Honey, I’m home.

It’s so incredibly relaxing to sit in the comfort of oblivion. So peaceful to adopt a who cares attitude.  I am absolved of all responsibility.

I was searching the webernet for tips on trimming cat claws a few years back, and came across a video by an animal behavioralist named Dr. Sophia Yin.  The video was good, her personality engaging and attractive. Intrigued by what she had to say, I searched for more of her work, and found an article detailing her suicide.  In it, a co-worker and friend of hers spoke of her insecurity concerning her career. Even as her business grew by leaps and bounds, apparently she felt she was failing her clientele. Her friend felt differently, as did reviews from her clients. She knew her stuff.

She jogged for exercise, and mentioned to her friend that she “couldn’t outrun the sadness.” They discussed suicide in general terms, but he said he never got the impression that she was struggling to the extent that she was, and on September 28, 2014, Dr. Yin took her own life.

I’m comforted by her story. I suppose I feel less like the chicken sh*t coward that I perceive myself to be, and that society needs me to be so as to maintain its view that suicide is the cowards way out.  This woman was a success. Her story is one of exhausting effort and brilliance.  Yet, she “couldn’t outrun the sadness.” That simple.

I use her story to justify my feelings. I commiserate to feel connected, less alone, understood. I make her an ally, and comfortably rest in the warmth of realization that sometimes things just aren’t meant to be what they could be. I rest in her choice, I bask in it and savor it. It is so inviting, a sirens call amidst the noise of society’s clamor.

I have a list of names. Those who couldn’t find their way, and chose to take matters into their own hands. It runs the gamut of personalities and career choices.

It is a human list, fraught with pain and confusion as manifested by their actions. It’s a dysfunctional means of coping for me, but as the scales fall from my eyes, I see that all I do is dysfunctional…the things I excel at are just roles I’ve learned to play.

Am I functional? Am I non-dysfunctional? Barely. I’m an actor, and at the end of the day, I open my door and slide into comfy jammies and fuzzy slippers. I hang up my mask and I relax in the comfort of others pain. I dont…judge them, I don’t idolize them…Oh no, wait…I do.

I am comforted that there are those who have achieved much more than I could ever imagine who also were battered, bruised and bewildered by the storms of life. I hold them up, my banner to those who AREN’T CAPABLE of understanding this pain, and I flaunt it in their faces, screaming “Who’s a coward now? Explain their flaws to me…use your twisted textbook knowledge to rationalize the insane acts of the chronically hurting…marginalize them as weak and inept to boost your own ego’s…tell me there’s always a solution.”

Obviously, there isnt.

It’s good to be home.