The Thing with Depression

I watched "Parts Unknown" for much of last summer. I even started watching Eric's show "Avec Eric". I really liked these two, and it's even more sad that it was Eric who discovered Anthony's body. For me at the time, life was starting to become toll-some. It was comforting to watch these two. You could tell there was a real friendship there, at least I hope. One never really knows.

The thing with depression is that many of us do not even know we are suffering from of it. Sometimes it takes an act of love (often out of frustration) to finally show us how far down we've already gone down that dark hole. And as we can see, many of us do not return from the darkness.

The thing with suicide is that usually when it finally succeeds, it wasn't the first attempt, or even the second or third. We will never know how many times he's already tried it, or how many ways he's thought about it. It happens in passing; it happens when you think about the mechanics of it or when you justify the reason for it or when you think about how your family will survive it. Often times, you're already so deep down inside the thick of it, that when you finally work your way back you know it was by the skin of your teeth, or that someone up there was watching out for you. But you know the battle isn't over and with each passing moment you may just be traveling a little closer to your fate. Sometimes inside of depression and suicide, you think you cannot escape it. It does a number on your psyche and your soul. It convinces you that you deserve it.

That is a little bit of what it's like to live with depression, to have been suicidal, to struggle against it every day. I know there is a light. I live with it. I know there is a dark. I live with it. Often times being loved or feeling worthwhile has very little to do with wanting to live or wanting to die.

Each one of us suffers differently. I do not know what it is like to be someone else living with depression or suffering from suicidal tendencies. I only know what it's like to be me living with it. Let us remember that.

https://www.thewrap.com/anthony-bourdain-eric-ripert-chef-best-friend-parts-unknown/

It Is My Suitcase

I emptied it today. Completely. It is the first time in over two months that it is empty. Even when I was home for a few weeks in between my visits with my sister, it was never completely empty. I lived out of it for a while. It was a companion of mine, comforting even with its cold hard exterior.

My nephew (Nue's son) said to me as I was leaving a couple of days ago, "I'll see you in another two weeks. You're always leaving and coming back, so I'll see you soon." I wish, little one, I wish.

My suitcase, it sits empty now. My heart, too afraid to move.

March 23, 2018

My sister Nue passed away last night surrounded by so many loved ones. She fought until the very end. I am so very proud of her and of her family, all of us who stood tall by her side.

I did not just lose a sister, I lost a soulmate: someone who knows me, someone who is a part of me, someone who shares my story. I know that I can only talk to her now in my past, but I will carry her forever in my heart.

May she rest in peace.

Green

One early exhausted morning, I asked Nue what is her favorite color.

"Green," she replied, gritting her teeth through the pain, "like the dress that I wore at your wedding. I like that color green."

It's a Pink Floyd Kind of Day

Every single day or days or weeks or months. Years even. Forever, really. Don't know what's worse...for you to be completely gone so I can finally grieve, or to be here but not here so that I'm in a perpetual limbo. To be happy to still see your face but to know I will never be able to share a truly genuine moment with you ever again. To be so mad and so angry but to know there is nothing I can do, so I smile and I wish you well, and I pick up all of my broken pieces and I continue to move forward, and I hope I'll meet you again somewhere on this journey. I hope that you're smiling wherever you are up above or lost deep inside of yourself. I hope that wherever you are, you are safe. I miss you every single effing day: my oldest beautiful friend Lisa, my lost beloved brother Lee, and now my precious tormented sister Nue.

"Everyone is going through something that we can’t see."

https://www.themaven.net/sustainablehuman/space-between-stories/everyone-is-going-through-something-_1jQoXKP70aZkWsxKL5fng

This article speaks volumes about the stigma of mental health, but mental health is so important.

For me, it’s like the ceiling is falling down and I’m trying to hold it up but then the walls start to cave in too. So do I let it crush me or do I move on? I move on and I keep moving on until one day it catches up to me. The road behind me is destroyed and I’ve just slammed into a wall. Yet, my demons are still there. So I turn to face them, and I hope that I will win but I know that I may not.

Please remember that we all can fall apart, we all can have moments where we can’t catch our breath, and the floor drops from under us and we just want to give up. So many of us suffer in silence and alone, but we are not alone. We are not sad stories. We are not victims. We are not pitiful. We are life happening to us, and we just need a little help. As much as it can be beautiful, life can be just as devastating.

I am indebted to the ones who have walked this journey with me, the ones who have walked into the darkness with me, and even the ones who just waited for me on the other end. Please check in with the ones you love, check in with the ones who love you. If you need help, don't be afraid to ask; and if someone should be kind enough to offer help, try to accept it. I know I'll never judge you because your story may not be so different from mine.

An American Point of View

I asked her what she thought about what is currently happening in this country. "I don't understand American (as in the language), so I don't know what's really going on." Lol! "Yeah," I agreed, "I don't understand American either." I tried to explain a bit of it to her, to which she explained carefully back to me, "This may be our country now, but it is not our land. We will always be guests."

My mother is an American citizen, living in a country, her country, where she will always feel like a guest. She remembers fleeing Laos, a country she was born into. She fears for me, "When are you going to get your American citizenship?"