Dad's Best Year

One of the things I love most about writing is that, by doing so, we get to freeze time... kind of like a photograph.  We have the ability to save the moments we cherish. And today, I experienced a moment that I'd definitely like to keep...

"Dad, out of all of the years you've lived, what's your very best year so far?" I wanted to know.
"1978," my father answered without hesitation.
"Why's that?" I asked.

We were sitting at Cheesecake Factory, obsessively checking flight updates, trying to determine if Morgan's flight was delayed.  Did we have just 30 minutes left with her, before she had to leave, or was it an hour and 15 minutes?  And ultimately, my dad wanted to know: Was there time for low-carb cheesecake and coffee?

"1978 was the year I married your mother," he said.  "It wasn't long before she was pregnant with you."

"It was incredible," he continued in his thick New York accent. "I mean, I know people have babies every day, but it felt like a miracle. You were my first kid, ya know?"

No, I didn't know. I actually had no idea that my dad felt this way, but I'm so glad I asked.  Asking questions is important, and it opens up possibilities for conversations like this one.

There's a book called Live in Wonder, by an author named Eric Saperston.  After college, Eric spent a year on the road, following The Grateful Dead and asking questions along the way.  He had the opportunity to sit down for coffee with some of the most powerful people in the world.  He wanted to find out the values they lived by, and the struggles they overcame. Ultimately, he wanted to know what advice they'd pass along, to prepare others for the road ahead.  I'm super inspired by that.  So, I recently decided that I'm going to start asking more questions.

Meanwhile, Ness was looking our way with a raised eyebrow.  She must have sensed that I was having a moment with Dad.  "But shhhh.... Don't tell your sister that you're my favorite," Dad said loudly with a chuckle.  "Wait! What?!" Vanessa squealed and playfully nudged Dad in the ribs.

"But seriously," she said. "What are you guys talking about?"

I freaking love my family.

Turns out, Morgan's flight WAS delayed.  We got the extra time with her AND the low carb cheesecake ;)

Compassion, Gratitude and Love

You are loved. You are valued. You are worthy.  Count your blessings.  Be grateful.  Life is precious, and so are you.

I remember a time in my life when I would have been angered by statements like these.  I thought that no one understood me and that no one could relate.  During those dark days, I suffered from a deep depression, and I didn't know how to let love in.  I didn't believe people when they told me nice things, and I hated myself.  My mind was like a looping record... repeating self deprecating thoughts over and over again.  I think back to those days and all that's happened in between.  What changed?  Why was I one of the "lucky ones" who successfully disengaged the looping track?

Yesterday, a friend's daughter took her own life.  She was just a kid...  This friend is a beautiful human being.  I've always known her to have a smile on her face and to be surrounded by family and friends.  She's a loving mother, and my heart hurts for her in this moment.  How does one recover from the loss of a child to suicide?  I am sending love and praying for her healing.

How do we show up in the world and communicate so people get that they matter?  How do we reach people where they are and make a difference in their lives?  I don't have the answers, but I keep coming back to compassion, gratitude and love.  We must stop placing blame on ourselves and others.  We must BE the change that we wish to see in the world.  We must also forgive... forgiving one's self is sometimes the hardest thing to do, and it's necessary.

When I think back to my own struggle with depression and feelings of suicide, what stopped me was the fact that I didn't want to hurt my family and friends.  The reminder of my cousin's suicide and how it affected our family is what I kept going back to.  I thought that I had to live with the sadness and deal with it on my own because I was too ashamed to tell anyone about it.  I was angry with myself for being depressed.  I thought that I was a bad person because I couldn't control my feelings, and I should know better... especially after what happened with Brad.  I even thought that there was some universal mistake... that it was supposed to have been me, not him.

I spent years like this, and I eventually hit rock bottom... I was dragged to a psychiatrist by my mom and sister and put on medication, after a drunk driving incident that could have taken lives (including my own), and I was responsible for it.  This was my wake up call.

In the years that followed, I changed my diet and embarked on a spiritual, holistic healing path.  I went off of the prescription medication, and during that time, hoop dancing entered my life.  I escaped from negative internal chatter with flow.  It was a mental release and the most powerful healing tool for me.    I began to practice meditation, and I incorporated positive daily affirmations into my life.  I surrounded myself with uplifting people, and my entire world changed.  It didn't happen overnight.  It was a process that took time, discipline and effort.

I don't worry about having a breakdown with depression anymore.  I haven't had one in six years.  This is what healing looks like for me.  There are many different paths to healing, and I believe that people must access their own internal wisdom to discover what's best for them.

We can search for reasons and answers.  Or we can be present and show love.  We can't see into the minds of others, but we can be responsible for our own behaviors, actions and words.

Make eye contact and smile at a stranger.  Pay it forward.  Show random acts of kindness.  Help your neighbor.  Let someone know how much they mean to you.  Appreciate each day.  FORGIVE.  Know that every breath is a gift.  Be vulnerable.  Find a passion and pursue it.  Start a gratitude journal and write down 5 things you are grateful for every day.  GIVE.  LOVE. LIVE.

I love you, and I'm grateful that you are here.  You are a blessing and a gift.

Seeing With New Eyes

As living creatures, we are constantly growing and evolving.  When we are open to change, we have the ability to see things from different vantage points.  To experience this, we must first surrender control.  Then, it's possible to find freedom in the unknown and be accepting of what is.

New possibilities are constantly available to us, and most of the time, we don't know the details of how it will all play out.  It's ok to not know.  Surrendering to life's unexpected moments, challenges and opportunities is a major aspect of growth and transformation.  Coming to these realizations has enabled my book to take on new meaning; it feels like a living creature now.

My perspective has shifted during the writing process, and I finally feel as though I'm creating the book that it was always meant to be.  It looks nothing like I thought it would, when I first starting writing.

I'm sharing dark days from a place of love.

Feelings of fear, judgement, anger, resentment and guilt exist, in writing, from a different place and time.  Scribbled in hand-written journals, I reflect on the days when life was painful, and I was confused.  In those moments, when I poured my heart out on paper, I didn't see the world as I do today.

I look through eyes of love, without self-deprecating thoughts, resentment or blame.  I am grateful for the words that I wrote years ago.  I appreciate the path of self-discovery that began with pen and paper, and I believe that light is born from darkness.

The thoughts and feelings that I had when I was depressed are long gone.  I'm not as attached to my history and my old thought patterns anymore.  When I reflect on my journals, it often feels as though I'm reading someone else's words. I can visualize my present self sitting next to the little girl version of me, drying her tears and helping her to see that the sun will shine again.

I now get to communicate without attachment to beliefs and ideas that do not serve me or the world at large.  It feels amazing.

I think, perspective shifts in physical form too.  I just returned from a family visit to Inverness, my home town.  As a high schooler, I couldn't wait to leave.  I didn't see beauty in my surroundings because I didn't see beauty in myself.

Yesterday morning, I meditated with my sister underneath an old cypress tree with Spanish moss canopies hanging overhead.  We sat cross-legged facing the lake, eyes closed, and in silence... breathing fresh air and going inward.  When the meditation ended, I had tears in my eyes as I took in the beautiful place that I will always call home.  There were butterflies dancing nearby and fuzzy little caterpillars crawling on our blanket.

Beauty and love surround us always.  Where we choose to focus is what makes all the difference.

Guest Blog for TWLOHA

To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA) is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.  I've been following TWLOHA for almost five years, and I knew that I wanted to work with the organization somehow, someday.

When I was asked to be a guest blogger, I jumped at the opportunity.  I'm honored to share the published blog with you today...

The World Seems A Little Brighter

Book Decalarations

- I will have the first draft of my book complete by May 20, 2013.

- The book will clearly and authentically communicate a message of healing and transformation.

- I commit to being vulnerable, inspirational, loving and compassionate with my written words.

- Readers of my book will get that they matter.

- I will have my book published by Hay House on or before August 15, 2013.

- My book will be on shelves at major book stores by October 1, 2013.

Friends, I ask for your support.  Check in with me.  Ask me how the book is coming along.  Send positive energy to me :)  Believe in me.  Thank you.

Clarity

I'm getting clear on my book.

When I started writing it, I was focused on becoming an advocate for depression awareness and suicide prevention.  I knew that I wanted to share my story with the intention of helping others.  But as time went on, I kept getting “stuck." I’d take long breaks from my writing, and I would become frustrated and aggravated due to lack of progress.  I thought that I wasn't moving forward fast enough.  Feelings of guilt would flood in, and I couldn’t understand why it was taking me so long to finish. I set deadlines, and they'd pass by at lightning speed.

I now realize that I wasn’t progressing because the book wasn’t evolving the way it was supposed to.  I knew, in my heart, that this book would have the power to help people.  But the way I was writing it wasn’t accomplishing that goal.  And as humbling as this is to admit, my book would have been irresponsible and potentially destructive had I continued on the path that I was on.  I now realize that it was my perspective that was blocking me.  I had too much anger, resentment, fear and self-doubt inside of me.

Truth be told, I had work to do… work on myself.  While writing the book, I realized something profound:  I had to heal myself in order to truly help others.  So, I started working... soul searching, confronting my ego, diving deep into my stories and re-evaluating the belief systems that do not serve me or those around me.  I enrolled in an extensive transformational leadership program called "Gratitude Training."  Imagine... being grateful for everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING).  

Instead of approaching my book from a 'victim' perspective, I now see that I have the power to make positive change from the inside out.  And with this power, I have the ability to authentically help others.  

This is what my book is about:  I'm sharing my transformational story by standing in the light while evaluating my journal entries that were written years ago, from a place of darkness.  I am changing my outlook on life in order to live a more fulfilling existence and inspire others to do the same.

A friend recently invited me to look up the definition of forgiveness.  This is what I read:

(Wikipedia): Forgiveness is the renunciation or cessation of resentment, indignation or anger as a result of a perceived offense, disagreement, or mistake, or ceasing to demand punishment or restitution.

When we hold onto hurt, anger and resentment, we block ourselves from living an authentic life.  I continued my research and was excited to find this article: 

The Healing Power of Forgiveness

I believe that we must first forgive ourselves for holding onto ideas and beliefs that do not serve us or the world at large.

My perspective is shifting...  And with this shift, the end of my book became the beginning.  The road blocks have cleared.  Two months ago, I was invited to join the Board of Directors for the Tampa Bay Chapter of the National Foundation for Suicide Prevention.  I'm well on my way now...  I'm promoting a cause that I believe in and sharing a story that's written from a place of truth:  from my heart.

I'm setting an intention to have my book published with Louise Hay:  Hay House Publishing.  It's a big goal, and I WILL make it happen.

DREAM BIG.  LIVE to your fullest potential. SHINE on.  I love you.

Visiting the Dark

At the age of 13, I read "The Diary of Anne Frank."  I remember the book having an intense impact on me.  After all, my grandfather was a Jewish American of German descent who fought in World War II. It's part of my family's history.

Today, I saw the Holocaust devastation through another person's eyes and through another medium.  Oprah Winfrey interviewed Elie Wiesel (Jewish-American Holocaust survivor, writer, professor, humanitarian and political activist. He is the author of 57 books, including Night, a work based on his experiences as a prisoner in the Auschwitz, Buna, and Buchenwald concentration camps. In 1986, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for speaking out against violence, repression and racism).

Through his words, and by looking into the eyes of the photographs of Jewish prisoners who walked towards death, I visited the dark today.  So much emotion swept over me, and I was crying while I watched and listened to the interview unfold.  Before today, I knew Nazi Germany was terrible, but now I see that my brain can't possibly understand how devastating it really was.  Elie Wiesel referred to the concentration camps as death factories.

As Oprah and Elie walked arm and arm through Auschwitz (a network of death factories built and operated by Nazi Germany), I learned about the horrible medical experiments that were conducted on the Jewish prisoners; I learned that when friends and family members died at Auschwitz, crying wasn't an option - because if one cried, he might be killed or he might never stop crying.  I saw glass cases filled with human hair because Jewish prisoners were viewed as 'products, not people' (their heads were shaved before execution, in order to make fabric).

I saw miles and miles of empty suitcases that were once filled with valuables and family heirlooms.  Each one had been labeled with the owner's name and date of birth. Jewish civilians were asked to fill these suitcases and were told that they'd be relocating to a place of freedom.  They were tricked into thinking they had hope, when in actuality, their worldly possessions were confiscated and they relocated to death at Auschwitz.  Wiesel posed this question, "How many Nobel Peace prize winners died at the age of 1, 2, 3?"  He goes on to say, "Maybe one of these suitcases was once filled with the posessions of a child who might have someday grown up to find the cure for cancer or AIDS... we'll never know."

I learned about mothers who held their babies in front of their faces so soldiers would only have to use one bullet instead of two.

In that moment, I realized that up until now, I've been comfortable with my belief that "ignorance is bliss." This was my reason for turning a blind eye to what's happened in history; I simply didn't want to know because it was too hard to comprehend.

This has to change.  Ignorance is not bliss.  Ignorance is irresponsible.

At the end of the interview, these words appeared on the screen:

To the next generations... we must never forget.

We need to pay attention to history so we can avoid making the same mistakes.  I've heard the definition of insanity as "doing the same things over and over again, expecting different results."

Hate crimes are happening all over the world, in this moment, as I sit here typing.  History is repeating itself, and it will continue to repeat itself if we don't pay attention and make a change.

I believe that we all have a purpose.  I believe in Gandhi's words, "Be the change you want to see in the world."  I believe that just one person can make a major difference... maybe you're that person?

Maybe it's important for us to visit the dark sometimes so we can truly express gratitude when we see the light?  Maybe heaven isn't just a place up above, and maybe hell isn't only somewhere down below.  Maybe both exist right here, on planet Earth, right now. And maybe it's up to us to start paying attention, in an effort to make positive change?

I'm tired of claiming ignorance, and I'm ready to start making a difference.

Today, I honor Elie Wiesel... a man who lived much of his life in darkness so intense that most of us can't even imagine it.  A man who used his gifts to reach the masses.  He allowed himself to be vulnerable, in order to share a story that we need to hear.  A man whose existence matters, and because of him, there's hope for a brighter future.

The Future of Storytelling

I was fortunate to attend the TEDx Tampa Bay event yesterday and hear from a lineup of incredible speakers.  Motivational speakers.  The theme was, "The Future of Storytelling."  As you may know, TED is a not for profit organization dedicated to "ideas worth spreading." I cleared my schedule at the last minute and signed up for the event without expectations but with an open mind.

Speakers ranged from artists to writers, entrepreneurs to scientists, and explorers to professionals of play (like me).  The event schedule said 8 a.m. until 4 p.m.  I pulled into my parking spot at 8:05, and when I walked inside, I was thrilled to discover that there was a one-hour "meet and greet" factored in, with coffee.  Speakers didn't come on until 9.  So, I met a young woman named Kelly.  We talked about our reasons for being there, and I learned that she recently moved to St. Pete and wants to start her own not-for-profit someday.  I told her about my business and my writing, and we chatted up until the time doors opened. A few friends showed up too:  Vinny (who I knew would be there), Tracey (one of my hoop dance students who I ran into unexpectedly) and George (a former colleague who I haven't seen in 9 years!  Turns out, he's friends with Vinny, too).

The announcer was energetic and funny, and as the first speaker approached the stage, I had a feeling that it was going to be a powerful day.  I was right.  I don't remember the last time I've been this excited about learning.

All of the presenters were incredible, but I think I connected most with Kathleen Taylor, Nora Gaunt & Ryan Mitchell, Sharon Britton, Michael Kruse, Mark Gordon and Reuben Pressman & Hunter Payne.  You can read bios here.

Kathleen is a licensed mental health counselor who spoke about her years working for Hospice.  She said that people often ask her why she enjoys working with terminally ill patients.  I loved her response.  "It's because they are incapable of bullshit," she said.  She explained that when people approach death, they speak truth.  They make amends with family members who they haven't spoken to in years.  They reflect on their lives, and as they prepare for death, they wake up to the preciousness of time.

"Do you know the number one regret people have, when they look back on their lives?" she asked.  "It's wishing that they had lived their truth."

I learned from her talk that, in the end, it doesn't matter who's right or wrong.  And it doesn't matter if you follow the norms that society has set out for you.  What matters is living to your true, authentic potential.  There is only one you, and it's never too soon to take action and make positive change.  When we tap into our true, authentic beings, we increase understanding and decrease fear.  This results in joy.

There were more talks with the "happiness" theme.  I loved Nora and Ryan's take on it:  Wealth is not measured by possessions, they told us.  Wealth is measured by happiness.  After traveling halfway around the world, this duo had wise words to share about wealth in experiences.  They found themselves in far away countries, where language barriers were broken with smiles and hard work.  They choose to invest in experience and personal connections verses worldly possessions.

It was a talk that I really enjoyed.  I'll admit that I'm sometimes guilty of "retail therapy."  You know... shopping for the sake of shopping just because it makes you feel better, when really the root of the problem is something else.  Most of the things I buy when I feel this way are things that I don't really need.  But when I turn off the TV, put down the cell phone, and truly take the time to connect with people, I have the most amazing experiences.  For these reasons, I go to hoop dance & yoga retreats and spend time on the water with people I care about.  I make it a point to pick up the phone and call old friends, and I'm going to make a conscious effort to do an even better job of this moving forward.

Then there was Sharon Britton - a high powered New York City attorney who left it all to become a painter.  She practices yoga and talks about replacing fear with love.  She discussed higher vibrations and how we should move away from 'anti' campaigns and move towards 'love' campaigns.  Sharon calls herself a neurotic hippie.

Michael Kruse was one of my favorite speakers of the day.  There was no power point presentation, and he organized his speech much like I would imagine he organizes his columns for the Tampa Bay Times.  The man is an artist of words and stories.  He ended his discussion with a little nugget of inspiration that I especially loved, in relation to the event theme.  He said that the future of stories was stories, and I agree.  Throughout time, storytelling has been present.  We live in a fast-paced world, with technological advances happening at an alarming pace.  But we re-tell stories from those who came before us, and we can only imagine what stories are yet to come.

Mark Gordon was fascinated by the ocean for as long as he can remember.  He talked about walks on the beach and staring out into the water, as he daydreamed about treasures under the sea.  Today, Mark owns a company called Odyssey, and he's a professional treasure hunter.  His company uncovered more than 40 tons of silver from a World War II shipwreck, which was located 4,700 meters below sea level (this is deeper than the Titanic).

Next up... Reuben and Hunter.  I've been connected with these guys for a while now.  Our paths keep crossing (St. Pete becomes a small town when you surround yourself with like-minded people).  Our businesses are very similar, in the sense that we promote joy, laughter and personal connections through play.  Reuben and Hunter are the founders of Swings Tampa Bay - a spontaneous community building organization that hangs hand-painted swings (created by regular members of our community) all over Tampa.  We've run into each other at professional networking events, the Saturday Morning Market and through mutual friends.  These guys rock, and their energy on stage was contagious.

The day was filled with "delicious listening," as one of the presenters so creatively referred to it.  I left yesterday's event feeling thoroughly inspired and also eager to keep learning.  This morning, I watched more inspirational TED talks online, and I think that I'm officially a TED junkie now.  I'm going to make it to that national conference someday.  And who knows?  Maybe it will be me speaking on that stage.  The sky is the limit, baby!

Next week, I'm packing my bags for a Buddhist Retreat Center in Santa Cruz, CA.  I'm so honored to be teaching at Hoop Camp, the largest hoop dance gathering in the country.  I can't wait to share, learn, connect, re-connect and meditate in this beautiful, serene place.  I have a feeling that I'll be doing a lot of writing on my trip also.  More to stories to come...

Affirmations

Do you believe in affirmations?  There's purpose to our existence, and if we take the time to recognize Universal signs, then we wind up exactly where we are supposed to be.  It's not a new thought:  being in tune with the world around us, that is.  And recognizing when we're on the right path becomes an important part of the journey.

Writing this book is straight up freaking me out... for so many reasons.  Obviously, the content itself is scary.  I'm writing about the things that I've spent my entire life trying to hide.  I'm taking a big magnifying glass, and I'm looking closely at the scary stuff, in an effort to heal myself and to provide a message of inspiration for those who relate to my story and are open to change.

As I reflect on my old journals, sometimes the words don't even feel like my own.  Remember that scene in the "Neverending Story" where Bastian doesn't realize that he's the one the book is about, until the very end?  It's kind of like that dejavu feeling...   like my former self is a shadow of who I am today, and like I'm reading someone else's story.  Our experiences make us who we are, but we can transform our lives in ways that we never imagined were possible.

The affirmations... they come when you are connected to your soul's purpose.  I feel really good today.  I started my morning with yoga, and then I had a meeting with my business partner.  I know that big things are on the horizon for my company, and I feel mentally strong and capable. I need to feel like this when I tackle the hardest parts of my book.  So, I returned home after my meeting and worked on the "Rock Bottom" section of my book... the time in my life where the depression almost sucked me into a big, black hole.  Months ago, I placed paper clips in my journal so I would know exactly where to find the "rock bottom" journal entries.

Today, I flipped to a journal entry that was especially hard for me to read, much less re-write in book form.  I was 25 years old, depressed, and having trouble making sense of the world around me.  I had recently received a phone call in the middle of the night and learned that a dear friend, Aaron, had passed away unexpectedly in a car crash.  Aaron was Brad's best friend.

This is what I wrote in my journal:

This world is such a cruel place.  Sometimes, I feel like I've lost faith in everyone and everything.  I don’t know how God could have taken Aaron away from us too.  I don’t know anything anymore.  I think that God had it all wrong, and it should have been me who died – not Brad or Aaron.

These are some of the scariest emotions that I've ever dealt with.  Today, I wrote feverishly and bulldozed through the hardest pages.  And as I reflected on the words of my former self, I thought about how much I have changed and evolved.  I thought about my friends and family who are still here, on this Earth.  I thought about the people who love me and who I love in return.  I thought about beauty in nature and about the importance of doing the things we are most passionate about.  I thought about my dog and how she makes me smile every day.  And I thought about how much I've changed and how beautiful life can be.  Just as I prepared to close my hand-written book, I flipped back to the beginning of that journal entry and noticed the date:  September 20, 2004.  Today's date.

Sure, you could call it a coincidence.  I prefer to call it an affirmation.

Reflecting on 9/11...

I've never shared my journals publicly, but considering I'm writing a book based on them, I thought that now was as good a time as any...

Today is Tuesday, September 11, 2012.  Eleven years ago to the day, I was a young executive who had just landed her dream job in New York City.  I had competed with more than 300 applicants for a summer internship at a global PR firm on 42nd Ave.  When the internship came to an end, there was one full-time position available, and I was thrilled to receive the offer.  My start date was September 4, 2001.  I was a fresh-faced young executive who was adjusting to a new life in the big city.

I've been keeping journals since the age of 5.  This is my journal entry from September 11, 2001:

September 11, 2001
TERRORISM HITS AMERICA:  New York City

5:30 a.m. - Wake up and go to kickboxing class
8 a.m. - Walk to bus stop to catch bus to Port Authority
8:45 a.m. - Arrive at Port Authority.  While standing in line for the subway to Grand Central Station, a hysterical man ran by me.  He was yelling about the World Trade Center being on fire.  "A plane hit the tower," he said.  "It's on fire."  Some people seemed concerned.  Others, like me, just thought he was another crazy bum talking nonsense.
9 a.m. - Arrive at Grand Central Station and walk to work
9:05 a.m. - Arrive at my office building, 220 42nd Ave.  I thought it was strange that security people were guarding the building and checking ID.
9:10 a.m. - I make my way to the 8th floor.  I enter the office and this is when I realize that the World Trade Center is actually on fire.  My co-workers are watching the live broadcast, and I join them.
BREAKING NEWS:  Two commercial airplanes have crashed into the World Trade Center Twin Towers.  Terrorist attacks, they say.
9:25 a.m. - I go to my office and shut the door.  I check my email because I don't know what else to do.  At this point, I don't realize the seriousness of the situation.
9:45 a.m. - I go to a conference room where my co-workers were gathered with the TV on.  At 9:59 a.m., the South Tower collapsed and everyone was crying. 
10:15 a.m. - The human resources manager speaks to us.  She says that if we decide to leave the building, we must sign out so that everyone is accounted for.  I went back to my office and called dad.  Phone lines are working in the office.  No one can call in, but we can call out.  Dad is thankful to hear from me.  The news is being broadcast worldwide.
10:20 a.m. - I call mom.  She's hysterical.  She keeps saying that she's so glad to hear my voice.  We both cry on the phone.  She tells me the second tower is falling, after advising me to get water, food and a damp towel to cover my nose and mouth when I go outside.  I tell her I love her before hanging up the phone.
10:30 a.m. - I go back into the conference room.  I watch the TV screen as the North Tower crumbles. I see footage of the planes crashing into the buildings.  My co-worker's husband was in the North Tower.  She was standing near me when she fainted.  She was then rushed out of the room by executives from human resources.
10:45 a.m. - I go back to my office and call Vanessa.  I can't get a hold of her.  The girl sitting in the office next to me is crying hysterically.  Her boyfriend is supposed to be on a plane, and she hasn't heard from him.  All airports are closed throughout the country.
Somewhere between 10:45 and 11 a.m.:  News breaks about the Pentagon, and two more hijacked planes go down in Washington and in Pennsylvania.  
11:10 a.m. - Someone knocks on my office door.  He tells me to leave.  The office is being evacuated.
*My office is next to the United Nations building, and near the Chrysler Building.  All major monuments are under close watch and nearby offices must be evacuated, I learn.*
11:12 a.m. - I walk around aimlessly as people hurry out the door.  I moved to Hoboken earlier in the week, and I know that I can't get back to my apartment.  The subways are closed, and the city is in lock down.  My co-worker Clayton lives in Hoboken.  I see him and he tells me to come with him, and he'll help me get home later.
BREAKING NEWS: United Airlines & American Airlines planes were hijacked.  Boston plane hits Trade Center.  After plane hits, people jump from windows.
11:25 a.m. - I walk 20 blocks to safety.  I see clouds of smoke and people covered in ashes.
11:45 - Noon: We arrive at a private club for aspiring actors.  Clayton is a member, so we go inside and meet up with his wife and friends.  Everyone is shaken up.  I have a vodka and tonic to calm my nerves.  I feel like a sitting duck.  We can't leave the city.  What if they bomb Manhattan next?
TVs are on everywhere and they keep playing the crashes over and over again.
1 p.m. - The club closes, and we find an open restaurant.  I order a glass of wine.
2:30 p.m. - We try to make our way back to Hoboken.  We walk to the ferry but there are thousands of people who are waiting in line, trying to get home to their families and friends.  We are told that the wait could be up to 8 hours.  Subways and buses are closed.
3 p.m. - We arrive at Penn Station, and we've walked about 50 blocks.  Trains have finally started running, but the schedules are confusing.  We finally get on a train to Newark.  At Newark, we transfer to the Hoboken-bound train.  Cell phones have been down all day.
*There was an eerie feeling on the streets of New York.  Ambulances, police vehicles, fire trucks and helicopters occupied the city and were everywhere.  We see where the World Trade Center stood hours earlier.  A huge, dark cloud sweeps over the city of New York.*
6 p.m. - Finally!  I have cell phone service.  I get through to my mom and sister.  Mom is crying again.
6:15 p.m.  - Walking home, I see military officials and rescue squads.  Helicopters swarm overhead, right above my apartment.  The burning smell of debree, ashes and God-only knows what else, is powerful and scary.
6:45 p.m. - I was the last roommate home.  Now, we are all safe.  We go over the day's events, and there's more crying.
7 p.m. - I drink two beers and keep watching the news in disbelief.  My voice mailbox is full, and I can't make calls anymore.  At least my family knows I'm safe, and they can relay the information to everyone else.
8 p.m. - I'm huddled on the couch with all three of my roommates.  We need to get out of the apartment.  Down by the river, we see the huge, black smoke cloud over NYC.  On the shore of the Hudson River, military and emergency vehicles are lined up.
9:30 p.m. - We return home and watch more news.  President Bush says we will hunt down and attack those responsible for this tragedy.  More fear washes over me.  I think about John, Gavin, Nate, Steve and Nick... all of my friends who are in the military.  Are we at war now?
12 a.m. - I close my eyes for a few hours, but it's hard to sleep with the helicopters flying overhead.

I'm horrified.  I just keep thinking, "What's happening to our world?"  I watched as thousands of lives ended in a few, brief moments.  Right now, United States officials are trying to save lives and find answers.  A van was stopped at the George Washington Bridge armed with bombs.  In Boston, FBI officials are trying to find out about the flights.  There were four planes total - all headed West to California.  One hit the Pentagon, two hit the Twin Towers and the last went down in Pennsylvania.  Palestinian children and adults rejoice in the streets.  It's a fucked-up situation.  The government is most concerned with saving those still trapped in the World Trade Center.  There were no survivors from the Pentagon crash.  Reporters say there are more than 700 leads on the terrorist attacks but no concrete information.

In the days that followed, there were bomb scares all over Manhattan.  The first day that I attempted to go back to the city, my train stopped and military officials ran through the subway cars.  Apparently, someone had called in a bomb threat, and we waited underground for 20 minutes, in fear.  The smells and sounds of September 11 lasted for months following the attack.

I'll never forget the post 9/11 commute.  Those who lost loved ones had their photos all over the underground subway terminals, bus stations and community boards.  I would cry every day, as I stopped to look at the pictures and read the stories of those who were missing.  I prayed for those families every night.

What a tragic time for our country.

Earning Wings

When I tell people that I'm writing a book, this is the question that usually comes next:

"What's it about?"

I still trip over my words when I respond. And sometimes, I dance around the topic or change the subject entirely.  I need to get over this.

On once such occasion, during a dinner party at my boyfriend's mother's house, I explained...

My book is about transformation, and I aim to become an advocate for depression awareness and suicide prevention.  I want to share my family's story about a loved one who we lost to suicide.  In the book, I also include sections of my journals (I've been keeping diaries since the age of 5) that deal with my own battle with depression.  My goal is to help people.

That evening, a fellow dinner guest commented that it reminded her of the famous Christmas movie, "It's a Wonderful Life."  I had never put that connection together, but I liked it.

"It's a Wonderful Life" is about an angel-in-training who shows a suicidal man how the world would be if he had never been born.  It presents us with a deep philosophy about the paths we choose and shows that we each touch one another's lives more deeply than we realize.

I also love the idea of "doing good to earn wings," especially when it comes to confronting the things that scare and challenge us.  I was thinking about this idea today, as I settled into my comfy seat at Wings Bookstore, of all places, to work on my book.

Just yesterday, I completed one of the most challenging chapters... the part about Brad's death.  My method of writing isn't systematic or conventional.  I write when I feel inspired to do so, and my format is free-flowing. In other words, I didn't have an outline and I left a huge chunk in the middle of the book, with the idea that I'd tackle it when the time was right.  Yesterday, that time came.  And afterwards, I felt emotionally drained but also as though a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Writing has always been therapeutic for me. I truly believe that the book is helping me to heal from the trauma of losing Brad.  By writing about the experience and diving head first into the things that scare me, I am able to move forward with the intention of helping others.

I feel like I'm earning my wings.

Rising Up, Towards the Sun

I remember the day Brad got his tattoo.  A big, beautiful sun on his arm.  I thought it was the coolest thing ever.  But then again, I admired most everything Brad did.  I asked a lot of questions... "Did it hurt?  How long did it take?  Where did the design come from?"

Brad loved the sun.  He spent so much time on the water - boating, wake boarding, swimming and just embracing the warm, natural rays shining down on him.  When I think of him, whether it's in a dream or in memory, I see a happy guy with curly blonde hair.  He's tan, wearing board shorts and always smiling in the sunlight.

He also loved sun imagery.  I remember a time in Cancun after we graduated from high school.  It was our big Senior Class trip... one last celebration before our group of friends set out for college, the military, etc.  Sipping on long island iced teas, we shopped in the local markets.  We came across sun-inspired sculptures, jewelry and trinkets.  He would spend lots of time admiring and critiquing the artwork.

The sun has, and always will be, a symbol for Brad.  During my freshman year of college, I got a blue sun tattoo on my hip, with purple accents.  Part of the reason I got it is because I admired Brad so much.  I figured that, by making the sun blue, it would be different enough from Brad's tattoo.  I didn't want him to think that I was copying him - but, in actuality, I was.  I never had a chance to show it to him.  He died soon after I got the tattoo.

Years later, after Brad passed away, Aaron and Jeff got the same tattoo that Brad had.  Uncle Rich did as well.  One by one, the rest of my family followed by honoring Brad with sun tattoos... my cousins, my aunt, my sister and even my mother.  Friends in our circle also got sun tattoos in Brad's memory.

Ironically, the sun is often used as a symbol for life and hope for tomorrow.  As the sun sets and rises everyday, it can also represent immortality.  It symbolizes the sacredness of life, as well as truth and light.

About a year ago, during an intense outdoor yoga class called "Heal Your Heart," I decided to get another tattoo.

The instructor (Seane Corn) asked us to dedicate our practice to something or someone who has touched our lives.  Brad immediately came to mind.  She spoke about the power of our thoughts and putting positive energy out into the world.  As I held a challenging yoga pose and began to shake, her words resonated.

In that moment, the sun peaked through the overcast sky and I felt Brad's presence.  I remember a tear sliding down my face as an image of a lotus flower appeared in my mind.  Considering I was at a yoga festival, I had seen the lotus flower often throughout the weekend retreat, but I didn't know what it meant.  This instructor continued to speak about growing stronger and learning from our past experiences.

Her words sank in, and it felt as though she was speaking to me directly.  She reminded me that we are all one, and she even spoke specifically about grief and depression.  I left that class feeling sweaty, inspired and whole.

I reflected on Sean Corn's words as I researched the meaning behind the lotus flower.  I was amazed to discover that the lotus represents the sun.

In Ancient Egypt, the lotus flower is associated with rebirth, considering the flower retracts into the water at night, and emerges fresh and beautiful in the Sun the next day. 


The Egyptians therefore associated the lotus flower with the sun which also disappeared in the night, only to re-emerge in the morning. Therefore the lotus came to symbolize the Sun and creation.  It is also said that the Sun God, Ra, was born from the Lotus flower.


In Buddhism, the lotus flower is known to be associated with purity, spiritual awakening and faithfulness. The flower is considered pure as it is able to emerge from murky waters in the morning and be perfectly clean. Therefore, in common with Egyptian mythology, the lotus is seen as a sign of rebirth, but additionally it is associated with purity. The breaking of the surface every morning is also suggestive of desire, this leads to it being associated with spiritual enlightenment.


Perhaps one of the strongest associations of the lotus flower with religion is that that is observed in Hinduism. In this religion the lotus flower meaning is associated with beauty, fertility, prosperity, spirituality, and eternity.

So, I decided to get a lotus tattoo with the sun rising up behind it.


Last Thursday,  I sat for three hours and remembered to breathe through the pain.  I thought of Brad (and Aaron too).

(it was raining outside so I couldn't take a photo in natural light... will change out with a better picture soon).

In Memory of Kat

It happened again. Another beautiful soul who left this Earth too soon. I don't know the specifics of her death, but I do know that it was suicide.

I first met Kat through my best friend, Kristin. It was soon after I moved to St. Pete five years ago. Kristin and I went out dancing, and we met up with Kat at a bar. I immediately noticed her physical beauty. And after seeing her rock out on the dance floor, I wasn't surprised to learn that she was both a model and a dancer. Kat was the first friend that Kristin made after relocating to Florida from Chicago.

There were a few girls' nights out that followed, and Kat started invited us to hoop dance at events she was involved with. She was heavy into the local music and dance scene. Considering I was just starting Hoola Monsters at the time, it was nice to connect with local DJs and begin to build my performance resume. One memorable performance was metal artist Frank Strunk's Wearable Art Fashion Show in Dunedin. Kat was one of his top models, and we hoop danced in the show's finale.

She always supported my vision for Hoola Monsters. The last time I saw her, she came out to the restaurant where I perform every Friday night just to take photos of me hooping, so she could promote my business. Kat had a big heart. When I close my eyes and think of her, I immediately see a smiling face, gracefully working her way around the dance floor.

I know that if my book had been finished, she would have been one of the first people to read it. I can't help but wonder if I had the book finished, maybe it would have helped her... Kat posted a message on my Facebook page two days before she died, saying that she was proud of me. She was an incredibly supportive friend.

Kristin now lives in San Francisco. We found out about Kat on the same day (after her memorial service), and I know that Kristin is having a hard time with the news (naturally). Kat was a good person, and she will be missed.

The MySpace Suicide: Megan Meier

This story breaks my heart...

Writing about Writing... and Silencing the Inner Critic

It's been 10 months since my last blog post.... Wow! I've taken a break from writing the book as well. Was it a conscious decision to refrain from writing or did life move at lightening speed, as it so often does? I think it's been a combination of both. I won't beat myself up about the break, though. I sometimes set goals that I don't reach. We all do. But it's important to recognize it and simply silence the inner crtic. Don't let that negative voice affect your purpose.

I decided last year that I would be finished with the book by now, and I'm not. I still have the most important section of the book to complete... the part about Brad's death. I've left a big hole in the middle of my writing - the moment I found out about Brad's death and the days and weeks that followed. I've left the hardest part for last, but I am ready to tackle it now. The creative process is interesting. Re-visiting this part of my journal will not be easy - but sometimes, the hardest things in life bring the most reward and promise. I know that I'm here to spread a message of hope and love. Tackling the sadness, hurt and inner demons is necessary. I'm ready to start writing again, and this time, I will push through the hard parts. Completion is near.

A friend once told me that when you are on the right track in following your path in life, things fall into place unexpectedly. I know this is true because I keep receiving confirmations. This isn't to say that bad things don't happen as well. But learning from our experiences and following our hearts enables us to continue moving forward.... we keep pressing along on our path until we are where we need to be.

If you were to tell me years ago, that I would someday be a featured speaker at a retreat intended to inspire women to live their dreams, I wouldn't have believed you. But it's happening this summer. I am so honored that my mentor, Jenny Fenig, has invited me to be an instrumental part of her incredible event, the Retreat for Goddesses. I first met Jenny during my last semester at the University of Florida. I was heavily involved in the Public Relations Student Society of America, and I was networking at a public relations conference in Chicago. Jenny was there, representing Porter Novelli - one of the top PR firms in the world and the agency of my dreams. Jenny was a University of Florida graduate, and we had mutual friends. I was nervous to meet her. I so desperately wanted to land a position at PN.

Fast forward six months, and Jenny helped to orchestrate my internship interview at Porter Novelli's home office in New York City. That internship turned into a full-time job, and I spent the next three years climbing the corporate ladder in NYC. There, Jenny and I developed a solid friendship and I looked up to her, both professionally and personally. Years later, she left corporate America to become a Life Coach and full time yoga instructor. Simultaneously, I started Hoola Monsters and left the corporate world also. Now, here we are! And how great is it that we get to inspire other women to live their dreams, while working together again in such a unique forum! We actually have a call scheduled tomorrow, and it's all about "Silencing the Inner Critic" (that little voice inside your head that tells you aren't good enough). If you'd like to join us, click here to learn more.

To top it off, I'm heading to the Retreat for Goddesses one week after I have the pleasure and honor of teaching at the HoopGirl Empowerment Retreat.

This week, I'm off to Vermont to be a part of Wanderlust Festival, with Wanderlust Tahoe right around the corner also. Take a moment to watch this video, and you'll see why I'm so addicted to this event. What's more, I'll be with two of my closest friends in Tahoe, so I know another exciting adventure is right around the corner. I am so grateful!

Life trips me out sometimes, but I know that I'm on the right track. BIG things are happening. I can feel it :)

Tunnel Vision and Recommended Reading

I have been plugging away on my manuscript, almost to the point of obsession. In my ideal world, I would stay in my pajamas all day to read and write (and sometimes, I do). I've been bad about returning phone calls and emails. I need to fall off the radar sometimes in order to focus on my writing. I want nothing more than to finish this book, do the story justice, and be proud of the work that I've accomplished. I apologize to any friends and family who I've neglected in the process. Right now, I have tunnel vision, and after two years of writing diligently, I know the end is near.

I have a goal set, and I'm on a mission to reach it now that I've secured an editor who is very well-connected in the publishing world. I aim to have the manuscript finished by December. The editor has agreed to read my book, offer her professional feedback, and guide me through the process of securing an agent (if need be) and getting published. She has a long-standing history working for a major publishing house, and she currently serves as a freelance editor and hosts workshops for aspiring authors. I'm so grateful to have made this connection!

I am watching the pieces of the puzzle click together and take shape. I think about my project non-stop, and at this point, I've read just about every book I can find on the topic of depression and suicide. However, the books that I'm drawn to are not authored by professionals (with the exception of a few authors who've had direct experiences with depression, bi-polar disorder or suicide).

I write at home, in bookstores and in coffee shops. Sometimes, being surrounded by books inspires me to work on my own, and I find comfort in this environment.

I was taking a break from one of my book store writing sessions when I decided to peruse the psychology section (once again). This time, however, I found a book that stopped me in my tracks. The book is called His Bright Light, and it's written by Danielle Steel, one of the world's most successful authors. Published in 2000, the book is an autobiography and a tribute to her son, Nick Traina, who took his own life at age 19. I purchased the book immediately, and, for a number of reasons, I haven't been able to put it down since. First, I was amazed to discover that one of the world's most famous authors had written a book on the very subject that I'm tackling. The similarities between the events that transpired are startling (Nick was the same age as Brad when he died by suicide and their deaths were only 10 months apart), while our stories are very different. Second, this is the first piece of literature that I've come across that is written in a similar voice as my own. There are so many "professional" books on the market, but very few are real-life accounts by the people who have been most impacted by suicide and depression. I'm guessing this is because the topic is still considered so taboo in our society. Quite frankly, it makes people uncomfortable, and it's easier to brush it under the rug than to confront it head-on. Plus, many suicide survivors and people who suffer from depression choose to cover things up or hide from the reality of it. It's not often that those who suffer want to air their dirty laundry and openly share their weakest moments. (I think about this often, and it's my biggest fear when it comes to my own writing). With that said, I think Danielle Steel is a brave woman, and I honor her for sharing her son's story.

In addition to His Bright Light, here are a few other books that have inspired me greatly:

No Time to Say Goodbye by Carla Fine
Night Falls Fast by Kay Redfield Jamison
Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser

The Dark Side of Reality TV

"Reality" TV shows are becoming commonplace in our society. And based on show ratings, it's apparent that the general public has an insatiable interest in this growing trend in TV programming.

According to a recent article published on Truth.net, more people watched "American Idol" and "Dancing with the Stars" in the past two weeks than voted in the Presidential election in 2008, one of the most definitive elections so far in our lifetime. The article goes on to say, "the statistics surrounding reality TV suggest that we have checked out from reality and what really is."

And here is a disturbing look at "what really is": There have been more than 11 instances of former reality TV show contendors who have died by suicide. What's more... their deaths have been directly linked to the emotional trauma resulting from their reality TV ventures.

Larry King tackles the issue in this shocking and informative segment:


I have included a few additional news stories about reality TV show suicides. The first, titled "Dangers of Reality Television," examines the heart-breaking truth regarding what happened to these contestants after the shows aired:
Dangers of Reality Television

Psychologists speak about Reality TV show emotional trauma in this Wrap.com feature.

And this article profiles a case in which a young mother took her own life after a terrible encounter on the Nancy Grace show. Prior to appearing in court, the show's creator/ host pleaded to silence cameras in the courtroom. Fortunately, the judge did not comply: CNN article

I should also mention that uncovering this information was not easy. Stories like those listed above very rarely make national headlines, and if they do, it's for a very short period of time. After all, news about emotional trauma and suicides directly linked to reality TV would not promote a positive image for these ever-so-popular, revenue-generating shows. Could the media have anything to do with this highly newsworthy information being omitted from the general public? I'll let you be the judge of that. I should also mention that Reality TV show contestants are required to sign iron-clad confidentiality agreements, which prevent them from telling their sides of the story.

I am very interested to hear your thoughts...

Stop and Listen

Do you ever feel as though you're on autopilot? There are times when we do things because we just do them. Going through the motions, without much thought.... like brushing your teeth or turning onto the road where you live. I think we sometimes get into autopilot mode with music, too. We love the way a song sounds or how it makes us feel, but we don't really investigate the message behind it. Eventually, the music becomes habitual. Maybe we even sing along, without letting the words sink in.

I know that I'm guilty of this, and things slide by when I'm not paying attention. I've always considered 311 one of my favorite bands, and I've heard their songs time and time again. Same with Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers. But I experienced songs by these artists and others, in a different way tonight, after doing a Google search for lyrics about suicide...

311: Beyond the Gray Sky


Red Hot Chili Peppers: The Otherside


Both of the above songs are on my Ipod, and I've seen 311 live on four different occassions. As for the following song... not only did I see it performed live, I was sitting on the side of the stage (thanks to a friend's connection at 98 Rock). But due to a generous supply of free beer backstage, I let these lyrics fly right over my head that night. I did, however, pay closer attention when I heard the song on the radio shortly thereafter.

Papa Roach, Last Resort


It dawned on me that I need to practice the art of 'listening and learning.' And if well-known musicians can tackle the taboo topic of suicide, then so can I. There are lots of negative opinions surrounding depression and people with suicidal tendencies. I sometimes worry about that, and I often need to remind myself that this work is much more important than the mindset of asanine critics.

This is the song I heard on the radio this evening, which sparked tonight's research project:
P.O.D. Youth of the Nation


And here's one more that resonated, particularly because survivors are heard here...


I'm fucking tackling this shit, and I'm not going to worry about what people may say or think. I've stopped reading the ignorant comments posted to news stories about suicide, by people who have no compassion. There will always be critics. There will always be people who don't agree or people who won't understand. But if we fall prey to what others might think, then we lose sight of why we are here in the first place. And I am here to write this book.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. I need to write about writing sometimes because the subject matter can be so emotionally draining. These blog "pep talks" help me to process thoughts and move forward with the book project.

The Puzzle

I have 22 chapters in the works. In the past month or so, I have been writing non-stop. I am allowing myself to let words fall onto paper, without over-analyzing content, grammar, punctuation or layout. That will come later. The writing process is turning out to be a puzzle, of sorts...

I am learning not to critique my work during the creative process, as content is my focus. The story is the most important part. I've examined the puzzle to ensure that each piece is accounted for. I am beginning to snap the pieces together, one at a time. Sometimes, the sections are not compatible. When that happens, I put them into a "MISC" file. Eventually, I create a place for everything, though. Sometimes, I need to re-arrange and move things, until it all fits together the way it's supposed to. I'm finding that the puzzle is now transforming. I can see the outline of my words, and content is filling the open spaces. Productivity feels good.

I love when I get into flow with my writing. When words come straight from the heart, they are true. Flow occurs when I have the ability to type as fast as I think. My heartbeat quickens, and I don't have time to second-guess truth when it spills onto paper.

Positive intentions are set. I am writing this book in Brad's name. In his suicide letter to me, he said that he admired my great work ethic. He said that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. So, I'm honoring him in this way. His beautiful spirit is the driving force behind my work. I don't want him to be remembered as the guy who died by suicide. Instead, my hope is that by sharing this story, his legacy will live on in a positive way... that he will inspire people to avoid silent suffering and realize that they are not alone.

And for those who have dealt with the tragic loss of a loved one to suicide... you are not alone, either.

I'm also writing this book for me, and I'm writing it for anyone who has ever suffered from feelings of self-hatred. I want people who are plagued with depression to know that it doesn't have to be a death-sentence. I aim to tackle the toxic stigmas surrounding suicide. There are lots of conflicting views on this topic, and I know that my book will be controversial but I won't let that hold me back. The message is too important, and I have no room in the creative process for fear and self-doubt. Instead, I'm guided by my desire to communicate truth and conjur feelings of understanding, compassion and hope.

My journals are intense... just the other day, I read the forgotton words, "At least I have my writing. I know that this is my safe place, and I know that no one will read this..." It's ironic that I am re-visiting these words from a different perspective, now. My safe place is no longer my private sanctuary. Confronting my fears and vulnerabilities with the intention of helping others is what I will do.

The book will be finished this year. In the past month, my "Patience" mentality has shifted to "Action." The puzzle is taking shape.

In the Shadows for a Moment...

"Wow... you're so sweet , I'm a mess right now. Let us see what the future will hold. You amaze me, with your kindness. I will see you again. Thank you so much for so much i don't deserve; you're great."

That was the last thing Josh said to me. I woke up this morning and found out that he died almost a week ago. I immediately thought he had killed himself. His friends told me that he had died at home, in his bed. One explanation is a brain aneurysm, while another has to do with a new medication that was possibly combined with alcohol or something else. Apparently, there's going to be an autopsy because there are a lot of questions surrounding his death. But, ultimately, it doesn't matter... the fact is, a beautiful young man is dead. His funeral is on Sunday and my heart is fucking broken for his family and all who were close to him.

I met Josh at the drum circle on his 25th birthday. We talked a lot that night, and I told him about the book I'm writing. He listened intently to what I said, and I was amazed to learn that he was even familiar with one of the suicide prevention organizations I support.

When we said goodbye, he told me that he couldn't wait to see me again. He gave me a soft kiss on the neck, and it wasn't until I drove away that I realized we hadn't exchanged contact information. I thought about him non-stop until I saw him again the following week.

Our first date was perfect. We smiled, laughed and kissed the whole time. A random gentleman asked us if we were newlyweds. Josh said that I made him nervous, but in a good way. I told him that I felt like I've known him for a long time... he seemed familiar, even though we had just met. We kissed goodbye in the rain that night.

I went to visit my family for Thanksgiving, and we communicated every day. He said that he was thankful to have met me, and I told him the same. I got back to St. Pete on a Sunday evening. I couldn't wait to see him, and I was so excited for my best friend to meet him for the first time. We hung out at the drum circle, and before heading back to my house, we took a walk on the beach. He brought me to an area where there was a sandcastle building competition days before. The sandcastles were starting to fall. We admired some of the broken sculptures and ran on top of the ruined ones. I felt playful and full of joy around him.

We stayed up for most of the night, and he shared with me... he had just gotten out of a four-year relationship and was having a hard time. He told me that he had anxiety and that he sometimes drinks too much. We talked about writing. Poetry was his release.

In the days that followed, things began to change. I started to receive text messages in the middle of the night. Scary messages that worried me. One said, "It's nights like these when I feel like giving up. It's nights like these when I don't give a fuck." Another text: "last thing you want to say." I tried to shower him with positive words and make him feel valued. I know that he was suffering from a broken heart... trying to drown it in alcohol, which only made things worse. During one of the late night calls, he said that he never sleeps and that he drinks every night.

Soon, the phone calls and text messages became less frequent. I wanted closure and I needed to know that he was ok. So, I tried to reach out to him. I brought him journals... a place to keep his words when things were bad. In the big journal, I wrote this: "Set good intentions and surround yourself with positive people. Happiness is inevitable if you just listen and embrace it." I also gave him a pocket sized journal, so he could carry it with him and write whenever he needed it. That one said, "When inspiration strikes, take the time to honor it."

Then, a couple weeks ago, I stopped hearing from him completely. I told him that I was here for him if he ever needed someone to talk to and that I honored him and valued him. The last thing he said to me was the message I started this blog with. I knew he was suffering, but I didn't want to bother him, so his message to me was our last communication.

I've been visiting his Facebook page every few days because I've been worried about him so much. In doing so, I always found poetry that scared me even more. These are some of his last words...

and my body lies as it hits the ground , i hear them start the statement, he was such a good soul but then they catch themselves, this is my hell this is my hell

grab my hand and let us pray, i scream please get the fuck away

I'm reckless and free now. You can't touch me now. My heart breaks for no one.

DIE YOUNG AND SAVE YOURSELF!!

I don't know what was worse... the scary messages or none at all. I was out of town for Christmas. I thought about him, though, and secretly hoped I would run into him at the drum circle on Sunday. I logged onto his Facebook page this morning... it had been almost a week since I last checked, and the first thing I saw was information about his service, along with RIP messages. My brain is fucking jumbled right now. I'm sharing this because I have to.