This might come across at first as a humblebrag, but really it’s an apology, a confession, and a promise.
People have told me from time to time that they’re jealous of part of my life. It’s certainly flattering. I understand they intend it as a compliment, but I can’t accept it. I know that if they got the thing they desired, they’d be surprised at how much unpleasantness they’d have to take along with it. From the outside, my life may look appealing, but it takes its shape from suffering.
I’ve never wanted to talk about that suffering. Saying something without value is complaining, and complaining feeds the ego. And I haven’t felt I have anything of value to share. Until now.
On Friday I lost another friend to suicide. This one really hurt because we were close, and I failed to be there the way I should. If any of many friends I have lost to this disease held any misconception about what a mixed blessing this life is, I need to set the record straight publicly.
Depression runs in my family. My parents have both suffered from it. Someone asked me if I inherited it, and of course I did. Regardless of genetics, growing up in negative, chaotic circumstances shaped me. But rather than suffer from it, I struggle against it.
Like a lot of teenagers, I developed resentment towards my parents for their flaws. I swore I’d never end up like my Dad, but soon I realized lashing out at the world was having the effect of making me more like him.
I decided that to rebel against negative, chaotic energy, I had to engage in consistent positive actions. I started making better decisions — eating well, exercise, quitting smoking, career moves — and one good decision made the next one easier.
But they all drew their fuel from negativity. I was doing the right things, but motivated by comparison, self judgement, self denial.
Negativity ran out of fuel in 2013. Nothing was good enough for me anymore. I stopped playing music, moved way out of town, checked out. Mad at everyone for their shortcomings, I imagined peace and quiet alone.
Bad decision. Quiet and alone provided the perfect pool for negativity to settle. After getting deeply miserable, I realized the reason I do so many things is for the interaction with people. I never needed negativity. I needed human acceptance, for myself and others.
Which makes losing someone so hard now. Did I do everything I could have for my friend? Of course not. I’m not perfect. I know exactly where I failed.
But I choose not to look back at my failures in a negative light. I choose to look towards the chances I’ll have, armed with this hard earned knowledge, to do better in the future.
Improving is hard. Commitment is hard. Positivity is hard. You know what else is hard? Negativity, depression, anger and fear. One way or the other, you’re going to suffer. But you get to choose what you get out of it in between.
Choose people, choose life.
Love is always the right answer.