It had been a year of many firsts.
First time I got lucky bags from New Years Sale frenzie in Japan. First time praying at a temple to start the new year.
First time I have ever not work for a long period of time (almost one year in March)
First time I traveled overseas with one my best friends. First time I met my penpal in her home country, traveled to Helsinki and then Stockholm.
First time I joined an art studio and made art outside my home.
First time I ever had surgery. First time I had to have repeat of the same surgery. First time I ever rode in an ambulance. First time I thought I may die from being in the ER the second time after feeling like I almost died there the first time.
First time I had been hospitalized
First time I spoke to my father in 5 years.
First time I spoke to my aunt in 5 years.
First time I spoke to my cousin in more than 10 years.
First time I ever feel so depressed that I didn’t want to live anymore thinking that I have had a pretty good life so far.
First time that I have to go see a therapist.
First time I rode on an electric scooter.
First time that I sold my art online.
I got much love and concern from many and am grateful for knowing that if I didn’t make it, at least my funeral won’t be without people.
The sun was glaring and Darwin just loved basking in the sun. I went to pet him and laid down beside him on the floor of my office/art room (that looked like a tornado had torn through) The ceiling had a small water stain about the size of Darwin’s bat ear from the attic rain. I stared at it for a long time… That stain aggravated me. The aggravation it provoked was not proportional to my usual care-free self. Or maybe I had always been more neurotic than I am willing to admit and just do a great job at hiding it. I couldn’t get up from the ground. My body felt incredibly heavy and my body just stopped listening to my mind or maybe it was the other way around. I had to pee but the bathroom was a hallway away too far. I remembered trying really really hard to will myself to get up or I am going to end up soiling myself and I thought I had became one of those patients with catatonic depression. The problem with knowing what you have is knowing that you have it. The problem with talking to someone about what you know you have is having to talk about it.
And so I knew going to see a therapist, and having been one myself was going to be “one and done” or “tell me something I don’t already know” In fact, my first thought after I had made the appointment was to call the following day to cancel it (Classic move – I had so many know-it-alls cancels and rebook all the time)
Can one be an expert in suffering? Why yes, if you devote enough time to it, you can be an expert in anything. Suffering is no different.
Pain in life is inevitable but suffering is optional.