3-0

3-0…This is not a game score nor is it a numerical depiction of a three game series sweep. As of last week, this is my age. Three-Oh…as in thirty…as in no longer twenty. I kept expecting to feel introspective about the turn of another decade, but that never really happened. I was not depressed (something I have observed in coworkers on their thirtieth). I did not feel any sense of loss (so I can no longer say I am in my twenties…and?). To be completely honest, I felt pretty outstanding.

The day started with my cube covered in balloons, streamers and plastic wrap. My coworkers got a kick out of the decorations and shrink wrapping my cube, and so did I. They were thorough with the plastic wrap and it took a while to get it all cleaned up, but I thought it was glorious. Add to this the presence of some uber triple chocolate muffins and the day was off to a great start. I had an outstanding meal at a truly decadent restaurant with my folks that evening and was awake relishing the day until almost sunrise. During this entire time I just kept noticing this strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. It extended into my chest and right out to the ends of my fingers. Considering the size of the steak I devoured during my b-day meal it could very well have been a massive coronary, but since I am alive and writing it is pretty obvious that my heart is still beating. To my surprise the feeling continued through the weekend. It was present as I had friends over to celebrate with me and it was present when I woke this morning to come to work after a long weekend. The more I think about it, this feeling has been present for a while now and I think I finally know what it is. For the first time in over a decade I am genuinely happy.

The last time I can recall feeling bone-deep happiness was during my middle school years. There was no stress, no pressure and no pain. There was just family, friends and fun. Sadly, this happiness was not a house that was built to last. Time creeps forward and my life was invariably altered as hormones began to interfere. Couple the physiological changes of the boy-to-man transformation with a ‘Lord-of-the-Flies-meets-a-shark-tank’ environment called high school and the carefree joy of youth is almost completely stamped out. That is not to say there were no happy moments, but when I set the scales and place platinum and gold happiness on one side and iron and lead pain on the other, the scales tilted heavily towards angst, discomfort, fear and pain. Looking back on those years I doubt I would have enough gold or platinum to make a pair of earrings, but I can guarantee there is enough lead and iron to build a tank. College and grad school also followed this trend and the years immediately following grad school were especially brutal. I have written about this in an earlier post. I tend to use vague imagery and metaphor when I write, but I will just make it very clear in this post…when I say that pain and depression “almost killed me” I am quite literal. I have generally been very successful at most things I try, but I was really bad at suicide. I mean honestly, when you try to hang yourself you don’t expect the branch to break…

Why would I write about the darkest point in my life in a post about happiness? Because I don’t feel I can write about pleasure without acknowledging pain. Because I believe that those that fall the furthest have an opportunity to soar the highest. Because when you have reached a point in your life where you hate yourself so much that you want to remove your pox-like existence from society you are forever changed. I should be dead, and yet I breathe. I never went through counseling, I never asked for help, I never medicated or prayed, and yet I am still here. I am not happy because I have a job or friends or family. I am not happy because I have my health or because the sun is shining. I am happy because I am alive…because I do not hate myself, and I am alive. No amount of rain, pain or loss can ever change that. I don’t know how to fully explain what this feels like. I saw death and it saw me…we passed each other a few times and it almost carried me off across the river Styx, but I am still on the shores of the living and the ferryman does not have my coin. I guess I am so happy to be thirty because I should not be thirty. I am happy because having faced the darkness and evil of suicidal self-loathing I am not afraid…of anything. That feeling in my chest was a song. The feeling that went out to my fingers was the echo of the chorus. I can hear it now and I am happy to share it with those who would listen:

I am called Brandon.
I am alive, I am free, and I am not afraid.