I quit believing that suicide is a solution to my problems

Here is an oxymoron for ya. I am the happiest depressed person ever. Or the most depressed happy person?! Either/or.
But really! I am probably one of the happiest, funniest, goofiest person when we first meet or if we just meet once in a while in social settings. I crack jokes all the time, I am witty (not to toot my own horn, because I have no idea where these random one-liners come  from at all) sometimes I even crack myself up with the thought I have (it is a cool party on the inside for sure). People who don’t know me describe me as a positive, upbeat person with lots of energy and it is so easy to be around her because you can just be effortlessly yourself.

And all of this is true!

But that’s only one side of the coin.

The other one is much much darker. No, not on a sociopathic, serial killer level dark, but more on a “everything is fucked up, nothing makes any sense, this whole existence is pointless…and what’s even worse: I am a mistake! I shouldn’t even exist and everyone else around me would be so much better off without me being alive.”

And the worst part of the whole thing is that I truly, honestly believe these thoughts when they appear. Because they find the perfect setting for them to emerge and be believable to me.

I am not sure when my suicide attempts have started, but I was fairly young I remember. Yes, I didn’t have an ideal childhood (which is the case with most depressed people in general), my mother never really liked me, matter of fact despised me for looking and acting more like my dad, she could never understand me and my dad was an alcoholic artist who was mostly either passed out and locked us kids outside for days or was beating my mom because they argued. But again, this is not necessarily the most traumatic childhood either (gosh, why am I always downplaying the trauma of my past?!). Well, anyways, my mom did the best she could with the circumstances she had and with her own shit she brought from her own childhood, yet I still ended up traumatized, hurt, and messed up. Since I was little I didn’t like to be alive. I felt like I was tired of life yet I barely started it. In my teen years I remember feeling homesick constantly but I didn’t know towards what kinda “home” because it certainly wasn’t mine, that’s for sure. I have always longed for a tribe of people to belong to, to feel at home in and find my place in this world, yet my family has moved so much that I never had the chance to create this tribe around me….ever.

So here I am with this upbeat, fun and funny personality towards the world (and that’s just as legit as the dark one, don’t get me wrong) but then there is the deep, dark and scary side that hates herself, blames herself for everything and thinks that she is a curse for everyone around her.

I’ve done a lot of self-help shit, (not much success, only temporary) and done therapy some, with not much success either. I’ve done ayahuasca, because I knew the root cause is somewhere much deeper, and while it was eye-opening, it still didn’t solve my problem.  I used to fantasize about my death, contemplate about how to kill myself (I would not be brave enough to jump off of anything, because I know I would change my mind halfway down but that would be too late. Also wouldn’t wanna shoot myself because my aim is shitty, and with my luck I would only end up paralyzed but alive. Hanging myself would make me look very ugly to the one who finds me, and I am too vain for that. So overdosing is always the winning method) then I started wondering how many people would even find out about my death and show up to my funeral. And let’s be honest, I don’t think many would. Maybe my kids and my ex (since he would have to be the one organizing it…that poor guy :)))  and my mom and my brother if they could get over their current hurt (or relief) of me not talking to them, but other than that, I think I successfully alienated most of the other people in my life who I used to call friends, and now all I have is acquaintances who might not even find out about it, unless someone updates my Instagram account. But all jokes aside, dying always seemed like a relief to me, an escape from my current, unsolvable situation that my mind created so often. Maybe it is not as often as it used to be, because it only hits me once or twice a year these days, but when it rains, it pours! When my dark clouds gather, it is the ugliest storm ever. I feel trapped in my world, in my own thoughts, in my own life, in my own skin, and I want to get out of it. I want to run away, find a new identity, find a new ME, leave everything that’s Me behind me & find a relief from all these suffocating thoughts. But the funny thing is, wherever I go, I bring myself with me. I bring these thoughts with me. And no matter what I do, I will always feel guilty of any choices I make on a whim that’s rushed.

I just had a recent hit of this shitstorm lately, got into an argument with my mother & brother over some petty shit, that strike a cord with me and brought up some past traumas (that I thought I was over already, but was I wrong), and I decided that I don’t need family anymore. They are useless anyways. They have an attitude when I ask them to help out with the kids, they constantly criticize me for any choice I make, so what good does it do to me to have them in my life and always trying to help them in return (yes, I’m playing the victim card now, but there is a ton of truth in it as well…but I am aware that I am in a “woooo me” mode). So as I Xed my family out of the picture, and my ex asked me to let the kids go over to his place for Christmas, I decided that I will be completely alone this time. I was hurt. And on top of it all, all of my existing and non-existing friends decided to not contact me for more than a week as well (but they stalk every story I post on FB…hmmm) so I let that shit go as well.

I have no family. No friends. No nothing. All I have was ME! The painful truth. But again, isn’t that always the case anyways? No one can ever really connect with you on a level that would be satisfying anyways, so why do we even have this illusion that it is possible? We all live in our own universes, our own bubbles, and there is absolutely no cross over.

So there I was, just like Macaulay Culkin,  HOME ALONE for Christmas, and I had a  lot of time to think. Which is dangerous. My mind started going down the black rabbithole of me being a horrible mother (this thought is a gift I’m sure I got or inherited from my precious mother) and I started listing the reasons why my kids would be so much better of without me…and I almost got myself convinced. I can be so convincing, sometimes even I can’t resist my own charm). Then I started thinking about the method of exiting, and googled what kinda OTC pills would be able to do the job. Then I was wondering if after swallowing them, would I call someone to get me to the hospital in panic, or would I just ride it out and see what would happen?  Then I thought, shit, if the mission doesn’t end “well”, I could mess up my health and I would have to keep going with a messed up stomach, more acne and health issues on top of my own mental issues. Then I started thinking, “man, this whole Christmas suicide might not be the best idea because that would ruin Christmas for my kids for the rest of their lives most likely.”

So that’s when I gave up this whole self-pity party when I realized that nothing good would come out of it. I don’t know where I would end up after death, but you know what?! Sooner or later I will get to find out anyway. Eventually we all die. Sometimes I would like to speed up the process though, but I decided that I won’t. It will come. The right time and the natural timing of it will come eventually even if I want it or not. But until then, I stay alive. Even if I am sad, I hate life, I feel lonely and I am nowhere near where I “think” I should be…. I have only one thing to do. Stay alive until I can’t. Even if I sleep all day long, I’ll stay here. Even if I don’t see anyone for weeks, I will stay here. Even if I go through dark phases and lose hope in humanity and civilization, and people and anything possible, I’ll stay here until I’m taken out of the game. But it is NOT my call to decide when that time comes. I just find relief in the fact that it will come eventually.

And until then, I sit still, and I know that this is only temporary, like every storm. It comes, it rains, it destroys then it goes. It goes! It always goes away! Every depressing phase I had in my life went away if I gave it enough time. And the sun came out and I could find some joy in life again. Some happiness. Some hope.

And isn’t that what this whole life is all about? Experiencing both sides of the spectrum. The light and the dark. The heavy and the light. The bad and the good…and everything in between. We are here to explore the feelings, the thoughts, the calm and the storm.

And when it is all said and done, and there is nothing else left to learn, we move onto the next level in the game.

Most likely when I get my shit together and I start fully enjoying this human experience, that’s when my time will be up… it’s just my luck!



I quit being ashamed & shy about my naked body.

My friend asked me to go with her to Breitenbush Hot Springs and since I had nothing better to do, I agreed to this plan. I’ve never been to this place, but I’ve always heard the name floating around, so it was on my bucket list of things to do anyway. I packed my swimsuits, towels and flip flop and was ready to roll. Little did I know that I was in for a surprise.  As we rolled up to the property, and I asked my friend where I could change into my bathing suit, she looked at me surprised then bursted out in laughter. She then informed me that it was a nude hot springs and people don’t wear bathing suits or fig leaves around here.  I was immediately drenched in cold sweat, my face turned bloody red and I was contemplating my escape route, but she was the driver and we were pretty far from my home, so I stayed.

Mind you, I have no problem being naked or hairy (down there) …in the comfort of my home, maybe even in front of my children, if I want to be adventurous, free spirited and wild. 🙂 But I have NEVER EVER in my 35 years been to a nudist beach or hippy dippy hot springs where people of every shape and sizes ( although unfortunately there wasn’t much of the color variety ) walk around in their birthing suits, hairy as God has intended them to be. Well, I thought, this is gonna get me out of my comfort zone immediately, so I proceeded on this wild journey, and did drop my clothes as we approached the first outdoor hot tub. The scenery was serene, gorgeous and calming, but on the inside I was shy, embarrassed, nervous, stressed, my heart was beating so fast it almost jumped into the pool before me. I might have even been sweating, but it is hard to tell in a hot tub. But I made it all the way into the tub and quickly folded and twisted my tiny body into a little pretzel, trying my best to disappear and become invisible, with not much luck. Then I started noticing all the inside chatter that was going on in my head: “I bet these people are watching me. I wonder if they notice my pancake boobs with the dark areolas and big nipples. No to mention that they are soggy like war-ridden,  deflated socks. Or my pussy…oh, boy, better hide that. At this point I was actually happy that it wasn’t perfectly shaven, which would have caused me to die of embarrassment if I was caught in bed like that during intercourse, but here it was a shield of protection at least. But it is definitely not in porn star shape, by far. (Actually, not bad at all, but I am so hard on every little piece of my body, it’s not even funny anymore.) Or my belly button, boy, they will see that it is an outie. Or my posture, not straight and confident enough? But how could it be? I am trying to shrink over here, like Alice in wonderland.”

Oh, the thoughts. Then I didn’t even want to look at anyone else, I felt so weird, as if I was invading their privacy. But they dangled their privates in front of me freely, as they were exiting the sauna or the tub like this was the most natural form of existence.
In reality, it is. Underneath our clothes, we are all naked anyway. But our social and cultural conditioning got us thinking that covering up is the normal and most natural way of being. It is not the same with tribal people, but here in our “civilized” society, we believe that modesty is noble.

Once I overcame my initial shock of being naked -and so are other people around me as well-  I started talking to my friend about hang-ups, inhibitions  and where do all these things come from. My 4 yr old is already self conscious about her ARMPIT 🙂 because it has lines in it (facepalm) and that she has a side-boob if she wears a tight leotard. Where on earth does this come from, especially at this age??? So I asked my friend about the time when she first became conscious that something on her body was not “supposed to be” the way it was? Because before that thought enters your mind and we believe it, we have absolutely no problem with anything on our bodies. But once someone says something (because most of the time it is someone else pointing something out, and usually not in a nice way) and we believe it, we become aware of that body part, and we become ashamed of it. Like when I was about 13 yrs old and I was wearing my shorts at PE class, this nice “gentleboy” (cuz he wasn’t a fullbloom man just yet) next to me looked down and said: “Wow, what a mammoth legs you have. You should shave.” Never once occurred to me that my body wasn’t right the way it was, until it was pointed out to me. Just like I never realized that there could be a problem with your privates,too, until I heard guys making fun of “met curtains or beef sandwiches” or criticize someone else’s “pancake butt” or people talk about ” innies and outies”. Once you are aware of it, you create a complexion in your mind and you try to hide it or change it in order to appear “normal”. In worse cases you develop mental illnesses like anorexia, bulemia or body dysmorphic disorder.
Our prude culture sure doesn’t help this phenomena with us never being exposed to REAL naked human variety of body shapes and types. Even if we are, it’s either photo shopped, picture perfect female bodies in magazines sponsored by big beauty companies banking on our insecurities, or porn star girls with their many plastic surgeries like labioplasty, boob jobs or anal bleaching….yes, you heard me right! So how can a regular human being compete with this? When that’s your only exposure to other naked human bodies, and automatically you start comparing yourself with them, and you will fall short (cuz most of us do) then you are bound to feel less than them.  But when you do hang out with these “hippies” in nudist beaches and hot springs, you do realize that there are human bodies in ALL shapes and sizes, and no matter if you are tall or short, fat or skinny, hairy or shaven, big or small boobs or penis, innie or outie, you are all perfect as you are. You have a body, that is your vehicle, takes you everywhere, let’s you experience the hot water, let’s you enjoy earthly pleasures, helps you feel so many things that otherwise you wouldn’t be able to….and they are all perfect as they are. Anything other than this is just what YOU THINK AND BELIEVE onto them, nothing else. In reality, a body is just a body….and what I decided to think and believe onto them, is what makes me suffer or enjoy it. If I believe my body is not OK as it is, I will suffer. If I accept it as it is, and I actually appreciate it, I might even enjoy this worldly experience I am having.

The choice is mine. And thankfully by the end of the day, I switched my mindset and I was confidently walking in and out of the tubs as if being naked was the most comfortable, natural state I could ever be…. because in reality: IT IS!



I quit trying to figure it all out…

No, I have not quit my blog (yet), but it’s only a matter of time, knowing my personality… or my accumulated collection of patterns in this earthly flesh, as they would call a personality.

I don’t know, man….

The modern, western human is so depressed and depressing in these modern days. We spend our whole days in cement buildings, sitting in front of little black boxes, isolated, boxed up with our wild, random thoughts that attack us from nowhere, and we believe them without even questioning them for a second, then drive ourselves crazy with them. We barely ever move, or see the sunlight, interact with real flash and bone humans, mother nature, share emotions with each other. We just look at our mini computer in our hands 24/7, feeling “connected” but in reality we are only connected to a fake, manipulated, photo shopped virtual reality. We are constantly told to work hard, grind harder, hussle til we die, never give up, follow our passion, life our lives to the fullest, gain more and buy even more, get your dream job and after that dare to dream even bigger, always chase your own tail and never catch it.

And maybe it is necessary, in order to get us going, to make us “feel” useful, to make us spend prison time without contemplating the pointlessness of this life we have found ourselves in the middle of and can’t seem to be able to make any sense of it whatsoever. Because what is the point in reality???

We are born without being asked if we even wanted to. Then we just float around in this weird “oneness” where nothing is separated and we cry and laugh whenever the game-makers decide to. Then slowly we learn to attach symbols to different objects and we are hypnotized into this so called shared reality….or at least we think it is shared, but who knows, really?! Is there a way to prove it? Our perception of anything is very customized, very personal, depending on our filters, memories and understanding. How will I ever know what the other person is thinking on the inside? I can never be sure of anything. If they tell me the truth or is it a lie? Is anything really true after all? The longer you think about something, evidently it will turn into a lie. And if nothing is true, do I really wanna live in a world full of lies? Or having a big fat nothing underneath it all, would that be even better? Isn’t that even more depressing? Is it true that love is what all there is? Or is that another soothing, calming lie again to keep the masses sedated? Or is this just fear talking again?

I swear my mind drives me crazy! And who is that “Me” who is going crazy underneath it all? Really…..

So I stopped. I don’t want to figure out anything anymore. If I am just an avatar in the game, what can I do about it anyway? If I want to escape, how will I know that “out there” will be that much better? Or is it fear speaking again? Is really everything I ever wanted is on the other side of fear or is that just another Insta worthy quote for the masses again?

Ah, I don’t know, I don’t care.

I am not trying to figure it all out. What life is about…what my life is about?  What am  I supposed to do with my life? Is there free will or are we just puppets in this show called life? I don’t care if I have a purpose or not. What will that change anyway?

I’ll still ” chop wood, carry water” either way. What will knowing change in reality? Nothing.

I…or my Ego…just likes chewing on these thought bones endlessly and keeping itself occupied, because that’s it’s job. To spin, to chew, to think, to go crazy.

But maybe, just maybe, underneath it all, there is a quiet, calm, content and happy ME… maybe.



I quit slut-shaming myself (and others)


I live in a delusional world. And so does everyone else.

Up until yesterday the picture of me in my head was an innocent, playful but harmless little girl who is not that into sex, not that comfortable with her sexuality and is certainly not using her sexual powers to seduce men. Not only that she doesn’t use them, but purposefully suppresses it as well. Just like Elza in Frozen. She is aware that she has a cool and powerful superpower, but since it can be used for destruction once in a while, she is better off not using it at all.

Well, that was ME in MY HEAD…. until reality came knocking on my door. I was talking to a friend of mine about men and my experience with them, when that specific friend asked me to finally write down the list of the guys I’ve had sex with after my marriage. I got divorced 3 years ago, so I had to go all the way back and try to remember everyone I had sexual encounters with. To my surprise, I have forgotten many of my one night stands, but they slowly kept creeping back into my memory field. Obviously I couldn’t remember names, so I listed them as the “juggler guy”, or the “guy I had sex with in tall grass in front of the club”, or  “4 rounds stoned sex one-nighter”. And the list went on and on and on until I hit 36 (THIRTY-SIX!!!). Then I stopped straining my memory muscles and quit counting. I stared at the list in utter disbelief. Quickly called my 2 closest friends and quickly did their math but they could only come up with 12 at the most for the last few years. So “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the slutties of them all?” And here I am the whole time thinking I am the most innocent among my friends. Talking about delusions….

The feeling of shame and unease came over me as I was struggling with this number. Tried to make it look pretty in many ways, divided it by the number of months and it turned out I had one guy for every month. Which, if you put it that way,  is not that bad. If I say that I had once a month sex in the last few years, it is not slutty at all. Matter of fact, that’s a pretty sad fact. So sad, that I should almost feel sorry for myself.  So now instead of feeling shame for being a slut, I am feeling sorry for not getting laid enough. Talking about being confused.

Thirty-six! Is it too much or too little??? Where is the limit between a normal human sexual appetite and a whore and who gets to pick that magic number? Is 20 still acceptable but 21 is crossing the line? Or is 36 still somewhat acceptable but 60 would be unforgivable? And does it make a difference if a man or a woman is the proud owner of this number? Does 36 make a man an average fuck, but makes an instant slut out of a woman? Why do guys become kings of the sheets with the increase of this number, yet a woman should be ashamed of herself if she dares to open her legs to more than 5 visitors within her lifetime?!

So after a flood of moral questions washing over my tiny brain of mine, I quickly gave up on the idea of slut-shaming myself. What for? And what’s the point anyway???

As Kierkegaard said it so beautifully: “Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.”

Well, I have experienced it, alright?! At least 36 time, and I don’t regret any of them. They all taught me something, they all made me feel one way or another, and they all showed me a different side of myself, of my sexuality and personality. What is there to regret? Who says that sex should only be enjoyed within a committed relationship or with one person only? And if I don’t have that one magical person around, what should I do? Put my pussy up on the shelf and let it dry out? Grow a bush on it and hide it until Prince Charming comes along and graces me with his dick presence? Nope. Not this pussy. She is way too curious and too alive to be left in the dark, neglected and alone. She wants to come out and play. Experience what life has to offer, and take all the pleasures (and sometimes pain) it can. No shame in it and I won’t buy into that old school patriarchal ideology that a woman should be immaculate for her man. (Yet the man can screw any maid and mistresses he pleases). That time has passed.

So here I am with the number 36.

I’m planning on putting some more work into it eventually and hopefully the numero 40 will be the magic number. A guy I can give up collecting trophies for, and settle down with…at least for 36 months. (Ok, knowing myself it’s not months, it”s weeks….maybe 36 weeks…that’s more doable and reasonable in my life)


* The joy of Quitting *

Quitting has such a horrible rep. In today’s pushy, go-getter, neurotic society everyone is praising the stubborn, sweaty and masculine slogan that screams: KEEP GOING! NEVER GIVE UP!

How fucked up is that? REALLY???? Never give up? Are you out of your mind?

What if that thing I am so stubbornly not giving up is costing me my health? My wonderful relationships? My happiness? My sanity? My balance, my calm and ultimately my life? Should I just keep going on because at the end, supposedly there will be a reward waiting for me… something that will make me happy for ever, and ever?

Bullshit. The illusion of these fairy tales and action movies are over.

I’m saying: GIVE UP! Quit! Just do it! 🙂

And I’ll teach you how!

I am a master of QUITTING! I used to think that this was a handicap of mine, a weakness, a trait that I have to kill or at least overcome. Until I realized that there are no weaknesses, faults and negative traits, because everything is just a matter of context. Just like being stubborn might be a “weakness” when it comes to a popularity contest, but it serves you well when you believe in an idea and you actually manifest it and you make your big bux off of it. And so on and so on….and the same is true for QUITTING! It was my “weakness” for 35 years, or so I thought. I had many great ideas, but I never stuck with any of them, because…. well…. I was just too good at this Quitting thing after all. I had my PhD in it. Until I gave up the notion of beating myself up for it and started celebrating this trait in myself as if it was an amazing part of me.

And guess what?!

As it turns out, it is an amazing thing indeed! Being able to quit has saved me from spending my whole life in a sexless, lifeless, suffocating, lonely marriage of mine, has saved my sanity when it came to quitting a soul-sucking job that drained my energy on a daily basis, has prevented me to go into very bad relationships because I could quit them early on, and every day lately I see more and more benefits to my “weakness” and more and more reasons to celebrate it.

So join me on this journey of quitting and let’s celebrate ourselves as we are. QUIT blaming and torturing ourselves for what we are, and instead let’s learn the joy of quitting… there is sooooo many amazing things are waiting for us to be quit! Let’s not waste time holding onto them any longer! 🙂