I lost my dad today

I lost both my parents last year.

I first lost my dad.

I don’t like calling like that, because he was never a “dad” to me. I remember vividly being a kid and trying my best to never use that term with him, in any circumstances, and if I did, it was because I really had to.

Sometimes I think he did his best as a man, but most of the time I struggle to forgive him the nights I spent as a kid on that pissy couch, refusing to fall asleep on that horrible thing. I fail to forgive him for not helping me as a young adult when I was there, broke and unable to put food on my plate, pretty much starving and months away from being on the street.

We had good times, but they were too rare to make up for the fact that he never made room for me and treated me like a stranger in his life. Like that time, when I was 12 and he told me he didn’t have enough money to buy me a Christmas present but an hour later made us stop in a supermarket to buy a Furby for his godchild. That time hurt me so deeply I can still feel the pain in my guts 20 years later.

He died on a hospital bed, alone, after several epileptic fits which cost him his independence and in the end his life. He ended up alone, paying the sad price of not cherishing his daughters, his family.

I knew nothing about him, just as he knew nothing about me. I never knew he self-checked himself in a home at the age of 62, never knew his health was that bad. I was just informed when he was pretty much on his death bed, letting himself die by not taking his pills, because the epileptic fits took away most of his motor abilities. He retired at 60 and got into a home at 62 and died at 64. How sad is that?

I knew nothing about him. I don’t know what he looked like when he was young and fit, when he met my mother and fell in love with her. I know he cherished her, loved her so much he adopted her daughter, a kid she had with another man. Admittedly she didn’t even know who, amongst the men she slept with, was the father anyways. I didn’t know him, but I know he loved my mother and never loved another woman after she left him.

He is now gone. He is gone and has left behind him a life where he gathered money and got all the things money could buy, failing to enjoy the real things, the ones you feel in your heart and soul rather than in your hands.

I am sad and I wish I had known he was sick. Maybe I could have talked to him and asked him about his life, his regrets, because I do hope he left with some regrets. Maybe he could have told me how he wished things could have been different, or maybe he would have stayed the big bear he always was, until the end, hanging to that pride, wrongly but surely… which sadly sounds more like him, really.

Instead of being there for him, as a loving daughter would do, I am here, resentful and unforgiving. I am sad, not as a daughter but as a human being, sad that this man died alone, and maybe sad that I didn’t get to be a daughter and have a dad.

He will never know; never know that I wanted him to treat me like an equal, respect me and give me a bed on the weekends I had to sleep in his house. He will never know the sadness I feel for him, as a man, sadness all over my body and soul, because he never gave himself the chance to be loved.

I wrote this when I learned about my dad was about to pass. That was in September last year.

I lost my mother as well, who I also had issues calling “mum”. I was informed of her death when one of my sisters tried to get in touch with her to inform her of our father’s death…. But that’s for another day.

This is the song I chose to be played at his funeral (funeral home). I was the one who had to that. I remembered a poster of Queen he had in his living room and thought this song would be appropriate.

A letter to my ex.

I know things have not been easy lately, for me mainly, but I haven’t been the easiest and I would like to start with apologising for my fits of anger; as short as they were, it was neither nice nor good to feel angry at you.

We are exes, but I love you as much as I did before we broke up, a long time before we broke up, actually. I love you in a way that makes me want to hug you, protect you, take care of you in every possible way. I love you so much that when you cry I forget all about myself.

I shouldn’t love you like that, I know. I shouldn’t love you so strongly and deeply and not want you as my girlfriend at the same time.

Loving you like I do is confusing. I want you in my life, I want you in my heart, but not like that anymore.

The thing is, I never knew what I wanted and I just jumped into our relationship, both feet in. Jumped without thinking, because I was so happy to be loved by someone good, someone kind and so loveable. I felt lucky and I felt like I had to go with the flow. I shouldn’t have.

The thing is, and you know that, I shouldn’t settle. It just doesn’t work with me. I need adventures, travels, escapes and just spontaneity. You need love, romance and to be cared for as much as you want to care for the other.

We were not meant to be together and life told us that a long time before we broke up. We just wanted to give it a chance, believe in it, believe it could get better, believe that I could change and accept a life that was not mine. I believed I could give you the love and affection you needed, but I couldn’t, and yet we stayed. We stayed and closed our eyes to the truth, making the future more difficult for ourselves. Making the future what it is today.

You want a girlfriend and I can understand this, because this is you. You live to make people happy, bring a smile on their faces and put delicious food in their bellies. That’s who you are.

So we need to stop hanging out together the way we did the past year, stop our routine of watching TV on the couch, holding hands and texting first thing in the morning and before going to bed. You need to make room for whoever will win the the to your heart, whenever that is, to make sure you are ready, make sure you have room for their love, make sure you are not confused.

And me? Well I need to go back to live for myself and not for you, because that’s all I have been doing lately. I need ti get out there and be a better me than I ever was. Loose the fears and the angst, loose the uptight attitude, loosen up, really. But I also don’t want to know that you are alone, that you suffer. I hate knowing that you need to feel that void in your life and deal with it… because you don’t know how to.

I want to be here, and I will be, but I want my role to change in this story, for our own sake and in-spite whatever the pain is to go through that new phase.

You’re my best friend and always have been.

You’re my best friend and always will be. What we have is so special, I hope deep in my heart that nothing can ever taint that.

So go be you and I’ll be me. We will take a different path, because that’s what is meant to be.

We’ll meet again, less often. We’ll meet again, in the open, with our hearts a little bit more closed out.

I love you and I miss you just as much.

I am here though, always.

What’s gonna happen?

I am scared

I can’t lie, I am scared. I am scared of the future.

This pandemic is taking a turn, a good turn: people are getting vaccinated and things will go back to normal little by little. We will be able to go back to the movies, the restaurant, the pub, the library… but will we be able?

With all this, a lot of things changed in my life; I stopped drinking, smoking and well, that’s not a change, but I realised that my only friend is my ex. Almost in this country and I have one friend.

I used to drink and have loads of friends; drinking buddies that kind of all disappeared with time, the lockdowns and just because, really.

So when everything goes back to normal, when we can go out again, what’s gonna happen?

I will be alone, more alone than I am now. More alone because I won’t be like the others, lock in their houses because of a government decision, but because I have no one to go out with. And what if I do go out? Will I be able to talk to strangers without actively drinking? This is something I have never done in the past.

No, I don’t know what it is to socialise without drinking, and I don’t want to go back to that, because that is simply not me.

So I am scared, and somehow, I think – or maybe it is wishful thinking – that I am not the only one.

I don’t have children. Let’s start with that.

I don’t have children, but one day, maybe I will… I hope I will.

When I do, if I do, I want them to know a few things.

I want to tell them that being famous means nothing, and that if they want to be known, they are much better off being known for their brains rather than their physiques. Because there are a lot of pretty women and handsome men out there, but far from as many are famous for the right reasons.

I watched an interview today that made me think. People want fame, people see fame as the ultimate goal, and I find it so sad.

This is where the world is today; that girl who is famous because she shocked the public on a TV show, that man because he broke his neck jumping from the roof of his house and survived. Don’t even get me started on those blond dudes doing… I don’t even know what on their YouTube channels and getting millions of subscribers. We give those people way too much attention and credit.

Being famous…. how about we try first to be a good person? That’s what I would tell my kids. You first goal in life is to be a good person, and good things will come from that. Work on the beauty inside as much as you work on the outside. Give room for your feelings, allow yourself to be critical, because darling, that’s how you make your opinion about people. I am not saying that people should trash others in their heads and be hypocritical in front of them, but make your opinion, criticise yourself and others, and more than anything else, be honest about it.

Be good to yourself and good to others, be fair, be honest, and never apologise for your honesty, as long as you choose your words wisely.

I want my kids to know that being famous means nothing. What is meaningful is doing something you enjoy doing. I don’t want them to study for the sake of studying, to make me proud or make me puff up in front of others.. because that’s not who I am, and that’s not who I want them to be. I want them to study if they want to, to be a chef, be in the army, be a cleaner, an artist, a coder, a garbage man, a teacher, a nurse… it doesn’t matter as long as they are good people and happy.

It sounds great and maybe it will change, but I don’t think so.

The world has too many people going in that direction, where fame is the target, regardless of how it happens. They want to be actresses and end up being porn starts, because that’s what they settle for. Arf, it’s a bit of a dramatic scenario here, but you get the gist. These values, they come from somewhere and whatever happens, these values won’t come from me.

I want to tell my kids to listen to their hearts, to love regardless of colour, gender, social status and anything else. I want them to love with their hearts and not their eyes. Love can last years, decades, but I believe that what makes it last is not a great ass, a great bosom or a 6 pack. But that’s only my opinion.

IN FACT, what I want to tell my hypothetical kids, I want to TELL THE WORLD first.

Wake up, listen to your voice; love, write, sing even if doesn’t sound right, dance even if you don’t know any cool moves, run even if you haven’t run since high school and you were bad at it then, jump, meditate, sleep more, learn how to play an instrument. I want to tell the world that we all judge each other and in the end, who cares. What that teenage dickhead I met earlier (and didn’t move his ass on the sidewalk because he was too cool to do so) thinks and thought of me, probably not nice things. But I didn’t think much of him either; but he was too self conscious to even care about what I thought and I am too fracking over all of that shoot to be bothered. I will sleep at night and so will he.

Life is too short to aim for fame when being a good person is already pretty hard work. Being a good person is a good start and it’s also a good finish.

I am personally not quite there yet, but as everyone else; I am a work in progress.

I didn’t have the time… so you say

I almost didn’t write today.

I wanted to write and I did other less important things instead, such as watching a pitiful TV show about Elisa Lam and how the web sleuths are just sad little things with no life and no purpose, and how they not only did not help (why didn’t anyone ask if the hatch was closed when the handy man found the body? Why, seriously?) but also ruined the life of that poor guy in Mexico. So yeah, I almost didn’t write because I lost an hour of my life watching that last episode.

To be honest (TBH, as they say), I almost told myself that I did not have the time, but I stopped and told myself that “I did not have the time” is the worse reason to give yourself. It’s not a reason, it’s an excuse, and an excuse is nothing other than a bad reason. A bad excuse is a pleonasm.

When you say “I didn’t have the time to do this or that, I am sorry” to your colleague, sister, mother or whoever, it’s wrong. You had the time, you just didn’t take it. We all have 24 hours in hour days, 7 days per week. We sleep (or should sleep) an average of 8 hours/day, and therefore (if my math is right) have a total of 16 hours left: 8 for work, another 8 for the rest. You have 8 hours of your day for yourself, your dog, your family, your hobbies, your mental health, anything you want. That’s scary, to think that you have that much time in a day for yourself. SO, when you say “I didn’t have time, I am sorry”, the fact is that you should say “I did not take the time, I am sorry”. Now you have a good reason to be sorry, it makes sense to be so.

When you say “I can’t, sorry”, the same applies; what you really mean is that you “don’t want to, I’m sorry”. Again, yes, you can apologies, if you want to, but you don’t have to, really, you just don’t want to do this or that, and there is nothing to be sorry about (generally speaking, of course).

We all need to be a little more honest, with ourselves first and with others as well, but that comes naturally. Of course we say “I can’t, sorry” and “I didn’t have the time, sorry”, because we don’t want to hurt people’s feeling, and that’s nice. But think about it:what’s the degree of you saying it to make others feel less hurt versus the degree of saying it to make yourself feel less guilty?

In my opinion, this is where feeling better starts. When you are honest with yourself, it means you listen to that voice and that you connect with it. When you are honest, you feel a connection with your inner-self. Oh, it sounds so cheesy it is not even funny. But it’s true. Imagine saying to your colleagues “I don’t want to participate to that coffee meeting on Zoom, but thank you” instead of saying “oh, sorry guys, I can’t”. Imagine how you would feel, knowing that you have been true to yourself? I mean, maybe give it a go, because we all need a bit of socialising, but say you don’t want to if that’s how you feel. You’ll feel better for being that person.

Tonight, I could have told myself that I did not have the time, could have grabbed a book instead, go under the blanket and read for an extra hour. I could have done that and that would not have hurt anyone. Or that’s what I thought at first, and then I realised that it would have hurt me. I knew I had the time, I was just too lazy. So I turned on my laptop, pressed the keys, took the time away from reading and wrote instead.

This blog is a silent promise I made to myself and that I want to keep. It’s my challenge, like going for a run 3 times a week, every week. I will do it and I will find the time.

As usual, thanks for reading.

Enjoy Tété

(P.S. I am French, so you’ll see some French artist popping from time to time)

It takes courage

I saw my ex today.

I saw her, not by accident but because we agreed to meet up in a park and have a walk with the dog, our dog. I was missing her and our dog Edi terribly, and so did she, so we agreed on that.

I just left her, Edi her head out of the window, watching me as they were driving away.

It takes courage to break up! It takes so much courage to say to the person you shared all these thoughts, moments, issues, conversations, tears with, that you don’t want to be with them anymore.

Everyday I see it. I know that many people out there don’t break up because it is too hard, too complicated and they prefer being miserable rather than alone. Let’s face it, we are also at a time where sometimes your companion is the only person you see for days, weeks and breaking up would therefore mean being alone, for real.

Here (and probably in a lot of other countries) it’s even harder because when you are alone, you can’t really have your own flat, even a studio is between 750 and 1000/month… and same applies for a mortgage; if you are alone – and on a reasonable wage – the mortgage you will be given won’t even get you a derelict. Unless you want to live in the middle of the country, have no neighbours and isolate yourself from the rest of the world. Even with that, you will still need to bring money to the table for the deposit. Story short is: people stay together because it is easier, because it is more convenient and because they get a better life being with someone they like (rather than love) rather than being alone.

So it takes courage. It takes courage to let go, admit that love is not there, that you hurt when you are together, that what was there does not exist anymore. It takes courage to pack up your bag and start up again, by yourself.

Why would you want to miss the chance to be with your soulmate and stay with someone you only like? Why would you pass that? For comfort, convenience, money? I am not willing to pass on that and never will be. I will spend the rest of my days on this earth alone if that’s what is meant to be. I don’t want anything other than soulmate, endless night talking, loving, kissing, making out, cooking, laughing, talking, snoring and more talking.

I want talking. I want to be attracted, and talking is such a big part of the attraction that I can’t even start to explain. If we don’t talk about everything and nothing, all the time, then the rest will die…. it took me a lot of courage and more than a year to understand and accept that I needed to break up, that I was not happy and that she wasn’t happy either… Because GUYS (and I mean PEOPLE), if not for you, do it for her, for him. Do it because she could be better with someone else and moreover, she could be happier without you.

So we are happier living our own lives. We still love each other very much , but we are happier not being together. She lost weight, I lost weight, we exercise, do things we never did, she sees her friends and reconnected with them and I reconnect with my creativity and my independence, two things I missed greatly.

Listen to yourself, everyday, and whatever that voice tells you, listen to it. Let it speak, let it scream and let it be. This feeling in your gut, this anxiety, it’s not just the shitty weather or the shitty day at work, it’s also that voice, telling you something.

Listen to it: what is she saying?

Writing

What do you think about when you write?

Do you think about the money you could make if a lot more people were reading you?

Do you write to one day make it a leaving or do you write for fun, to help your mind sort out the daily shit storm that overwhelms you without ever failing?

I always wanted to be published. Since that day I grabbed a pencil and the first piece of paper I could find and wrote my heart out. I was 5, I think, maybe 6. I was inspired by a song and I had this urge to just write. That day I knew I needed to write and that I wanted it to be my life. Then I grew up, went on to live a chaotic life full of sad jobs, very little money and loads of beer, and I forgot about my dream, because it was silly, a child’s dream, unrealistic, idealistic.

Life catches up with all of us, one day or another; we need to eat, drink, pay the rent, the bills and just live, really. I have survived for 8 years. Survived with jobs here, there; working in McDonald’s then in call centres. I survived with pitiful salaries, never being able to buy myself anything nice, never being able to work and afford holidays. Then I found a good job and even love, here, in Ireland, and I put my bum down and decided to write again. Gosh, I wrote so much in the past 5 years that I don’t know what to do with all these words…

I look at all of it and the only thing that I tried to write to make money out of is pure shite. The rest might not be of better quality, but it doesn’t make me feel like I am trying to hard; it makes me feel like me.

I write to let go of my monsters, fears and angers. I write for me, for me and the rest is bonus. I also write because I want to share.

People need to know they are not alone. People need to know I have been through a lot of crap, like nasty shit, really, and it GOT BETTER.

No, it didn’t get better THAT WAY. I didn’t become a famous author, actor or influencer. It got better as in life became calmer, I got a good job and I live in a nice house, have enough money to put something other than pasta on my plate and even save a bit. I can afford to go on holidays (and gosh will I go when all of this is over) too. That’s how life got better. Before? Before was lows, a lot of lows; physically, emotionally, personally, psychologically, work wise. It was mayhem. And before that? I had a shitty adolescence, and a shittier childhood with abusive and sick parents. Shit my mother abandoned me when I was 9, so yeah, life did got better considering.

So there. I wish I were writing stories for a living, but I don’t do it, most likely because I don’t have the talent for it. Well, I heard somewhere, someone said “there is no talent, there is hard-work… and it is amazing to see how talented you are when you work hard” (I think it was Masterchef Australia, but it doesn’t matter, it’s brilliant). The point is, I am not an author but I am what I consider some kind of accomplished adult who didn’t bury herself in drug and/or alcohol.

I write because those demons need control and yes, I nourish the hope that one day, I will reach more than a few readers. Not for the fame of it all (oh, the fame of it all!) but for the pride of knowing that my voice is heard and listened to…

Don’t think you can do everything on your own

That’s what my ex just told me after having a video chat for one hour.

We spent 4 years and some together and she knows enough about me to know that I do, indeed, think that I can everything on my own. The fact is that I’ve HAD to do everything on my own for most of my life and it is difficult to think differently.

That’s life isn’t it? Finding that one person who will make you want to do things not on your own. It was her for me for a while, and then it wasn’t, but she is still there to remind me that it’s not what us human are supposed to do.

She said that because I made a decision recently, which was to go back to studying psychology and I find myself torn between my creativity and that box they want to enclose me in with their essays here and presentations there, and above all their stupid sources and references. Not a single idea can be mine, no. If I have an idea, chances are I am not the first one and they will accuse me of plagiarism if I don’t find someone who thought the same thing as me (in that order yes, even though they wrote it first).

That’s life, isn’t it? Just living through someone else’s idea of what life is. Life should be rich, full of travels, new phones, beaches, money and bitches. Living in someone’s else’s footsteps, being pretty like her, handsome like him, having muscles like them, flat belly and thigh gap like them. Think outside your own box, try it; you will not be accused of plagiarism if someone else has done it before, you will be the flavour of the moment or a new one. Think too much outside the box and they will call you WEIRD.

Different is WEIRD for those who DON’T UNDERSTAND. That’s as simple as it gets.

I want to do me, separate myself from the models they sale me everyday, everywhere, and just do me. My beautiful me, however weird that can be seen. I just want to forget about everyone else and listen to myself. No degrees, approval from the family, friends, approval from the world.

Listen to that voice, there, deep inside, that little voice that tells you that it’s wrong. It’s that tingle in your throat, that pain in the pit of your belly, the discomfort when you do that thing or that other thing. Just listen to that voice. A little bit everyday, just let it be louder, stronger and let it tell you what it is that will make you happy.

For me it is that voice that cries out loud when I try to write a paper about how the environment and genes influence the development of the brain, its structure and functional activity. For me it’s that scream when I can’t say what I think when I read those studies. Yes, that’s not what it’s all about, but that’s also not what I want it to be about. I want to learn and be philosophical about it. I want to question what I learn the same way I question life. Life and everything in it should be questioned, criticised, turned and pushed around, bullied until another truth comes out of it.

I don’t want that. I want to listen to music. I want to write and let anyone who dares listening to my words know that I am an angry woman who is rebuilding her life after a break up. I want to write, more, more, more until my fingers bleed and my heart sinks into a cushion of words neatly knitted together.

I want to know people, how they think, what they think, why they think and just share, more and more.

As usual I leave you with a lovely song.

I should be working (warning! I am not in the best mood)

I should be working, but I am not.

I work from home, thank gosh for that. I have so much time to think and think some more, I am extremely thankful I am in the comfort of my own home and can let my thoughts go crazy on this page.

My thoughts for today go towards the whole dynamic of this site and more broadly towards publicly sharing your thoughts.

I am trying to figure out how this works. I wrote an article yesterday and got a few likes, but I have no idea where to see them other then in my mailbox. Anyways, not my point here. The fact is that the people who liked my latest post are the people whose page I visited yesterday and whose posts I liked. So I ask myself “Is this how it works?” and even more deeply, I ask myself if they actually read my post or just came here, clicked back and fudged off.

I would like people to like, to share, to comment, to criticize, to just react other than by clicking back. I don’t want to be “liked back”, I want to be appreciated for what I give personally, not rewarded for my clicks.

We all have a story, we all hurt, especially in this tough times, we do more than even hurt. Is clicking on that little star the best that can be given, really?

I know the world is fucked up and the internet even more so, but HEY, you all have in your hands the opportunity to be human, to interact, to make it not just about me but about you too. You have in your hands the opportunity to engage, to change, to touch me, someone else… Where is it? Where is that opinion that everyone is craving to share?

It’s just strange, how this seems to work. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine, like mine and I like yours. I like because I like, I like because it touched me, because it reached out to me…

If we all think that we’ll show interest if the others does first, we will end up in a world that is painfully self-centered…..

Oh, wait…. we are already, aren’t we?

Let’s be honest

Got my music on. I need to go on and finish writing that 2000 words essay on the influence of the environment on the brain development, structure and functional activity. Right? I know, it sounds absolutely fascinating. It is. Well, it would be if I were aloud to actually give some kind of opinion (gosh knows I love doing that), but no; I need to find papers reviewed by peers and basically sum that up with my own words. Like that means I understand or something.

Anyways, I need to write that essay, but I also need to empty my head, and throw some stuff in the endlessness of the universe… well, internet more like.

I sometimes wonder if I am the only 30 something year old out there who wonders if she can really be called an adult. I mean, really, I don’t feel like one; I have a job, yeah, sure, and I pay my bills, buy my food and all, but no, I don’t feel like an adult. I mean, come on, I have more insecurities than a teenager with the toughest acne. I have more insecurities than I ever had when I was a teenager myself, and gosh knows how that time was tough for me. I get out and I just try and look super cool and secure when I pass those teen girls who giggle for nothing and I think they giggle because of me. I try and be badass but inside I am that teen again and I have big glasses, braces (well, thank you Invisalign for improving that) and pimples here and there.

Let’s be honest here, because that’s why I tale the time, really, to be honest. I type faster than I write and sometimes faster than I can think or at least realise what I was thinking, if you know what I mean… So I am here to be brutally honest, to myself first.

Let’s be honest. We are all kind of floating around, trying to be who we are but more likely being who we think they want us to be. Are you that micro managing boss? Are you the funny guy you are at work, on Zoom meetings? Are you the quiet one? Chances are, you are not, not really, but that’s what you are somehow confident being, because it fits. Seriously, in my opinion, none of us really know who they are… it’s impossible to figure out: between parents and family alike, teachers, friends, lovers, colleagues, boss, social media… That’s just too many people who want us to be someone very specific at a very particular time of our life, or even just our day. That’s my cynicism there, for you. Ok, some people do know who they are and may they embrace that chance, that privilege, because it is nothing other than a privilege.

I don’t know who I am. I work hard trying to figure it out, and for that I simply reduce the number of people who want me to be someone I feel I am not, and that helps. Forget about your boss, your mother, your sister, your husband or wife and ABOVE ALL forget about social media, strip yourself from all these influences and ask yourself “who am I?”. Really, profoundly, ask yourself. Who are you? How do you want to be defined? Certainly not as a mother, colleague, sister, daughter; you are all those things – or some of them – but that’s not who you are. I feel like somehow, who we are is what we won’t let others see. Does that make sense?

We are what we won’t let others see. I think that is a sad truth.

I don’t want people to know that I write, listen to classical music but also shitty pop, that I am nursing the idea of being one day published, that I am OBSESSED with the human mind and even more obsessed with learning, learning more and more all the time. I don’t want people to know that I am extremely sensitive and sometimes only a word can hurt me so deeply I just want to disappear. I don’t want people to know that, and what they know of me is the opposite of that. I am all those things and many more, and I hide these things deeply, keep them for myself and nurture them. WHY?

In the end, it’s not that we don’t know who we are, it’s that we are afraid to face who we are. Because facing who we are is also parting away from everything else; sometimes it’s going the opposite way, and the cost, the stakes are too great to jeopardise something that works.

It works to be someone else, doesn’t it? I mean, I am still alive, and so are you if you read me.

I don’t think it does if we look around us the number of people who take anti-depressants. Let’s say I know roughly 6 people that are around me (excluding family), give or take and I am not kidding, out of those 6 people, 3 take anti-depressants. Why? My opinion is that we are all living a giant “cognitive dissonance’. Our lives are a giant cognitive dissonance; which can be describe as:

Cognitive dissonance refers to a situation involving conflicting attitudes, beliefs or behaviors. This produces a feeling of mental discomfort leading to an alteration in one of the attitudes, beliefs or behaviors to reduce the discomfort and restore balance.

So we feel like someone but act like someone else, which results in an imbalance of our mental state, also known as DEPRESSION.

There is a course ou there (on Coursera) called “the science of happiness” which I recommend. It won’t tell you who you are or what you want, no, it will tell you that what you want is not what you actually want, and that impacts also who you are.

On these words, I’ll go back to my 2000 words essay.