Desperately Seeking ...

I have written an article for the Los Angeles Argonaut, but it wasn't published. So I'm publishing it here.
Anyone who can help me, please leave a comment or send a mail  (be creative, check linked-in or my website or  ...)

“You have given me hope”

It's not just long term friends who can change your life. A short exchange of words with a stranger can be enough. You may gain a new insight, or new strength to hang in and fight some more. Helping you win that heartfelt battle. Those strangers, popping by just once at the right time seem God sent. Stand-in angels.

Is it thwarting Fate, our Creator, karma, to try to get in touch again if such an encounter is etched into your heart?

I'm thinking of one young man I met on the corner of Santa Monica Blvd and the 3d Street Promenade in Santa Monica, May 2013. He was in a wheelchair, at his feet a cute dark gray little dog and a cardboard with a lengthy text. No doubt explaining why he was asking for money.

When I see words, I must stop and read, so I walked over, my son in my wake. Yet my eyes never finished the first line. The dog was already between me and the cardboard, begging to be petted, tail wagging like mad, eyes glowing with friendliness. Dogs being more interesting than written words, my son and I went down on our knees to rub and pet and compliment her owner on having such a happy dog.

“I call her Love Bug” the man explained. Was he in his early thirties, or am I wrong, do I remember a few lighter hairs in his short, well groomed beard? “She means a lot to me, giving me so much warmth.” I saw gentleness and warmth in his eyes as well. He thanked me for the banknote I had kept hidden in my hand until then and started telling us why he was begging.

He's had epilepsy all his life, severe grand mal seizures with a very high frequency. Debilitating and life threatening. Only recently had he ran into a specialist who discovered something vital: the seizures could be kept under control by a diet. It was all just starting up, the diet not completely worked out yet, but already the young man had profited from regaining some strength. No longer losing energy in an endless row of convulsions and tremors he had managed to obtain a new and better suited wheelchair and GR. However... the benefit was insufficient for the special dietary food. The money he got from begging allowed him to buy that. Not begging meant going back to daily seizures and tremors.

As he gave me details of the diet I noticed how well spoken he was and beyond his poverty and desperate state I saw an intelligent and sensitive man. In a flash I saw him in a suit, working at an office. It could be true if only...

If only he would meet that one employer who did not only hire risk-free people. People who are guaranteed to show up at their contracted hours, predictable, available. Yet can one be sure they will perform so well in unexpected situations, situations that require real originality or remarkable tenacity?

I am only an intelligent and highly sensitive person and this condition alone has taught me most employers prefer to hire workers who come by the dozen.

I told Love Bug's owner how I, in The Netherlands, had been receiving my food from the food bank for three years, getting desperate about ever finding work again. But here I was visiting L.A. because I had ultimately managed to get a job. I will not forget the change I saw in his eyes. “Thank you, You have given me hope” he said, from the bottom of his soul. With that he gave me hope in return... that I, my life, does matter to others. Don't we all doubt that at times?

Once I got back to The Netherlands I wondered if there could be a way to do more. I have a masters degree in Biology and though I've never worked as a scientist, I still read articles about neurology and behavior. Proper information might add to the quality of his diet or result in a more affordable version. I might get in touch through the staff of the nearby Italian restaurant whose staff members I've seen spoiling Love Bug with attention and a treat while sharing a joke with her boss.

The result of my internet research for anti-epileptic diets was somewhat ironic.... A very good, if not the best source of information was an organization founded in 1994 to advocate the ketogenic diet for children with difficult-to-control seizures: the Charlie Foundation. Located at 515 Ocean Ave, Santa Monica. One mile from where we had our talk.

Did Love Bug's owner know, was his doctor somehow linked to the Charlie Foundation, or did he choose that corner at the 3d Street Promenade by chance? Odd, to be so hopeless and yet so close to a solution -geographically.

My letter to the restaurant, asking if they could help me get in touch, wasn't answered. Maybe it got lost? Or perhaps ... ? I know epilepsy is a dangerous disease.

I still think of Love Bug and her owner, wondering how they may be doing. This article is my second try to hear about them, hopefully from them. I don't know that I can be of real help, but a little attention is like passing on a bit of love. And thereby hope. 

Is Hope Enough?

Hope is the greatest gift is what Danielle Steel cites in her -autobiographical- book about Yo! Angel! her organization for supporting homeless people in San Francisco.

I know that hope gets me sitting up again, when I'm lying on the bottom of a well.  But is it enough?

A faint flicker that things may turn out right in some distant future, that life does have nice things in store, not just pain and loneliness... Personally I don't think it suffices. I've lived with hope all my life and it made a nice umbrella to keep away the raindrops. But now that I must weather a storm the umbrella is useless.

Hope may make me sit up again, crawl around a bit ...  but I still have to wait for someone to lower a rope into the well.
I need something that makes me climb out of the well all by myself. Something that makes me lean against the storm and walk through it, no matter how slow the progress may be.
What I need is Belief !  Belief that my life will  -not: might -  turn out 'all right' if I work on it.  Belief that my struggle is justified. 

Where is the fire of the blacksmith to forge my Hope into Belief ?

Suicide is not a choice

   Suicide, some religions or cultures forbid it. Saying it's a sin to take away a life before God says it's time.
   Yet if an animal is suffering we condone having it put to sleep. We call it "humane" and tell ourselves that an animal should feel good, have joy in life.
   What, pray tell, is the goal of a human life?
   Are we obligated to live, no matter how rotten and painful it gets?

   Anyway, let's go back to the subject:  when someone, a human(e) being, commits suicide it's called a "bad choice".   I question that.... 

   My son and I have been going through a rough time simultaneously when my son was 10 years old.  One problem led to another, a lot of dominoes falling down.... matters taken out of our hands by powerful people who didn't understand shit of what was going on.  They wrecked our lives and we had to try to repair it behind their backs... a very difficult task.
   We both used to sigh often "I wish I was dead."  and the next moment felt guilty.... That line must be an insult to the ones who try to support you. It sounds thankless and selfish. Like "my pain of living is more important than your pain in reaction to my death".
   So we made a deal: it was alright to use that line,  since it seemed to help to let off steam. But the other, who heard the line, had to translate it:

"I wish I was dead"  =  "I wish my life was different".

By and by I noticed I made the translation before sighing.... uttering the line  "I wish my life was different".
   That line points out that there are choices and change is something a person can pursue. It puts your life back into your own hands and makes it look like a painting or some other art work of which you yourself are the creator.

   Beautiful words, right?  There is a catch however. We live in a complicated world, sharing it with many others. Rules, regulations, dependencies...  we are never for a full 100 %  the painter of our own lives.
   We are bound by limits... a disease that can't be cured, financial limitations due to lack of schooling or lack of jobs. Not having the support you need in your network... You are never independent, other factors, people,  have a say in how you paint your life's picture.
   Sure, if you don't like the directions given to you, the boundaries you run into... there's the choice to try something else...  like walking down a corridor with many doors.
   If one door doesn't open, you try the next door. With trying I don't just mean trying the handle, but  fidgeting with the lock with all your intelligence,  throwing yourself against the door with all the power you have, hell use dynamite if you must....
Suicide is always one of those doors. That doesn't make suicide a choice. Not for me.  It's the last door I will go through.  The door carries the sign "No Entry".
   But when all other doors have been tried, really ALL... and you cannot stay in that corridor because the water is rising and you are drowning... You will open that door at the end of the corridor, not by choice but by instinct. To save yourself form drowning.
   Drowning? Yes, when life is more hell than you imagine death to be.  When your fear of life is bigger than your fear of death. Suicide is what is left when you ran out of life affirming options.

   I'm not the only one who looks at suicide this way, I have people backing up my ideas.... here's an article on animals committing suicide and the idea that suicide is not a choice is backed up by the researchers:
Animal Suicide Sheds Light on Human Behavior

   Don't look down on people who tried to commit suicide, failing or not.  They were fighters who gave their all. You don't want to know the hell they went through before they opened that final door.

   Someone you know is suicidal? Open doors. Doors that suit that individual, not doors that you like!

BathingBeauty