Something to think about..

Love and Compassion Can Defeat Suffering And Depression
From UrbanMonk.net

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Lisis Blackston of Quest For Balance.

I recently learned about the power of love and compassion from someone who had all but given up on life. I met him, if you can call it that, in the comments section of another blog, where he posted that he was contemplating suicide.

What really bothered me was that no one had addressed his comment. Did they not see it? Were they uncertain of what to say? Was it a breach of blogger protocol to address a serious issue in someone else’s comments section? I didn’t know, but one thing was certain: this person was suffering. I could not simply go about my day as if I had not noticed it. The last time I tried that approach, things did not work out so well.

When Depression Threatens

Four Christmases ago, a very dear friend of mine took his own life. In a moment of hopelessness and despair, he shot himself. For fourteen years he had been one of my closest friends; we were always there for each other, and I loved him dearly. This was no mere acquaintance, so the news affected me deeply.

This was a fellow pilot and grieving soul. Like me, he had lost his parents at a young age, so we felt a strong connection; we promised to be each other’s shoulder to cry on and soft place to fall when life was knocking us down. He called me every year, without fail, on Valentine’s Day and my birthday, even when I moved to Costa Rica and he moved to Belize.

In 2005, when I got that birthday call, I knew something was terribly wrong. I had never heard him so despondent before. This guy was an aerobatic pilot, a Reno Air Racer; he was full of adventure and passion. But on this particular call, he was somber, quiet, and sad.

He had been struggling with bipolar disorder for a couple of years. He never would have admitted this fact, or sought treatment; but I knew. I recognized all the telltale signs because I had seen them in my dad: the endless rambling phone calls at all hours, the god complex, his blacklist of “enemies” which grew increasingly longer, the purchase of insanely expensive things with other people’s money, the topics of conversation bordering on sexual harassment…

These, and many more, were the symptoms I had been watching develop in him over the course of a few years. I would hear from him a whole lot when he was manic, then not at all for months at a time, during his depressive hibernation.

His family and friends had noticed this as well, but when they tried to get him to seek treatment, he just put them on his blacklist of people to avoid (and get even with). Finally, they did the responsible thing: they reported his condition to the FAA, who promptly revoked his medical certificate. He could no longer fly, and he’d never really done anything else. He used to tell everyone, “The day I can’t fly is the day that I die.” It was his whole life.

Reaching Out for Help

When he called on my birthday, I knew he was in utter despair, trying to figure out what life he could possibly have without flying. But I assumed it was just a phase, and that he would resolve it on the next upswing. I was busy and distracted, moving from Costa Rica to Austin, so I told him I’d call him later.

My birthday was in October; we moved to Austin in November. I almost called him then, but decided I would wait until we were settled in our new home, in early December. Then I was busy moving in, meeting neighbors, and getting ready for Christmas. I meant to call him; I really did… and then I got the email from his ex-wife. Just like that, it was over. All the history we shared and all the promises we made vanished into thin air.

I spent the first two years after that torturing myself with guilt. I should have been a better friend, and called him. Perhaps I could’ve gotten him treatment for his depression since he trusted me and knew about my dad. It would have made all the difference if I just took a moment from my busy life to let him know he was not alone. WHAT IF he had felt loved, instead of abandoned?

I will never know. I did nothing.

Maybe there was something I could have done, maybe not. But I could have tried. I didn’t reach out to help him when he suffered, and I can’t do anything about that now. But I can try to help others who are suffering.

What if Love and Compassion Win?

So, when I saw that person mention suicide in the comments of a blog, I gave him my email and asked him to contact me. And he did. We have been in contact ever since, and I cherish each email I receive from him. He still has a whole set of challenging circumstances to deal with, and I can’t make those go away. We all have those constant burdens to bear, each in our own way. But I can let him know I care, I’m here, and things will get better. Sometimes that is all we need to find the strength to keep going.

A short while ago, I told him I was going out to the yard to plant strawberries with my son. He asked me how long it takes to grow a strawberry plant.

I replied, “I don’t know yet how long it will take to harvest my strawberries. There’s a good chance I never will, because the birds will beat me to it. But it’s ok… I like the planting… and the birds.”

His answer helped me understand the key to happiness: He said, “Yes, there will be birds, but we should not stop planting strawberries. That is the essence of life. Like what Albert Camus tried to propagate in his essay, The Myth of Sisyphus.”

For those of you who may not remember, Sisyphus, of Greek mythology, was the guy condemned to push a boulder up a hill, watch it roll back down, and repeat this for all eternity. His burden is constantly present, but he presses on anyway. What else can he do?

It seems to me, since we each have our individual burdens, that the way to fight off suffering and depression in order to be happy is to find the little things that bring us joy, the simple pleasures. Make time to find them; take time to appreciate them. Just as importantly, if someone you know has lost the ability to enjoy anything, take a moment to help that person. Show a little Love and Compassion, because even little things can make a world of difference. You never know… the life you save may be a friend’s.

Author Bio

Lisis Blackston is a wife and mother who is dedicated to helping others find happiness and inner peace. You can learn more about Lisis at her blog, Quest For Balance, which is dedicated to this concept:

Whether we find happiness through grand adventures, or seek it in every-day places, we all want less pain and more joy. Quest for Balance is a place where people can be reminded that finding lasting happiness and inner peace is not only achievable, but surprisingly simple… for all of us!

Sola

Recently I told my mom, in a rare moment of unabashed positivity, that at times I view my singleness as a luxury. I have no one to report to. There is no need for compromise in my lifestyle. My home is my own blessed oasis, seldom shared. Alone, I am free to roam the corridors of my mind, tending to every thought and emotion as if they were the most treasured and precious of objects. It is true; I have come to love my solitude, the unadulterated contents of my mind, fiercely.

What Else Is There?

I love this song. The video is really creepy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOt15JsLloU

The Savagery of Women

I just finished She Came To Stay by Simone de Beauvoir. An entrancing book. Apparently its a semi-autobiographical account of a sort of menage a trois she and her lifelong lover Sartre had with a young student of theirs. She's a beautiful and ruthless writer. I can't believe I haven't read her earlier.

I love this passage: "With a sudden movement she pushed back her bangs, baring her smooth forehead. Her face seemed to swell in a burst of violent hatred and suffering. Her mouth was partly open in a smile, like a gash in an overripe fruit; and this open wound in the venomous pulp was exposed to the sunlight. It was impossible to get anywhere."

I've been thinking a lot lately about my mistrust of other women. Its not about jealousy or competition for men. Its more about my fear of being emotionally open and vulnerable with someone outside of a sexual relationship and my past history of feeling hurt by female friends. Why is it that I feel more comfortable having intellectual/philosophical conversations with men? With my female friends I often find us returning (again and again) to discussions centered on interpersonal relationships. I myself perpetuate this cycle with my endless complaints about my love life (or lack thereof)! Its so frustrating. Especially when I know that women are having these types of conversations - but probably with whoever they are in a relationship with. I think this is what partially accounts for my deep loneliness and sadness without a partner; I miss the intensity of the conversations I used to have with the men I've been with. Now, I have no one left who wants to engage in passionate dialogue with me. I remember with my first boyfriend how we used to stay up all night discussing philosophy, art, music. We played each other our favorite songs (he first introduced me to Leonard Cohen and Jimmy Cliff, among infinite others) til 4am and read out loud to one another. My brothers and I still engage in heated political diatribes but other than that I feel intellectually void, my thoughts tangled in my head with no outlet.

As my aspirations for romantic love crumble slowly in my hands and slip away, I long for the company of wise women.

Haunted

I'm on an 80's - 90's music kick. Everything still sounds good. Not much has changed, I'm still alone in my room writing while listening to sad music. Now its this blog rather than morbid teenage poems scratched out in my journal along with smears of my own blood and melodramatic plans for my funereal ('play The End by The Doors' - jeez how original!). Yeah, I guess I'm mellowing out a bit in my old age...

Escaping The Rut

I might have made the most intelligent and penetrating remarks about the ramifications and the causes of my sufferings, my sickness of soul, my general bedevilment of neurosis. The mechanism was transparent to me. But what I needed was not knowledge and understanding. What I longed for in my despair was life and resolution, action and reaction, impulse and impetus. - Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf

Food and Mood

Click on the title of this entry (above) for an interesting article about the impact of different foods on mood and brain chemistry.

Existential Angst

As I was searching through my computer files tonight for an old resume, I stumbled upon this angst ridden little epithet from several years ago. At least I've cheered up somewhat since then...

The attention always seems to come from the wrong places - hungry men wanting to somehow pin down an elusive aspect of me. And me always shying away, never impressed, wanting to be alone in my bed with my shabby continual despair, my flabby repetitive jealousies and petty hatreds. Examining the small white scars of the years as if they could etch themselves into a storyline explaining where I've been and why I'm here. The crushing inertia of daily survival has spent my energy and exhausted my bravery so that I am too tired to flee responsibility or inevitability.
Doldrums coming on hard again and the constant fear of being alone; a shadowy finger which might press down and smash me no matter what language I speak, what far place of the world I try to hide. Fucking uncertainty follows me through my waking hours (which I try to make few), a relentless foe and surely the only thing I can count on besides an intense isolation which will gradually abate to vague misery in an endless repetitive cycle, rising and setting with my days.

The Damage Done

This blog was started on a whim; it was meant to be a (hopefully) witty and semi-amusing way for me to document all my silly dating dramas. And I have lots and lots of dating stories. Waaaaay to many if you ask me. The problem is that I don't know when its going to stop. Honestly, I don't think I can take it much longer. I used to enjoy the thrilling roller coaster ride of meeting new guys, I used to love the hedonistic indulgence of casual sex. The last time I had sex I ended up alone, sobbing in my bed at 2am. Its just not fun anymore. I don't feel sexy or empowered anymore. I just feel used and sad. I'm terrified that I will never find anyone who values me.
I saw a bunch of couples at the restaurant tonight. Most of them seemed really happy and in love. The guys were really nice. One couple was looking through a photo album together, laughing and sharing ice cream sundaes. Another couple was pregnant. I can't be jealous or angry but my heart feels like its going to collapse. I can't remember what its like to have a man look at me with love in his eyes. I can't remember what its like to feel safe and taken care of.

Gringa loca

One of my friends from work is a beautiful girl from El Salvador. She has a radiant smile and is sweet and funny. She practices her English (very good!) with me and I practice my Spanish (not so good)with her. We giggle together a lot. About a week ago she invited me to a birthday party for her friend's daughter in Redwood City. Although I suspected I'd be the only Gringa there, I was totally into going.
First of all, Latinos know how to party. There's always lots of good homemade food, lots of alcohol and lots of loud music. This was a FIVE year old's birthday party and they had hired a band, a DJ, private security(!)and a giant bouncy castle. As I drove down the sunny residential street, I encountered 2 other large parties in people's front lawns complete with banners, balloons, DJs, etc. Apparently whole block was celebrating something.
I love that the parties are not just for the kids; everyone was getting down and dancing sexy to salsa and reggaeton - from the cute 4 year olds in fancy dresses to the 60 something grandma. Dogs and kids were running around everywhere. There were glasses of blended margaritas lined up on tables, piles and piles of fresh pupusas and tamales, giant coolers full of Tecate. I was in heaven.
So, let me tell you about the band. I didn't know this but 'banda' music is a form of traditional brass based music from Mexico. The band was a whole line up of trumpet and trombone players, a bunch drummers and sousaphone player. There must have been 10 or 12 guys up there. They also happened to be quite young and cute. Very suave in tight matching jeans and button down shirts. My friend Olympia and I were sitting at the table right in front of them. A couple of the guys kept staring at us and giving us smoldering looks while they were playing. They did sexy little gyrating dances with each other, they even turned around and provocatively wiggled their butts in our faces. I was mesmerized. Next they started parading around while puffing away on their instruments. Everyone was clapping and shouting. They grabbed Olympia and I and dragged us out to dance. We were laughing and trying to escape their clutches.
At the end of their set they tried to chat us up and ask us out. Most of the guys were from the Bay Area and spoke perfect English. A tall cute one with a faux hawk kept insisting on getting my number. Obviously a total player. He kept saying "Why don't you dance for me? I want to see your style." I kept looking at his lips which were all swollen and cut up from blowing his horn so hard.
As I was getting a sweater out of my car, we ran into them again, on their way out to another gig. They were leaning out the car window asking us to come with them. I grabbed a $100 bill from my pocket (my tips from work earlier) and waved it in their faces. I said they could have me for only $400 dollars! A bad joke obviously, but amusing to see their confused expressions. Afterward we went back to the party and ate Tres Leches Cake. Olympia's boyfriend came later from the airport. He works as a cab driver in Vegas. He told me stories about how crazy it was there. Before I left, I gave everyone big hugs. I had such a good time.
I don't understand it, but I feel much more comfortable in many ways with people from other countries/cultures, than with my so-called peers. With people from other countries I feel free, relaxed, at ease - even if I speak their language like a retarded 4 year old. Yet with people from the U.S. I feel out of the loop - I don't get the pop culture and TV references (and I don't care), uncomfortable about my body and my clothes, hyper-aware of all the subtle undercurrents of the social scene. I feel invisible and unacknowledged by the men, subtlely judged by the women.
I've always felt like an outsider. Growing up on a commune in the woods with no electricity and being home-schooled until age nine will do that to you. Am I fetishizing and romanticizing different cultures?! Or do I feel comfortable with people from other cultures because they are outsiders in this country too?! Maybe a little bit of both...