She Was My Friend

 I haven't written in a while.  Not because I didn't want to, but because I lost track of time due to struggle.  I've been working far too much, struggling with finances and then I found out a friend of mine had passed away.  I hadn't spoken to her in years because we took different paths, but she was a friend.  Her passing has troubled me since I had found out the details.

Like me, she was different.  I think that's how we became friends in the first place.  We never quite fit into the drum corps that we both belonged to.  She would end up not rejoining, while I did it all through high school.  To me, she seemed so strong, so outgoing, and open.  I was not really any of those things growing up.  I was always a bit shy and would never be described as bubbly.  As we got older we were in the same friend group even if we weren't close.  She was there.

She went into the army and had two kids.  I went to college and traveled Europe. The one thing that we had in common was that we struggled.  I have had depression on and off since high school.  These depression spells have made a lot of my memories fuzzy.  There were times when she couldn't get out of bed.  I had no idea that any of this was going on and yet, I was caught up in my own whirlwind of darkness to notice much else.  I apologize to my friends and family for that.

My friend took her own life according to the coroner, but there were some oddities around it, which I will not go into.  Part of me is in shock because I always thought she was so tough and strong.  Yet the damaged part of me knows the lies that depression can tell.  It's easy to believe those lies especially with the odd circumstances.  The fact that she is no longer here, physically hurts me in a way that I cannot describe and for reasons I don't fully understand.

My high school friend group had a memorial for her this past weekend.  It was sad and it was beautiful.  We had all the pictures from high school up.  She was so loved, by so many.  We had some crazy stories and it was good to see my old friends, yet it was sad that we had to get back together under those circumstances.  We all went on with our lives that I feel almost like an outsider.  The most beautiful thing was that her sisters brought a mini urn encased in a pewter rose so that our friend could be with us as we remembered her.

Even now, I'm struggling with myself and the fact that I know that darkness and despair.  I sometimes feel like an outsider even among my friends.  I feel alone.  I wish I was able to see my friends more, but with a retail schedule, a boyfriend, and friends with kids etc, it gets a bit difficult to spend time with the people I care about.

As for my friend being gone, my new rabbi shared a story about loss during one of her sermons.  It wasn't a story of hers, but it was of a man who was recounting his first encounter with death (a pet canary) and the information operator he would speak to as a child.  The operator told the child, after he asked why did his pet have to die, that there were other worlds to sing in.  Now that my friend is gone, I take comfort that she is singing in another world.  There are always other worlds to sing in.

It Could Have Been Me

I found out that I man I graduated high school with had passed away.  It's sad, but what makes it worse is that he took his own life.  I hadn't spoken to this man in over 10 years, but he lived a few streets and when we were little we would ride bikes together.  Biking is something that he apparently loved.  It's very sad that his life is over.

I know how he felt because I've been there.  It could have been me.  I've been through very dark times because of depression.  When suicidal thoughts creep in, there is no logic to them.  Mental illness lies to you and makes you believe that everyone in your life, everyone who matters to you, will be better off without you.  The world is better off without you.  While in that lie because it's so powerful, it's hard to see the truth. 

Statistically, women attempt suicide more than men, but men are more successful because they use more aggressive means (guns, knives, etc.).  The end result is the same...desperate sadness for everyone involved.  While there is life there is hope, yet most depression is marked by hopelessness.  I lucked out because I have friends who understand that what I'm saying is my illness, not me.  A lot of them point me to people or things that can help.  There are resources that are there.  However, if someone doesn't reach out for those resources, they cannot work.

Suicide is 100% preventable.  The one thing I have learned is that change is the only constant thing in life.  If you can come out of the darkness, there is life that can be good.  It's hard to see that in the darkness.  Those of us who live with a mental illness, do need others to recognize the signs.  One major sign is withdrawal.  If you haven't heard from someone in a few months, reach out.  Call rather than text or e-mail.  A human voice can make all the difference in the world.

I don't want to make this young man's death about me.  I wanted to say that I understand and I'm sorry that he couldn't make it.  It's no one's fault.  I am writing an article on how to support a friend with depression, but it's a slow going process.  I can't say that I am an expert in supporting people, but it's the little things that can help.  On my worst days, I wish I wasn't here.  So yes, this could have been me, but it's not.  The worst part of suicide aside from the inevitable question of why, is the loss of what could have been.

If you or someone you know is struggling call the Suicide Prevention Hotline or the police.  It doesn't have to end.  There is treatment.  There is help.  There is hope.

Love

Love is a concept that I have always struggled with.  I'm exploring relationships (finally) and the concept of love is no less confusing for me.  I find love is an open concept, but that is not what I observe in others.

I have observed that people on say "I love you" if it's a significant other or a family member.  I have always found that there are so many different kinds of love, not just romantic love

.  I say "I love you" to my best friend and I feel things for my companion, but I wouldn't characterize it as being in love.  I do care for him deeply, which might be a form of love.  However, with my male friends, I can't say I love them because they have girlfriends and they only say the word love to them.

I'm not sure how to fix that.  Maybe it's a cultural thing or perhaps it's a comfort level because relationships have different degrees of closeness.  However, love is, to me, one of the foundations of healthy relationships, doesn't matter what title you give it.  I want to be able to tell the people that I love, that I love them and not feel like I'll be rebuffed for using that word.

We all know the feelings we have towards and for others.  I wish that we could actually express them and not be judged for them.  Perhaps that will happen one day.

15 Years Later

It's been 15 years and I still can't believe that the terror attacks in New York and Washington are a reality.  I still live in Connecticut in a heavy commuter area to the city.  Yet, I remember my story on 9/11 quite clearly.

I was a junior in High School and sitting in English class when the first plane hit the World Trade Center.  A girl named, Lauren Penner, walked into class late and said a plane had hit one of the towers.  We all thought it was an accident, which seemed weird because it was a bright blue, warm, sunny day.  I remember feeling that the world felt off in a huge way.  I have ESP and felt something was very wrong even before Lauren came in, but I was 15 years old, so what did I know?  It wasn't until later in that same class that the principal came on the loud speaker announcing that there was a terrorist attack.  The principal stated that we should continue classes as normal and for teachers to not turn on the TVs or radios.  I believe he made this decision because many students had parents who worked in the city or the towers themselves.  Needless to say teachers did not follow that direction and classes did not continue as normal.  We went to class, but did not do lessons that day.  Students were getting called down to the office after every period with instructions on what to do after school or getting picked up.  I was told to go to a family friend's house as all after school activities were cancelled.

I honestly didn't know the towers were gone till 3pm when I saw it on TV.  After the initial announcement I was in a haze the rest of the day at school.  It was a blur of tears, anger and shock.  My parents worked locally, so they were safe.  I personally did not lose anyone that day.  However, 2,977 people lost their lives.  I would go into New York every so often with my family and can't remember if we were there in August of 2000 or 2001 to meet my mother's English cousin for the first time, but I remember the towers being there.  Now , they're gone.

Two months later, I wanted to see the Rocky Horror Show Live on Broadway, so my dad bought us two tickets.  It was on Black Friday, one of the busiest days in the city.  My dad wanted to see the wreckage since the show was at 2.  My dad had to see it. 

After we got off the subway, we walked to the site.  A lot was still blocked off, but what I remember most is the smell.  It smelt like burnt death.  I saw the partially gone Marriott Hotel and the waffle pattern steal.  I felt so overwhelmed because I closed my eyes and the towers were still there, but when I opened them it was a war zone.  What got to me most was that I turned away from site to see a McDonald's express, where the windows were smashed and debris was littered inside.  It was unbearable.  There are too many ghosts.

Last time I was in that area of NYC, the 9/11 memorial was open to visitors.  I didn't go.  I felt too sad being there.  Part of me wants to visit the memorial because I went to the Pentagon memorial, which was beautiful.  However, there are too many ghosts in that area.  Some spirits, like those in grief, just can't move on.  Maybe one day I'll try to go there, but like Auschwitz, it may be a place that I just can't go to.

Now, 15 years later, the day started out cloudy with a bit of rain, but later turned into a beautiful, partly cloudy day.  I teach 9/11 to my 5th grade students.  They know about the Towers, but I chose to tell them about flight 93.  Those people did something to stop their plane.  They saved lives even though they lost theirs to do it.  I tell the students about Ben Sliney, whose first day as operations manager of the FAA was 9/11 and how he made the decision to ground all planes and lose billions of dollars instead of risk more death.  15 years happened in a blink of an eye, yet live has moved on as it must. 

Terror attacks still go on throughout the world.  While many are from ISIS not Al Queida.  I am always aware of my surroundings and know where the exits are.  I know that no one is ever truly safe and tomorrow is promised to no one.  I remember those that senselessly died in a tragedy.  I am thankful that I have people that I care about in my life.  I get to keep them for now.  I will always remember what happened and how it changed the world.

So I Kept Living

To Write Love On Her Arms just did this campaign for suicide survivors/prevention with the above title.  When you're in the midst of depression, suicide seems like a viable option.  Logically it isn't, but depression lies to you making you believe that suicide is the only way to stop the pain.

Yes, I have wanted to die and on my bad days, I sometimes wish that I had.  On my worst days, I would like my heart to give up because how can I take anymore sorrow.  The surprising thing is that you don't die of a broken heart.  So, when I saw this campaign, I thought why did I keep living.

I am still alive despite the days I would not like to be.  I have way too much debt, don't have a great job and might not even have a companion anymore.  You do start to heal slowly.  Sometimes at a glacial pace, but it happens.  My life hasn't gotten better...It's gotten different.  To be better is to improve on what was there before.  The truth is that what happened to me so completely changed me that there is no going back to what was there before.  Now I'm different.

Yes, I have gotten my cognitive abilities back, but I'm not super friendly and I'm not willing to forgive as easily as I had been.  There is a sadness still in my soul that creeps up at unexpected times.  I can't say the name, "Dan," without thinking about him and it still boils up a mix of anger, longing and self-loathing.  I don't believe in love as something that can bind forever.  I have abandonment issues and am insecure.  I don't believe that I will get a fairy tale ending.  There are days that I will always feel completely alone despite the knowledge of the contrary.

I don't have a positive outlook or feelings towards the future because how can anything get better?  I supported people through their darkest times, but I have not received that support in return.  So why am I still here?  I don't know.  I look at my goals list and while they are great goals, I sometimes think of them as stupid.  Perhaps, one day, I'll get everything I ever wanted.  I'll be a writer and make a decent living without debt.  I'll have a decent partnership where we can have a life together.  Though right now, those things do not seem like immediate possibilities.

I wish I could write that I kept on living because I have hope.  Hope can be a terrible thing.  As the sisterhood of Karn said, "Hope is a terrible thing on the scaffold."  I think post-trauma me has a very low threshold for disappointment.  That being said, it takes a few hours for me to reverse the feelings of despair.  I have a few good friends that help me see what I feel is real or if it's my depression.  It's still there and it might always be there.

With all that being said, I'm here.  I kept on living.  I have some vague plans for the next 6 months.  I don't plan further than that because my world was destroyed in 1 day.  So I kept on living because the Doctor reminded me of something:
Idris:  I've been looking for a word.  A big, complicated word, but so sad.  I've found it now.
Doctor: What word?
Idris:  Alive.  I'm alive.
Doctor:  Alive isn't sad.
Idris:  It's sad when it's over.
Even if I never live my dreams, life is always sad when it's over.  My time will come one day, but not yet.

Brain Recovery

I feel like my brain has finally recovered from the psychological trauma I suffered three years ago.  The depression really eats away at my creativity.  I forced myself to write, whereas before the trauma words would just flow easily in my head.  I used to carry a notebook around to write down the string of words and then I would incorporate them into stories, essays or poems later.

Now, the words have come back.  I am writing a lot more now, which makes me so happy.  While I haven't come up with any stories or poems quite yet, writing this post is just pouring out of me.  Now, I should be able to write articles and start working on a book.  If I write for an hour a day, does that make me a writer?

I am currently working on an article on Hub Pages about how to support a friend with depression.  It's just for friends/co-workers as family structure is different.  I am also keeping a journal and writing letters.  I would like to write a book, but am not sure what it will be on.  I also have an idea for a PhD, but have to figure out schools I would like to apply to.

My brain finally feels like I'm going to be able to be myself again.  I know that I can achieve my dream of being a professional writer.  I am going to start researching and editing as well.  One of my posts will be published in my temple newsletter, the Menorah, next month.  So, maybe I could be a writer.

I have other goals that I'd like to accomplish like getting back to physical health as much as I can and try to be a better friend.  I also need to fix my debt situation as I'm lugging around 70k in student loans and credit card debt.  I will slowly get that down, one bill at a time.  I'm looking into more ways to make money and now that I have writer's brain back, maybe I can.

In Defense of My Mother

Today was my mother's birthday.  Since my parents live in Israel, I only go to wish her a happy birthday and chat with her a bit. I have a feeling that she is feeling a bit down.  I wish I was less of a pain to her.  I wish that I appreciated her more.

I have to admit that it took a while to understand my mother.  She can be domineering, very opinionated and pushy.  She can be intimidating to weaker people as well.  My mom is an old jewish lady now, who announces her opinion and doesn't care who gets offended by it.  You're allowed to do that when you're old.  I also think that people are now easily offended by anything that is not politically correct.  My mother has always been a bit blunt, which I also inherited.  We both have a low tolerance for stupidity as well.

My mom would push me and my brother to do things.  We were both in scouts, marching band and sports.  I think my mom pushed us both to do scouts because she couldn't as a child because she couldn't afford the uniform.  Sometimes I hated being involved in all these activities, but they did get me into college.  I know my mother did without sometimes so we could participate in these activities.

What I didn't understand when I was young was the my mom grew up poor, so she would make sure my brother and I got things that we wanted to be happy.  She would do this from tag sales or buying things on sale.  I think that taught me to value second hand things because I don't always need something new. There was a time when my dad was in and out of work, so sometimes we couldn't get new things.  The only thing my mom didn't give up was her weekly manicure.  She would make sure she had the $15 do get that done.  It was her little thing.

I know it wasn't easy raising me, but my mom always loved me.  She would do anything for me.  Today she even offered to send me money so I could do laundry.  I declined because I have to make it on my own.  I would love for her to send me more recipes even though all her food ends up being brown.

It does upset me when people are mean to my mother.  I can be mean to my mom because family pisses each other off at times.  My mom was bullied at her last place of employment, which was awful.  She was not very happy during that time, but got so much better when she moved to Israel. I feel that Israel is where she always belonged.  She seems less tense there.  However, she is still a very opinionated, blunt lady.

My mom is my mom.  She's not perfect, but she is always there when I need her.  I do feel bad when I yell at her or am mean to her because she does so much for me.  I do try to make it up to her by trying to fix myself and finding things that she would like.  I'm going to visit her in March even though it would add to my debt.  Since my parents are older, if I wait, they might not be in great health to host me in Israel.

Happy Birthday, mommy.