I am not good enough.

I am deeply moved and saddened by your suffering. Yes, we all suffer; but it is such a personal thing and cannot be measured.

Are there still things you enjoy doing? If not, are there things you used to enjoy? Let's talk about some of those things. I'm really into reading (that includes reading aloud), writing, a lot of different music (everything from Laurie Anderson, Counting Crows to Tom Waits...just no rap or country).

When I got to my lowest point it was sort of a 'straw that broke the camel's back' type of thing. I won't rehash it unless you are interested. I'm not shy or embarrassed. In order to stay as an 'out patient', I agreed to two one-hour sessions per week with a psychologist. On my own, I also journaled every single day. I also followed a long time passion for learning Buddhism (three one-hour classes / week), and began meditating. Was all of thistoo much? I honestly don't know. All I knew then is that I was suffering and had suffered for way too many years. I had abused alcohol and drugs and surprised myself how I remained 'functional'. I was desperate and in pain.

I don't suggestmy path to anyone! I don't think anyone could argue that anyone of those things would be harmful though. (I could be wrong.)

First, it isn't a sign of weakness to seek out assistance, or a guide, to help you find and stay on a healthier path. There are plenty of options there.

Second, before you start on a path, you have to realize that you will stumble; that is part of being on a path. It just means you get a brief pause to reorient yourself.

At all times you have to try and show yourself loving kindness and patience. It's not easy. If you would like me to share how I got to "the fall", or how I got from there to here, just ask! If you'd like to talk about something you enjoy: a book, poem, video- I'm quite interested.

Please continue to be courageous

No one likes me and i am not needed in this world. No one even cares, let alone understands. When I am happy, I feel sad for being happy (kinda confusing to explain). Sometimes i just want to curl up and die. Im only 13!

I also feel sad for being happy. Sometimes Ifeel guilty for having happy emotions because my friends aren't happy during that time. Other times, I feel like happy moments are temporary so I feel sad because I know my happy moment will end soon.

Does anyone else feel this way? Or is it just me?

Ok <pulls up a chair> Some of my earliest memories are of me faking it. One that stands out is being about 8 years old or so and 'pretending' to be happy and excited Christmas morning. Please don't get me wrong, I wasvery fortunate! I was just unable to feel happiness. In retrospect, I don't think I ever was. At about the age of 10, I had already attempted to commit suicide. It went unnoticed. My father was a mean spirited man and emotionally abusive to my mother and my other brothers. My mother was really unable to heal herself, no less her children. (Just as an example, my father would tell me as a young child that he could have me taken away in the middle of the night.)

I was fully functional but emotionally nonexistant. I guess I was about 12 or 13 years old when I began to self-medicate to take the edge off of things. I was a drug abuser. I also used to write volumes. (I had a large box of countless 'marble covered' notebooks.) I did fairly well in junior high & high school. I destroyed all my writing and gave away all my books (pretty much everything I had besides clothes and casete tapes) before another suicide attempt.

I'm not sure why, but I did take the S.A.T.'s (entrance exams for college in New York State) and achieved a perfect score. When my fatherdiscover I was not planning to attend college to study business, he threw me out of the house. (I'm not really surewhy he actually cared; he never went to college, or for that matter even got a job on his own.

This is where things get interesting. It was the early 1980's and I was 'into' computers. I didn't have a computer, my my High School did have a bunch of terminals (kind of like a printer with a keyboard and a modem) that we used to dial up into the District's main frame computer. I ended up having access toother mainframe computers (utility companies, phone company...stuff like that). I wasn't a super-genus to get into these computers! (Usually, all you had to know is the default passwords.) Well, to make along story short, since what I was doing was going across state borders, I was visited by the F.B.I (it wasn't too difficult to find me; they new it was coming from the school computer lab).

No laws were on the books about this (yet) and I was a minor. The FBIarranged for my college application to be submitted to a number of colleges outside of the US. Because of thisgenerous act (and I guess my grades & entrance exam scores) I ended up being offered a few academic scholarships. The most appealing, Cambridge, was impossible because you had to live in Cambridge and were not permitted to work. So, almost on a fluke, I attended Oxford. I earned a bachelor's in Humanities with perfect attendance & grades. (With all the alcohol and drugs I abused, it is all a blur.) In turn, I was offered a teaching fellowship to attend their Master's Degree program in Humanities. So I taught undergrad courses and took graduate courses. I did quite well and graduated with honors. (Youactually had to write a thesisandargue it in the 'Socratic Method' around a hundred and fifty year old table.)

After that I had toask the US consulate for my passport back in order to return to the United States. (Did I forget to mention that part of the conditions of not being 'prosecuted' was that I had to surrender my passport? I'd write a book about this but no one would really believe it!)

I did return to the US and taught undergrad courses at a fairly good school in the suburbs of NYC. Since I was employed, I could take courses for free. I took courses to obtain my a degree and license to teach Elementary Education. (I really can't say why.) I switched universities and again taught undergrad courses and obtained another degree, this time in Special Education. (The funny part was that while taking the education classes I received my first, and only, 'B'. The 'professor' was "outraged" that I got up and walked out of her class on the last day when she was showing slide of her personal photographs.)

I was still suffering and abusing alcohol and drugs and just keepingvery busy in order not to stop and look in the mirror. I worked as a First Grade teacher for ten years, while working as a computer consultant in Manhattan. I was offered (and accepted) a position for Chief Technology Officer, for one of the world's largest privately owned companies.

The job was incredible. The only manner I could describe it would be to say it was 'like in the movies'. I had an officer with a bathroom and shower. The bar in my office (yep Ireally needed 24/7 access to free booze) had cut crystal decanters. I had 'made it', and yet I continued to suffer and self-medicate.

Then, September 11th happened. Manhattan was closed on the 12th and on the 13th I tendered my resignation. I remember watching MTV and REM'sEverybody Hurts came on. I was on the floor and in the fetal position. I guessthatmade me realize I needed help.

I did get help. In order to keep from being treated as an in-patient in the hospital, I agreed to attend two 1-hour sessions, with a psychiatrist, per week. It was at this time that I gave up on any and all substances thatcould be addictive. (This includes daily coffee even.) I also began to seriously study Buddhism four 1-hour classes per week. I also began meditating and journaled every single day. I was desperate to stay out of the hospital (too worried about what others would say or think) and sort of tried everything at once and hopedsomething would work.

After two years, my therapy sessions were reduced to once per week. I kept up with all the rest. Another two years later and I was ready (I guess) to start working again. (Did I mention how well I was monetarily compensated while working in NYC?)

I went back to teaching special education, but this time I was teaching in avery poor area. Most of the students I serve have parent(s) or guardians with questionable immigration status. I was their only advocate. A wonderful principal, who originally hired me, was promoted and we got a horrible principal. She was soul crushing. She got the school closed and now I am sent to different schools sometimes each week. I still get full benefits and salary, but don't have a school or class that is 'mine'.

I guess that brings me here. (I hope you were sitting for all of this.) I still read and write a lot. I remain. I attempt to read the posts here and respond with love, kindness, and compassion. (All of which I struggle to offer myself.) I listen to many types of music (from Laurie Anderson to Tom Waits, and I'm a huge fan of Counting Crows). I guess I've written myself into a corner, so I'll stop here. I'll leave a couple of links to some more recent poetry I've written and thank anyone who has gotten this far!

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1-ikIEZh-tJIJuOrMrxCTLwl34FGm6SCEcbn3pNxcwGA&authuser=0

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1mY5gDkC_PJMPNa2iajES9qz1eKd_QSHl-0GrcIGutlk&authuser=0

Be well and continue to be courageous.