Tonight, I was invited to attend the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s first appreciation event for top fundraisers. The group was far bigger than I thought it would be — there were at least 30 people who attended, a mix of fundraisers/walkers, board members, and junior board members of the New York City chapter across all five boroughs. I spoke with a number of fundraisers and board members, and it was a great feeling to be part of a group of people who were clearly passionate about the cause we’re all supporting. One junior board member I spoke with had lost her aunt, who was also her godmother, to suicide a year ago. Another fundraiser, whose first name I recognized from the top fundraisers list last year, had lost her little brother to suicide in December 2013, just five months after Ed passed away. Talking to her hit very close to home for me. Even though Ed was really my older brother, in so many ways, he felt like my younger brother. He never had a real opportunity to grow up to be a mature adult. It wasn’t his fault, though.

She talked about the pain and shock she experienced when she learned her brother had died, and she said that she began seeing a therapist about a year after his suicide. She was diagnosed with “complicated grief,” which is a condition in which a person has lost someone close to her to death, but the survivor struggles to grapple with the death, which results in time moving on, but the survivor not. I had no idea this was even a condition one could be diagnosed with.

One thing she said really resonated with me — she was so angry afterwards when some of her own family and friends just withdrew from her. It’s as though as soon as they knew her brother died and it was because of suicide that they decided to just ignore her, some for over a year. That made me so angry. I could actually feel pain seep through me when she said this, and I could see the hurt on her face as she described the whole experience. “I get that people don’t always know how to respond when someone has died, especially when it’s something as sensitive as suicide,” she said. “I was like that for a long time before my brother died. But sometimes, it doesn’t really matter what you say or do as long as you say or do something. Just show that you are there and care.” She said that after that experience, she realized who her real friends were and who really cared, and she just separated herself from the ones who turned away from her. It’s so interesting how similar this is to my own experience and how I changed my own outlook on people after that.

Exchanging experiences with her was emotional for me, as many moments I held back tears listening to her speak about how isolated and alone she felt, and how she felt like she could never really be herself ever again. I still feel moments throughout every day since Ed has passed when I feel like no one really understands me or what I’ve gone through, not just because of Ed’s suicide, but because of all the experiences in our lives that led up to that hellish moment he jumped off that bridge. Everyone seems to think it’s all about his suicide. If he were still here and struggling, no one would pay me any attention. And even worse, no one would pay him any attention, as they did up until the point he died. We all know this is true as awful as it is to write it out. When you have someone very close to you experience mental illness and/or suicide, the way you view the world is completely different. There’s a completely different level of empathy you have for what others’ experiences are and how they perceive the rest of the universe. There’s little that can accurately describe it. Every day is a different type of hurt. But at least it’s a small comfort to know there are other people who care enough to share their own experiences and support a cause they believe in.

I’m about three quarters through reading Democratic senator Wendy Davis’s memoir Forgetting to Be Afraid. Davis is most well known for holding an eleven-hour long filibuster to block a measure in Texas in 2013 that would have included more restrictive abortion regulations. She is truly a Fruit Loop in a sea of Cheerios in Texas.

About the first half of the book goes through a very detailed account of her family, her childhood and her life through age 18, and it’s almost painful to read about some of the things she had to go through. Her mother went through such a dark period after their father left when she was young that she almost tried to commit a family suicide by putting all three of her children in the trunk of the car and turning on the engine in the garage. A neighbor randomly knocked on the door, concerned about Davis’s mom, and just said he wanted to “check in” on them to see how they were doing. In the end, that single visit is what made Davis’s mom decide against the suicide and realize that she needed to continue going on.

Because of this and a few other key experiences in her life, Davis says she believes in angels. Everything happens for a reason, even when the worst things happen. Reading her book and going through experiences in my own life, I really believe that everything, even the most excruciatingly painful experiences, happen for a reason and serve some purpose in our lives. In some ways, it can be perceived as merely justifying past experiences or mistakes, which could be a fair argument, but if we have no hope, we really have nothing to move forward into our future. I believe in angels, too.

Last night, I had a series of very convoluted dreams, dreams that didn’t really make sense when you juxtapose them all together. In the most vivid dream I had, I was invited to a major conference (who knows what conference it was) to speak about my family’s experience with mental illness and my brother’s suicide. I gave an emotional talk about Ed’s ups and downs, his symptoms, how people responded (or didn’t) to him, and what led to his untimely death. I gave reasons for why we need more awareness and attention around suicide prevention and mental health and why the stigma needs to end. In a crowded auditorium, I received a standing ovation.

After the speech, I was shown photos taken during my time on stage, and I looked at myself in these photos. I looked determined and passionate, as though this was truly important to me, and I wanted everyone else in the audience to know and understand how important this was to society. I thought to myself, if i can’t convince these people why this is important, then I have really failed Ed and his memory.

After going through at least a dozen different photographer websites to pick a wedding photographer, I noticed that a number of them have a section on their website specifically for “boudoir.” I clicked on the first website with this and saw lots of glamorous shots of heavily made up women, lying on beds and posing by bright windows wearing little other than long strands of pearls or endless veils. This is a category of photography now — wedding boudoir?

Some people find these photos too self indulgent and excessive. I think about the average person who is not a model or celebrity, though. How often does the average person get professionally photographed? After your annual school portraits, senior portraits, and with the exception of your wedding, you probably won’t get professionally photographed much at all. I think boudoir photos are a nice way of capturing the “other” side of you that people don’t normally get to see … and it’s not like you would be sharing these photos with the entire world, anyway. Sometimes we need to be a bit self indulgent and treat ourselves. We should do more to capture our own beauty in a given point of time because who else is going to do it for us?

I had a really good sleep last night. It was probably the best weeknight sleep I’ve had since I’ve come back to New York from San Francisco last month. And oddly, I dreamt about being in a small conference room with my therapist…. and Ed. Ed was sitting at the table with us.

I don’t remember hearing any of the words coming out of our mouths during our discussion, but I remember seeing all of us very animated and speaking and smiling and laughing. Ed was speaking openly with my therapist, and it was like a real, truthful conversation about our family and our intertwined lives. Ed was smiling a lot.

Usually, when I dream of Ed, I tend to wake up and not want to get out of bed. I want to stay in bed and try to fall back asleep in hopes that he will come back so I can see him again. This morning, I didn’t. I woke up, lingered for ten minutes, and hauled myself out of bed to go to the gym.

It hurts to see him in my dreams and know I will never see him again in this life on earth. But as much as I want to linger and hope that I can see him, what I really need to do is to stop holding onto trying to see him in my dreams, and instead to live my life to the best of my ability to make him proud.

I need to sleep well on weeknights and fight off this stupid insomnia, and I’m averse to trying anything like sleeping pills, or even herbal supplements that claim to be “all natural” like melatonin. The idea of using something external and putting it into me to get me to sleep just doesn’t seem right. I guess I got my aversion to medicine from my dad at a young age. He always used to tell us that our bodies are strong and capable, that with time, if something is wrong with us, our bodies know how to fight it off (well, this obviously doesn’t apply to things like AIDS or cancer, but I think we all know he means minor things like colds and sore throats).

As I was thinking of things to soothe me, I remembered a tiny bottle of lavender essential oil I’d purchased in December 2013 when we visited a small lavender farm in Akaroa Harbour, New Zealand. Just the thought of it made me smile and remember that place, which is one of the most gorgeous spots I’ve ever visited. I took the bottle out and dabbed some on my neck and wrists, and as I remembered how beautiful it was there and how much we enjoyed it, I somehow managed to drift off into an amazing sleep last night.

And then I accidentally hit my alarm off this morning instead of snoozing it, and I missed my window to go to the gym. Well, at least I slept well.

I often see “lifestyle architecture” articles, whether they are in my Facebook News Feed, or just under recommended articles in places like LinkedIn or different business and tech websites I visit. One thing that I saw today was about a “no complaining” campaign, which challenges those who participate to not complain about anything for an entire month.

How do they define a complaint? Is saying that it’s cold outside a complaint? No, the rules say. A complaint in this case would be, “It’s cold outside, and I hate this weather so much.” Complaining is negative, the campaign says, and listening to other people complaining is just as bad; second-hand complaining is like second-hand smoke. It’s still bad for you.

At its core, it seems like a great idea. It would make us more cognizant of our words, who we are saying them to, and what exactly we are saying. But then there’s this fuzzy line I imagine, especially when I think about my family. If I just report back to Chris or my friend that my uncle said this thing (which is clearly dumb) or that my mom did that thing (which is rooted in negativity and cannot be misinterpretted), is that complaining, or merely reporting the facts? What that ends up being is just a discussion of negativity, which I’m not sure I would characterize as “complaining.”

My family really does complicate everything, even when they don’t realize it.

Today, I discovered a witty blog written by Mark Manson, an author and “life enthusiast” who quit his finance job after only six weeks to start a dating business. He wrote a piece about “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck” which really resonated with me. When you get past the fact that he uses the word “fuck: over 120 times in this 12-minute article, you realize how much truth there is in the words he says and how every single person on earth would probably benefit from taking his advice to heart.

He had another article I liked called “Why Some Dreams Should Not Be Pursued.” It’s counterintuitive because society and every single self-help book tell you to pursue your passions; pursue your dreams! What he identifies that is so true is that in attaining a dream, we all have an idealistic way of seeing that dream. We think that once that dream has been attained, everything in our lives will be perfect and we be fulfilled and achieve happiness. It’s pretty much crap, though.

What I thought about was going through school, taking those God-awful SAT standardized tests, getting A’s (and B’s) on exams and ultimately finishing high school and going to college. I always thought I’d feel calmer once I got into college. College would be easier! It wouldn’t be this grueling! Boy, was I wrong. It was a painful period of life academically and socially. We always think things will get better once we attain a certain level of something or get to a certain age or point in our lives. We just face new challenges and things to grapple with. As he so succinctly says:

“The truth is that pain, longing and frustration are just a fact of life. We believe that our dreams will solve all of our current problems without recognizing that they will simply create new variants of the same problems we experience now. Sure, these are often better problems to have. But sometimes they can be worse. And sometimes we’d be better off dealing with our shit in the present instead of pursuing some ideal in the future.”

A friend of mine has dealt with acne for most of her adolescent and now adult life. She used to tell me that she was excited to get past adolescence because then she would no longer have to worry about acne breakouts around her period. Well, she is an adult now, and she still has to deal with breakouts. In some ways, they are probably worse now then they were when she was a teenager. Oh, and to add to that problem, now she (like the rest of us) has wrinkle and aging concerns on top of that! Before, there was just acne problems. Now, there are acne and aging problems!

The older we get, the newer and crazier challenges we will face. Happiness isn’t something far and seemingly intangible we should be chasing. It’s just a state of being comfortable with what you have and the life choices you have made.

I had my second iMentor session today. Today’s prompt was “What are your dreams?” We were asked to think about what our lives have been like in the past, what they are like now, and what we hope they will be in the future. I asked my mentee if she has any dreams for the future. She simply responded, “No, not really. I just think about today. I think in the moment!”

She said something similar the last time we met, and the more I think about it, the more I can understand it. She doesn’t speak English with pretty much anyone other than me. She even speaks in Spanish with the majority of her teachers at school. She comes from a lower income background, and her mother had her when she was just 16 in the Dominican Republic, and they live in a crowded apartment in the Bronx. It’s hard to think about the future when you’re not even sure what you’re going to eat for dinner later today, or if tomorrow will even come.

The focus of this mentoring program is to get kids excited about the idea of going to college, and of course, to ultimately get them into college. I asked her if she thought about going to college, and she said no. I asked her if she did go to college what she’d want to study. She thought about it for a while and said that she wanted to do engineering. “Wow, why do you want to do engineering?” And then, she said she wanted to engineer homes for people who are poor and less privileged because she wants everyone, poor or rich, to have a home. “Everyone should have a roof over their head!”

I could feel myself almost melting, as cliche as it sounds, when she said this. She herself doesn’t have that much, but she still acknowledges that there are people who are far worse off than her that she hopes will have a chance of a better life.