If you think you've been down and out, I recommend trying out a group program at an outpatient behavioral health hospital. There, the lighting resembles a parking lot at midnight with one lone streetlamp illuminating exactly one parking space, flickering, with moths attacking it. Except, it's inside, so, the lighting is like that except in a room with folding chairs and cold coffee in vats. If you want, yourself, to be fully illuminated, do not come here.

I don't remember any of their names, except one, who I later got a tattoo in honor of. I remember them only by diagnosis.

There was Meg; her husband had died and she was always shaking, but quietly, like an injured rabbit. After multiple group sessions she mentioned that he had shot himself in their bedroom. A retired veteran, depressed, and she found him. She said she took a lot of Xanax but it wasn't working. I wondered if any pill could fix her, or that situation. I only remember her because she sat in the same seat at the table every day - the one immediately to the right of the counselor. He would say, Meg, anything you'd like to share? I think about how, in the "real world", you can share that you are hungry, or tired, or stressed out. But Meg saw all that red, all that rawness, of PTSD, and she whispered out her story like a nun quietly repenting for something she had no fault in.

There was Amy, who had a rubber band around her wrist at all times. How she snapped it constantly so that the room always had a background noise of anxious fretting. Amy, what would you like to share? Amy would like to share that snapping the rubber band is a substitute for self harm. That the pain is milder but adequately does the job. I wondered what the job was. Amy frequently cried - she had three daughters, and I don't remember why I know that. I think I saw her trying to be brave, to be a mom. I still hear the snap snap snap when I think of jobs being done, of the job of having a mental illness.

I got a tattoo for Liz. A fiery red head who seemed to be in complete possession of herself - this is what drew me to her. Her fire. She was the skinniest person I had ever seen. Struggling with anorexia, she didn't take up a tenth of her seat. She was poised, and smart, and full of quips. After she died her brother had messaged me that she had been "found in her apartment." I don't know what that means. She had Bipolar I, which has a 15-20% mortality rate. I read his message and then read it again. The counselor asked, Liz, what would you like to share? But time blurs in mental hospitals. I can't remember what she shared. She shared her life with me and perhaps that is enough. A brief spark, a flame that illuminated.

When the counselor would get to me, I would never mention anything real. My road has bumps. It has curves like the statue of Venus. But I would smile through it, pretend I was there for no reason. What would you like to share? I would like to share that my road has been bumpy, but no amount of adjectives ever explains how you got to a destination.

Nothing but grit paves a road for someone mentally ill.

I would like to thank Meg, and Amy, and Liz - thanks for illuminating, for the light.

That's a solid question that doesn't have an easy answer. If the universe listened to me and my desires, by this stage in my life I would be working in robotics, creating creatures designed to make human kind's life easier. That's not how my story goes.

Every single plan I've ever had or more correctly tried to have, failed, spectacularly. I'm reminded of Edward Cayce who had a desire to open a photography studio, but every attempt ended in disaster, including a fire.

A lot had to do with poverty, the lack of a mentor, and a general poor attitude and general naivety. I won't be hard on myself because all of those factors, or any of them alone, are a terrible way to try to venture out into the world. I was smart, really smart, which actually didn't help. It kind of creates an unjustified sense of entitlement, like being intelligent is enough to get you through the world. It's not. It's so very not. Our society rewards things that I wouldn't. Not to mention the vagina lottery, whereas you get an amazing start depending on the status of your parents. It's always a curiosity on how things could turn out given different circumstances.

The sob childhood story only counts so far, especially at my age. I learned that poverty sucked and started early at trying to escape it. I began working at the farm down the road when I was 11. Not anything amazing, a couple chores for a couple bucks a week. I think the farmers took pity on me, to be honest. I always worked from that point forward, though God knows I would have done better with a guide. My own father, who was a stock broker at the time, didn't bother to teach me how to invest (just a bitch, but it still bothers me). He also didn't invest in me. He lived with his new wife and spent his efforts on her, rather than his family (ok, I'm still a little bitter).

Anyway, I worked, constantly. A paper route, a gas station job, mowing lawns, anything to get money in my pocket. I should have been an American Dream story, but I had no guide. I actually paid to heat my house. I was proud that I could, not bitter that it tore into my savings. Winters could be long if kerosene and oil weren't around. It's strange now. I was the youngest of four, but still had a responsibility.

I graduated high school, not even close to top of the class because there was no challenge in learning. I wish someone could have instilled how much easier life could be if you had a 4.0.

I went to college in the big city. It was an amazing departure for a small town boy. I barely went to class. I found the city and friends and dope far more interesting. Maybe this is a warning to all parents, don't stifle your children or they will run wild once given the chance. My GPA for my first year was 0.69.

I moved back home and began attending a local campus of a state university. I still had to work to pay for gas, books, etc. It wasn't the easiest thing and I still didn't quite get how studying worked. I dreamed of a dual engineering major (it was the 90s) so that I could work on robots which needed mechanical and electrical components to co-exist.

This didn't work out either. I elected to simply receive a B.S.E.E. because I couldn't afford to wait any longer to graduate.

I got a job in telecommunications. My girlfriend/fiancee had an autoimmune disease. We got married immediately so she could be on my insurance. There was a plan that I was going to work in a central office for two years then move to Richardson to the test lab to stress test new equipment. It sounded ideal.

While I was working, I receive a phone call from a recruiter. He wanted to know if I was interested in becoming a patent attorney. At the time, my job was sweet! No stress, long breaks, decent pay, it wasn't my dream job, but I was working toward it. I told the guy there was no way in hell I wanted to be an attorney. That was that.

9/11 happened and shattered America. Additionally, I was working for MCI, soon to become America's biggest bankruptcy. I rethought my decision on patent law.

I applied to law school and was accepted. I still had to work full time to support myself and my family (I was blessed with a daughter, but that also wreaked havoc upon my wife's health). There was absolutely no way I could compete in law school. Some trust fund babies had nothing else to do but study. I worked from 11 to 7, played with my daughter until 10, slept until 2, cooked dinner and went to campus at 5. That was my daily ritual for 4 years (night school took longer).

I graduated in the middle of the great recession. Governor Rendell told my class that this was the worst year to graduate law school since something like 1934. Not very encouraging. In Philadelphia, while a big city, only had a handful of big firms. The year I graduated, a big firm dissolved, so I was in the same employment line as 300 other lawyers with far more experience than I had. The good news was I took a bankruptcy class and could save myself some problems.

I tried to build my own practice. It was not easy. I was doing it, but my sick wife didn't have health insurance (I mean none of us did, but it mattered to her). I took a shit job at the IRS. I was far overqualified (as were so many of my co-workers who started at the same time). I achieved "status." A title that mattered in government work. I could apply for other jobs and got some sort of preference.

I got a job with the government that paid me well and gave me a very flexible schedule. I finally found a place where I could take care of my wife, provide for my family, and plan for a future. It was a long step from where I began. I though I had achieved the greatest accomplishment that I could hope for.

My wife chose a location that was different from our experience which also provided an exceptional educational experience for our daughter. I'm four hours from my next closest relative, six hours from my next closest friend. We enjoyed the beach and watched dolphins frolic in the bay. I could have moved anywhere on the planet if I had her by my side. We have neighborhood ducks and geese. They don't just exist in theory. They wander the suburbs and squat in puddles in the yard. In fact, they are kind of annoying in the way they block traffic from time to time.

I'm hours away from anyone and my wife does the most horrible thing imaginable. She dies on me. I'm now devastated, mostly alone, and fairly isolated from anyone I care about. I have a daughter, who just lost a mother, and has connections to the area. I cannot just up and leave. I'm a man and try to be a good one. I have to give my daughter the best opportunities to heal and I can't convince myself that yanking her from her friends and established life to make me feel better is a fair trade. I'm the grown-up. I know how to suffer for my kid. It'll work out in the long run, no matter how much I hate it.

As my world shattered, I reconnected with people. Friends are the family you choose. One particular invited me to write with a group that was more drunken revelry than anything else. The collaboration was fun and healing. It reawakened a creativity that I had long since forgotten about.

That's why I'm here. Tragedy upon tragedy led me here. I don't begrudge my path. I don't know any other. I am grateful to friends who love me and stick by me, especially when my world shatters into a thousand pieces.

I don't know if this is the road less traveled or simply the best hand from the cards I was dealt. In reality, it doesn't matter. I'm still alive, still trying, and hopeful about the future.

Picture this. A human being laying on a bed, dead but alive. Struggling to move as usual. They have classes to get to but classes can wait, classes don't matter, classes are oppression and completely unwanted. Once upon a time, not too long before, they were the type to do anything for their parents. For so many years, they'd put serious effort into things like making people laugh and being extremely complacent and smiling more in hopes that it would please society. But they'd been cracking up all the while, piece by piece.

All things break. But they can be rebuilt anew. Kintsugi. The Japanese art of mending broken pottery with gold. Piece by piece. Reborn from the wreckage.

They had broken. Utterly. Absolutely. And it didn't seem possible to fix them. Their family had tried. A cruel roommate decided they would force the pieces together, only creating more destruction, more crumbling like the quake that began the end of Pompeii. But alive they stayed. Just barely hanging on to a life source, of sorts. Their phone.

This person appreciated the arts. Many forms of it. Food, nature, movies, music, books... These sorts of things were and are still worth staying alive for. To witness the human mind in such works of magic, to see just how amazing a thing can be made by those of the same species... Beautiful. They longed to see the beauty within the broken, bitter madness of the world. So they sought it where they could. Inside the little box in their trembling hands.

I don't know what led me to watch that series. But I did. It's called "Please Like Me". It's about a guy who's awkward as hell and can be mean and super gay. All of which I can relate to, I suppose. But it went beyond jokes soon enough. Got too deep to take. At the end of the series, well... I'd rather not spoil it completely. Someone died. Took their own life. And that was that.

What can I say? I was terrified. And horrified. And moved beyond words. It seemed everything was crashing into my mind all at once. The years I'd spent on university, wasting away, doing next to nothing. My parents who I was a disappointment to still waiting for me to become their good little one again, like I used to be. So much damage for such little reason. So much pain for a life that wasn't even mine.

I was living a lie. And I didn't want to, anymore. So after an extreme breakdown - so bad I called my father of all people once no one else picked up, desperate to hear the voice of a loved one - I picked myself up from the corner and walked back to my room. Renewed. From the ashes came someone... New. Kintsugi. Mended with gold.

I decided it was time to stop kidding myself. I'd already left the path of my parents to such a high extent so why not leave it completely? Why not do something else; something wanted? I know that watching a character die might seem such an extreme reason to make such a huge decision. But you have to understand that I was already dying. I was in decay, those years I spent in the wrong course and wrong university. I looked into that person's eyes, the lifelessness in them and there I saw myself.

I quickly realised that I didn't want to live a life where I was waiting desperately to die. No one deserves such a pain-filled desire. I realised it wasn't enough to just exist. I wanted to be alive, also. I wanted more.

And so, I got it. Took some more assertiveness than I'd ever been used to but my parents had no choice but to let me do something else. And that's where I am right now. The funny thing is; I've never once doubted whether it was the right decision or not. I knew from the very moment I made it - the peace that came from a soul that was finally being listened to. Hurts to remember how long it had to wait for me to truly hear it. My heart sheltered great blows in getting me here - ever-patient, ever-hoping.

It's not everything I'd wished for. It didn't solve all my problems or grant me a magical elixir of permanent happiness. What it is is a start. A chance to begin life anew. And that's all I ever really wanted and needed, I suppose.

Being where I'm at right now isn't easy trust me, it took forever to get to where i'm at. The pain started with my Dad not caring whether he saw us or not, it hurt my mom had to beg him to see us and at least call. He chose his phone over us, I guess that's my Dad for you. My mom met a man named Jayson Hannah. He was abusive he beat the hell out of my mother and I saw it happen and couldn't help my Mom still has scars near her eyes from where he had hit her. Then she met a guy later on goes to jail for abuse. He was so nice at first, he made my mom happy then my mom gave him permission to be able to hit our butts. He took that permission way too far. Started with making us sit on a still, then kneel on a hard plastic crates, then he ratchet strapped me to a deep freeze on a crate, i was skinny still am but I was able to get out of the straps. He started to do things a step-dad shouldn't do. I didn't say anything because I didn't know it was wrong, he had taken advantage of my youth. Then we moved across town, he stopped doing those things for a while, and started to do it again, I found out it wasn't right when some adults came to our school, I tried to talk to them but my best friend had a drunk abusive foster dad who was his grandpa. And I thought that was more important and the left right after so I didn't get the chance to say anything. The physical abuse not the other kind happened all the time I would have to kneel on a wooden floor all day long. I'd have to exercise till they said stop. I had to run laps around a park and around the pond, we didn't do anything wrong, he wouldn't let us have water and would yell at us if we slowed down, second day he had water only let us have a bit, police came if we didn't have the water he would have gone to jail for abuse, after the cop left he yelled at us for crying, My mom came home and yelled at him to stop. The physical and the other kind happened when my mom wasn't home. She worked so we had things we needed my step-dad no longer my stepdad didn't have a job. He fake being physically hurt, we didn't find out till after he went to jail. His daughter's half-sister got evidence to put him in jail, took 6 months for them to get a match of his DNA on her. She was my hero. Things got so much better. I had anxiety and i'd make inappropriate jokes or be goofy and my mom put me on medicine so I stopped being myself around her. I developed depression, anxiety, PTSD, mood dis regulation disorder. I realized I liked girls and fell in love with my best-friend. We got together, I was so happy she treated me better than anyone else has. My birthday would be our 6 months but a week before my birthday found out she cheated on me. I cried a-lot I told my mom she made me stay away from her, but I still loved her, she had cheated on me a total of 8 times I loved her so much even though she hurt me. She destroyed me, A year when we were on and off when she kept cheating I went to like a total 4 mental hospitals and attempted to end my life 2-3 times. I felt hopeless, not worth much at all, and I definitely didn't cope in the best ways, I hurt myself many many times. In May 2020 we officially ended things, I went to live with my grandma because I was being abused by people in my household not my Mom she didn't know till I told her. It almost destroyed things with her and my new step-dad I called him and he got her together so I went to an RTF before I ended things with my ex-girlfriend it made me not wanna be gone I was happy. So I lived with my grandma for a month, then I went to a foster home I cried a-lot while I was their the foster mom got rude to me so my caseworker got me out of their then I went to a therapeutic foster home it's for mental health problems. They weren't trained for people with trauma and PTSD. It was amazing until I argued with my roommate, My foster mom was so rude to her everyone was I regret being mean before her it was a kid age of 10 who had a lot of problems that wasn't his fault after they both left. I got tormented got called a monster an sociopath, said I was going to go to jail, my foster mom didn't believe I was abused even though the people that did admitted they did it. They said I would accuse my new step-dad of shit, said I was ugly, I suck at everything, that i'm worthless, that i'm sh*t. That home is what destroyed me it made me wanna die, but I held it in. They said I didn't eat for attention, said that the needs I needed because of my PTSD was just for attention. I needed a nightlight, my door cracked open. I had flashback. And they didn't believe me. They definitely needed trained for trauma. They were homophobic told me I was going to hell. Would make nasty comments anytime they saw someone who was gay. She blamed me for the pain she had when her brother in law died. No matter how hard I tried I was a sh*tty person. I cried all the time. She kicked me out. I ended up going to a group home. My caseworker said if I had no issues their then she realized I was never the problem. I didn't have the best time their either I also cried all the time cause I missed home. I got into trouble a-lot cause I have bad attitude. I told people how it was and I was blunt and people didn't like it. I argued a-lot with people but that's just me and that's how I handle things. My mental health was bad their and I held it in. I just wanted to go home. My dad started to talk to me then decided to just ghost me. I hated myself so much man. I finally got home took forever to organize things. Ralph my step-dad decided to start being an ass. It's a month after my brother's death things's are extremely rough. And he made things bad. I saw my ex girlfriend at a Christmas party and met a guy I date later on. Me and my ex start flirting things while she was dating her girl and she ended up finding out. I hurt myself every Christmas pretty much. Because of my PTSD. Then I start talking to George I go to a mental hospital while we were dating he broke up with me when I got out. While I was in he told people he was single when he wasn't and flirted with his ex I became a bitch. And he is half gay like me. I became crazy with him. He got mad at me cause he slept on ft with a guy and I asked if he liked him and he got mad at me then I found out he was on a dating site while we were together and I flipped out on him then I blocked him. When I added me back we hung out at my youth group at my church we made out then got back together. I broke things off after this because he got mad if I sent him a paragraph and rarely talked to me and it made me pretty angry. We argued a-lot. And anytime he made me angry I would block him and he got mad at me. He got mad at me last year in summer when I got a gf. I think he was jealous. And he tried ruining it. I ended up breaking up with her cause she lives in Canada and her parents are homophobic she never blocked him. And she told me many people hate me. When I rejected her over and over again after we were over she got extremely mad at me and said everyone hates me. And I didn't lead her on at all. This past summer I had dated many people cause I felt alone wasn't a good thing to do. I start school this year and I meet someone named Jaxon he ends up cheating on me, and says I have a "boy toy" I ended things before I found out he had cheated on me. Then I got with the girl i'm with now. Homecoming happened, I asked a trans person if they would go with me they said yes I did like him but we didn't end up a thing. I didn't ask my ex boyfriend to go cause I didn't think he would. We end up hanging out 2 days before the dance, we get ^ and end up cuddling and making out. We didn't become a thing. Then I break up with my girl cause I got my phone taken. We get back together and she leaves me for another girl. Then we get together again and that is now. Ralph stayed an a**hole, still is. He smashed my phone so I have to get a new one. And I plan on breaking up with my gf now because I gave her like 6 chances. And i'm going to Prom next month. My gf said she can't see me this summer at all while I've knew her for a year. and I cant see her for another. She had a booty call, tried dating someone, and my best friend told her she liked me and my gf flipped out on her. And she ruined my friendship. And i'm having a hard time being okay with that. Right now I still wanna be gone, no matter what I do it's never enough. And i need to get away from my step-dad and find a place to live to get away from my mentally abusive step-dad. He calls me names and yells at me over anything literally. I'm here aren't I.