The Great Depression/You Will Heal

It's been a while since I've posted anything. Probably because the past few months I've felt as if I had nothing to say that was worth writing about.

But really, it was because I was ashamed. Ashamed that my life changed in an instant. That I got knocked down, and suddenly I didn't know how to get back up. That suddenly I felt worthless, hopeless, useless. I just felt less than what I was. And that's not like me at all. I felt ashamed because I felt something was wrong with me, and I didn't know what.

After the first hospital stay, I got back up as soon as I could. Probably much earlier than I should have. I didn't think of it at the time. But "resting" wasn't my thing. I couldn't stand staying in bed. I decided that if I put in my mind that I was healed, then maybe I was. After all, I had a dream to pursue. Everyone was counting on me. I didn't want anyone to think I was weak. I had already been accused of that, I didn't want to go through that again.

But the body is a funny machine. It usually tries to tell you something is wrong, when your mind tries to tell you otherwise. Sometimes it tries to tell you that you're working too hard pursuing the wrong path.

Hence, the second hospital stay happened. Recovery from this felt a lot longer. Mainly because there was no operation to fix it. (And even up until now, I still feel like I'm recovering. From a sickness I can't fully understand because even doctors can't tell me what's wrong.)

It got worse from there. After multiple check-ups, and eliminating foods from my diet until at one point I could only have water and air, I was just exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally. I didn't see the point in anything. I would get angry at everything and everyone. I would cry at the drop of a hat. I didn't want to get out of bed. I had no motivation. Whenever someone told me "Be strong/ Don't be sad/Count your blessings" I became overwhelmed which led to frustration, which led to more anger. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. I didn't trust anyone anymore. I was just done.

Weeks passed by, and the thoughts in my mind grew darker. Dark enough to the point where it scared me. I've never in my life thought my mind could go there. So I talked to my doctor, who diagnosed me with mild depression, and even gave me medication for it. And strangely enough, I wasn't upset about the diagnosis. In fact, I was relieved that after a string of uncertainties, I finally got an answer. I was suddenly on the road to reflection, where I confronted feelings that I had been suppressing. Feelings of anger, confusion, and betrayal of loved ones to name a few.

"Why is she talking about this?" You're probably thinking to yourself as you read this. "Why is she airing out her dirty laundry? Why is she being such an whiny-emo-baby-drama-queen?".

Believe me, I've heard these questions before (unfortunately). I'm not writing this to make you feel sorry for me. I'm writing this because I have met too many people in my life who are afraid to talk about depression. As if it is something to be ashamed about.

I'm writing this for the people who went through this, and are still going through this. I'm writing this because I know there are people out there who experience hurtful comments about their condition (Not necessarily from bad people, but rather people who don't understand their condition. Yes, it is a condition. I'm saying it multiple times. It is a condition).

And I want you to know that I can hear you, and I know it hurts.

I know that when people tell you to "be strong", it brings you little comfort because it makes you believe that it's not ok to not be strong.

I know that when people say: "Stop being sad", it frustrates you because it feels like they're telling you to "stop being sick", and you don't know how to do that.

I know that when people say "You have no reason to be sad", you know that having money/a relationship/a "nice body"has nothing to do with you being happy/sad.

I know this, and I want you to know that you are not alone. That it can happen to anyone. It's still happening to me. And Lord knows I was afraid of writing such a piece because it opens the door to a lot of judgement. But hopefully, it opens the door to understanding as well. And I would rather be honest and lose people, than hide and still feel alone.

I'm also writing this because I don't want you to lose hope. I know it can be very easy to do so. But if happiness can be temporary for all of us, the same thing must go for pain as well.

Looking back at one of my old unpublished entries (below) written a long time ago, it makes me believe that there's a part of us that's still fighting for ourselves, that accepts who we are, broken insides and all.

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"You Will Heal"


Broken things heal. They really do.

It's safer to believe that we can't heal. It's safer because not only does it not require us to admit that we want more, it also requires us to not do any more.

To want more requires responsibility, it requires more work. It requires us to grow. And to grow, it means we have let ourselves get hit hard in the face with the truth. We have to let ourselves get scared a little bit.

Yes, it will hurt. But you will heal.

My biggest fear in the world isn't failure. It isn't heartbreak. Maybe because I've experienced both many times that I've acquired some resilience to it. They don't hurt any less when it happens, but there's always that part of me that knows it's nothing I can't survive. And I have survived.

My biggest fear has always been being alone. Though it may seem like a rational fear, it becomes irrational when I let it dictate the rest of my life. Every time I've annoyed, disappointed, lost, or cut off someone in my life, there is that part of me that believes that it is one step closer to me ending up all alone.

And that fear has caused me to do many desperate things, including selling myself out, and compromising my needs just to keep whatever good thing I think I may have. But I should know that when I'm spending all my energy doing so, then it really isn't a good thing anymore.

We are a complicated species. Though it is hard not to take things personally, we have to understand that people change. People come and go. Not because you're a bad person, or because you're not good enough, it's that everyone has their own needs and we owe it to ourselves to figure out what those needs are. Sometimes relationships end so badly beyond repair, and sometimes people just drift apart. It happens. We can't spend our lives trying to fix things that clearly wanted to be changed.

But I'm not preaching. As a matter of fact, I'm writing this down to remind myself of this. Because If I have another off day/week/month/year, and I decided to look back on my past reflections, I would want to know that I learned something through a difficult time.

Because let's face it, we're all still trying to figure things out. And that's not a bad thing. It's not an embarrassing thing to admit. Even the older, more successful ones than you don't always have it figured out. And that's OK.

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<3 Alexa

Something's Coming (Or "Goodbye 2012")

Do you ever feel like something great is about to happen? I've felt that way for years.

And as each year goes by, I've slowly seen signs, and listened closely. Not every sign was pleasant. In fact, most of it was quite painful. But I kept listening, and it would get me to the next step.

Every time I've reacted strongly to something, I couldn't chalk it down to being super emotional, or dare I say, crazy. If anything, it served as a shining beacon to my path of self-discovery. If 2012 had a theme for me, it was the year of "Change and Healing".

2012 was an interesting year, an emotional rollercoaster as we all like to call it. It taught me a very important lesson about how big a part fear played into my life, but not in the way I thought.

I seemed to be more scared of things actually staying the same, rather than the unpredictability of it all.

I was more scared that I was playing it too safe, rather than taking risks.

I was more scared that I was listening to everyone else's opinions of how I should be living my life, rather than trusting my own instinct.

When life shifted that October in the hospital, so did my whole perspective. Though the initial response would be to see this as a obstacle, I saw nothing but good things about to happen, as painful as the process was.

Life was once again giving my stubborn Aries mind a sign, to not be afraid. That pain is temporary, and that wounds...physical or emotional...They heal. That it is fear that makes the pain worse.

I've learned that most of the pain I had dealt with was due to letting myself be in situations where I allowed it to happen to me. And I've learned that sometimes we inflict the pain on ourselves because maybe deep down we believe it's what we deserve. But we don't. As a matter of fact, we deserve more.

I've also learned that being an optimist doesn't mean being oblivious to the darkness of life. As a matter of fact, it needs to be acknowledged, so that we can learn how to bring more light.

I've learned that if you don't like a situation you can't change, you can change your attitude or how you approach it. It's something that been said for years, but it doesn't really mean anything unless you've actually lived it.

I've learned that it is human nature for people to be looking out for themselves, and there is no reason you shouldn't be doing the same. There's nothing wrong with being selfless. But if you find yourself going out of your way for others rather than taking care of you, you're not doing anyone (especially yourself) any favors.

I'm not saying that the end of year ended with me being a perfect person. I don't think that's ever possible. However, I am definitely more happy with myself than I was at the beginning of the year. I made it a point to start making changes in my life even before the new year began. And it didn't necessarily work magically, or right away. The process is always an awkward, embarrassing mess. But I never, ever regret going through the first step. Or anything at all for that matter.

2012 may not have been the most pleasant. But it was definitely one of the most important.

And I'm ready 2013. To listen and learn even more.





 

She Who Will Rise Again

Sometimes I wonder if people want to be with me because of who I am, not because of what I do. It's a question that comes up every now and then, and it's something I'm still learning.

I made the decision to be an actor when I was 9, and to be a film maker when I was 21. Ever since, the work has never ended. The classes, the workshops, the networking. Non-stop. And I love doing it...

But it's been such a huge part of my life, that people sometimes forget that outside of all this, I'm still a normal person. Who likes to do normal things. Like sleep. And eat. Or just do nothing and watch bad television.

When the operation happened, that's when I was forced to see who I was outside of the films and all that good stuff. I was a human being, that bleeds and gets hurt just as much as the next person. And it was during that time I was starting to see things for what they really are. And seeing the truth is scary. Honesty is scary.

But it doesn't take a stay at the hospital to make me feel as if  I'm weak. The rewards for taking risks are absolutely wonderful, but there are days (weeks, months) where you feel as if you've fallen and you don't know how to get back up again.  And it's in these moments that reveal who are meant to be in our lives.

It's in these moments where people show you their true colors, and when people show you their true colors, you better believe it and make your decision then.

Because if I had lost my ability to film, who would still want me? Who would still want to be around me? I've asked myself these things during my many, many failures.

It's no wonder famous people get crazy. The minute you reach success, it's wonderful. You relish in it, and people just want to celebrate every moment with you. But people can turn on you the minute you make a mistake, or a bad movie.

I think that's why I went on this little spiritual journey of mine. To figure out who I was outside of my passion, when the production ends and the cameras aren't rolling. Who I am when I'm not escaping to create.

And I must say, the search for one's self has been incredibly revealing, and it is painful to open up old wounds that never truly healed. But for the sake of me and my art, it had to be done.

And what I've learned about myself is that in no matter what I do, I give it my all, even if it my "all" isn't a lot. However, I seem to be more active in helping others than in helping myself. I guess I had always figured that's just what someone does so that they'd never be alone.

But as soon as I fall, if I failed, I had started to realize that the number of people that helped me get back up did not even come close to the number of people I had helped.

Like I said, the truth is scary, and it hurts like hell. But now that I've seen that truth, I can't go back. Nor do I want to. I have only one life to live, and I was lucky to get a second chance to live it, and I  refuse to live a life that's based on lies I wanted to believe.

I want the real thing.

The Next Step

During the first few months in my new city, I once said that the darkest thoughts come during the quiet moments of my life, which is why I always try to surround myself with noise.

It explains my impatience. Why I get so antsy when things stay the same, when nothing happens. Why I can't just sit down and truly give myself a break.

Escaping into a world of fantasy is easy. To get lost in one's art can create a feeling of euphoria. Of purpose. But what happens when a project is finished? What happens when you get back in to real life?

That's what I wanted to figure out. When I lived back home it seemed that art was an excuse to run away. When I came back, so did the thrill. At least for a while.

But there was always that part of me that just wanted to stop running, and face the inner demons so set on consuming whatever it was that kept me going in life. I wanted to explore that light that came out after hitting rock bottom. Even if it meant going through the darkness.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but the important thing is I've been given a second chance to figure it out.

She Comes Home

I feel like I lived an entire life in the span of one month.

But I guess that happens when you've almost faced death. Life starts to come at you fast.

Really fast.

And sometimes, it's hard to get others to keep up with you. And many times it seems you're doing too much, too soon, too quickly. And they are not at fault for thinking that way. That's just how it works. Their experiences are different than yours. They have a different journey.

I've always said that the world I've envisioned is a great place to be. My problem was always convincing others to come with me. I can only show them through my actions, which many times I've had to do on my own. I had to be my own support system. My own cheerleader. My own coach.

It's why I love collaboration. I can only give them a taste of what I'm thinking, have them interpret what I mean, make minor adjustments if only to push them further, and bring them closer to my world. Because the closer they are, the more they can see and understand me, what I'm all about.

It can be extremely scary though, to show a piece of your heart. To put yourself out there, and to expose yourself to vulnerability. But I think I've learned heartache after heartbreak, that it builds some kind of resilience. You have no idea what you can survive until you actually go through it. And it seems to me that the heart is much stronger than I give it credit for.

My Uncle once told me that the reasons why artists go through pain is because when we create, we can create the ending we were hoping for. And for a very long time, I've wondered if I was cursed to go through such pain for the sake of writing stories.

I come from a long line of great storytellers. Those who have lived through such times as the war and persecution, with nothing but their imaginations to entertain them. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to be that person to do a little song and dance if it meant that it would help people forget about their problems (Or at least acknowledge what they were going through to know they weren't alone), even for just a moment. I guess that part of me never died, even when I developed the complexities of the grown-up world.

Starting over is never easy, no matter how many times you do it. It's always scary to start from scratch, to pick yourself up again and begin anew. It's uncomfortable, it's weird, and dare I say, lonely. And many times I miss the cozy life I once had, where everything I needed and wanted was within reach.

But that is exactly why I left that life. Because I was tired of being too comfortable. I wanted adventure,   the epiphanies, and a life to say that I built with my own two hands, no longer being in anyone's shadow, but stepping into the light.

I wanted my own story. And if this is what it takes, so be it.

I'm not done yet. Not even close.

Cabin Fever

2nd week of recovery brought on a horrible case of cabin fever. I didn't realize how appealing (and scary) the outside was.

Staring at the ceiling should be considered some kind of torture. It's amazing how dark the mind can go when one is left with their thoughts. All the doubts, fears, and issues all come flooding at once, it's no wonder we try to keep ourselves busy to forget all about it.

There are days I questions the decisions I make. The fear rushes in, telling me that my mistakes are going to cost me my future, my dreams. That everyone was right about me. That I am not as good as I think I am, or that I don't do enough. That I am wasting my time with my silly self-discoveries.

But then again there's always that part of me that says: "Who the fuck asked them?"

I need to remember why I made these decisions about my life. Because it's MY life. Plain and simple. People can tell me that I'm no good, that I need a makeover (or need to lose weight, cut my hair, etc.), or that I need to do more with my life, but seriously...If none of these people said anything (or if I just didn't listen) I would probably be really happy with where I'm at right now.

Yes, I just had an operation that could have been fatal. For a condition I had no control of. But I'm alive, aren't I? I'm alive, and I get a second chance. To continue to do the things I said I was going to do, without anyone's input of how it should be lived.

Yes, the path I chose is harder. Yes, the life I left was more comfortable, and I really do need to start all over again, and it's not going to be a smooth ride. Things won't come as easy as they did in the past. I may have to double the effort. Yes, it's going to be lonely. And people are going to be disappointed in me. But it's not their life. It's not their journey. I have to start somewhere, and if somewhere is the bottom then so be it. I can't give up just because my path suddenly got harder. If anything, I should be excited that a new adventure has begun.

I'm tired of being scared. I'm tired of looking back and wishing I had approached something another way. I'm tired of listening to others, and their opinions of me regardless of the fact that I am perfectly aware of who I am and what I need.

And what I need right now is me.

Post-OP

I keep forgetting that this is the age when we're still trying to figure things out.

Sometimes life has a way of telling you to stop, when you feel as if you're going around in circles.

In my case, mine came in the form of a surgery. An unexpected surgery.

It was called Meckel's Diverticulum.  For once in my life, it wasn't something I did, or ate. It was something congenital. I really was just born with it. And apparently I was part of the 2% that ended up getting problems with it later on in life.

And I must say, it sure as hell came at the most inconvenient time. At least that's what I've been thinking on the surface. But that back part of my mind seems to be telling me something else.

I was given 6 weeks of recovery time. I'm only on my first week, and I'm already I'm going crazy. I can't work. I need to walk, yet I can only be out for limited amounts of time. I can't do any "streneous activity". Writing and creating seems more like a chore than something to look forward to, because being busy is what flows those creative juices---Blah, blah, blah...

Now, this may seem like whiny ramblings, but I do believe something is at work here. A story, perhaps. Or maybe a discovery.

It begs the question: Who am I, when my ability to do things is taken away?

I don't have an answer to that yet.

But I do know why that is why I moved to this strange land.

To figure that out.

Welcome to week one.