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I write.
I feel.
I think.
I suffer.

To my own mind, I suffer. To my own perceptions of reality, I suffer. To my own judgements of self and others, I suffer.

I cause myself pain when pain is not necessary.

I cause myself pain when I look for things to be wrong.

I cause myself to suffer when I judge myself for something I do not control.

I cause myself suffering when I assume the worst in other people.

I cause myself suffering when I assume something is not true simply because I’ve never experienced it before.

To me, I want to be kind.
To the person passing me on the road, I want to be kind.
To the person I see on the sidewalk, I want to be kind.
To the people that I do not understand, I want to be kind.

It is always within me to choose how I will see people and the world. It is up to me, and me alone, to decide if I will accept every thought as fact, or as something that could be faulty and questionable.

When I am unwilling to question the thoughts that come to my mind, I limit myself. I limit myself by thoughts and stories of the past. Thoughts that are often generated in worry, doubt, and fear.

Thoughts that are more about me and what I think about me, and less about the people, places, or situations that I am directing them at.

Because in this one life alone, we will have had hundreds of millions, if not billions of thoughts… do we really believe that all of those are of good nature?

Do we really believe that all of them are in our best interest?

The best interest of our families?
Of our communities?
Of our world?

I think not.

My thoughts of committing suicide, which led to three attempts certainly serve no one, other than a belief that it somehow benefited me.

But it completely negated myself at the same time. In reactive moments I believed the thoughts that said, “it’s scarier to be alive than dead”….and then I acted on them.

Three different times, before I was 21.

What if, however, I were to have questioned those thoughts as false? Faulty? Flawed?

What if I had questioned where they came from?

What if I had questioned alternative ways of looking at my life and the perceived situation of where I was at that time?

What might have came about if I had created a fresh lens to look at the world through?

One that saw my parents and family as people struggling just like me?

One that saw my situation as changeable and not permanent?

One that could separate fact from fiction?

One that saw myself as not alone in the struggle to feel like I belong. Like I am whole. Like I am human?

It was 15 years ago on Thanksgiving that I believed the thought that “life was scarier than death” – and I attempted to take my life that day with a bullet.

As I think about the many people that struggle year around, but especially during the holidays, something that would have helped me was to know that I was not alone.

I was not the only one that was terrified to go on

I was not the only one that struggled my way through family meals

I was not the only one that wanted to distance myself from everyone and everything

And more than anything, to know that I was not alone with the thought that I was broken, and life was no longer worth living.

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Be it during the holidays or any other time of the year.

Choose kindness