There are always mixed feelings when one realizes that a chapter of their life is drawing to a close and a new one is about to begin.

The thing is, life is full of change, even within a 'defined' chapter. So much of life is how we roll with those changes: How we adapt to them, embrace them, reject them, let them shape up or how we shape the changes themselves.

Knowing that, the first bit of guidance to be provided is stop thinking of your life as chapters, or at least the present and the future. It is easy to distill your past as such, but defining the present as the 'chapter in progress' can lead to complications.

Instead, view life as an endless cycle of hands of cards in a great game. Some hands you get dealt will be great fun to play. Other hands you will want to fold right away. Some sure-thing hands you will somehow still lose. Other terrible hands you will find ways to win with.

Keep track of the losing hands you win and the winning hands that you lose. Those moments in life tend to be some of the most profound you will have. They will show you milestones that are important to notice. Places where you were sure you were going to turn left, but ended up turning right. Why?

Most importantly, no matter how bad a hand or a run of hands get, there is always reason to play on. So, it is important to always tuck away the best and sweetest moments of life...

Because, life almost always throws everyone a wicked curveball at least once. A game-changing hand that is destined to change your course somehow. It is statistically unavoidable. Up until a certain point of life, I had the best and worst moments within a 45 minute window. That transition was brutal. And since that particular moment, I had even worse hands. But, I have also had sweeter as well. You will to.

We are all both lumps of clay to be continually shaped into something as sculptures shape with clay and we are slabs of marble that sculptures chip away at to discover the true shape within. Both at once. It is perhaps the most unique thing about being human.

You have a core to you, that will rarely change. Your foundation. The shape of you that is trapped within the marble. Life sandblasts away at the edges to try to find where the shape of you truly exists.

Off of that foundation though, you are molding and building upon it, as one would work with clay. To the skeleton of your soul, you are adding the sinew and the flesh. The quest to become more whole, with more purpose in the world. It is important to know what parts of yourself that are the rarely-changing core, and what parts of yourself are open (or susceptible) to change (whether you want the change or not).

Knowing and learning that, will help you in all things in life, and help you enjoy life even in the rough times. All of your relationships will improve, because you will better know which ones are the strong ones that fit you and which are not.

Along those lines, we live in a time where many like to see things in just the shades of their grey. It is important to still see the black and white in the world though. To see the good and the evil. The right and the wrong. Always re-challenge yourself to make sure you do not lose your way in seeing it.

Always try to wake up and have the first thought of the day be, "This is going to be the best day of my life." Easier said than done, but ever so important to try to do. Again, you have to play the hand dealt to you the best you can. In this case, sometimes you are the best source of good luck.

Understand love. Understand that it is not easy to understand. Recognize the people in your life that DO love you unconditionally. Feel the shape and the pattern of that love and try to apply it to all of the relationships that matter in your life. Always be a nice and good person, but recognize some relationships are not worth cultivating or holding onto.

Understand differences of opinion. In an age where polarity is all of the rage. Drawing lines in the sand. Perpetual us vs. them attitudes. It is ever so important to understand why the differences exist. Sometimes common ground cannot be achieved. But, often times, attitudes of 'agree to disagree' can and should. There is more to all of us than just our singular facets, yet we live in an age where for too many of us, we only let ourselves see people in those singular ways. Rise above that, as difficult as it is. 

Pay it forward. Do good deeds for the sake of doing good deeds. In a restaurant, pay for a stranger's meal. Every so often, drop some food stuff off at a food pantry. Instead of throwing away something used but still nice, donate it. Most importantly, whenever you get to be the hero or you do the yeoman's work, do it quietly. Don't do it and want praise or thanks, do it because it was the right thing to do. Sometimes you will get rewarded directly for it. Sometimes, you will get ridiculed for it. Be the quiet hero.

When you do 'fall in love' with the 'one' and commit. Know that that relationship will be the hardest and yet the best you will ever have. Savor the good times. Understand you will both change over the course of that life together. You might have to fall in love with that person multiple times because of it. It is worth it though.

Never take yourself too seriously or too foolishly. When in doubt, embrace your humility. The path of zen and least resistance usually resides there.

Write often. Journal or write poetry. Write essays or exploratory fiction. Writing can bring you comfort, clear a cluttered mind, help you discover something important, reveal truths shaded in fogs, etc. 

Never sell yourself short. You will stumble, you will fall. But you have purpose in this world. You will touch people in such unbelievably, wonderful ways, (whether with your words, your actions, your presence) that those times alone should be enough to remind you to never sell yourself short.

Finally, and most importantly. Enjoy the heck out of life. You may be have depression issues, anxiety issues, whatever. Find parts of life, everyday, to just ENJOY! To suck the marrow out of the bones.

Good luck! And make as much of that good luck on your own.

The Sun rises early,

but my day starts with you.

Wake up little baby,

we’re going to the zoo!

Pounce with the tiger,

Munch with the giraffe,

Listen to the lion’s roar and laugh, laugh, laugh.

Something troubles you,

I know you cannot tell me.

But daddy’s here for you,

Ignore the people staring.

The crowds are shocked,

When my boy is crying.

Some might approach and say,

“Stop that boy’s whining!”

Don’t worry, my son,

They just don’t understand.

That’s why daddy works real hard,

To spread the word to every hand.

It’s time to go home, now.

It’s not your fault, it’s mine.

Daddy loves you with all his heart,

That’s why he’s upset when you cry.

Settle down now, love.

Listen to what I say.

Daddy will never leave you,

By your side, always.

I watch you smile, play and laugh,

The happiest boy on planet earth.

Daddy wishes others could see,

And understand your worth.

That you’re smart, strong and silly.

The funniest boy I’ve ever met.

Loving, kind and sweet.

They didn’t know that, I bet.

It’s time for bed now, baby.

My love for you unmet.

I was nothing before you arrived,

And I’d be nothing if you left. 

Learn more about Autism here: https://www.autismspeaks.org/what-autism

Love has damaged me, and I don't know if I should blame myself, for believing in such a dusty social development, or society itself. Love is nothing more than a mirage, a chemical reaction in our brains, the very same that frighten us with phantom ghosts and drive us to tears with whispers of those who've passed on. It's evolution, a survival trait that has long grown rusty. I know these shadows, the magical trickster called Mother Nature, and yet, despite my knowledge and woes, I choose ignorance every time. 

Disney is sexist. They present unrealistic expectations to females at an early, impressionable age that, if not achieved, can scar them for life. Of course we all know what I’m talking about; the eyes.

Obviously these unrealistic eye balls aren’t going anywhere, partly because they’re pretty, and mostly because Disney has more money than Satan on a lucky streak in Vegas. And eyes aren’t the only thing. I’ve heard rumbles of body image or something, I don’t know.

Guys face these issues as well. Not all of us can swing from tree to tree, or assassinate our brother to assume the throne. Disney thrusts these expectations down our throats and records us choking on it (how else did you think they got the voice for Donald?).

Self-esteem is a huge issue for ugly people, and it’s starting to bum the rest of us out. So I’ve taken it upon myself to provide a few reasons to feel better about yourself! So sit back, cradle your knees and tell yourself everything will be alright as we take Disney down a notch.

1. Jane sneezed on Tarzan once and he immediately died.

What, you think that story would have a happy ending? If you’ve read history at all you’d know that the European’s best weapon was their own filth and squalor. Tarzan’s immune system consisted of bananas and bestiality, he wasn’t anywhere near prepared to deal with the black plague.

2. Most of the Disney couples are divorced by now.

We all know high school love affairs generally don't end well. Most of the princesses were 16, or younger! Ariel didn't even know what a fork was, how well do you think she'll do in court? Cinderella would certainly end up with only one of those expensive glass slippers. The only one who is still chugging along is Snow White, but that's only because she's clinically depressed; some say that there's still a part of her sleeping away, that no amount of forced kisses will wake up.

3. Simba was beheaded

He had three solos and now thinks he can run a country? Monarchies are complicated governments, and all the circle of life stuff leads me to assume that he’s the head of the

church as well. Hakuna Makata doesn’t apply to civil war, or plagues, or Pumba’s attempted suicide. Political expertise isn’t genetic. We all know he couldn’t wait, but perhaps he should’ve taken a few management courses at the local community college before assuming the throne. I say we make Nala our leader. #pinnedya'gain2020

4. Rapunzel became the most economically viable executioner.

Rope ain't cheap.

5. A lamp wasn't the only thing he was rubbing.

You thought Jasmine was 18? That won’t hold up in court. Sure, Aladdin said it was love and that they had the Sultan’s permission, but then 14 other kids came forward and Genie told prosecutors the disturbing shit he was wishing for.

6. Ariel is totally fat now.

All that BP oil was chalk full of trans fat.

Well, there you have it. I hope you feel better about yourself because, as we all know, the best cure for self loathing is judging others.

When I was younger there was a man named Franklin who lived in a cabin in the woods behind our house. He lived off the land and perhaps molested it far more than needed to survive but he thrived this way and so you cannot blame him.

At night I would see him outside my window in the yard, luminescent in the pitch darkness of the wooded countryside. I would look down and wave at Franklin and he’d wave back and this surmised most of my interactions with him.

I imagine I should’ve been frightened of Franklin, but I wasn’t scared of any of the Franklins that would come and stand outside my window and wave. The bearded ones, the bald ones, the women and the men, none seemed insidious to me. They would just wave, but I would soon learn never to wave back.

When the sun rose I would run through the trees and hide in bushes to watch Franklin at his cabin. He would cut wood and stack it next to the cabin and then set another log and strike again, over and over, split and stack, split and stack. No fire burned.

He wouldn’t wave at me during the day. He’d treat me like a common thief, run me from his land with his ax held above his bald head or long hair depending on the day and I would run and at night Franklin would stand outside my house in the yard and wave.

One day I saw Franklin chopping things he shouldn’t have been chopping and on this day he didn’t chase me but instead he waved a red hand and I waved back and I left and I didn’t see Franklin that night or the following night or the weeks that followed.

I saw Franklin in the woods but he didn’t wave. I saw him on the porch but he didn’t see me. I saw him pet our dog who didn’t see him. I went camping and Franklin used his axe and my friends didn’t believe me but they weren’t my friends.

I saw Franklin at a county fair wearing a clown face and a red nose and a curly green wig and he juggled chainsaws but he didn’t wave. I saw Franklin marry my mother and move into our home and raise two children but he didn’t raise me.

I saw Franklin knock on our front door and sell my mother cosmetic supplies and Franklin was beautiful that day and convincing and she came back again but my mother didn’t answer the door that time.

I saw all these faces meld into one when I slept and they all smiled and none of them waved. I saw him standing behind my mother’s casket with a bible in his hand, and I saw Franklin wipe tears from her eyes but I didn’t cry and Franklin didn’t like that.

I saw Franklin outside my window standing in the yard but he didn’t wave. The next night she didn’t wave either, or the next. A week later he stood there with his axe across his shoulders and his hands were red again and he didn’t smile but his shadow did.

I heard Franklin walk across my roof and I saw her peaking at me from the hallway but she didn’t see me. I saw him peaking at me the next night and he saw me and he smiled but he didn’t wave.

I walked to his cabin but Franklin wasn’t there and the cabin wasn’t there but the wood was and stacked on top of the pile were things Franklin shouldn’t have been chopping and I saw my mother and I waved but she didn’t wave.

I saw Franklin in my yard and he didn’t wave but he beckoned me to come out into the yard but I didn’t because I was frightened of who Franklin was that night. The next night she didn’t wave but gestured me to meet her in the yard and I wasn’t afraid and so I walked out into the yard and she had left but Franklin was there and his hands were red so I went back to my room and I wept.

The next night I kept my blinds closed and Franklin didn’t like that. He walked into my room and opened the blinds and I saw him do this but he didn’t see me and he left my house and stood in the yard but I didn’t see him.

The next day Franklin knocked on my door and she asked for my mother because she wanted to sell her cosmetic supplies and I told Franklin that my mother was dead and I saw my mother stacked neatly at the wood pile and Franklin left.

That night I slept facing away from the window but I didn’t close my blinds so Franklin didn’t come inside but his shadow did and he knocked on the glass but I didn’t see him. In the morning Franklin was hanging from a tree in the yard by a rope and flies buzzed around him and he didn’t wave.

Franklin was still dead this morning but he grinned at me in the afternoon and tonight he waved and he’s using the ax to cut himself free and he’s coming up the stairs to my room and he sees me and I see him. He’s waving.

The birds are chirping and the wood pile is stacked higher than the cabin and my mother smiles and Franklin waves and I slice a log clean through and the pile grows larger. Franklin swings back and forth, split and stack, and a boy finds my cabin and I chase him off my land but tonight I’ll wave to him and see if he waves back.

There was a hum that is distracting me from falling asleep. On a red-eye flight to New York that was going to last at least five hours and my utter exhausting from a week of conferences, the hum was literally killing me.

It wasn’t the low rumble of the turbines on the wings a few rows ahead of me. It wasn’t from the few computers that people still had on. It was as if I could almost feel it as well as hear it. It haunted me that much.

I go through all of the possible sources and eliminate them. Eliminate them until I am left to my general area. I’ve filtered out all of the other white noise sources, but the hum. It was so faint, that almost in any other mental state, I could filter it out too. But, in its own way, it was like a gong in my head now, it countered all of the other white noise to stand out like a song.

I look toward the lady sitting next to me, sleeping soundly. The hum wasn’t bothering her. I look toward the one person sitting one row ahead of me on the other side of the aisle, snoring miserably. I could filter out that train wreck of noise, but not the hum.

The lady next to me lets out the softest of sighs, so I turn to look at her again. Sleeping and nearly still, one of those too-small-to-be-effective airplane blankets draped over her lap. I nearly turn my head to hunt for the hum when the lady gave the slightest of shivers. Her breath was controlled, but not quite relaxed. She was almost still, but not still in a restful way. It was easy to overlook when not really looking. Now that I was looking, however, she had enough tells that she was only appearing to be sleeping that it was impossible not to see it now. Just like it was impossible not to hear the hum.

I couldn’t escape the hum because it was coming from her. I couldn’t escape it because perhaps I could feel it in the most minute of ways. The slight arousal that was building as I realized what the hum was,made it even more impossible to try to forget about, not less.

I took my eyes off of her, yet her restful face seemed burned in my vision. She was pretty, if not beautiful. Soft lips, glowing skin, face framed in a raven black bob. But, it was a face of a woman currently trying to pleasure herself while believing the few around her were unaware.

Now that I was aware, my mind ran away with the thought. What wonderland did her mind take her while her vibrator buzzed away? Did it excite her more or less that someone was sitting right next to her while she was getting away with getting off in public? Did she dream about getting caught or just getting away with it?

My mind played out scenarios faster than I could process them. My blood was pumping hard and burning quick as it rushed faster in my body. My arousal was more intense than was comfortable, knowing I had few possibilities to relieve it.

I closed my eyes and tried to block it out. Instead, my mind weaved a fantasy of the lady being less discreet about how she pleasured herself. Blanket gone, skirt hiked up, fingers dancing. She was wearing a smile watching me watch her.

The more I tried to not think about her, the more explicit she became, the louder the hum seemed to become. As if drawing me deeper into becoming an active partner to the illicit behavior.

With my resolve slowly disintegrating, I allowed myself a moment of utter foolishness, and let me hand fall so it rested between my leg and hers, the top of my hand barely resting against her pathetic blanket. I could feel the hum against her leg.

I heard a slight gasp, but forced my breathing to be a slow, restful rhythm, my eyes softly closed. I wait for her to shift her leg away, but she never does. Did she catch me in my subterfuge? Did she believe me asleep but having the contact, slight as it was, added to the danger? I played out both scenarios and everyone in between in my head, more aroused than I have been for a long time, ensnared because of a haunting hum.

I feel the blanket move my hand, and suddenly feel my hand make direct contact with her warm thigh. In the process of adjusting her blanket, she makes sure my hand is now underneath its warmth, hidden. The jolt of it all was almost too much. My brain racing. Again. Am I caught, or is she adding more danger to increase her own thrill.

My fingers itched to be on the other side of her thigh. My cock quivered in the confines of my pants, currently the worst torture device ever devised.

I think about pulling away and ending the game, but I find I cannot. I think about opening my eyes to see, only to feel her rest her hand against mine. My breath caught and my eyes opened in reflex.

I caught her staring at me, with the softest of smiles. A gentleman, innocent of his crime, would have pulled his hand away, apologetically. She let out a gasp, I felt the smallest of quakes from her. She either caught me or deemed I wasn’t quite the gentleman. She lifted my hand to rest on top of her thigh, and pretended sleep once more. The invitation as clear and the delicate hum.

I closed my eyes as well and let my fingers slowly melt toward the source of the hum. It felt like it took forever to get there, the journey was the most blissful journey ever taken though.

The warmth increased, as did the humidity. The pulse of the hum felt stronger, countered to the pulse of her pulse. My fingers finally reached the hot wetness of her core, and I was struck with so much pent up lust my fingers caused her to hiss through her teeth.

I opened my eyes and saw wanton hunger staring back at me. The lady could have been the ugliest on the planet, and in that moment, she would have been the most gorgeous wearing that hunger.

My fingers fought the vibrator for surface area, the lady didn’t seem to mind. I was slowly forgetting where we were, so was she. The pleasure was giving way to a deeper need of intimate connection. And the power in that the only pleasure that could be directly tapped was hers, mine forced to hover in a strange limbo.

As if reading my mind, she rested her hand on my crotch and squeezed. I grunted and she beamed. In response, I dove my fingers as far down her as our positions allowed. She squirmed and got lost in them. I pressed my palm againsts the small vibrator and it pressed against her clit and then I fucked her just like that, beyond sane, just driven by lustful need.

I felt the warm wash flow over my fingers and she bit into her pathetically small pillow and trembled. I let her ride my hand and let myself enjoy the moment, even in my tortured limbo. It felt like forever, yet it was over way too soon.

Our little world smelled like her. It was intoxicating and maddening. She smiled, the most wicked of smiles. I tried to return it. The speakers suddenly cut into our private moment, “I am sorry passengers, but we are being diverted to Denver because of the weather. The airline is making arrangements for getting you all rooms for the duration.”

The lady smiled as if she won the biggest prize in the world, “It seems like we will be getting rooms for the night?”

“Or, perhaps we could save the airline some money by sharing one?”

“Perhaps…” Her eyes twinkled with all of the promises of a lover desiring to pay back in full.

Okay, here’s the thing: About a year and a half ago, I slit my wrists from my thumb to halfway to my elbow. It wasn’t easy, first I drank myself to the point where I got the sack to buy a box cutter and a bottle of Tylenol PM from the Wal-Mart. Some of you may know that. For the rest of you, I guess maybe you were busy looking at pictures of cats on Facebook or something. Or maybe you had your own problems to deal with. Either way, I was kind of angry with you about it.

You know why? You know what I didn’t see? I didn’t see anyone posting suicide prevention hotline info. I didn’t see anyone ‘reaching out’, I didn’t see anyone ‘caring about other people.’ What I saw were unanswered phone calls. What I got was defriended on social media.

You know why I saw that? Because that’s the reality I engineered for myself. My suicide attempt was premeditated. It was a mix of feelings from self-loathing to delusions of grandeur. I didn’t like the world the way it was and I didn’t feel like I had to play by its rules. I hated my situation, I was angry at the hand that I had been dealt. I wanted to see what death was like. I wanted to know the point. So, away I went. This was not something that was anybody’s fault. It couldn’t have happened any other way, because I would not have allowed it.

I finished the books I was reading, drank away all of my money, quit my job, pissed off all of my friends and loved ones to the point where they wouldn’t speak to me anymore. I did this to prove to myself that the world wasn’t worth my time. “The ex doesn’t see my value, better take a box cutter to the old jugular.” (oh yeah, I also have scars on my neck and in the bends of my elbows.) In the end, I guess that it came down to simple laziness. I didn’t want to put an effort into anything. I wanted all the good shit with none of the work. So I looked for an easy action with a big payoff.

I'm not a cutter. I never wanted to do anything like this before. This was a one time deal. I got one shot at checking out early. I just figured that I was at a good stopping point, and I didn’t really want to deal with shit anymore. And I tried hard. I did not leave a note. This was not about them. It was about me. I wanted out. It was not a ‘cry for help’. The only thing that stopped my success was my own ineptitude (just another of my many failures!).

When I was finished, I was laying in a puddle of my own blood and vomit. My apartment was wrecked, there were blood stains all over the floor because I hadn’t eaten in two weeks and I couldn’t stand up without having a seizure due to blood loss/alcohol withdrawal/malnutrition. I had been crawling around. No one came to help me. I had driven them all away. So, sometimes I want to respond to ‘help prevention’ posts. Sometimes I want to say that there is nothing you can do to prevent suicide. There are only things you can do to exacerbate its possibility. If someone chooses to look at the world a certain way, you can only be part of the problem. Only a full attack of kindness and compassion will do, and nobody in this ‘me first’ society has the capacity to do that. I know that this seems negative, and believe me, I'm aware of the futility of trying to make commentary on the hypocrisy of social media by... posting on social media. But what is the alternative, do nothing? I can't do that either. I just know that anyone who tried to help me just got a bigger dose of crap, I just acted shittier until they went away. If someone is going to take their own life, it’s going to happen whether you try to call them or not. They just won’t pick up the phone. It's a hard road for all involved, and I know that there is no easy answer.

I just know that, for me, there was nothing that anyone could have done. I just had to figure it out for myself, and I'm lucky to still be here. Ultimately, I suppose, the only real solution is a devaluation of all the things that cause us misery and an elevation in the idea that happiness does not come from any external means. The placing of value on money or property or personal relationships is futile because all of these things are temporary and fallible. No amount of approval or money or success or praise can make a person feel worthy, we have to find it for ourselves and, unfortunately, sometimes people don't make it to that conclusion. I know I was desperately close to being one of the casualties of this problem, and I still don't know exactly how to communicate a solution to anyone else beyond 'If you keep trying, you'll figure it out. The only way you really lose is to give up.'

The bug guy at my apartment building saved my life. The bug guy, a guy I never met and who I will never see again, came into my apartment, saw me there, called the cops. That’s my story. That’s how I was saved. I didn’t save myself, and no one intervened on my behalf. None of the people that I wanted to hurt with my own death gave a shit. None of those relationships were reconciled by my bullshit. The people that I wanted approval from were the first to bail. Funny how life works, kind of seems like a big joke. I have not heard one word from some of these people, and the rest have faded into the past as well. When I reached that stopping place, I killed off my entire life, my entire way of thinking, everything that was dissatisfying, which was just about everything.

How did I survive? It was nothing short of something bigger. The bug guy, and everything afterward, was a fucking miracle. When they got me to the hospital, the boys who stitched me up marveled that I was going to retain the use of all of my fingers. One pointed to my open wound and exclaimed, “If you had cut that tendon, you’d have lost the use of your hand.”

It was another loss for the way that I looked at the world. I said, ‘here’s what I think of your ‘plan’’, and the universe proved to me that its plan was bigger than the flaws in the way that I was looking at it. It was bigger than my hate of the people around me, it was bigger than my disapproval of the nature of existence and my lack of faith in humanity. Of course, when I was ready to look, I saw kindness and compassion and beauty all around me. From the people who watched over me in the hospital, to my sponsor in the 12 step groups that would follow, to a random few who actually did show kindness without expectation, you know who you are and I can never thank you enough.

I know the pain of people who end themselves. If you are successful, I still kind of envy you. I miss Robin Williams, Sylvia Plath, Chris Cornell. I kind of wish that I was with them. I still struggle with the idea that it would be a lot better if I just wasn’t here anymore. I see that their own misery and the manner in which they succumb to it now makes a contribution to the discussion that is worthwhile. Their deaths bring attention to the value of human life, and how fragile the ego (even the celebrity ego) can be when recognizing that value.

I still think about people that would be better off not to have to deal with me, and I still don’t want to deal with them either. The thing that I’ve realized since I was forced to continue living: I don’t have to think like that. I’ve learned how clouded and delusional I was, and how this is a natural state for me. It is a challenge that I am presented with on a daily basis, maybe it’s just a little more extreme than others. I’ve seen a lot of people talk about their struggles with depression, and I think that everyone does struggle, to varying degrees. Who hasn't wondered what it would be like to die? Those of us who can’t get over these thoughts actually give dying a try. We test the fates to see if we are worth continuing. Most of us just question ourselves and never get to the point where we try to take control and check out. If we do, it is the ultimate form of selfishness and cowardice. I still think that I could just end it all, maybe this time I’d get lucky and not wake up. It’s always an option. The only cure for this thinking is a daily bargain that I have with the universe. I realize that, with the nature of my behavior and wounds, I should not be here. I don’t deserve this life (yes I do). I have to give it up to the universe for that. So, I owe something big time. I guess I’m obliged to pay up. I just figure, ‘hey, just tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it. But if you fuck me, you know I ain’t afraid to take matters into my own hands.’ Every day that I give up my plan to the plan of the universe, the universe shows me that it’s got my back. It’s that simple.

Again, these are things that everyone deals with, to a certain degree. Think about the things in your life that you try to control. Your friends, your coworkers, your house, your bank account, the dishes, the afterlife, whatever. It comes from a desire to have a handle on things. We all do it. That’s why the first step in the 12 steps is admitting powerlessness. That’s why the Gods of religion all want your trust and loyalty. Part of being connected to this world is realizing that we aren’t in control. For me, it’s a relief. Because I’m pretty shitty at being in charge. I am afraid and I just want to quit. It’s the same fear that makes us try to clutch to some form of order in our lives. Just apply that same fear to the idea of your life, and you have the kind of fear that it takes to try and kill yourself. I just wanted to be in control. So much so that I felt that I should be able to decide when and how I died.

I used to think that I would never understand what would push someone to that point, then I got there. It can happen to you too. You’re not that far away from it.

So the next time that some celebrity ends themselves, just be thankful that you’ve never been there. Reach out to a friend that seems low, because you never know how low they might be. And if you’re there, just know that life has a way of giving us what we want, but there are always conditions. Mine is the knowledge that if today doesn’t suit me, I could always try again, but I’d just have to deal with all of this crap in some way anyway. So, I’m grateful for the life that I am given now. I try my best and, because the universe has my back, just like it has yours, I’m doing fine. I see even my challenges and troubles as gifts to help me get by. Because of my specific experiences, I'm not afraid of death. In fact, I have a lot less fear about a lot of things, and that makes life a little easier. I know that all life is worth the effort, all existence has a purpose. If you don’t see that, I feel you. I’ve been there too. If you want to chat about it, give me a shout and I can tell you what I know. I can tell you the specifics of how I got from there to here. I’ll tell you, you’re not going to like it. It’s hard, but it’s better. And my story is not exceptional. It’s the same as a lot of people. It’s not as bad as some I’ve heard. I’ve tried my best to leave it behind and to put it out there, just in case you need it. But, like I said, if you want (or need) to hear more of it, give me a shout. If not, take care. Again, I don’t blame anyone for the way that I felt, the things that I did, and I don't blame you for how you feel either. I also don’t credit anyone with my recovery. I know that if someone is not ready to move forward, no one can make them.

We’re all headed to the same place and, as someone who’s had a glimpse of it, I’ll tell you that it’s great. All we have to do is trudge the road of life to get there. And we have to do it whether we like it or not. So we might as well have a good time, okay? The more clearly we see reality, the happier we are. Let me say that again: The less we fool ourselves, the more we understand that everything is okay. If you don’t feel that way, you’re fooling yourself. If I don’t feel that way, I’m fooling myself. There are things in our way, stuff obstructing our view. If we can’t see the joke of life, we are the punchline. Don’t be the punchline. Get the joke, my friend, it’s much better. And let me tell you, the joke of life is hilarious. Now, even when I look back at how miserable I was, it seems kind of hilarious. You might find that kind of morbid… but that’s funny too.

I know that it’s kind of cliche to say that you never know what might happen. I know that’s a terrible argument for someone who is thinking about killing themselves. I guess that I just have to say that I’m the proof that it is true. Some of my scars will never fully heal, but everything I lost has been returned to me. Everything that was dissatisfying now works just fine. If I had died a year and a half ago, I never would have known this year, the best year of my life. And I’m not saying that to downplay the happiness that I’ve experienced before, but this is just different. Through experience, I’ve overcome what got me to the horrible bottom in the first place. It didn’t happen overnight. You’ll note that I’ve only been sober a year, and I started from a pretty awful place. But in that time, I’ve traveled the country, shed my dependence on the external for my sense of happiness and wonder, found love again, found an outlet for my art. I’ve found my self-confidence and my self-respect again, which came largely from my renewed confidence and respect for others, for the universe. It's a hard line to walk, and I know that I could fall off at any moment. So, now I just try to keep my own head clear, and that daily task turns into a daily adventure. Every day of my life is the best day of my life, without exception.