I’d like for you, here, to make a long story short, like a short film, a quick glimpse, even like a breath. My life’s been up and down, sometimes mainly up and sometimes mainly down. I like to think of myself as a survivor. I survived many crashes until I got the big picture.

I finally understood, with help, that life is about being happy, content, at peace, at ease even.

“You don’t have to be anything or anyone else but yourself” a friend kindly said to me.

I was crying myself to sleep and walking up with the same internal dialogue that you’re nothing but a trans, a schizoid, a nobody.

Previously, in my other life, the one I never wanted to let go of … I had been a superstar, thinking at that time that I had to preserve my sense of humility or else I would become an unpleasant being.

You see, at a young age, I had the sense of oneness and spirituality but did not know what to do with it, could not share it openly and certainly hadn’t found ways to harness it.

… Until in my first psychosis, I became Jesus or Jesus-like …enduring his stigmas, being a martyr of life…

Pious, devoted, fearful, I was, but mainly suffering …anxiety driven, LOST…

I wish I had become a Buddhist monk earlier … finding refuge from all!

My luck changed, then was changing, then started anew … I finally after a few years of wandering helplessly, started connecting the dots, reaping benefits from my small steps in the desert.

A social network, exercising, letting go, medication, meditation, nature, friends, books, self-help, self-work, self-worth, grieving, breathing, believing, hoping, mourning, walking, even running, resting, sleeping, talking, reaching out, praying not too much, then a lot, then better, forgetting, deleting, choosing, surrendering, loving again, …

I started feeling the air on my face again, having a sense of connecting again, maybe even laughing again. Retrieving my senses gracefully as if I were allowed to be conscious again …