Don't assume I'm laughing at you or making fun of you; if I am, there will be zero doubt because it'll be so very obvious. I'm that easy to understand when it comes to how I relate to you personally.

People are inherently evil.
But other people? Not so much. They're sneaky and two-faced. In my life, people I've thought were friends were just using me. As soon as I was no longer useful to them, they treated me like shit and left me - often out of the blue when nothing was wrong. They've laughed at me, talked about me behind my back, gotten together in groups without me to hang out and talk about me, dated people I liked just because I liked them, spread rumors, and worse. That's why I can't bring myself to give them the benefit of a doubt. I know I would never do that. It would go against my core beliefs and make me hate myself. It's almost physically impossible to do that. I can't understand how others so easily do it. I have no doubt it's just the evil of human nature.

I want to be...
People are just evil, myself included. Only difference, I don't want to be. I want to be someone good, useful. I want to be the kind of person people seek out. I want to be a person that no one wants to cross and everyone wants in their corner. I want to be someone that no one can really speak badly of because I only act rationally, reasonably, and with the best interests of the individual and/or bigger picture in mind. I want to be the person that is trusted to lead and protect, to make the tough decisions. I want to be relied on and admired.

Are you talking about me?
In discussions with my group, there was posed the question of why paranoia exists. Is it useful? Is it necessary? Paranoia serves its purpose in some ways. It's good to have a healthy amount of distrust. If Caesar had more paranoia, perhaps he would've seen Brutus's knife coming a mile away. All leaders must have paranoia; it helps them be wary of those around them for purposes of survival. But even the common folk should be paranoid sometimes. Is that stranger looking at me too long? Is that man following me? Is that person armed? These are all good survival tools.

But how does wondering if someone is talking about me benefit me? How does obsessing over what people are thinking of me help? I thought about this a lot after that group session.

1. What is important to me?
2. What would life be like if I was generally disliked?
3. What would happen to me if my image was compromised or tarnished?

After a long look, I realized...

Image is important to me. After years of neglect, abuse, and general misery... Why wouldn't I want to be a beloved figure? I felt so helpless for so long, just emotionlessly allowing the tumultuous waves to throw me about and drag me under. When I finally discovered the strength to struggle, I found the ocean wasn't empty. Other people were being tossed about and drowned.

Those who suffer together are bonded together. Those who bear the same burden become brothers and sisters united. These people, these drowning people, were the same. They were mine.

1. Image: I want to be seen as someone strong, someone who can make tough decisions and help others. I want to be seen as a reliable, rational protector. When they are drowning, I want them to look over and see me. I want them to reach out and take the hand I'm offering.
2. If I was disliked... Then what use would I be? If people disliked me, I could never achieve greatness. I could never mean anything and the world wouldn't mourn if I died. No one would trust me, no one would want my help, and I would be nothing more than a bad taste on the tongue of anyone that spoke my name. I would be as good as worthless. I need love, admiration, friendship, and trust to survive...
3. If my desired image is ruined... I would likely die. I would just give up. I need to be needed. I want to be wanted. I have to be great and do amazing things. I have to be important to people to find meaning in my life. It's all that keeps me alive right now. But why can I not handle people relying on me and venting to me right now? Because I'm still at risk for suicide. My image and perception of worth is still being rebuilt, still more fragile than glass. I'm still recovering from the blow I was dealt, still picking up the pieces and gluing them back together. Every time I have tried to kill myself, it's because I felt that my image was gone and I was disliked. The reason for my existence was taken away. There was no point in continuing life if I wasn't admired, loved, looked up to. There was no reason to draw breath if I wasn't important and needed. Why keep struggling against those waves if no one will take your hand? What reason is there to keep fighting if everyone around you keeps drowning? What is the point of existing if you can't be loved, if you can't inspire hope and help others?

Might as well sink.

Is that post about me? Does he think I'm a bad person? Am I not fighting hard enough against what I am? Are my efforts going unnoticed? Will no one take my hand?

Might as well sink...

Organ damage, loss of family, and new life direction...

I have recently found out that I have damaged some internal organs. Long story short, there was blood and pain and nausea. I have to take things slowly and carefully for a while. There is no one to talk to about this. People always say that they are there for you when you need them, but when you look... They can't be bothered with you and you just feel like a burden. If your friends make you feel this way...

Look, I don't fucking know anymore. I can't be there for them because I'm not stable and I'm a suicide risk. They can't be there for me for whatever reason. But that still leaves me with no one to talk to. I'm all alone with this. So I do what I do best: I go to my anonymous blog where no one comments and no one even subscribes. Is it comforting to vent? Yeah, sure. In some ways. Do I still need someone to comfort me and tell me that I'm not going to die? That would be nice. Am I going to get that? No.

Another thing that has turned my world upside down: my aunt committed suicide two weeks ago. I never saw it coming. She never talked to any of us about it. No one knew she was having problems. Aside from grieving, I'm terrified that it could be me one day. I never can talk about it either. Everyone I talk to has one of the following reactions:

1. Ignorance. "Just perk up and stop being sad. Exercise and get fresh air. You'll be fine." Gee. Thanks. Like it's so easy to do. Treatment resistant clinical depression finally has a cure! Just stop being sad and take a walk. Brilliant. My life is saved. Let me say this clearly: YOU CANNOT JUST SNAP OUT OF TRUE DEPRESSION. IT IS A CHEMICAL IMBALANCE IN YOUR BODY. IT IS THE WAY YOUR BRAIN IS WIRED. IT'S PART OF YOU AND YOU CANNOT JUST "STOP BEING SAD."
2. Overreaction. They take the butter knives away at dinner. They watch me like a hawk. If I go to take an aspirin for a migraine, they insist on opening the bottle and giving me the minimum dose before hiding the bottle. They demand to know where I'm going every time I leave for the bathroom to piss. They don't trust me at all, and they make me feel like a freak. It's humiliating, depressing, and it stresses me out. This is not at all helpful.
3. Irritation. "I'm going through my own things and let's face it. You're depressed all the time. You're always going through something. Nothing's going to change, so I just need to focus on myself right now. Don't talk to me about it again, okay? I don't want to hear that negative stuff." Everyone goes through things. My life happens to be shittier than most in certain aspects. If I could change that, I would. Depression never goes away, especially since I can't take medication. Does that make me less deserving of support just because you're having a bad day? But when problems are small and you won't accept my help, then use that as an excuse not to help me when I'm afraid and alone (like I was promised these people would), I can't help but feel this is personal. Everywhere I turned, someone was telling me that they had their own issues: they couldn't go out drinking with their friends because they had to do a paper, they couldn't get their parents to dish out more money to fix all the problems in their life, some guy wouldn't text them back about weekend plans... Come on. Seriously? That takes precedence? Just makes me feel great about myself. (Heavy on the sarcasm.)

Basically, I can't talk to anyone because they make me feel worse, don't and won't understand, or just can't be bothered with me for whatever reason. Yet, when things get bad they always say that they'll be there for me when I need them. I can only conclude that this is only said to alleviate any guilt they felt in ignoring me until they realize how bad things had gotten.

On top of that, I'm legally changing my name soon to avoid my father (who has decided to settle back in town and wants to harass me) and trying to figure out what's going to happen next. Some family shit went down where basically my family was ripped in half and I was caught in the middle, forced to choose. I avoided that as long as I could, but eventually had to stand up for what is right. That leaves me... Where? For one thing, I have to figure out where I actually want to live now that I don't really have a reason to move back to that hellhole of a small town. And I have to figure out what to do with my life. The further I go in my studies, the more I want to do everything. I want ten different careers. I want to be a workaholic. I want to eat, sleep, and breathe this work. It's beautiful. It's fascinating. It's a growing, exciting field and I'm at the beginning of it all. The world is open and all I can think about is how I'll never see my nephews again, how I'll never speak to my brother or sister-in-law no matter how much I want to - because they won't let me. And how my health is declining rapidly.

I'm scared. My whole life is changing fast.

And I'm alone.

Lost in Translation

I really can't help the way I think and feel, just as you can't. You don't realize when you hurt me, and I bottle it up. I bury it so no one has to see. I'm ashamed of having feelings. I'm ashamed of letting things get to me. I am supposed to be a wall. I'm supposed to be an iron fortress. But I'm not. I'm just a person who feels everything whether they want to or not.

You say you like cold climates. I don't live in particularly cold climates. It's temperate. We made plans in the distant past to go to the tropics. I casually say that the tropics are nice. You say you much prefer the cold. The tropics burn. You can't wear sunscreen. Paris is so much better even though you've never been to the tropics. You want to buy a home there so that you're always in cold weather.

My translation: "I don't like warmth and humidity. I made plans to live elsewhere. Where you live and where we had planned to go will make me unhappy."

My solution: I don't want you to be unhappy. You don't have to come here anymore. I will accept that our past plans are in the past and that they won't happen. Reality check received.

You say you don't want to join a game. You have no interest. You don't like it.
My thought: "I really had hoped it would be something you'd enjoy because it has all your favorite elements. Even if you don't understand the world, it's not important. It can be anything you make of it. But since you don't like it, I'll remind myself not to be hurt and instead of putting you on the spot with future invitations, I'll kind of feel the situation out and gather my own conclusions from your responses."
Your thought: I'm pissed because you won't play my one specific game and I'm throwing a fit over it.

You want to play an old game that's caused personal troubles for us.
My inner reaction: "Great. Now we'll fight again and take a giant leap back. I'll be risking any progress I've made with you and maybe this time we'll never speak again. But it's something you really want. It makes you happy. Do I start again and show you with this gesture that I trust you and would risk anything to make you happy? Or do I refuse to try and preserve what we have, and risk hurting your feelings? Either way, I could ruin our friendship forever."
My outer reaction: *silence*
Your conclusion: I'm still angry with you.
Your outer reaction: Asking if promising to behave will make me play a game with you.
Inner feelings: "She feels like I don't think she's good enough. She feels like she's being punished. I'm the worst friend on the planet and I should just go jump into a ravine so my body breaks and that'll just eliminate the need for having to choose."

I realize that no matter what, I'm always going to fall short because I'm really not good enough for this. I'm not strong enough, I have too much distrust of people, and I'm constantly hurting. I expect you to be more intuitive than you are and I can't express how I feel except to strangers in an anonymous blog.
My conclusion: "Nothing is ever going to be the same, is it? I can't do anything without hurting you and I can't show you when you hurt me. We're both in this perpetual state of limbo where we both want to be careful and don't think that we should have to give any ground. We want to change to make each other happy, but at the same time defiantly assert that we should be accepted as we are. I shouldn't try anymore because it's just wasted. It's never going to get past this."
Your conclusion: I don't want things to be okay. I don't want to be happy. I don't want us to be friends. Every time you try to open up, I shut you down. Every time you trust, I rip out your heart and laugh at you. Every time you share your ambitions, I question why you bother with it. And then I get all offended at the slightest things out of nowhere. I'm horrible.
My thought: "Yes, I am horrible. I expect too much of you. You think I get upset out of nowhere because all my emotions are buried in subtext. You think I'm pissed about the smallest things because I can't tell you what the underlying cause is and how long it's been going on. I can't. And that's my fault. And I'm sorry. And I wish I could show you that I love you in the way you need to be shown. I wish I could be like a normal human so that things were easier. But I can't be any other way because I don't know how. And I can't expect you to change. So that's just the way it is."
Your thought: I'm being unkind out of nowhere, pissed off  irrationally and childishly because you like Paris and don't want to play a game. I'm throwing a tantrum and trying to get you to say mean things so that I can feel validated in my suffering.
Inside: "I can see how you'd think that. But I'm genuinely accepting this as my fault. I know it is. You only ever get to see the tip of the iceberg and that really does make me look like a child having a fit. But it's not. And I'd show you that, but I don't see the point anymore. You won't see it. I'll feel hurt. Round and round we go.
Outside: Why bother? Just be silent and sit there. Nothing will make it better. Everything will make it worse. Just let her talk and just take it, whatever she says.


I'm a bad friend.

Blame

I blame myself for the sunshine.
I blame myself for the rain.
I blame myself for feeling sadness.
I blame myself for hurting inside.
I blame myself for every breath I take.
I blame myself for trying to make you like me.
I blame myself for failing to make you like me.
I blame myself for the shifting of the earth.
I blame myself for the cold.
I blame myself for crying.
I blame myself for not being able to cry.
I blame myself for not being there when all my loved ones died.
I blame myself for not being able to tie a noose.
I blame myself for throwing up the pills.
I blame myself for being hopeful.
I blame myself for waking up.
I blame myself for the tides.
I blame myself for destruction.
I blame myself for being blind.
I blame myself for not being good for you.
I blame myself for being good for others.
I blame myself for everything.

But most of all, I blame myself for being alive, for everything I do and don't do that always hurts you.
I blame myself for not being your friend. I always wanted to be. But I never could.

The Way Things Are

People always tell you that anything worth doing is worth doing well. Give it your all. Go above and beyond. I don't think those people realize that sometimes, things just aren't going to work...

I've never tried so hard at attempting friendship. I've put so much thought into things. I've tried to pay attention to what she likes and doesn't like. I've tried to think of things she would want to try. I've tried to come up with ideas of new things I had hoped she'd love to experience. I've bought beauty things, panpipes, hair dye, things from inside jokes, stuffed animals, treats, teas, organic things, fox things, anything and everything she'd mentioned wanting to try or showed an interest in. But I guess in my excitement to give her my version of affection, my way of saying what I can't say, I waited too long.

She no longer likes half the things I bought for her. She no longer has interest in the plans we'd made long ago. Had I really hoped for that? Yes. Stupidly, yes. Like a child, I hoped that she'd still want to visit. I'd hoped we'd return that friendship shell to the beach together. I hoped that she'd still, in some small way, want to be part of my life. That she'd want to move here one day, after we repaired everything.

So I tried. I made games I thought she'd like. I worked hard to surprise her when I restarted old ones. I tried to show interest in her life, asking the reasoning for things she did. She always seemed offended by it. I guess she wasn't used to me showing an interest and saw it as a challenge of the things she liked and worked for. She no longer seems to want to share. She's said so.

I wanted to make her happy, so I gifted something she wanted very much. She seemed happy, and so I was happy. I felt good knowing that something had gone right, that I showed I still cared. I assured her it was nothing, not a big deal at all. It wasn't. I could easily give her that. Even if I couldn't, even if it was a sacrifice, I would've done it if I knew she was going to be happy with the gift. I showed her how much I had and asked for advice in the hopes that she would suggest some things for me to get and, in doing so, reveal things that she liked. And I'd give them all to her. But that didn't work out. Instead, she gave me a gift in return. I bet she felt obligated and maybe like I was bragging. Another failure on my part.

I had decided to be more open about my life - the people I was seeing, the things I was doing, papers I had to write, books I adored and wanted to share with her, etc. But I always felt boring and like she didn't want to hear it. So I've stopped mostly. I only still share a bit because if I stop all together... Well, I've done that before and it upset her. Maybe I just have to find the right mixture of aloof and present?

I joined her game recently, hoping to make her have fun. She invited me, so I did it. I made a character like me on the inside, looking for a place to fit in, wanting her companionship, openly expressing what goes on in my head - people watching, observing, trying to mimic others to fit in so they'll like her, wanting so badly to be part of something... That also didn't work out at all. Once again, I'm not playing with her but another of our friends. I worried constantly that she'd see it as preference, that she'd think I liked our other friend more. She created new story arcs within the game. I've been torn over trying to make another character to interact in the stories she wanted to be in, rather than trying to chase after her with a manifest of my inner, vulnerable self that she rejected. I understand that was the character she was playing, but I've never tried so hard in a game to be involved with a character she played. I hoped she'd pick up on that, maybe draw the conclusions. Nope. I failed at that too.

But now... Now I realize that things are failing because that's just the way it is. She won't visit. We won't go to the beach. We won't be able to heal things. She'll never be close with me again. Nothing will ever be the same. She will move to France or wherever else across the ocean and I'll still never see her. She will never move here. Things will never be better.

It's killing me inside, but... It is what it is. I'll just have to learn to be okay with that.

Personality Factors Test

In order from least to greatest:

Friendliness: 46%
Emotional Stability: 50%
Orderliness: 50%
Dutifulness: 50%
Warmth: 63%
Gregariousness: 71%
Sensitivity: 71%
Emotionality: 71%
Anxiety: 71%
Imagination: 75%
Self-Reliance: 79%
Reserve: 79%
Complexity: 79%
Intellect: 79%
Assertiveness: 88%
Distrust: 100%

 Take it here: https://personalityfactors.net/en

Today's INFJ Meme/Photo

A Letter to Myself

A letter to myself to read on the following day with my studying headache and hangover.

Dear Me, Days like this will happen when you feel like you're standing still. Tomorrow won't be different, and neither will the next day. You might start to lose confidence in your abilities the further into your research you get. With every paper you write and every hour you experiment and study, you'll feel more and more discouraged. What's worse is that no one believes you can do it. But you believe you can. I believe I can. People have often done seemingly foolish and unrealistic things only to be amazingly successful. It's not out of the realm of possibility. Ignore them when they say you need to wake up and do something else with your life. They don't set your limits. Only you do. And why settle? Reach as high as you want and don't ever stop, even if you make it - or die trying. Your life is only limited by what you believe you're capable of. So dust yourself off, take a deep breath, and keep moving forward inch by inch, day by day, one small step at a time. - You

Thursday

Maybe a villain like me can be the hero.
Sometimes.

Inscription For A Gravestone by Robinson Jeffers

At my funeral, I want this to be read before scattering my ashes. No muss, no fuss.
"Know thy birth! For dost thou art, and shalt to dust return." ― John Milton, Paradise Lost

I am not dead, I have only become inhuman:
That is to say,
Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities,
But not as a man
Undresses to creep into bed, but like an athlete
Stripping for the race.
The delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measurer
Of certain fictions
Called good and evil; that made me contract with pain
And expand with pleasure;
Fussily adjusted like a little electroscope:
That's gone, it is true;
(I never miss it; if the universe does,
How easily replaced!)
But all the rest is heightened, widened, set free.
I admired the beauty
While I was human, now I am part of the beauty.
I wander in the air,
Being mostly gas and water, and flow in the ocean;
Touch you and Asia
At the same moment; have a hand in the sunrises
And the glow of this grass.
I left the light precipitate of ashes to earth
For a love-token.

Personal: The Friendship Myth, A Cynical Rant

No one gave me a guide on how to realize when people just weren't worth it and I needed to let them go. I was always taught to shut my mouth and suffer in silence, treat them the way I wanted to be treated even if they didn't follow that same rule. I was always taught to suck it up and deal with my problems on my own, but always listen to others and try to help. These double standards were ingrained in my brain, etched into the very core of my being.

Recently, I've been learning to undo this damage (yes, damage) and start taking care of myself, my emotional needs. Apparently, for clinically depressed suicide risks, it's bad to surround yourself with negative people. Common sense should've told me this, but part of me is still stuck on that "help people, keep to yourself, treat them how you want to be treated" stuff.

Tangent: You know, in life this isn't a practical school of thought. We're taught the golden rule when we're young and we're pretty much supposed to let it rule our life. Even several religions say to treat your enemies with kindness and not retaliate. Where's that good, Old Testament eye-for-an-eye philosophy? I'm here to tell you what I'm just now learning: YOU DON'T HAVE TO TAKE SHIT FROM ANYONE. If they're negative all the time, overly sensitive to the point where you're afraid to say anything, if they make mountains out of molehills and take things out of context, if they twist your words, are constantly passive aggressive and then deny it, are insensitive but accuse you of not caring when all you do is care, if they make your shared hobbies feel like obligations and chores, if they act spoiled and throw tantrums when they don't get their way, and/or are basically soul-sucking hypocrites... Ditch them. Did that really need to be said? When it's put like that, it's so clear to see, yet we can never see it when it's actually happening. But here it is again: YOU DESERVE A POSITIVE ENVIRONMENT. YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY. YOU DESERVE TO HAVE FRIENDS THAT THINK ABOUT MORE THAN JUST THEMSELVES. YOU DON'T NEED THE DRAMA. We can't pick our family, but we can sure as hell pick our friends. Why should we settle? Why should we suffer?

Back on topic... I've been at risk of suicide for a while. The last attempt was Christmas which, oddly enough, had nothing to do with the holiday. That was just how the timing worked. My friends know this. One in particular doesn't seem to give a shit about me, or anyone but herself for that matter. She makes everything about her and she always accuses others of the same things she's guilty of doing - whether or not the accusations against us are true.

Example. We share a hobby. I'm trying not to spend too much time around her because she's negative and that puts me in a bad place. I have legitimate medical instructions in writing to distance myself from negative people and situations (among other things) to help lessen my depression and lower my risk of suicide (as well as lower my stress levels because they are quite literally off the charts - seriously, there were charts). Again, she knows this. Still, she pesters me to take part in this hobby - though it is dull for me now, stressful, she's too emotionally invested in it, and it puts me in a bad place. I tell her this, that I don't want to and I'm not interested. Maybe some other time. But then she gets passive aggressive. She says things like "Lol I should just go fucking die. Cheers." No, I mean it. Those were her exact words today, all because I just asked for a little understanding and didn't want to play some dumb ass game that hasn't held my interest for about a year now.

After saying that I'll be more than happy to just chat with her because she says she's been feeling lonely and isolated, then still receiving passive aggressive comments...

Me: Look, I just don't like [it] anymore. I'll get to it when I get to it. It would just be nice if you could understand that.
Other Friend: It's not about [that specific game] for her. She just wants to [play] with you. It doesn't matter which [game].
Me: (Feeling like they just don't get it and like they're going to start dragging me into negativity and gang up on me...) I'm gonna go.
Other Friend: Oki. (With heart emoticons.)
Her: Lol I should just go fucking die. Cheers.

I mean, who the hell does that!? After knowing I'm struggling daily with not offing myself, and knowing that it's just me not wanting to play this game because she's bored and lonely (and she pesters me about it every time I'm online for any decent length of time), she get's like that. Then they proceed to discuss behind my back ways in which she and I were wrong. Normally, I'd encourage this - gain perspective from an outside party. I do it. But HOW WAS I WRONG HERE? Seriously, tell me if you see it.

You see, friendship is a myth. Everyone says it's full of love and understanding, acceptance and building each other up, support... But it's not. People lie. People manipulate. People are self-centered and take advantage of you if given the opportunity. They don't care what you're going through if it doesn't effect them directly.

I'm sure some of you are saying: "That's not true! My friends care about me! I care about them!" Yes, well just wait. If you genuinely care, then it's more than likely they don't. For every person who genuinely gives a shit about people, often at the expense of their own happiness and well-being, there are three people pretending to feel the same and are ready to turn on their friends at a moment's notice.

Am I bitter? Yes. Cynical? Obviously. But am I wrong?

No.

Suicide Attempts: The First Step is Admitting It

Depression is the flaw in love. To be creatures who love, we must be creatures who can despair at what we lose, and depression is the mechanism of that despair. When it comes, it degrades one's self and ultimately eclipses the capacity to give or receive affection. It is the aloneness within us made manifest, and it destroys not only connection to others but also the ability to be peacefully alone with oneself.
- Andrew Solomon, "The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression"

Treatment resistant clinical depression. The label hangs over my head like the executioner's axe, waiting for the command to sever my head from my shoulders and spill my blood to the earth. Whenever the noonday demon wakes from his slumber and rears his head, gnashing his teeth and clawing at my spirit, dragging it downward into darkness, I close myself off from the world. As if my depression is shameful. As if the choking and crushing emotion is something that I can control. As if I have to hide what is part of me.

I've always needed solitude. I preferred it. I consider myself misanthropic; people are inherently evil and I have issues that would make Edward Norton in *Fight Club* look well adjusted. Put short, I don't trust or enjoy people at all. Individuals can be tolerated or even liked, but the general population is to be loathed and avoided. I praised Henry David Thoreau for leaving civilization behind in favor of nature and longed to do the same. But when your brain is wired a certain way, there is nothing quite so impractical as isolation...

I have loved and I have lost. I've marked the passing of four friends and two beloved family members in quick succession. I was broken, and then... I felt nothing for a long time - almost a year. Not joy nor sadness, not excitement nor lust. I was an empty body drifting along from day to day. I hardly even spoke. It took a long time to recover. Just as I was feeling hopeful again, I lost five more friends over the course of three months. I was utterly destroyed. My grip on reality was peeled away. Some mornings I wake up, still trying desperately to cling to a fiction in my head that makes more sense than the world around me, but never was it as overwhelming as it was November. I was drowning.

And then Christmas came.

I will not go into detail of what triggered the demon. There is none to recall. I was only aware of a need to stop my confusion and pain. So profound was my grief that just being in a room with other people made my heart race and my head spin. I would panic and have to run as far as I could just to be able to breathe again. On one such occasion, I found myself outside in the storm on Christmas as the flood coursed through the surrounding area. It wasn't enough to worry, but I knew the ravine would be filled and made up my mind.

Suicide isn't the easiest thing in the world to discuss, even more difficult to admit that you've attempted it. But in the spirit of honesty to strangers over the internet, I will just say it... Since the age of twelve, I have attempted to kill myself on average of two times a year. I have nearly been successful on five separate attempts. Christmas was one such occasion. It was my final attempt.

There was no parting of clouds and chorus of angels as light illuminated me. There was no great thundering voice that spoke to me. There was no dramatic entrance of a hero nor any profound sign from the cosmos to save me. It was a cat.

His name is Bowie and he's my cat. I raised him since he was first able to leave his mother, but because he's such an asshole and destroyed everything he touched, he went to live on a farm. No, that's not a clever way of softening the blow of death. He's very much alive and living on an actual farm with several other outdoor cats and a plethora of animals from peacocks to goats, snakes and rabbits to cows and horses. This is where I happened to be for Christmas, among friends. And as I prepared to hurl myself into the ravine hundreds of feet below, splaying my body on jagged rocks being overtaken by the rising water, there he was - in the way as usual, laying right on my feet. I shooed him. He dug his claws into my leg and yowled at me above the loud wind, getting as saturated as I in the downpour. I ripped him from me and set him on a lower branch of a tree. In a blink, he was back on my feet with his claws dug in, refusing to move. Again, I pried him from me. Again, I blinked and he was there as if he'd never left.

Without warning, I started to cry. I couldn't stop. I sat down heavily and he finally let go, crawling into my lap and purring, rubbing his head against my chin. I held him and just sobbed until I heard people calling for me. I stood and started back toward the house as he decided it was safe to leave me and run for the cover of the garage with the others.

It was that moment that I realized yes, I have loved and lost. But as long as I'm still alive there will always be love - from more friends, from family, even from pets. Love is all around us. We may lose from time to time, but love... That's infinite. Boundless. It can be found anywhere we look and cannot be destroyed. And that, I think, is worth sticking around for.