AysanIsayo

I lay in bed in the morning knowing it was a day meant for newness. The day when everyone sheds the happenings of the previous year and make promises to do better and different soon as the clock strikes midnight. But I woke up feeling the weight of all the old, heavy on my chest. I played the past year in my head like that pathetic movie we all dislike but somehow get sucked into. Anxiety became me, and I took one shallow breath after the other. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get a lick of sleep all night… it was all too familiar, the hole inside myself that I just can never seem to fill. Or maybe it was because once again I had tried something new, only to come back to the very old. No appetite for the day, usually how it works.

Clock strikes midnight and I look around me as all the bells and whistles of the New Year echo hope and happiness and I can’t help but let my mind run back again to the same old question, what if you were here? What the fuck, what IF you were here… was that all it took? Closing the gap? I asked him this morning what his resolution was, and I only got “not to have one.” And then life moved on again and I didn’t hear from him.

Three years, that’s how long it’s been. Three insufferable years of tormenting myself between wishes and impossibilities. Between silence and screams. Between hellos and goodbyes. Three years of trying hard to fill the emptiness of you with everything else. How did I get here? And why can’t I just let go?

It’s why I let go of writing, the challenge of gathering my thoughts together through the fog was undoable. Nothing made sense while I was warped in his world. Do people even want to hear about it? Was I the only one going through it? Through countless conversations with both women and men who had loved and lost, crossed their soulmates only to learn they could never be, I learned that I wasn’t. I remember when my girlfriend asked me why I had stopped writing because it was the only time she felt someone spoke the words she couldn’t put together and then I realized, this was bigger than him.

Or worst yet, when he asked me why I didn’t write anymore because it was the only time I let anyone this close. So I asked him if that’s why he always disappeared. Was I that hard to love? And he said no, it was because worlds separated us in ways we would never understand. And here I am, finally seeing it for what it is. Worlds that will always separate us.

I was sure I wouldn’t hear from him in regard to the new year anymore than our brief conversation earlier, and that’s when the phone call came in. “Happy New Years my love, my moonlight, I just wanted to call so you know your Prince Charming is still here and will always be here.” No response because what could I say to that? “Thank you, come again!” Because we all know he will, the very moment I’ve finally let go. As if he knows I’m on my way to the next and has to make sure I can’t forget him. What’s with that? Was it the game? The hunt?

That’s what 2016 was about. He had stopped speaking to me after a very intimate and passionate conversation about “us” and “possibilities” turned sour and depressing. We deleted each other out of everything that would assist in reaching each other again and that’s when the silence made me it’s victim. Taking jabs at me every time I heard a familiar voice or even worse of them all, became mesmerized with the moon. That’s what he was to me, the moon. Because no matter where I was, how far I got, he was there. And some part of me believes he always will be.

Six months had passed, and there were times I found myself reaching for him, pleading for him to speak again, making negotiations with the moons and stars. Maybe this one, no? Okay the next one. Many moons passed, but nothing. So it finally settled in, it was done. He had most likely moved on, and my turn was next.

Six months to be exact, and it was a rainy New York afternoon when an unknown number popped up on my phone. I had spent the day exploring Central Park for the first time ever, with a notion I couldn’t make sense of in the back of my mind. It was the kind of notion the earth gives way right before making a move, the calm before the storm, the lightning before the rain. I knew it was him, so I ignored it. Two more rings, I guess I’ll pick up. First words, “hi, do you reckon this voice?” How could I not know that voice? I would know that voice anywhere and at anytime. And that’s how he came back into my life, only to torment me some more.

That’s what 2016 has been about, learning to love someone you know will never be yours, unconditionally. Loving with no expectations. No strings attached. Just loving, not a person, not a thing… but everything. I knew one day I would have the dreaded conversation that led to him discussing a partner or significant other and this past year I worked on overcoming the fear of losing myself in the revelations. We had come close, both he and I. I’ve shared stories and he’s shared stories. And through the pain, I’ve found the strength to still be happy for him, and smile for him, and wish him the best of luck. Not because I force myself, but because I’ve learned that when you love someone, you truly have to care for their well being. Even if it comes at your own cost. In this journey, I found an inner peace and hunger for the things that are bigger than he and I, or anyone else for that matter.

When the clock struck midnight, I set my resolution because as much as I admired his need not to, I was different. I looked at every year as a new beginning with all new possibilities and this was a special one. I have never been more comfortable and in control of my emotions. This doesn’t mean I am able to turn off feelings or pain or happiness, but that I have come to understand and appreciate all of it much more, allowing myself to feel it all. Knowing that in the end, all will be well.

A few weeks ago someone asked me what my ultimate goal in life was and my initial answer wanted to be success. But the more I thought about it, the more apparent it became that it was love. Not the romantic, relationship love, although that too wouldn’t be so bad. But the inner kind of love, love for the beauty and the beasts that surround us in this life and world. So my resolution became to explore and search for those things placed around me that made the little stuff, so much smaller. Through this I plan on shedding the identity I have for so long been so comfortable with and reaching for boundaries I never would have imagined. My new motto for this year, catch me if you can.

Xo,

Aysan

Now that I have your attention, let me start by stating a disclaimer: This is not to depress you, but to raise awareness to an ongoing issue that has for so long been shadowed by the constant coverage of  Hollywood, politics and so forth. Suicide and depression is not and has never been a choice, it is a mental illness. One that needs to be acknowledged so that as a society, as human beings, we can continue to learn its weaknesses while being educated on the ways to defeat it. We need to understand it so that the labels surrounding it come to a stop, and those suffering will no longer be forced to suffer in silence. The end is not the end.

Today is my birthday, I know. I am beyond blessed to even be awake to write this at this moment; To be able to close another chapter and enter my 27th year of living and breathing; Most of all, breathing. As I get older, I find myself spending these days not hoping to celebrate my life, but searching for ways to help others celebrate theirs. I woke up this morning happy to be alive, but with a heavy heart. Heavy because by the time you have all congratulated me for my birthday, and as the day ends, 111 people will commit suicide in just America alone, and we will not hear about it. As I close another chapter in my life and recount all the great memories made in the past year, 1 million Americans will look back at their suicide attempts, and 40,000 families will mourn a family or friend who succeeded with these attempts. 22% of these suicides will consist of the very same soldiers who fought for our freedom. (American Foundation for Suicide Prevention).  The saddest part, we will never get to hear their stories.

We can stop these numbers from growing by acknowledging and spreading the word with love, hope and strength. Lets start by looking at our Facebook friend count, I personally have over 400 friends. If each of my Facebook friend (yeah, you) were to raise awareness and take the appropriate steps to identify and help people battling depression, the number of people attentive to suicide would grow while the number of deaths would decrease. You might think you are not that great or that you have no monumental power in this circumstance, but you are so wrong. It only takes 1 person who understands, is aware, and is willing to listen to save a life.

Yesterday, as I stood above my CEO’s desk, I noticed she had a quote on a sheet of paper that struck a chord with me. “Do not listen to respond, listen to understand.” Listeners: if someone comes to you, it is not because they seek answers or advice, they just need someone to understand and to just listen. This is where we all fail most times. We let our inability to respond to someone’s story make us uncomfortable and then we run in the other direction. It is okay if you do not know what to say, just listen. Sometimes, just simply listening can help more than anticipated.

When I knew I wanted to write this, it was never meant for selfish reasons and I vowed that I would not make it about me. This has been something I have wanted to write for a long time coming because it is time we start talking about depression and suicide so that people will no longer suffer in silence and can start sharing their stories. But to solidify what I am going to say next, I will give you a brief insight as to why I chose today to write this. Three years ago around this time, I woke up and could not rid myself of suicidal thoughts and despite a handful of people including medical professionals, I have never spoken of those thoughts out loud to anyone else since until today in this blog. Fortunately, I have been educated well enough to know something was not right and chose to seek immediate medical attention. I was very blessed to have a doctor who interrupted his day to see me and did nothing but listen while I shared my story and that is why I am still alive today. My thoughts did not happen because I was unhappy with myself, or because I had any terrible events occur to me. It did not happen because I was “emo” or seeking attention. I have long suffered from anxiety that then caused a chemical imbalance in my brain, as explained later by my doctor and psychologist. As a result, I was living in a haze unknowingly as I sunk deeper into depression and became emotionally unstable. While mine was a medical condition, please understand, bullying, abuse (both mentally and physically), changes and stressful events can all lead to depression as well. This article applies to ALL individuals suffering, whether biological or mental.

With that being said, I urge you to share your story and leave the floor open to anyone who wants to talk. It is not always easy for me to discuss these things and I have contemplated sharing my story publicly for a while now, but I have learned that sometimes, being an open book will not only help yourself, but many around you because it is saying, it is ok to talk. We are not judging. If you feel something you know is not right, raise your voice. I can guarantee you there is someone listening. I was fortunate to have medical insurance and was able to seek medical treatment, but unforunately in today’s day and age, not everyone can do that. That is why we all need to step in to help one another, not only by listening but also by expressing ourselves and our feelings. Do not allow yourself to suffer in silence, there is no reason to.  

Those who suffer and those who listen can come together to create a community that allows for this sort of dialogue to occur. That is my mission for the next many years to come. Even if it not an officiated organization, I want to challenge myself and challenge you to create this community so that we can all share our stories, whether suffering from mental illnesses or not, all will be welcomed to speak.  Maybe it's the hippie in me, but in a world ravaged by evil and misfortune, I think it's the least we owe to ourselves.

The end is not the end,

Mom,

Every year millions are spent in the flower, chocolate, beauty and fashion industries as everyone searches for an appropriate way of expressing their gratitude, love and adoration for their mothers. I too have been apart of that consumership for consecutive years and this year, when I thought of what I wanted to gift you with, I realized I've never really said this to you.

Today, at 26 years old, I reflect back on as many years as my memory will allow me and I have never appreciated anyone in my life more, as I do you. You are by far the strongest, most loving, caring individual I have ever seen. I have watched you wake up every morning, early, drive on dangerous roads to commute for work sometimes through dangerous conditions. You have then came home, after an eight hour of rigorous work of giving your love and care to elder individuals in need of someone with a big heart like yours, and tended to your family by ensuring that there was always a clean house and dinner on the table. I have watched you take care of your husband and children in times of illness while maintaining your elegance and strength. I have watched you raise two women, while dealing with our annoying shit sometimes, with unconditional love. I have watched you overcome every obstacle thrown your way, fearlessly. But to me mom, you have continuously forgiven me in my mistakes in life while at the same time teaching me morals and values that I now carry with me everywhere I go. You have proven why the title “mom” is such an understatement as you have been my guidance, my teacher, my aide, my mountain, my rock and most of all my best friend. You are an incomparable woman. I can only hope that if I do ever decide in the near future that I want kids, that one day they will look back and think of me as a mother that amounted to at least half the woman you are. You are my soul, my heart, and my everything. You are my superwoman and I couldn't even imagine my life without you. 

Happy Mothers Day,

  At 23 years old, an opportunity crossed my path and I found myself contemplating leaving behind my California roots for the great Sin City. I was younger and had spent several weekends adoring the infamous strip and the luxury it has to offer its guests and so when it became an opportunity, I figured “Why not” Despite warnings from some great business minds in my life, I picked up my stuff, drove to Vegas with my best friend and interviewed for a job, all the in the same day. After a 2 year hiatus from the working industry due to failure of the job market in California, I had finally scored a great opportunity that would keep in Las Vegas for some time. Three years later, at the age of 26, I reflect on the decision I made that day, May 12,2012 and wonder what kept me here so long, considering I have had the most toxic love and hate relationship with Las Vegas. Don’t get me wrong, to say being here for the past three years hasn’t had its advantages, id be completely cheating the city, but to say they’ve been wonderful, well id be cheating myself. Let me explain.

  I enjoyed the first six months a lot. I was young, I was living with my best friend, independent, making decent money, going out, experiencing everything sin city had to offer, partying all weekends, working during the weekdays and doing it all over and over again. But after six months, it just got old too quickly. I found myself in a bit of a down whirl spiral and had lost myself, slowly resenting the city, hating my job, lacking opportunities, and feeling lonely.  My resentment turned into depression and in fall of 2013, I found myself hanging off the edge and looking for ways to get back over the cliff. With the help of medical professionals, family and friends, I found a place where I could be happy with myself and that was enough at the time being. I picked myself back up, quit my horrible job, found a new one within weeks, and started looking for the positive aspects of living here. It got me by for a while, but there was and has always been that voice in the back of my head, telling me what I had known since the day I got to Vegas. It just wasn’t for me, no matter how hard I tried to make it feel like home, it would never be.

  Las Vegas is a major city, a very transitional city while millions fly in and fly out of the city on a weekly basis. People from all around the world plan days, months and years to visit the crazy Sin City while I had it all right in my backyard. When you come to Vegas, as a guest, you see the lights, the buildings, the people, and you think wow, what a luxurious city. But the more time I spent here, the more I realized that when you get off the 4.2 mile stretch that consists of all the resorts and casinos, there wasn’t much offered outside of it, just a bunch of desert and run down businesses holding on to whatever they could before being swallowed up by failures. The strip itself is ran by what most call “the game” and quite frankly, if you’re not apart of the “game” you have no business living in Las Vegas if you really want to “make something of yourself.” So what’s the game you ask. The game consists of drug dealing, mob and gangs, pimping and prostituting. These are the most successful people amongst the 600,000 people living here.  The dating scene lacked culture so badly it stunk. If you were to meet someone on a night out, there was a big chance they were from out of town (insert the negatives of living in a transit city) or were just looking for a nights lay (insert Vegas mentality).  After dating on and off for a while and continuously running into this problem, or finding myself having conversations with almost 30 year olds who lacked ambition and goals, I gave up on the dating scene until I relocate.  While Vegas is seeping with job openings, most are under paid and if not, they are dead end jobs that you will forcibly have to quit in hopes of acquiring a real opportunity, only to find out it’s the same shit, different scene. Las Vegas is also one of the most pretentious, shallow cities. If you arrive at the door of this city with all the confidence in the world, you should prepare yourself to see a majority of the confidence diminish while you’re thrown into a world where girls indulge in plastic surgery to look appealing to men they hope they will make their living off. And if you’re not apart of it, or look like them then they remain hell-bent on letting you know you’re not one of them and you start to lose a majority of the confidence you obtained. You are called a “Square” and the word in and of itself is the most degrading, disgusting word I’ve encountered due to the way it eats away at your self confidence.

  To say that it was all bad, like I said above, is unfair. Las Vegas taught me independence, it threw me out into a cold, cold world, in one of the coldest cities and taught me how to fight back, how to want, how to demand and how to determine what was best for myself. It helped me grow up and learn the most about myself. I’ve created some great memories with several people, including my best friend. But to say its ever been more than that, or there ever will be more than that would be an absolute lie.