Chip on their Shoulders

Writing some things out


It’s been far longer than I originally intended, but that’s par for the course as my free time starts to dwindle rapidly. Since December, I’ve managed to resolve a few conflicts, one of which was extremely important, making several strides into repairing a friendship that meant a lot to me. From these two conflicts, I learned the essential steps to ending conflict and moving towards peaceful resolution. I may explore that in a different blog, but for now, there’s been something on my mind that needs to be addressed.

There’s a co-worker that I like very much. He was the first person who trained me at my current job. He’s an extremely reliable and efficient person, often referred to as the backbone for that department.

A few weeks ago, he didn’t come into work and did not inform anyone of his unexpected absence. This was unusual, but given his solid reputation, it was left unnoticed. The next day was payday. He’s an older gentleman who operates on the old school and prefers a tangible paycheck as opposed to digital pay. That means that come hell or high water, he will retrieve his paycheck. That day he didn’t, nor did he show up for his scheduled shift once again. That was the last straw that his manager needed to sound the alarm.

He was found in his apartment. He had had a stroke and suffered through it alone, but he was alive. He was rushed to the hospital shortly thereafter. As far as I know, he’s as good as someone who suffered through a stroke can be. He’s recovering and that’s all he can ask for.

I visited him in the hospital a couple weeks later. He described to me what he referred to as the “worst days of life.” He waited in his apartment for two days for help to arrive. He attempted to call for help, but nobody heard him. He attempted to knock on his walls to alert his neighbors, but nobody came. He attempted to get up and find his phone, but he constantly lost balance and fell. Fearing that he would injure himself further, he chose to stop trying and just waited. He intimated to me that he believed he was going to die.

It was heartbreaking to hear, to say the least. I felt sorry that he had to endure such an agonizing experience. I wish him well and I hoped I would see him at work very soon.

As humans tend to do in their unintentional selfishness, I thought about how I would fare in the face of something life-threatening. In the same situation, would I shake in terror in the event of my demise? Would I fear death?

The easy answer is no. Not really. But I would fear the long, painful deterioration of death. I don’t have a high threshold for pain, so I’d fear the hurt and eventual decay of my cause of death, but not actually slipping from life itself.

Please be advised that I am not at all suicidal. As you may have read in previous blogs, I was suicidal and always found myself daydreaming… almost hoping to die. Currently, I have no plans to pursue death, so please don’t take this as a call for help.

With that being said, I’d like to confess that in all actuality, if I were to come face to face with my own mortality, I’d sort of… welcome it. Even embrace it, depending on the time and place when it happens. It just feels like it’d be a relief. Just to have all my stressors, problems, grievances, anxiety, and depression just disappear, leaving nothing but peace. It’s calming. It’s freeing. The relief just washes over.

And I know it may sound alarming, but I promise you that I’m doing fine. Yes, those thoughts do in fact occur frequently when one is suicidal, but I can’t express enough that I am doing okay. Occasional lapses of mood do happen as I’ve stressed time and time again that depression doesn’t go away overnight, but I’m not sad nor am I driven to find relief. I’ll live life day by day and do the best I can with what I have, but if it were to happen… well, then I’d be free of the weight of life’s problems. And really, who doesn’t want to be free of that?

In the end, I just sat down and I thought about the idea of death with the clearest head in a long time, unencumbered by extremely unhealthy thought patterns… And I came to the conclusion if it were to happen, I’d be okay with it. I wish I could describe it in a less alarming way, but those are my honest feelings. I’m not going to shy away from them nor am I going to apologize for them. I will however, reassure you.

For the sake of everyone reading, I really can’t stress enough that I am NOT intending to kill myself in any way. Trust me, I have many things planned for the future and I can’t wait to see through these new experiences with the self-assurance that I’ve never had before. However, if death comes knocking any time soon, I’m going to answer the door.

Keep on.


New Year: Loneliness

With the end of 2016 rapidly approaching, I suppose it’s appropriate timing for the obligatory year-in-review. Similar to last year, I really believed that this was yet another wretched year gone by and even more similar to last year, I discovered that I had a pretty amazing year. More so than last.

Granted, I will always have the occasional mishap where I fall, but I’d like to think that I’ve been doing a pretty good job in picking myself up again. Currently, I’ve been far too busy to feel very much, but I can assure you that I’m not doing too bad. I lost my Christmas spirit somewhere along the way, but I think it’s slowly coming back.

As I sat in front of my therapist and reflected on what I believed to be another despicable year that needed to end, I realized that I couldn’t find anything to gripe about. As I struggled to list and discuss all the bad that happened this year, I found a lot more good than bad. I sat there feeling stupid as it slowly dawned on me (again) what a good year I’ve had.


I attended MegaCon Orlando as my first convention as a member of the press. Although it wasn’t the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had at a convention, I was pretty pleased with my coverage of the convention, despite being censored at some point.


I managed to check off another item off of my bucket list and attend San Diego Comic-Con. I’ve always referred to it as the mecca of geeks and I was not disappointed. As a fan, it was everything I thought I wanted it to be and more. Everything was larger than life and spectacular. I can’t describe to you just how exhilarating it was to be in Hall H, with 6500 other screaming fans.


As press, I was given the opportunity to interview a few of my heroes: The voice of Batman himself, Kevin Conroy and the godfather of the DC Animated Universe, Bruce Timm. It was a pretty wonderful moment for me.


After six months at new job, they recognized my skills and dedication and promoted me when faced with an unexpected vacancy.


I went to Tokyo, Japan. Although I never really dreamed of traveling to Tokyo, I’m more than happy that I did. It was probably one of the best experiences I’ve ever had in my very short, privileged life. Ten days of exploring as much of Tokyo as possible with some of my favorite people in the world. We hope to go back very soon.



Every year, one of my favorite bands plays a holiday show to which fans from all over the world travel. It’s not simply a show, but a celebration wherein they schedule several different live acts, volunteers dress up in various characters in the lobby of the venue, and they run a charity drive for both toys and canned food. I was lucky enough to attend 8 years ago, when I was still attending college. In my good fortune, I decided to gift myself a trip to Dallas, Texas to experience it again. And just like it was the last time I attended, it was magical. I intend to go back next year.


Not only did I do so much, but I also grew a little.

The idea of being alone frightens me sometimes. If I can, I usually choose to be with close friends. Oftentimes, if I want to do anything like attending a show, for instance, I’d prefer to have friends nearby to accompany me, but unfortunately, I can’t always indulge in that luxury. The normal, healthy solution would be to just do it myself. However, my anxiety has always made it so that I can’t do it at all or with extreme difficulty. I believe I’ve mentioned this before, but the loneliness can be very crippling, often preventing me from really doing anything if I don’t have a friend with me. I missed out on a lot because of that.

Then one day, sometime after my trip to Comic-Con, I was feeling lonely again and I desperately wanted to be with my friends. Unfortunately, no one was available. In that moment, I realized that I shouldn’t have to rely on them. They’re out living their own lives, while I was stuck at home, paralyzed from going out by my anxiety of being alone. I thought about how much I had missed out on throughout the year because I couldn’t bring myself to go without a friend. And finally, I just realized that I couldn’t do that anymore.

I realized that, out of necessity, I had travelled to San Diego alone. It was the first time I had ever done so. That trip made me realize that the world doesn’t end when I’m out by myself. I spent 3 days in a different State, away from all of my friends… and I was fine.

I learned that I could travel unaccompanied, unimpeded by my anxiety. And by far, the most wonderful thing of all: I learned I could go out and have a good time alone.

Armed with that knowledge, I booked a trip to Dallas to see one of my favorite bands. I was in Dallas for 31 hours and I had a blast.

It sounds so insignificant to any normal person, but I honestly don’t think I could have done anything like that before. This year made me realize that I can do it and above all the wonderful trips I took, that knowledge is by far that best thing that happened to me this year.

Those two solitary trips really opened up the world in a different way for me. More self-assured than ever, I plan on travelling a lot more next year, with or without my friends. And I hope you’ll follow me as I continue growing into 2017.

Thank you again for being there and reading my pathetic diatribes all throughout the year. I’ll see you in 2017.

Keep on in 2017 and beyond.


Mental Wellness?

The title of this blog may be misleading because I haven’t achieved mental wellness. In fact, it’s pretty far out of reach, but I’m still working on it.

No, this blog is more so about seeing the reaction of a friend of mine who is, for the most part, mentally stable… or rather, normal. This friend and I had a brief disagreement that ended in a moment of childish lashing out that was completely unexpected, on their part. Baffled by that, I confronted this friend, who recognized this moment and forgave themselves for it.

Now, it’s forgotten. The acting out was so small and minute that I’ve stopped thinking about it, but his reaction to it is what baffles me and continues baffle me. It’s the instant forgiving of oneself that I couldn’t wrap my head around and the unapologetic way in which they addressed it.

If I had done something like that, I’d beat myself up for hours. I’d hate myself long after the actual act and my anxiety would drive me to apologize profusely. Seeing that they could forgive themselves and forget it so easily, I thought to myself, “Is this the way a mentally well person thinks?”


I couldn’t wrap my head around it. It plagued me for days afterward. I honestly couldn’t believe that someone could show absolutely no remorse for a brief moment of being an asshole. And then, I wondered if maybe that’s the way it should be. That that’s the way healthy… normal people think. It started to occur to me that maybe being mentally well meant being more selfish and less considerate. And I couldn’t quite fathom it. Was it worth the loss of consideration for others if it meant reaching such a stable point?

I told my therapist my thoughts and she looked at me dumbfounded. Not only was I overreacting to something that really just meant nothing, but she also made it abundantly clear that my way of thinking was the unhealthy way of thinking. Really, nobody should be punishing themselves for hours following a silly and negligible faux pas when likely everyone in attendance had already forgotten about it. It’s unhealthy and the anxiety drives me to do and say things that may or may not have made things even worse than they likely were.

Even talking through my feelings with my therapist and understanding that my way of thinking was debilitating, I still couldn’t shake the thought that to be stable meant being less considerate of others. An important part of who I am is my thoughtfulness of people around me. It’s always been one of the core aspects of my personality. That part of me is so ingrained in who I am that I literally cannot grasp the thought of forgiving myself so easily over something like what transpired between my friend and me.

With that being said, I wondered if I would even like the mentally stable version of me? Will the current me approve of a version of myself where I was happier, but less considerate of the people around me? Will the current me be satisfied with a thoughtless version of myself who was no longer plagued by anxiety and depression? Will the current me like a version of myself who’s essentially more selfish?
In the end, to achieve this goal of mental wellness, I would have to learn to care for myself more, which fundamentally means that I would be more selfish.

But I don’t want that. So what do I want?

As you can see, I’m sort of lost and confused.

I know that I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be controlled by my anxiety anymore, but I also don’t want to lose the thoughtful side of me… which is really the only side of me that I’m proud of. There has to be some sort balance to it and I’m likely only dabbling in extremes. It’s just that display of instant forgiveness really shook me.

I suppose I have a new goal in mind now: To reach a point of mental stability that doesn’t sacrifice the considerate portion of my personality. I guess that means that if I ever do something really stupid, I’d have to learn not to chastise myself so heavily, but recognize what I did was wrong and sincerely apologize to those around me and hope that I don’t do it again. That’s healthy, right?

Keep on.


Discounting the Positives

Commentary: It’s been far too long since I last posted and I sincerely apologize. Trust me, I really wanted to post… something, but I either forgot, or I was too busy. And it’s honestly pained me that I haven’t posted in so long. I never meant for that happen. This blog has been too important for me to neglect it like this. I hope there’s still some of you out there reading this.

A lot has changed since I started drafting this post, so I may or may not feel the same, but I feel it important to post it regardless and it was important for me to write it. So let’s go back and finish a post I started more than a month ago.

Expect this to be a lengthy entry. All of it ties to a point, I promise, but it’s also meant to update you on my life. Clever, huh? No? Okay.

Commentary end.


A tendency in which I partake quite often is what is known as “discounting the positives.” I have a very low opinion of myself and a distinct lack of self worth. Unlike normal people, when good things tend to happen to me, instead of attributing successes to my talent and/or skill, I attribute it to the situation, somehow putting a negative spin on something that’s supposed to be good. It’s either that or I simply ignore it altogether, often feeling like it wasn’t deserved.

Just as it’s called, when you discount the positive, it’s when you attempt to explain away an achievement or a good quality about yourself. It’s considered a cognitive distortion or a negative thought pattern that contributes to folks who have depression as it prevents one from having a sense of pride in oneself. And I suppose that’s really part of the foundation of mental wellness. It’s just another type of negative thinking of which I have to break.

It was touched upon in the previous entry on Comic-Con. Although I got to check something off my bucket list and I remember in the moment, having an incredible time, but I returned feeling numb to the whole experience. I began recalling the worst parts of the trip to my therapist, concluding that it was an experience I wouldn’t want to revisit. Bemused, she looked at me and bluntly said that I was discounting a positive. I didn’t believe her at first, as I recalled not enjoying the experience while there, but she quickly countered that I likely did enjoy myself at some point. She made it very clear that attending Comic-Con is a big deal and not something that I should easily disregard.

And a lot of good stuff was happening to me recently, but I refused to allow myself to accept it for one reason or another that I will explore here.

My place of work has two ways in which to boost morale and recognize employees. Of course, there’s your standard Employee of the Quarter (monthly seemed too costly for them) as well as the Shining Star Award. There’s an incentive program at my job where you receive stars for recognition for hard work and talent, or going above and beyond your call of duty. The stars can be redeemed for cash or other bonuses. The Shining Star Award recognizes those who have won the most stars in a given quarter. Apparently, I received both. I wasn’t willing to accept that I deserved those awards. Instead of just patting myself on the back for a good job, I made excuses. “I got lucky. They give those out to everyone. The last nominees already got them, so it was my turn.”

I came up with what I believed was the most plausible explanation: A few weeks prior to that, I interviewed for a promotion in administration. I didn’t get the position, losing out to someone who was more experienced than me, however my manager made sure to give me a pep talk, explaining that it was only because of the other candidate’s experience that I did not get it. I’m not sure if I chose to believe that, but I know those circumstances led me to believe that that manager rigged the awards so that I received them as a consolation prize for not getting the position to begin with.

I provided this explanation to my therapist, who blinked at me in confusion, and proceeded to imply heavily, in the kindest words possible, how stupid I sounded. Whether or not it’s true, it was really up to me to break that unhealthy negative pattern and feel that sense of accomplishment.

Then, Comic-Con happened.

About two weeks following my return, the person vacated the position for which I was vying and true to his word, my manager promoted me. At that point, I did start to feel a sense of accomplishment, in this pseudo-career path that I’ve chosen for myself. And thankfully, I haven’t been doing a bad job. Granted, I made a pretty grave mistake that could have resulted in immediate dismissal (and I’m sure I’ll be beating myself up about that for ages), but I wasn’t (and I have to make myself understand that it was an honest mistake). In the end, those who have been evaluating me have blatantly told me that I haven’t been doing a bad job (Even my verbiage indicates that I still haven’t quite broken myself of that negative thought pattern).

And then, Japan happened. I traveled to Tokyo, Japan and had such an incredible time. There’s really no way to express how great that trip was. No excessive use of adjectives nor ridiculously verbose and flowery rhetoric can express how great that trip was. I can only say that I was homesick for a country I was in for 11 days.

And all of that is amazing and fantastic, but nothing validated me more than a simple compliment from a stranger I met at work.

Now, I had helped her a few times, so we were somewhat familiar with one another, but it’s still mind-blowing that she stopped in the middle of her day to say:

“I just want to say that you’re great. There’s a lot people here that will act like dicks and I don’t want that to change you.”

I was so shocked by it and I could barely sputter out a word of thanks, before she smiled and walked away. I couldn’t accept the compliment for days after and still, I have issues processing it. I always wonder about what warranted it; For her to feel the need to tell me something like that…. In the end, it shouldn’t matter. She decided to do something awfully kind by offering a very simple compliment. And if I want to build a sense of pride, if I want to feel like I have value, I have to accept it, right?

I’m still trying to break that thought pattern. My therapist tries to make me see the value in myself and I never understood why. I just want to be a good person and a good friend. Finding value in myself doesn’t seem like it’s really needed. It doesn’t add to any of those aforementioned goals, so why should I care? I neglected to mention that I just want to feel better and that’s where my therapist got me.

So I suppose I need to tell myself and whomever is still around to read this post: When good things happen, it’s because you did it. Try to accept that and make sure that you know your value.


And above all, keep on.

It’s been too long.


San Diego Comic-Con

I really hate to leave this blog silent for so long, but these past few weeks have been the busiest I’ve been in quite some time.

Aside from my usual work schedule and basic living tasks, I managed to check off an item off of my bucket list. For years, I said I’d go to San Diego Comic-Con, constantly calling it the mecca of geek culture… but for years, I always considered it a far off dream more than anything. Although I wanted to go, it just seemed so improbable with life being the way it was.

As you may already know, I write for a Batman news website called Dark Knight News. I have been writing for them for over 3 years as a hobby. Last year, the owner of the website decided to submit applications for press passes. I had little faith that the biggest comic book convention in the US would approve us, so despite not knowing if I could afford the trip, I took a chance and filled out an application and submitted it with the owner.

Months down the road, I was shocked to find that we were approved. I was in utter disbelief for weeks that I refused to even utter it in the presence of another soul, lest I’d somehow, with the power of my words, undo it. So much so, that I prolonged any actual planning. I didn’t book plane tickets or any lodging up until I received an email informing me that my badge was being shipped to me.

That week leading up to the big weekend was nerve-racking, making last minute preparations, checking-into airlines, and packing. Packing is a bitch. Nobody ever quite knows what will pass through TSA and what will not. It turns out that a lot can pass through TSA. All of this while realizing this will be the first time I’ve ever traveled alone… anywhere. I knew I could handle it as a relatively sensible individual, but fretting over it was inevitable.

However, finally getting there was an entirely different story. Most of Downtown San Diego had been taken over by Comic-Con whether it be the restaurants, bars, and clubs in the Gaslight district advertising specials regarding Pokemon GO or Mario games, or massive advertisements covering hotels and skyscrapers that are aimed at the geek audience. In Downtown San Diego that weekend, it was fair to say that the geeks had inherited the Earth.

There were so many fucking people, but you probably couldn’t really feel it. I’ve attended multiple conventions before with huge attendance packed into small confined spaces that really made you feel how overcrowded it was. With the popularity growth in Comic-Con over the last decade, Comic-Con International has learned how to handle such large crowds and managed to expertly and efficiently herd the masses so that it never actually felt that crowded. They kept the festivities as widespread as possible, covering more than just the convention center, but onto different properties close by such as the Hard Rock Cafe or the Martin Luther King Promenade just across the street.

The nature of this sort of beast requires that people will be waiting in lines for… everything. I’ve been to several conventions in the past and the lines have always been a mess, obstructing any clear pathway, however, not at this event. Security and volunteers shepherded attendees, keeping any paths as open as possible, while providing specific designated areas (especially for Hall H) for the lines.

Really, the biggest crowd pleaser was by far the Exhibition room. Being a con veteran, I’ve been to many Exhibition rooms in many different conventions, but NOTHING compares to the Comic-Con Exhibition room. I was in awe for most of it. The larger companies are able to set up makeshift stores in the hall and sometimes, even a museum, so to speak. They would have art or costumes or toys beautifully displayed for people to admire. Nickelodeon, in promotion of nostalgia and their new block called The Splat, had recreated sets from popular shows from the 90s such as Legends of the Hidden Temple and Stoop Kid’s stoop from Hey Arnold. Some even set up “experiences,” where you’d enter an enclosed shack in their booth, in which you’d experience something pertaining to whatever they were advertising. Capcom had set up a dilapidated old house in the Exhibition hall to promote Resident Evil 7, for example.

By far, the most important moments for me, however, came from experiencing Hall H. As a diehard South Park fan, it was pretty cool to sit in and watch Matt Stone and Trey Parker discuss their silly little cartoon that took the world by storm. As a massive Kevin Smith fan, I’d watch his legendary Hall H panels every year on YouTube, where someone fumbled with their phone to record. I got to be there for that.

I remember every year for the past 5-6 years, on Comic-Con weekend, huge news would surface from Hall H and I’d be at my computer marveling at grainy, shaky footage. This year, however, I got to be among the first to hear and see it at the WB Pictures panel, most notably discussing their DC slate of films. Just as I was marveling at the YouTube videos, I was far more ecstatic to see it in real life. Seeing our first live-action Justice League take the stage, I’m ashamed to admit that I actually got a little overwhelmed emotionally.

As I said, I came in as press, so of course, there was work to be done. I managed to secure interviews with the cast and crew of Batman: The Killing Joke, the animated adaptation of one of my favorite books of all time. I got to interview Bruce Timm, one of the primary architects of the beloved DC Animated Universe about an adaptation to one of my favorite books. I can’t tell you how rewarding it was doing what I love while attending a place I’ve always dreamed.

By the end of each day there, I was exhausted and surprisingly, by the second day, I was ready to go home. It’s tough being so emotionally dependent on others and being out somewhere by yourself, with nobody to talk to for days.

All in all, the convention was truly what I expected: unbelievable and incredible. It’s hard to believe even now that I had a chance to experience that.

Even more surprising was coming back and finding that my coverage for the con was even more rewarding. Spending hours transcribing interviews and panel recaps for everyday for 7 days straight

At first, I was numb to the whole experience, not realizing the significance of it all. My therapist made me realize just how big of a deal it really was. Listening to me minimize this achievement, she insisted that I was discounting the positives. Therefore, the point of this blog to make myself realize how important all of this was to me.

And once again, this blog has helped me.

Keep on.


Coming of Age

June was a very active month for me for various reasons. As previously mentioned, it was the anniversary of my breakdown. The catalyst that changed my life. As expected, I was pretty darn emotional… for the majority of the month. But then, it stopped. Things fell into place again. And I felt good. Great, even.

Then again, I’d probably credit most of my high to an external source. One of my closest friends was having a birthday. However, calling her one of my closest friends simply doesn’t describe just why she means that much to me. This wonderful, incredible, miraculous person is the reason I didn’t kill myself last year. She picked up the phone when I needed somebody and was my crutch as I was healing. I owe her a great debt. With her birthday coming up, I wanted nothing more than to show her just how thankful I was. That contributed greatly to my high.

That didn’t go as perfectly as planned, but it was still a good day. And since then, things have been going very good. I kept myself busy, which means I didn’t have a lot to say. Considering how this blog works, that’s a pretty good thing.

Now, onto the point of this blog. The title is a little deceiving because I’m not coming of age at this moment. I’d imagine I’d be the latest bloomer around if I came of age when I’m nearing 30 years old.


Anyway, it’s because I’ve been in a better place, I started picking up an old habit of mine that unfortunately fell by the wayside. I’m a movie buff, which means I love movies. I used to watch movies a lot, but life takes over and you don’t always have the time to sit and dedicate 2 hours to a movie. I started watching movies again. I’ve really been enjoying it. No, that’s still not the point, apologies for the longwinded introduction.

So when I say “coming of age,” I’m referring to the genre of movies. Coming of age movies have always been one of my favorite genres of film. There’s always both an internal and external struggle and an emotional journey that the character(s) go through and by the end of the movie, somebody has learned something and grown from their experiences. It’s always extremely life-affirming. Prior to that, I had never quite articulated why I loved them so much. And even as I crept closer and closer to my 30s, I still enjoyed watching teenagers endure and develop.

After 3 days and 3 coming of age movies, I was suddenly stricken with some sadness that required I ask a friend assure me of my value. It was a very profound sadness, but it was not by any means a depressive state of mind. Sure, I needed the assurance, but it was more of a melancholic introspection. It ended up being slightly refreshing because I was thinking deeply once again. I evaluated my life and about those whom I cared. I evaluated my future and what it could possibly hold. And then, I just needed someone to tell me that I had value. And then, I was okay.

It actually wasn’t unlike something from those movies. Just very abbreviated and far less dramatic.

Then, I started thinking about why I liked those movies so much. I realized that as a person who abstained from drugs and alcohol, and therefore a lot of parties, and as a person who has never been in love, I didn’t have the most conventional development. I didn’t grow up experiencing the same things that my peers were experiencing. I was too self-involved, wallowing in my depression and depriving myself of those experiences that supposedly make up a person.

For the most part, I missed out on a lot. And no, I don’t regret it. Most of those are my choices based on my personality. But I think that it’s because I missed out on so much that I vicariously live through these characters who come of age. Even if I had any desire to partake, it’s a little too late, isn’t it?

I wondered and thought to myself, “Have I come of age yet?” Sometimes, I feel like adulthood was thrust upon me unexpectedly and I just had to jump into a sprint after lying down, muscles atrophied from a sedentary lifestyle. Sometimes, I feel fully unprepared to take on adulthood and I’m hanging on, just barely. I pondered and then I realized, “No, I probably haven’t come of age at all yet.” And that’s if we’re to believe what constitutes the formula for coming of age comes from those movies.

So, maybe I won’t have that drug-fueled emotional journey that changes who I am forever. Or maybe I will and I’ll be the late ass bloomer to which I was referring. And if that’s the case, I hope it’s soon.

Keep on.


Hope Part Deux

My examination of hope really should have ended last month, but in light of certain events, I’d like to re-examine hope and discuss my recent experience with it.

Following a period of mild depression, I was reinvigorated and ready to face the world. I was constantly employing Cognitive Therapy strategies to keep my depression at bay. Dare I say, there was hope. Hope that I could be better. That I could stay strong.

Rather than examine hope in the clinical sense with regards to depression like the previous entry, let me provide a personal anecdote.

Something I found quite interesting over the course of the last few weeks. Whenever you are upset or angry, it’s clear that you are not thinking clearly. In those moments of elevated moods, your mind is clouded and people often tell you to calm down in order to make a rational decision. I thought I was of a rational mindset, but in what I believe was a state of delirium, I went ahead and began hoping for something unrealistic. I wanted to do something reckless because I had hope. My rational side knew it would likely end badly, but my delirious hopefulness believed otherwise.

And I was let down. In my previous post on hope, I referenced crushing disappointment when being hopeful. Well, that recently happened. I was crushed. Even more so than that, I was absolutely destroyed. I’m ashamed to admit that I shed a few tears. Two words wrecked my foundation. Left alone with the knowledge, I was desperately fighting myself not to break down.

Thankfully, all the work I put into healing was not for naught, because I recovered literally overnight. Although it still stung, I managed to feel significantly better.

I wish I had a point to this entry. I wish I had something useful to say on the subject. In my experience, I tend to not hope because hopefulness often leads to hurt, which isn’t something that can help when you’re stuck in the dark, attempting to climb out. I wish I could impart a message of hope to help out anyone in need, but then, I’d be insincere, given my recent experience of having my hopes dashed.


It’s important to have hope. I’ve made that clear while examining it. It keeps you from giving up. But I suppose it’s important to be realistic as well. Unrealistic expectations set you up for disappointment and when you’re as fragile as I am, the disappointment could be very harmful. Maybe, just have enough hope to keep you going, but don’t be hopeful.

Have hope in that if you stumble, you’ll get up again. But don’t be hopeful of springing up and leaping over the moon. It takes time to heal. Hell, I thought I was good, but a year later and two words can crush me. I’m clearly not over it, but I’m better.

You might say it’s pessimistic, but I say it’s pragmatic. I’ve been hurt too many times by hopefulness. I’d rather not get hurt again.

Keep on.


My Breakdown

When I first started this blog in July of 2015, I was recovering from a breakdown.

The weeks leading up to creating this blog were the worst I had ever experienced in my life. I was hurting so bad and I just wanted it to end. I had never wanted to kill myself more in my life than in those few weeks. Thankfully, I had the foresight to seek help when I did. As I’ve said before, I managed to pull through with the help of friends and, during moments of anxiety when I felt I couldn’t burden my loved ones, the Suicide Prevention Crisis Lifeline Chat. It’s weird to say, but some strangers helped to save my life in some of my weakest moments.

But I’ve covered that part of my life already. In great detail. And it’s a place that I don’t care to revisit.

However, there is still a part of the story that I’ve kept to myself. I’ve selfishly unloaded intimate details about my life on this blog, but despite all of that, I still wasn’t quite ready to reveal one part of that story. One year ago today, I broke down and I hurt myself. It was the worst day of my short, privileged life… and now I’m ready to talk about it.

I was in love with my best friend. I had been in love with her for years, but she never reciprocated. Being a veteran of unrequited love, I survived and managed just fine. She was my best friend and I was happy to have her in my life at all.

A couple years ago, she expressed some interest in me for the first time in our 15-year friendship. Thus began this strange, pseudo relationship. It lasted nearly a year, but it never quite went very far. However, I was committed. I had never been more in love with anyone. That’s my excuse.

One year ago today, she decided to begin a relationship with someone for whom she had feelings, effectively ending whatever weird arrangement we had. Once I registered that, everything began to lose meaning and I broke down.


As pathetic as it sounds, I fell to the floor and I began to sob. I sobbed hysterically for nearly 30 minutes, crying out in pain periodically. I eventually picked myself up from the floor and mindlessly roamed my house through a constant stream of tears.

Then, I began to hurt myself. I wanted to punish myself for failing. I wanted to punish myself for being so weak. I wanted to punish myself for being so fucking foolish as to think that I could possibly be with someone so perfect. I wasn’t good enough for her. I was never even close to being worthy of her. So as penance for being so stupid, I hurt myself. I bashed my head into a wall several times. I bashed my head into the bare floor several times. My fist went into one of my doors as well. (The damage to that door remains a constant reminder of my mistake.) And believing that that simply wasn’t enough, I grasped a wooden cane and proceeded to beat myself a few times, aiming for my head.

I suppose I was just trying to knock some sense into myself.

And as difficult as it is to admit, I cut myself on my wrist a few times as well. There was no intent to kill myself, it was just an exercise. I just wanted to know the feeling. It’s hard to really make sense of anything when nothing made sense anymore. I kinda lost myself there.

All of that lasted nearly an hour before I picked myself up and reached out to somebody for help. One of my closest friends managed to answer my call. I’m so thankful for that person because I’m not sure what would have happened that day had she not been there for me.

Following that, I made arrangements to seek professional help. And thus began the weeks of endless suicidal thoughts.

It was difficult for the both of us to find peace from this. To say the least, she was not happy to hear about what had transpired. As I’ve said in previous entries, our relationship has been irrevocably changed.

And a few weeks later, I started this blog. This blog was meant to help in that healing process. For the better part of the last year, I’ve sifted through my emotions, confessed some of my closely guarded secrets, and did a lot of whining. And you readers were there to help me heal… for that I’m eternally grateful. From the bottom of my mending heart, thank you for reading.

So there it is. I’ve written multiple blogs about it, intentionally omitting any details about what actually happened when I broke down. For the most part, that’s the whole story that I can fully disclose. Of course, there are more pieces to it that must remain private and those parts of the story are simply not mine to tell.

I’m a bitch, right? You can tell me.

A year later, I found that I’m still not over her, but I’m better and I can’t ask for much more than that.

Keep on.


One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, I still had hope.

One year ago today, I was in love.

One year ago today, I hadn’t yet truly given in to my mental illness.

One year ago today, I was a different person.


Something happened last year on this day. It was one of the last great things to happen to me. Good things have happened to me since, but none of it meant more to me than this… because I was in love. Moving forward from this day one year ago, I had so much hope. Hope for something that I had waited and agonized over for so long.

Then, I think about what happened 9 days following that, which is when everything changed. Nine days later, I broke down and submitted to my depression that I had fought for so long. I did something that I never thought I’d do and I still hate myself for it.

I’ve been recovering ever since.

And something happened to me last week that tells me that I’m not yet over it.

I wonder how long it will take to finally overcome it. It’s hard to have hope when days like this come around, when I can’t stop thinking.

Keep on.



My relationship with poetry is a little tumultuous. I always carried some resentment for poetry because I always wanted to write it, but simply didn’t have the talent. Inspired by some of my favorite musicians and lyricists for being able to say something meaningful or to tell a story through rhyme and melody, I always dreamed of doing the same, but alas, like most who attempt, I was shit.


Although some may say that poems and songs are different, I always considered them extremely similar. If anything, I wanted to write poetry, but I felt less ashamed to be writing songs than to be writing poems.

In many old, burnt out hard drives, as well as some virtual drives, I’ve always managed to take with me a folder full of songs written during my high school years. As someone who has always self-expressed, I tried my hand at putting down my feelings into song… to disastrous effects. If I were to be so damn bold as to post them publicly (which I will never do unless I felt like making someone laugh or cringe), you’d find the pretentious musings of a misunderstood teen. I was an angst-ridden kid who genuinely believed the world didn’t understand him, so I felt the need to write out my feelings through song or to point out all the horrific hypocrisy of society, which was to blame for all my first-world suffering. Yes, I was one of those kids.

So there’s my subject matter. Pretty cringeworthy stuff, if I do say so myself. Now, what about the word choices? In high school, I found myself reading the dictionary a lot, feeling the need to find larger than average, “smart-sounding” words to separate myself from the general populace, somehow making myself feel better simply because of vocabulary. That’s what I felt like good writing was comprised of; Doling out as many big, uncommon words as I could in an extremely convoluted sentence. Complete with the subject matter, you’d find the use of words like “arcane,” “despair,” or “feign.”( The last of which I received as a tip from someone who was also an angsty poet.)

And rhyming was an important part of it. I didn’t feel like it was poetry or songwriting unless there were some catchy rhymes in there. (It’s still somewhat important to me now, but I can live without.) For me, the song hinged upon those rhymes, forming the foundation of it. It was so important that I was willing to sacrifice some things for it. For instance, structure and rhythm were expendable in favor of the rhyme. A bit of sense was also lost, because I found myself making up words for the rhyme, but then again, from what I’ve been told , that’s not an uncommon practice nowadays.

Described above applied to most of my songs, so I hope I painted a pretty damn clear picture of what a typical song from a teenage Adam would look and sound like. It was pitiful. The worst part? I was actually somewhat proud of them. I honestly believed that I was writing something severely profound. Thankfully, that stage of my life ended very quickly. The duration was only about 1 school year.

Since then, I tend to stay away from that branch of writing. For one, I’m simply not creative enough to say something through poetic language anymore. And second, I just didn’t want to create something so bad.

However, prior to my breakdown, I was inspired to write a poem. Learning from my past mistakes, I made sure to incorporate simplicity, structure, and rhythm. It’s not by any means good, just different. Everything was different, right down to the motivation. I was in love and I wrote a cheesy love poem. Simple as that. I mean, I’d be severely remiss if I didn’t share at least one, right? Granted, it’s a particularly deliberate move to share a poem that’s been through years of maturation rather than the ones that I’ve described above. Eh… fuck it. I kinda like this one.

I see you in the stars
Up above and very far

The vast and empty space
The lights that trace your face

A celestial smile in the sky
Reflected in my eyes

I see you in the stars
Up above, yet in my heart

Yep, it’s corny. And the rhyming is still important to me, I can’t help that.

Keep on.