No answer to suffering

I thought I’d ask the age old question: Why do we suffer?

This question came to me tonight after talking with a friend who’s recently lost his mother to cancer, who’s father is a survivor of cancer, and whose uncle is slowly dying from cancer as well.  They were all healthy, good people.

My friend is struggling for meaning in his life, for hope, for the energy to cope with the pain that’s been unceasing the past few years.  He simply cannot comprehend why this tragedy has struck his family, and it’s lead to his declaration of atheism and his overall indifference toward the joys of life.

My friend is a good man, in no way deserving of this pain, of these hopeless circumstances.

People have struggled with the problem of suffering for thousands of years.  Hindus credit it to bad past lives, to Christians it’s the ultimate mystery.  If God is so great, why is there so much pain? So much doubt? So much terribleness?

I, for one, have no idea, and will never claim to have the answer. It’s plaguing me this evening though, and I wish I had something better to say to comfort my friend.

I know that one should treasure life and live each day to the fullest, yada yada yada, but that’s not good enough. Not when so many people feel their mortality approaching faster with every breath.

Why is there so much pain? Why are entire families wiped out by this silent, painful killer?

How can one remain hopeful when so much despair looms in every facet of their life? How can one confront and challenge such despair?

All I know to do is, hold on. Hold on and surround yourself with goodness. And breath.

We don’t know why life can be so egregious, but I do know that if we still have breath, we should savor it, take it in deeply, and feel it.

Hold on.

A line from a script I read in theatre camp went something like this,

“Life is like a swing. It goes up, down, back, forth. We can just hold on and wait for life to swing back up, that there will always be highs and lows and they are in constant flux.  Hold on to the swing.  Hold on. ”  

 

Do people change?

Do people ever really change?

Or do we just evolve, learn and grown in small ways while remaining the same essential person?

I mean, even after a tremendous heartbreak or the loss of a loved one, do we ever truly change from the experience?

Does our essence ever change course or are we destined to have mostly the same thoughts, feelings, perspectives, and attitudes for the rest of our lives?

Even if these things change, will we act differently? Will we see the world anew?  Will we be better people after such change?

Will we stop making the same mistakes?  I’d like to think that people can actually change, but I just don’t know. Evidence seems to suggest otherwise.

If I could change one thing…

“If you could change one thing about our life right now, what would it be?”

The answer to this question eludes me. I have so many regrets.  I wish several things were different.  I would change the way I’ve treated people. I would change how I’ve let other people treat me.

I would wish I had a good-paying job. I would wish that the dog I care for could be truly my dog.

I could change my occasional shitty attitude. I would change the way I tend to judge people right off the bat, and harshly too.  I would be more social. I would change the fact that I procrastinate.

I would change the fact that I’m lonesome. I would  prefer to not secretly wish that I had a significant other as the nights get darker, colder, and increasingly desolate by myself.

I would change to be nicer. More patient. More kind.

I would change and take a bit of my own advice.

I would not live in this house with people that increasingly piss me off. I wish I didn’t get so pissed off.

There’s an awful lot that I would change…

The big one that keeps popping up in my head is my wish that I had treated people better in the past few years. Hell, the past decade. I was a shit head to my parents for the longest time. And then I had a high school sweetheart whose heart I essentially broke. I was a crazy person for a years that followed. Failed a couple classes and got involved in bad stuff before hitting rock bottom and finally learning that my actions have consequences, for myself and others. I could take away that year and be a bit happier, that’s for sure. Later I met a good man. An impatient, grumpy asshole to be sure. But overall he was a good man. That ended horribly. And I often look back upon the way I handled situations and wish I said or done something different to change what I know now was an inevitable outcome.  I haven’t always been kind to one of my best friends. And I’ve been too hard on my mom. Shit… now the thoughts just keep rolling in. There is a lot I could change.

But, at the same time, I guess I’m this person because I’ve messed up so many times. I mean, if I didn’t have these regrets or realizations of my own flawed, wild, sometimes stupid, simply wrong, and utterly plagued self, I wouldn’t have learned a damn thing. At least I’ve got some experience under my belt.

So I guess if I could change one thing, to get this ordeal over with, I wouldn’t change anything about myself. I’m fine right where I am.

Instead of me, I would change something for someone who really deserves it.

I would change the fact that my folks aren’t rollin’ in the dough any longer and secretly grant them a bunch of money.  I don’t know how much is a ‘bunch’, but I want them to have all their debts paid (my college loans especially), and I want them to take an awesome vacation for their 25th wedding anniversary.

My mother and father have put up with a lot of shit because of me. From my overall crazy, rebellious, stubborn, center-of-the-universe attitude to the actual trouble involving the law, police, and the ridiculous amounts of stress that occurs as a result of dealing with our glorious criminal justice system, they deserve a lifetime of vacations.

They have saved me in more ways than I can count.  Financially, emotionally… they’ve stuck by me through thick and thin. My parents love me despite things I’ve done that I don’t share with anybody.

So screw changing my situation. I just want my parents to be happy and comfortable for the rest of their lives. I want to fill their bank accounts and shoo them off to Hawaii where they can eat bon bons and snorkel and hike… anything they want to do. God knows they deserve it.

My folks. They rock. And they deserve a vacation.

 

I don’t know if that’s the answer the prompt was looking for, but that’s all I can come up with.

 

 

 

 

How to be depressed

These past couple weeks I’ve been feeling quite depressed for no specific reason at all. I’ve been irritable with friends and generally impossible to please.  As a result, I’ve decided to compile a list of a few things that will teach you how to be depressed and cranky just like me.

1.  Drink a bottle of wine to yourself and watch a heartbreaking romance movie.

Not only will the wine make you feel loopy and completely alone, the movie will make you cry and sob your heart out over the lost love, the high school sweetheart, or the imaginary boyfriend waiting outside your front door that never shows up. Guarantees a headache, puffy eyes, and malaise for the entirety of the following day.

2.  Quit every healthy regime you’ve worked hard to implement into your life.

Screw going to the gym three times a week.  And chose the hamburger over the salad.  Skip the vitamins, skip the fresh air for a strong cigarette.  Drink multiple kinds of liquor in an evening at the bar. Forget showering and brushing your teeth.  Bask in filthy clothes and beer breath. Don’t get out of bed for anything.

3.  Harbor resentment.

Let every little thing that annoys you fester inside until your blood is boiling and you’re imagining great insults to spew at the unlucky roommate who doesn’t rinse their dish.  Dig up old drama with a friend and insist on always being right.  Bitch about everything and everyone who isn’t perfect just like you.  Read old diaries to stir up anger from years ago.  Blame parents, friends, ex-boyfriends for your piss-poor mood.

4.  Look at everyone else’s pictures online and see how much fun they’re having and how happy everyone is but you.

Your ex has a beautiful new girlfriend and they’re getting engaged! Yay!  Your girl friend went to a party without you and obviously had such a great time.  That one friend has lost weight and is so cute in her pretty little dress.  I wanted to buy that dress but it didn’t fit me…

5.  Don’t make any effort whatsoever to cheer up or engage with humanity whatsoever.

Don’t go out. Don’t even go upstairs to fry an egg. Stay right there on the couch or the bed and eat those cheetos. Don’t shower or put on a cute shirt. Whatever you do, do not accept an invitation to grab beers at a once-favorite brewery. Don’t even answer your phone. Don’t look at movie times. Going to the movies is your favorite thing so don’t even consider it.

6.  Do not investigate your sadness or express your sadness in a healthy way.

Don’t write a poem, don’t paint, don’t journal, don’t dance, don’t exercise. Don’t call a friend for comfort.  Don’t express any angst effectively. Complain, whine, and bitch, please.

There you have it. This is a preliminary list of things to do/not do to continue being a bitchy little victim of the evil forces in the universe. Now wipe off that smile and start crying, dammit!

Do I declare myself?

“But when you rip open that shirt to find the ripped abs of truth – when you remember who you are – the question then becomes: Do you declare yourself?”

-Justine Musk

I ask myself this question often: Do I declare myself?

Being the self-conscious, justice-seeking, slightly psychotic individual I am, I constantly play with different aspects of my self.  Whether it’s the political side, the philosophical side, or the bad poetry side, there are many facets to my personality. I think this is normal, but it’s difficult to find that one passion, that one part of my being, that is stronger and demands a declaration above all others.

What are my ripped abs, so to speak?  What do I see, what do I feel, when I remember who I am?

Do I too, wear a facade?  Do I put on a ‘front’ when I go out and about?  And if so, who am when I get home to an empty house and a lovable mutt?

I suppose I am a sensitive, calm, critical, and slightly sad female.

Without the face without the facade. Just a silly girl puttin’ curlers in her hair.

Acting tough and intelligent can be exhausting some times.

I remember that I am a flawed, unfashionable, and fervent woman.  I have fears and fallacy.

But this remembrance is more beautiful than my shell of ‘wonder woman’ outer projections.  And I remember it, yes, yes, I do.

I remember my fears and passions, and god dammit I declare them.