A Morning Talk with Myself

Every morning, as I write out my To-Do list, I dutifully enter "Work on Book." And every night, when reviewing the progress of my list, without having written a single word, hope fades that I will ever complete this book, "A Long Walk Home."

Sharing with a friend, my frustration, he suggested that I write the reasons why I feel blocked from writing. Here I am, writing.

I have worked very hard over the past few months, to get new medications to stabilize my emotional swings and for the most part, I feel pretty functional these days. I have even had the motivation to get started on two new art works, a definite sign that the symptoms of my manic depression have lifted. Nevertheless, sitting down and even opening the file to my book, seems impossible. I had always thought the reason was associated with my mental illness. I don't believe it is. This is something situational.

There is always a conversation going on in my head, sometimes quiet and subtle and often, relentless screaming. When thinking of working on the book, these inner thoughts are very quiet and so subtle, I hardly can recognize that they are there. They are there!

This morning, quieting my mind and allowing these inner words to flow through my fingers onto the computer, I hear ...

"What the F%+* do you have to say that
anyone could be interested in hearing."

"Who to do you think you are to write a book anyway."

"There are REAL problems and REAL suffering of people going on out there in the world and I am sick and tired of hearing your pathetic endless whining about your depression. Shut the F$*^& up and get a life."

Wow. That felt kind of good, in a sick kind of way. "What are your reasons for writing this book anyway?" just flashed into my mind. Let the thoughts flow ...

"For My SON! This is a record of the most significant effort of my life and I want to share this account with my boy, the most important person and purpose of my life."

"Personal Healing. It's been suggested by quite a few writers that the process of writing in and of itself, provides a healing through insights that may never have surfaced without closer examination."

"It has always felt like the walk is not finished. And I have always been tormented by this, arguing to myself, 'what more could I possibly do than walk through everything I endured staying true to my commitment. I did my job. I've done enough.' But have I done enough? Maybe I stopped short, thinking taking the last few steps of 5000+ miles of walking and a final press conference was the end. Maybe this is just the beginning?"

"What if the real value of the walk is not in the miles walked, the money raised, the millions of people that became more aware of pediatric AIDS but perhaps it is in the writing of a book that has the potential for reaching even more people with this story? Perhaps"

"Bullshit! This walk began as a desperate effort to find yourself - your basic mid life crisis and looking back, this walk was about trying to walk away from your real demons - depression."

"Well, maybe, just maybe that is the reason the walk has never felt completed. You started out looking for answers and you never found them, in fact by the time the walk ended, you were in worse shape that you were in the beginning - more lost and more depressed than ever!"

"But I have worked so damned hard, trying to survive, to live and find some measure of freedom from the demons of my mind, and I still don't feel healed. Without an 'ending' to the story, why write the book?"

"Ahhh, maybe we're getting somewhere ... 'the ending to the story' ... maybe there is no ending, maybe the ending will be a happy ending or not, maybe the ending will be discovered as a RESULT of writing the book. Ya think? Damn!"

"If I can draw on the type of reckless courage and blind determination that I summoned each day out on the road, just to get a few miles in, then MAYBE I can find that courage to sit my sorry ass down at my computer and tell my story."

"And maybe, just maybe, I might help give someone else that is struggling with mental illness, a glimmer of hope and inspiration. If nothing else, someone like myself reading this book might not feel so desperately alone and freakish."

"OK, I will tray again. This is my first try. God help me, if it be Your will for me, empower me to do Your will.

Whew. That was helpful. Thanks Eric for suggesting this exercise. I feel renewed with a fresh energy. I intend to start writing again, soon.

A Long Walk Home

"Awakenings"

For six months now, I have been incredibly blessesd, having experienced the precious gift of sanity, a reprieve from a life-long battle with depression and anxiety. I had never known what it fealt like to be able to start a day without suffering from paralyzing fear and the darkness of the soul - depression and mania, a condition finally diagnosed accurately as Bi-Polar II. For me, each day felt like a life and death battle, coping with depression and the opposite pole of mania (extreme anxiety and compulsive never ending thoughts racing through my head). Trapped inside a mind that seemed hell-bent on destroying me, mental illness wore me down ever so slowly, one sick thought at a time, robbing me of hope and eventually the will to live.

As far as I was concerned, this gift of sanity was nothing less than a miracle. I had never, in my life, experienced such freedom. Each morning was a fresh beginning filled with endless possibilities. Hope had returned and I was filled with immense gratitude. Inspiration and even more importantly, desire, returned as my mind was filled with ideas for new art works and books to write, projects upon projects of things I actually wanted to do. I identified with a character in a movie I'd seen, 'Awakenings' - whereas a comotose patient (Robert De Niro) miraculously came alive, after 40 years in a coma, after being given an experimental drug. He was like a kid in a candy factory - so excited about being alive, literally experiencing life for the first time. The patient had been a young boy when he became sick and fell into a coma. I too, was a young boy when I first started suffering from depression.

I got busy creating a new life for myself, all the while stuffing hidden fears that this was too good to be true, and that the darkness would return all to similar to the true story depicted in 'Awakenings' when the patient eventually fell back into a full coma when the new experimental drug stopped working. My greatest fears had been realized. The darkness has returned. There is a kind of madness that overtakes you when you watch yourself falling back into a cold darkness, knowing full well where you are going, yet being unable to stop it. This is where anger and rage boil over, all to no avail.


Evil.

I cannot think of a more all inclusive word to describe depression, specifically Bi-Polar depression. This disease visciously attacks from the inside out, slowly destroying you in all ways; mind, body and spirit.

Depression, in and of itself, is bearable, for me. It can even be somewhat comforting as relief comes from self-imposed isolation, going deep within the darkest recesses of my mind. In the grips of depression, everything in life moves slowly ... thoughts, actions, even breathing. It actually hurts to breathe as if it requires a deliberate forced effort. Each day starts with a dark choking fog of fear, fear of making it through the day, avoiding contact with anyone that could threaten your delicate balance of sanity. By the end of the day, when I can safely hide, alone, I am usually totally exhausted, utterly spent from a day of lying, pretending that all is well to avoid the pain of well meaning prodding and an endless list of suggestions that only help to overwhelm an already overhelmed mind. Depression would be manageable, if it weren't for the mania, and mania is a whole different threat.

Mania, as described in the diagnosis of Bi-Polar II disorder, is completely different than what most people realize. Mania is extreme anxiety, restlessness, irritability, anger, rage, and the constant torment of compuslive obsessive thinking. Your mind, literally, cannot stop thinking, day or night - it just keep rapid firing without a break. With mania comes enough energy to make the depression, dangerous. Depression, in and of itself is somewhat manageable for me in that I can, most times, avoid people, creating a safe place in which to survive. Self-Imposed isolation helps with the illusion of controlling depression as well as reduces any potential guilt from 'polluting' those around me with worry and/or negativity.


"Think Happy Thoughts"

And there is always the shame ... even in this enlightened age, there is still a stigma associated with mental illness; it scares people. Because clinical bio-chemical depression and bi-polar depression is confused with situational depression (a condition most people experience) there is a tendency to judge those suffering as being weak, lacking willpower or being morally or emotionally deficient as if it were a defect of character. "Think Happy Thoughts," is a common suggestion from well meaning friends and family, assuming that if you would only 'buck-up' and work on changing the outside world by working on your 'issues,' then your depression would be all better. In regular depression, this may be true, but in severe bio-chemical depression, it makes little difference what is going on in your life, positive or negative. Traditional psycho therapy has a role in Bi-Polar depression, but it is definetely not the solution. All of life could be marching along right on cue, the sun could be shining and I could be crippled with depression and anxiety. Situations or events have little effect on this disease. They may help trigger an episode of depression or mania, but they are not the root cause.


A Long Walk Home

The title of the book that I intend to complete writing this winter is "A Long Walk Home," which at first glance would hint at a story about a two year, 5,200 mile walk across America that I completed in 1998. For years, many people had suggested that I write a book about this adventure. I simply could not! Why? The reason has only recently become known to me. I could not even consider writing this book because there was no ending to the story. Sure enough, I started the walk in Miami, walked two years and completed the walk in Seattle, as intended, but there was no ending, in my mind and I really didn't understand why.

Earlier this year, after an accurate diagnosis of Bi-Polar II and resulting medications, I experienced a miraculous reprieve from depression, resulting in some clarity of thought. It became clear to me that there could be a reason and purpose to write this book as well as a happy ending. This book, this adventure was not about the walk, it was about my journey through hell - my life's struggle with and eventual recovery from depression. Perhaps, if I write this book, there may be people that can identify with this disease, or any serious untreated yet treatable mental illness, and get some hope and inspiration from my struggles. I was gearing up and ready to sit down this Fall and start writing again, until I found myself face down in a pit of depression once again.

I had learned that treating this disease, like many mental ilnesses, can be a frustrating series of experiments - trying new medications in various doses and combinations. I had gotten lucky. The first drug I tried, worked almost instantanously in relieving depression. Not long afterwards, with depression vanished (for the first time in my life), I got to experience the other part of my condition, 'Mania,' and God did I ever experience it. Without the lull of depression to counter the effects of the mania, it felt as if I was naked and no where to to run, fully exposed and raw to the world. Mania, was much harder to deal with than depression. Who would of guessed? I was finding myself hoping for depression, to relieve the unbearable manic symptoms. Insane? Oh yeah ... Insane!

I crawled back into my doctors office pleading for some help with this mania and once again, was fortunate to start another drug, (Lithium), which soon afterwards, resulted in all symptoms of depression and mania to be eliminated - completely. Too good to be true, yet it was happening, I felt great and for months, I was alive again, or I should say, for the first time in my life.

After a follow up blood test in August of 07', it was decided that I would have to stop taking Lithium as it has increased some level of Creotin, an indicator that potential Liver problems could occur. I was devastated! How could they take away the only drug that had saved my life? This was unnaceptable, yet I had no choice. The next drug, over the next 6 weeks, had no effect and the mania was still a problem. Yesterday, I took my first dose of a new medication to replace the last replacement and I was was stoned out of my mind, that I could barely talk. This latest drug was from a new series of psycho active drugs that basically sedate. This, being an recovering alcoholic, will not accept as it couuld jeopardize my sobriety. I need a new plan.

I was ready to throw out the 200 pages that I had written this past winter as I believed there could be no value to anyone unless I had found the solution. I had managed to stay alove long enough to finally get an accurate diagnosis and proper medication, but it didn't work. I was a failure. Feeling discouraged, pathetic and useless, I was ready to quit, until this morning.

This morning, I realized that it's easy to talk about your story after all the loose ends are wrapped up neatly and there is a successful ending to the tale. Success is not about arriving at a particular destination, it is about having the courage to trudge, crawl if need be, towards a solution in the midst of pain and suffering. Even in the midst of depression and anguish, I can sense a glimmer of hope. I have been relieved of the bondage of depression and mania once, then it is possible again, but not if I quit trying.


The New Deal

Yesterday, it was all I could do to get through the day, feeling drugged and hungover from the first dose of a new medication, that I have since thrown away. Soon, as soon as I can think straight again and be calm enough to settle down, I intend to start researching all of the treatment options and medicines avaialable for Bi-Polar II. I will boil them down to the best 2 or 3 options, run them by my medical doc and then my psych doc and will systematically work through them until I find relief.

I do have hope. God has walked with me through a liftetime of hell and will not desert me now. I must do my part and I will keep crawling along. I didn't have the strength to do this, only a few years ago. I am grateful that I was shown, albeit a short window of opportunity, a glimpse of what life can be like without the chains and shackles of depression tying me down. I want my life back and I am willing to fight for it.

I intend to start writing on the book again, soon, inspite of depression or mania. I will wirte my story and whatever happens from that point, well, it's none of my business.

The Fork

Another long night. Every now and then, conditions are just right, just enough pouring rain hitting the window with just the right rhythm at just the right hours; the quiet small hours when it all stops and it feels safe. Last night was one of those nights - dark, quiet, safe. Precious moments, really, when I savor each second and can breathe, again.

I was reading, somewhere, that it is quite common when entering the envelope of spiritual enlightenment, for all hell to break loose. Why? Because as you experience the Truth, the other side, there is a heightened sensitivity to all thoughts, all emotions and that which used to serve as a calm protected harbor from the relentless storms of my mind, no longer welcome me and provide safe harbor. This, I think, is the fork in the road. Something feels all too familiar about this place. I sense being here before, this fork, this place in time, this choice.

On one fork, it appears, faintly to my senses, to be the safe path, protected and quiet, lulling me towards wrapping myself within it's cloak. No one can hurt me there. No one can see me there. I am invisible. I am safe. Yes, this place seems all too familiar to me. And it should. I know this place, well. I've chosen this path, often. And it also, appears to me, faintly as if a distant memory, that this path leads to no place, to no where, to darkness, to an endless maze that leads only to despair and anguish, a place of endless sighs, to self destruction of all that is good.

There is something different about this path, this place, this time. I can sense it's deadness, it's void, it’s emptiness, it's lie. And yet, this other path, it's so bright, so incredibly bright _ and loud, untried, un-trodden, so fresh and promising yet so open and unprotected.

I have arrived at this fork in the road once again.
This is where I am.

This is my choice.

I choose to walk towards the light.

This is where I am.

Personal Spiritual Responsibility in the Face of Hopelessness

Mother Theresa, when questioned as to why she refused to support or attend an anti-war rally, replied something to the effect of “I would be happy to attend and support a peace rally.”

It seems only natural, when overwhelmed by an ever increasing list of seemingly hopeless regional and global threats, many of which threaten human mass extinction, to deny the very existence of their reality. These doomsday scenarios are too numerous and awful to contemplate. My common inner dialogue goes something like ...

“If there is nothing I can do about it—why let it occupy my attention, my consciousness?" Or … “If life is going to end, and there is nothing I can do to change the inevitability, then why not just ignore the probabilities and find whatever happiness I can while I still have a life.”

My inner dialogues and resulting choices seem logical. Then, why don’t I feel at peace with my decision to ignore the endless assortment of cataclysmic scenarios (of which I can do nothing about to alter the course of inevitable destiny) and go about my life, carelessly skipping down the road of life? Perhaps, after a little introspection, I discover that my unease may be due to false self conclusions … Is there really nothing I can do?

My entire life has been a spiritual quest. Over many years of painful self discovery, I have formed a set of beliefs. I believe that I do have control over my own destiny and that of the world around me and that control begins with my personal attitude, perspective and expectations of the events surrounding me. I believe that whatever it is that I focus on, with my mind, heart and spirit—will manifest into reality. I believe in the Law of Attraction. I believe that one person can make a difference, that one candle can ignite millions, if the flame contains truth. I believe in the Power of One and the Ripple Effect of Intention. I believe that we are all powerful—that we have simply lost touch with our strengths and abilities to alter the world that we are a part of … feeling overwhelmed and dis-empowered with the complexity and seriousness of the threats. I have personally experienced this effect in my life. I have forgotten what I had learned.

10 years ago, plagued with the very same emotions, suffering from depression and disillusionment birthed from years of self seeking, I felt overwhelmed and apathetic as to my role in this world. I had an attitude of “Why bother, the problems are too numerous and too big to do anything about. I care, but there is nothing I can do.” These feelings of helplessness and hopelessness as well as the crushing emptiness of life’s purpose and meaning led me to some drastic decisions. I had to do something, anything … I needed to try, again.

I chose to embark on a three year sabbatical, a spiritual quest, a walk across America, in hopes of finding meaning and purpose for my life. I needed to prove, to myself, that I, little insignificant me, could still make a difference in my world. So many deserving causes … I chose pediatric Aids. Through a series of events, these children captured my heart.

Over the next three years, I devoted myself to concerns outside of myself, to see, if I could make a difference. I did, in the lives of many. What started with one small flame of intention grew into a bonfire of positive effect for thousands of people. More importantly, I re-discovered my personal, spiritual power. I could not change the world—but I could change myself. I could do what I could do and if others chose to light their wicks from my flame—so be it. If not, I could feel the immense soul satisfaction of feeling a part of my world. This morning, I realized that I had forgotten what I had learned.

What had I learned over three years and 5200 miles of walking across this country? I learned of the Power of One. I had learned of the ripple effect. I had learned of my personal spiritual power … the power of truth. I had forgotten. I am now remembering.

Now, as I look around my world, I have no fear. I have realized, thank God, that I am NOT powerless, that I can effect the world around me. How? I don’t need to walk across the country to prove anything to myself or crusade in the name of countless injustices. I can, however, use what I have, this morning … a laptop computer, a blog and my life’s lessons and share them honestly and openly. This is my flame. I have the power to light my candle. I will do my part as I Am a part of my world, starting with the immense power of my intentions.

I learned of the immense transforming power of one pebble, one pointed intention, if resonating with sincerity, can cause ripples of movement that can literally change the world. I had forgotten. Now, I remember. I remember Gandhi, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King and countless others that acted on the courage of their convictions to follow their hearts and do what they could do. I remember Mother Theresa’s lesson that shows me that I Can focus my personal attention and efforts toward the desired outcome and not focus on the problem. I realize that whatever I resist, persists.

This is my flame, my daily positive affirmations and peaceful meditations which lead to personal decisions, choices and often physical actions, in doing my part. This is my contribution, for today.

What happened to my little boy?

Major life changes
seem to happen suddenly and dramatically, yet looking back, they were creeping up on me slowly and then one day, some event happens that snaps me back into reality. Today, I experienced a major life change that has been coming for 21 years.

A few minutes ago, my son left home. Alex has left home before. In fact, he left for college two years ago, but this morning, it feels as if he is really gone. Standing on my toes, holding tightly to my little boy, holding back the tears, wondering when did he get so damned tall.

How did he become a man, so quickly, right in front of my eyes.

He seemed so grown up as he responsibly packed his belongings into the car. That was always my job. I was always the one that had to nag him endlessly to get out of bed. I was the one that had to scour the house for all the things he had scattered around. I was the one that was responsible, for him.

As I watch his car drive up the driveway, on his way back to Montana, to his third year of college, I suddenly feel so old and alone.

How many times had we driven off, together? So many times! We were inseparable, my boy and me. Yet now, I watch him drive away and he's not coming back. I feel loneliness unlike any I have ever felt before, a deeper more permanent loneliness. I sense this is one of those sudden moments that I will always remember, one of those moments that will mark a major life change. Somehow, I know, I just know that life will never be the same again. This chapter is over.

Honor student - clean cut, responsible, loving and caring, I couldn't be more proud of my son, and happy, for him. So many years of endless worry and sleepless nights, bailing him out, protecting him, tied to the hip, best friends, yet this morning I watch my little boy as he drives away, a man. A turning point? So many mixed feelings. My instinct is to run down the road, chase him down, hold him and stop time. Yet, it's time, probably later than it should have been - it's time to let him go.

Funny, in our culture, men are rarely associated with 'empty nest syndrome,' yet here I sit, crying, as I release my hold, on my boy. He has been my world. He has been my life. Of course, my intellect assures me that he is not gone, that our relationship is just changing, but my heart fails to grasp the logic of this mental argument.

With any loss, there is always an opening, for something new. How do I fill this hole, this emptiness? Guess an inventory might help. I've always made an inventory, when undergoing a major life change - take stock of what I have left to work with and build from where I am. As I sit, numb, it feels as if there is nothing on the list to work with.

The world seems different this morning. It feels cold and empty. I feel as if a part of me is missing. A big part of me, IS missing.

I go about doing what it is that I do, yet it feels as if someone else is doing it. What happened to me? When did I lose myself? I guess it is natural to lose sight of yourself when you focus your life on the needs of another, for so long it becomes a habit. "I'll take care of me, later, after _______" ... it's always something. Good or bad - doesn't really matter, it's still a loss - a major loss. When did I forget to be me and become us? How do I become me, again?

My mind wants an answer, a solution, now! Guess being a guy, that's my nature. I sense there will be no quick-fix to this dilemna. This is going to be one of those long growth things ... God, I hate those, but they always seem, when looking back after all the pain of the change, to be the deepest and most meaningful.

Tonight, perhaps even this afternoon, my cell phone will ring. I know he'll call - he always does, yet it's never the same, talking on a phone.

'Hey Pops, how ya doin? The weather's fine - the road is clear - we're having a blast, chomping on some burgers and running down the road, just like WE used to.

I miss ya Pops. I mean, I really MISS you Pops."

He's gone and this time, it feels so permanent, as it should be, as it has been for thousands of years for millions of parents and millions of children, grown. I try and reassure him that it's OK., that we'll make many more memories, great memories, but I know, inside, that they will never be the same.

My boy is living his life, making decisions, embarking on his grand adventure. Maybe that has something to do with my feeling so old - the memories of a boy, his dad, as he excitedly drove away, free at last, to begin decades of adventures - to live his life. And those decades are just memories now, some fond and many I'd just as well forget.

Oh sure, there will be more memories, good memories from grand new adventures, yet my mind can't help to flash to images of me, riding quietly in the back of their car, with the grandkids, as they politely put up with grandpa, dealing with me, just like I dealt with him, like a child. This is the way it is and always has been. Better get used to it.

No, I sense life will never be the same again, as it should be. Just wish it didn't hurt so bad.

JOY ... An Interesting Side Effect

Four months now ... free of the crippling symptoms of depression and anxiety, I am realizing an incredible side effect of sanity - Joy!

Being born again, or for that matter - being born, has resulted in a newly emerging realization ... that I can simply be, and be-ing is enough. More than enough. Many people might find this ridiculous, as I suppose most people already realize this. This has not been my life reality and it is nothing less than a miracle, for me.

Suffering from overwhelming depression and anxiety resulting in low self esteem, has fueled a life long struggle for 'normalcy.' I never felt like I was enough, feeling empty and dissapointed, regardless of the grandeur of my latest attempt to find some measure of personal esteem. After each Grand Adventure, after in inevitable let-down, eventually I would find the strength to re-double my efforts aimed at the next scheme, always resulting in the void of inadequacy.

Finally, after so many years of struggling, losing all hope - I was set free. I had found a solution to life-long depression. For the past four months, I have nevously charted my daily moods, waiting for the other shoe to drop - waiting for the choking black fog to smother the life out of me, again. This has not happened. I have been set free. I am so grateful for my new life.

In my daily journaling, I have discovered a fascinating side effect of my new freedom - Joy! Perhaps similar to the often reported rebirth of spirit from those surviving a near death experience, I have been given an entirely new perspective, an awakening of sorts. It is as if I had been blind since birth and this new light of life, often uncomfortably bright, offers up to me, a world previously gone unnoticed, unnapreciated. I had been totally unconscious - asleep.

Each new day, I awaken, in awe, of the beauty that surrounds me, amazed at the depth and abundance of life. No longer am I bound to endless projects, desperate pursuits for meaning and personal value. I am discovering that I Am Enough and always have been. I am discovering the immense satisfaction derived from the freedom of endless action as the means to an impossible end.

Today I am free to smell the roses and do so, constantly. Today, I find great joy in the previously invisble vibrancy of life, the richness of sight, sound and touch that surrounds me. My days are long and happy and joyous, success lying in the actual be-ing of each precious moment. Finally, I Am Enough. Thank You God.

Letter to Depressed Artist

I was touched, recently, by a blog that a fellow artist had posted on an art site that I frequent. I wrote him a response and since it was somewhat revealing as to my new-found passions resulting in starting to write my new book "A Long Walk Home,' ... thought I would blog it to my site. The following is my response.

Hello Paul,

Having suffered severe depression all of my life as well, and similar history of being a writer and sculptor, I can relate to your life-long struggle with depression.

Ten years ago, primarily caused by an especially debilitating bout of depression and corresponding anxiety and desperation, I had decided I needed to figure things out. I took 3 years and did a 5200 mile solo cross country walk (from Miami to Seattle, via San Diego) to benefit pediatric AIDS, but primarily to see if I could break through the depression. I did not. It was, by far, the most rewarding and challenging experience of my life, but I ended the walk in even worse shape than when I started.

It has taken 10 years from the time I started the walk, to start on the book about the walk "A Long Walk Home". Many people have been hounding me, for years now, to write this book. I could not! Why? You may understand. There was no ending. Sure I walked those last few miles up to the base of the Space Needle, surrounded by incredible media, friends, supporters and family, all hailing this success. For me, it was not finished and I had definitely not found what I was looking for. In fact, I could not even realize what I was looking for until a couple months ago.

I was looking for a way of ending the relentless mental pain and suffering. Now, after 50 years of suffering and a great deal of loss surrounding this suffering (alcohol and drug self medicating, workaholism (up and down resulting in two fortunes and two total losses including a very large bankruptcy, many serious health conditions (including over 6 stents for my heart) all of which I am convinced, looking back, were subconscious suicide attempts. I have even had a few conscious suicide considerations - not actual attempts, but for many years, obsessed with thoughts of death, as a way out of the relentless suffering.

Today, unlike any other period of my life, I have found relief through a new diagnosis and treatment and feel, well, born-again would be far too shallow a description, yet I think you will understand. This help came after decades of trying and many times, giving up with little hope in-between. I was lost for so many years.

This last time that I reached out, I had gotten to the point that if 'This' didn't work,' I was seriously considering finding a way that would be a 'socially acceptable' means of checking out. Car accident, etc. I am not a suicidal-type person. Mostly I am an optimist, but again, you will understand what the torture of decades of mental suffering can do to a person. Every man has a limit. I was at my limit.

Like I said, today I could not be more grateful. Today I am free. I am alive, for the first time in 40 years. I am writing again and have many ideas for new sculptural works. This, if you knew me, would amaze you - this is nothing short of a miracle, for me. I never thought it would be possible to regain passion and purpose again.

Today, I can't wait to jump out of bed and get my day started. Again - this is an incredible Miracle for me! I am so glad that I didn't give up totally and had one grain more of hope in which to try, one more time.

God was with me all those years and now, He has delivered me. I am not a religious man, but believe me, I am NOW a every spiritual and grateful man.

If interested, you can read more about my life-long struggles and accomplishments in the BIO-Blog section of my art web site. http://www.rochonsculpture.artspan.com/mbr_bio.php

I wish for you only continued success and pray that you find relief for your depression.

Louie Rochon

Another Letter from Dad

I recently received a letter from my 86 1/2 year old father, Andre' Rochon, a brilliant man that recently moved into an assisted care facility after owning his home in Montreal for the past 3 decades. The following is our correspondence ....

Dear Louie,

I am sending a page of my Journal that I HAD to write last night. I would love your comments on it as I still am not too clear on the feelings I tried to express. I am very eager to read the new chapter of your book.

Love Dad

Monday March 12th 2007, 2.30 AM.
In the course of the last six months I have witnessed a major change in my outlook towards life. I purposely used the word witnessed because I did not search for it, I did not wish for it. It just happened and it seems in retrospect that it was quite sudden.

Six months ago I was still living in my house that I had acquired thirty two years ago. I was still strongly attached to all the worldly possessions that I had accumulated during my life time. I do not know what induced this sudden change in perspective. It seemed that I suddenly desired to live a simpler, less encumbered life. Material possessions seemed to have lost their attraction. I do not mean to say that I had stopped admiring the paintings that I had on the walls or cherishing the books that were filling my numerous bookcases. I still looked at them with great pleasure but at the same time I felt that if I was separated from them I would get the same pleasure at remembering them as I had to own them.

I am at a loss to find the proper words to express this change of perspective and even more so to explain why it happened. Sometimes I feel that Louie would be able to shed light on this situation because I think that he has experienced the same shift of emotions several times in the course of his life. Without much advanced planning I decided to sell my house and give much of my treasures to friends and people I felt would enjoy them. I never felt that I was making a mistake and would come to regret it. I seemed to be guided by a strong force that pushed me in this direction.

Some people have hinted that I should try to sell some of my possessions but this thought not only did not appeal to me but was quite unpleasant to me. I could not sell what I loved; I had to give it away and rejoice in the pleasure that I felt from the pleasure I was creating in others. The thought of selling any of the objects in my possessions not only did not appeal to me but it was even repulsive.

Some cynics might have thought that these new feelings of mine were hypocritical. I had not exactly drifted into poverty. My new apartment is comfortably furnished with many of my prized possessions and the sale of my home has provided me with enough money to last me for the rest of my life.
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Hello dad,

Regarding my impressions of your journal entry, I must start by telling you that I am filled with great joy at your newfound revelation.

It doesn't surprise me as your underlying character has always rejected material possessions as an end to the means. My life, my character was formed, with pride by your, as you often referred to it as your 'Peasant Bohemian personality' ... which I always thought was an admirable trait.

You know that my boyhood hero was Thoreau, primarily because of his beliefs about material possessions, how they own you as opposed to the illusion that we own them. The very thought of we human beings owning anything is ridiculous in and of itself. I like the philosophy of the Native Americans that lost most of their lands because they could not understand the concept of land ownership - which the white man coveted, cheated and stole from them. They believed, as I do, that we are simply stewards and furthermore, I believe this applies to anything ... People and Possessions ... we simply get to take care of them and interact with them, but we do not own them.

Eckhart Tolle, a modern day philosopher who specializes in the manifestations of ego, believes that we, primarily prevalent in the Western civilization (and I use that word 'civil-ization very loosely) have a bad habit of identifying who we are by what we 'own'.

I also love Tolle's test for egoic attachment of people, places or things ... in that all you have to do is imagine, in your mind, how you would feel if whatever it is that you wish to test, were removed from you. The more the pain, the greater the egoic attachment. He does not say that things are bad in and of itself - it's how we identify with those things that can cause the problem.
I've always loved Thoreau's quote …

"A Man is Rich in Direct Proportion to the Number of Things in Which He Can Leave Alone".

I have learned that I can enjoy someone else's property as much, if not more so than them, as I can enjoy it's beauty, form and function yet don't have to sell my time into slavery for the sole purpose of paying for it, maintaining it, insuring it, protecting it, worrying about losing it, cleaning it, etc.

I have, as you know, patterned my life after this belief, or I should say, the latter part of my life, after I woke up to this reality. I think one must experience, personally, this lesson before they truly understand it and make it a part of their belief system. No one can teach you this. You must live it, and if you are lucky, you will experience complete loss and the potential blessing associated with this loss. I say 'Potential Blessing' as I'm not saying that this lesson is automatic - I have found that it is NOT!

I have lost everything I 'owned' a number of times (people and things), only to harden my resolve in getting it right the next time and building my ownership of 'whatever' even greater, in a vain attempt to find satisfaction and peace of mind. I further believe that peace of mind is the greatest asset that a human being can acquire, and yet it is there, right in front of them all along. But, as I painfully learned for myself, you must find it yourself, if you are lucky.

I mention all this, because my impression of your recent revelation is that you have been given a great gift, the gift of peace of mind - the loss of your egoic attachment to your things. Whether you lost your things or not is irrelevant; it's that you lost your attachment to you things that has set you free. You have just recently realized, personally, that you are NOT your things, that you are a full and complete human being, exactly as you are, right here and right now, and you always have been.
There is another saying that I am quite fond of …

"Enough is Never Enough, Until You ARE Enough"

... and I believe that until we can accept ourselves as enough, in the present moment, just as we are, we'll always chase down people, places and things for our fulfillment and ultimately, disillusionment.

Tolle's primary teaching is that of Spiritual Enlightenment. This is a big word, but he breaks it down as follows: Spiritual Enlightenment is nothing more than higher consciousness (another big word) yet higher consciousness is nothing more than Presence and Presence is nothing more than Be-ing present, right here - right now - at this very moment in time. Everything else, which is where we spend most of our lives, is obsession with either the past or the future. As Tolle puts it so eloquently...

“To Be identified with your mind is to be
trapped in time: the compulsion to live
almost exclusively through memory and anticipation.
This creates an endless preoccupation with past and future
and an unwillingness to honor and acknowledge the
present moment and allow it to be.
The compulsion arises because the past gives you
an identity and the future holds the promise of salvation,
of fulfillment in whatever form.
Both are illusions.”

I am so happy for you dad. You are now free and able to truly en-joy your life, without any encumbrances, drink in and savor the sweetness of your memories as well truly embrace those new memories that you will make, in the present moment.

I love you Dad.

Louie

Gratitude for Life - Escape from Insanity.

I am so grateful that this last stand, this last attempt at trying, doubting any possibility of real change, is paying off in spades - a new life, a new pair of glasses, HOPE ... for the first time in decades ... smile on my face and a calmness. Balance, the dreaded 'B' word is creeping back into my life, slowly but surely.

These days, it's not about coping, clawing my way through hell each day, fighting for each second to simply breath in and out, watching the seconds crawl by until that sacred inner sanctuary time - after 8:00 pm, when I could socially acceptably slither back into my cave and relax, basking in the comfort and sick safety of my aloneness - my self imprisoned retreat, and not have to do the excruciatingly hard work of pretending to the world, that I am OK, so that I don't call attention to my inner suffering, always fearful that someone, well intentioned or not, would add even more pressure to an already impossibly explosive pressure situation, threatening to add that last straw that would plunge me into the very depths of hell - insanity, a world where my greatest fears would envelope me, choking the last breath out of me, allowing the inevitable result of the last gasp of hope - gone, resigning all that is and was me. Insanity - my greatest fear.

This climb out of darkness, this reprieve from mental illness, is nothing short of a miracle, for me. I look back, even a few months and can hardly believe what I am reading. Who was this person, bleeding words onto those pages, purging his soul of that heavy, dark, cold and hopeless state of mind, body and spirit? My God, it was me. It is me. It is a chapter in a long life of inner suffering that is every bit a part of who I am, now.

Looking back, as painful as it is, clearly shows me that this suffering was a critical element in the transmutation of the person I have become. I am a more compassionate, loving, accepting and non-judgmental person. Gratitude is my prevalent mood, and how could it be anything else, rescued from a world a endless emotional pain and suffering - insanity itself.

The greatest gift of all - Life itself. Born again, or perhaps better said 'Born' ... period!

Journaling these thoughts in my daily entries, I have decided, after re-reading these last few paragraphs, that I will cut and paste this into a new blog, to share with my world, the world, and perhaps further good can come from my pain.

This writing, this daily 'good dog' and the blog is a form of healing, for me. It is a way of reaching out, being more transparent and allowing the love of people that have always been there, to experience the real me.

This is very much a part of my recovery - showing up and being seen after a lifetime of hiding and pretending to be someone I wasn't. Never intentional hiding, but from a deep foundation of never ending fear, that I was less than, worth-less and was doomed to be that way for the rest of my pathetic life.

I am not bitter or resentful to God that it has taken me 53 years of suffering to finally breathe in the beauty of life - I am eternally grateful that I have been given this gift of life itself. These days, my days are months. I savor each second of this new life, perhaps as a man deserted on a lonely far away island would after a lifetime of isolation.

I am alive today. Thank you God.

Letter from Dad

This is a letter I just received from my 84 year old dad, Andre Rochon, who recently moved into an assisted living facility to join his wife (after selling his home which he has lived in for decades), in Montreal, Canada. My reply is located below ...

Wednesday, February 28th

Dear Louie,

To-night, I have finally been able to relax. For months I have been stressed by a number of events that have not only perturbed my life but have totally changed my mode of living. I seemed to be looking from the outside at a new me with whom I had difficulty associating.

I will not start again to list all the events through which I have been through, not only during the last four months, but even since Jeanne (his wife who went into an assisted living home) left home to be placed in a residence a year and a half ago. To-day, I think that I have resolved the last problems associated with my move and the sale of the house.

To-night, it was pure bliss. After an excellent dinner consisting in a heaping plate of excellent muscles eaten with mayonnaise and accompanied by a glass of very ordinary wine, that nevertheless, given my mood, gave me the pleasure of a grand cru, I returned to my apartment. I settled in my Lazy Boy and for the first time in months I listened in the dark to my favorite classical music program. There was a magnificent program of Bach’s music. I gradually drifted to sleep listening to the Wedding Cantata. It is now 9 o’clock and I have awakened to the gracious marvel of an oboe concerto, another masterpiece of the same composer. I just opened my e-mail to find another masterpiece, a charming biography of Danielle (my sister).

BLISS! ..…….May it last!....... I am now going to bed with a good book until I dissolve into pleasant dreams. I hope that that this is the start of a new era.

and my reply ________________________________________________

Dear Dad,

What do I think?

I think that you have finally arrived at that place in your life in which you can absolutely and completely en-joy your life—all the grand memories as well as the not-so-grand, realizing that you have survived and now have the luxury of peace, contentment, satisfaction and gratitude for a life well spent.

I think it is as if you have collected these gems over a lifetime and now have the opportunity to be able to carefully remove them from the bag and truly enjoy them.

I think that you have made peace with your past, look forward to collecting (and savoring) a few more precious gems in the future, but most importantly—you are thoroughly experiencing the bliss of the present moment.

Yes dad, I think that I can understand your bliss and I couldn’t be happier, more grateful and honored in being able to share in your joy.

I love you dad, always have and always will.

Louie

An Awakening - Freedom from life-long Depression

From journal entry 3/07 ...

Still riding the high of no highs and no lows - VERY strange sensation, just kind of going about doing your life - VERY strange! But I gotta say, I kind of like it. Never thought I would or could. I used to always compare people that just went about doing life in balance to mediocricy, condemning it for it's lack of passion and spark, when now looking back, seems like simply another means of coping, explaining away my lack of being able to live balanced, stuck in that hyper or dead state.

I really can't describe what it is I'm feeling - kind of like waking up yet not remembering what it was ever like to be awake before I fell asleep - I guess you could say it's more like being born again, with little memory of the first life. All I can do is go about living in it, one day at a time yet without the enormous handicap of anxiety and depression to cope with, as if a ten ton monkey just jumped off my back. It's like smiling at the world for the first few times after you have just had your braces taken off - a little scared, a little self conscious, feeling as if the whole world will notice that you are the new kid in the class and that they MUST all be staring but a harder look and you see, they don't even notice - which makes me think, how good I have become at pretending to blend in, as if I was apart of 'them'. More coping skills to mask a life snuffing illness.

A lot of world to rediscover. New feelings. New sensations and I mean - brand spanking new!

Perhaps it is this immediate contrast that is so difficult to adjust to - as if you were hidden in a cave for 50 years and you got used to this cave and almost suddenly - this bright light shines on you and you leave this cave, to find a entirely new world, a world that you physically resided in, yet weren't apart of, a world that makes no sense when considering old sensitivities. A world worth adjusting to.

Hard to trust what is real, and having faith that it may last - maybe, hope-fully. I can't imagine the horror of having to go back into that dark, choking hell, having tasted the fresh air of freedom. I can't imagine the horror. I can't. I won't. I will only move forward, one day at a time, the same way I have managed to survive 50 years, doing the best I can with what I have to work with and be grateful that today, I have been given the gift of life.

I've earned this gift - I've paid the price, for freedom, for life. I want to stay.