Let's Break the ICE, Shall We?

Do you remember hearing the acronym "INS" (Immigration and Naturalization Services) in news reports that were tracking the progress of the government's fight against irregular immigration (I refuse to use the term 'illegal' and stand by my convictions that no human being ever was and will ever be illegal)? Well, you may or may not know that in 2003, INS froze over to become today's ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) as a result of the passage of 2002's Homeland Security Act. In response to the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, good ol' baby Bush proposed to Congress that the best way to secure our borders would be to merge the principle border and transportation security agencies, including INS, in order to, "ensure greater accountability over critical homeland security missions and unity of purpose among the agencies responsible for them." But what Bush really did was transform an offensive government agency into a defensive, military-like army of robots with one goal: to seek out and annihilate undocumented immigrants. And that's exactly what they've been doing.

I attended an event held at the AFL-CIO (The American Federation of Labor and Congress of Industrial Organizations, which is a voluntary federation of 57 national and international labor unions) on Tuesday morning where the authors of a report titled, "ICED OUT: How Immigration Enforcement Has Interfered with Worker's Rights" presented a summary of their findings. The emotionless words contained on the crisp white pages of this official report were brought to life by the personal testimonies of two immigrant workers I was lucky enough to bear witness to.

The first worker, Josue Diaz, looked out across the room at the sea of suits and ties, preparing himself for the story he was about to tell. Flanked by a female interpreter, Josue began talking about his experience as a construction worker in Texas. He talked about the demeanor of the employers, their discriminatory behavior and complete lack of disrespect for the workers. He went on, highlighting specific examples of unacceptable behavior. One thing that struck me and that will stay with me forever was when Josue spoke of the "white workers". Josue and his crew of undocumented immigrants were given no protective gear, not a single piece of safety equipment to do hazardous construction work where accidents were a normal part of the job. He talked about leaving the site one day after hours of backbreaking and dangerous manual labor, only to see a group of white workers covered head to toe in safety gear enter the site to complete the work the "animals" (he called them) had begun. When his crew began to organize and the employer noticed, they were threatened that if they continued, ICE would be called and they'd all be deported. Instead of stepping down, Josue stood up and is now, backed by a nonprofit organization committed to worker justice, suing the employer while simultaneously risking deportation. When ICE steps in to situations like Josue's, they facilitate quick deportation of the workers, or witnesses, necessary to prosecute the employer. Instead of giving testimony of their experience in a court of law, they disappear and the cycle of injustice continues. It's a well oiled machine that only works with ICE and their clever tactics that undermine the very foundation this nation was built upon.

The second testimony given that day took me off guard. The worker was an Indian man (whose name I unfortunately cannot locate) who was legally employed by Signal International through a guestworker program (the ICE report goes into detail about this particular case). He says that he paid about $20,000 in recruitment fees, leaning on family members and friends to help pay the exorbitant amount. Once in Pascagoula, Mississippi, he was forced to live on what can only be described as a slave labor camp: overcrowded, unsanitary and guarded by hawk-like ICE agents. When the workers could no longer bare the horror, they began to organize, which was of course answered by deportation threats. The workers did not back down, however, and instead reached out to a nearby church for help in defending themselves against what they deemed illegal activity by the employer. Soon after, Signal International themselves conducted a pre-dawn raid, waking the workers from their sleep and detaining five of the leaders who were then guarded by men with guns. And for what? What did they do other than standing up for their human rights? Signal defended themselves by stating that it conducted the raid after consultation with guess who? ICE.

Instilled with the wisdom of Ghandi, the workers decided to go on a truth pilgrimage in order to speak of their plight with whom ever would listen. They marched from Pascagoula, MS to Montgomery, Alabama to pay homage to the martyrs of the civil rights movement. While these men energized their spirits with the memory of what nonviolent resistance can achieve, ICE agents conduct covert surveillance of the men, chilling them to the bone but failing to stop their forward march to Washington, DC where they would demand the attention of Congress by launching a 29 day hunger strike.

When the man reached this part of the story, he began to cry and was forced to pause. I was overwhelmed with a sense of empathy, feeling the frustration and desperation that was thick in the air and palpable to the tongue. He continued to speak and everyone listened in what seemed like a general sense of astonishment. Signal International is still in business having received zero ramifications for their behavior. And to this day, no governmental action has been taken against them. "I may be deported tomorrow," the worker explained, "but I'm speaking out today."

Click here for access to the full report, "ICED OUT: How Immigration Enforcement Has Interfered with Worker's Rights"

Here is a video taken of the Indian worker's hunger strike on Capitol Hill in 2008.



In addition, click here for a report put out by the Indian Workers Solidarity Congress on labor trafficking by Signal International.

Hanson

I have been neglecting my blogging duties lately, which is strange as I have so much to talk about. There is so much going on in my mind that sleeping has become much like playing a slot machine: I lay my head on my pillow every night wondering if I'll luck out and win a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Lately, it's a total gamble. Some nights I sleep like a baby, and other nights I can't get past the thoughts long enough to slip into even stage 1. It's quite annoying. If I was solving problems and having breakthoughs during these hours of nonstop brain chatter, than I would have no cause for complaint. This is unfortunately not the case.

On a happier note, after being a dedicated and adoring fan for half of my life, I finally had a conversation with Taylor Hanson. I met the guys back in 1998 when they did an autograph signing with Macy's (when they were still puppets being controlled by their big wig record label). In order to be qualified to attend that signing, you had to purchase $50 worth of Macy's merchandise. Isn't that ridiculous? I remember running in there with my two teeny bopper friends, frantically grabbing whatever it was that added up to fifty bucks, and sprinting to the closest counter to pay. It was complete mayhem: thousands of Hanson crazy pre-pubescent girls swarming the store, elbowing each other and exchanging nasty (G rated) words if there was anything resembling line cutting. Oh man.

It was announced on their website a few months ago that on the Sunday night before their October 20th show, there would be an "M&G", or a meet and greet. The only way to secure a spot on the limited list would be to first, purchase a membership to their fan club (don't laugh) and second, RSVP right away. And when I say right away, I mean like no more than 10 minutes after registration opened. Which I did.

Fast forward to Sunday night: when I arrived at the hotel where the event would take place, I was surprised by the ridiculous line swooped around the entire building. It was cold and we had to wait for close to an hour, but I made friends with two girls in line behind me, so it was worth it. When we finally got inside the heated building, we were shuffled into a beautiful chandelier-lit ballroom with rows and rows of chairs jetting off of the mini stage the brothers would be performing on. I sat down with my two new friends in close to the last row for about four minutes before the latent teeny bopper buried deep in my subconscious came to life making it virtually impossible for me to remain in seats so far away from the "source". I got up and walked towards the stage and was pleasantly surprised to see an ocean of girls sitting on the floor directly in front of it. I didn't hesitate and marched right over to an empty space where I plopped by happy butt down and prepared to be a foot away from my all time favorite band. My two new friends soon followed my move and joined me on the floor. We all felt devilishly slick, looking behind us at all the girls sitting in chairs while we sat in the golden zone. I was ecstatic.

They came on stage and played about 8 songs I had never heard before in my life, a normal occurrence at their member events. Zac, the goofy youngest of the three (23) and father of one explained that they do that on purpose, and that member events are an opportunity for them to play songs they never play. Isaac's Rico Suave-meets-Elvis-meets-Mormon look was a bit off putting, I must say. His greasy bouffant hairdo was a surprising change from his normal shaved look. On top of this somewhat strange appearance, I caught a glimpse into his personality as I watched him sing without making eye contact with a single fan. I found that quite interesting, yet also a bit sad. It becomes clear from just a few moments of observing Taylor perform that he feeds off of the energy of his crowd, he requires it, he loves it and it's why he does what he does. His confidence and extraordinary passion for making music is internalized by every audience member, whether they are conscious of it or not. He fascinates me. Not in the way he used to, of course. His activism and commitment to inspiring a sense of global responsibility in his fans is unique. The "walks" he organizes with his brothers have not only created an awareness among his fans, but a path to experiencing the beauty of empathy. Bono may bring light to some of the various injustices around the world, but I doubt any of his fans can declare they feel anything but sympathy for those he seeks to support. Sure, you can buy a "Red Campaign" camera from Target, pleased to know that a portion of your money will go to some charity Bono promises is kosher. But Hanson goes the extra mile (literally)- they take words to the next level and lead not with rhetoric, but with action. That is the beauty of grassroots organizing, and that is how change becomes a reality.

After the performance it was picture time. Now, cameras were not allowed on the the premises and if you had one and had the cojones to take a picture, you'd be thrown out of the ballroom. This "picture time" referred to group photos with the guys that would be posted on their website. It was awkward to watch: 20 girls and Hanson saying "cheese" together. It reminded me too much of my high school graduation photo on the gym bleachers. I didn't want to be in a picture, but I knew it was the only way I'd be able to meet Taylor. So I did it. After the picture was taken, I went up to him and asked him the question I'd decided was the best choice: Did he remember that show in South Florida about ten years ago when a transvestite jumped on the stage, running towards him and attempting to kiss him on the lips (luckily it landed on his cheek), followed by a succession of three or four crazed 12-year-old girls screaming and running around the stage like escaped zoo animals? He remembered, and I watched as he was transported back to that disaster of a show in his mind. "You must have been so scared!", I asked. "Umm... no, I wasn't scared. Actually, I was extremely pissed off. " Good answer.

He was bigger than I imagined he'd be. Taller than he was in my dreams all those years I slept in a room wallpapered with pictures of his face. He was just as beautiful though, and that is absolutely sure. He may be a Mormon who wears the names of his 4 kids on his neck, kids he's had with his fan-turned wife, but hey- no one is perfect. I don't care who he prays to or what he believes in- he keeps that to himself. What he does share with his fans is not only his dedication to them, to the music, and to transforming the broken music industry itself, but his commitment to making a difference in other people's lives. And he has. They have. And for that, I will continue to buy their music, go to their shows and explain to people that they are so much more than Mmmbop.

Meditating with Jason Mraz

I've been reading a lot of Deepak Chopra lately, and I've been inspired to start meditating on a regular basis. Now, I have given yoga a shot on several occasions, inspired by my best friend Ashley's absolute love for it. And what I've found is that every time, boredom gets the best of me (save the class in the FSU Leach Center when someone disturbed the peace and blew a ridiculously loud fart, thus prompting me to begin hysterically laughing and have to leave the room when I couldn't stop). Some people live and die by yoga, but despite my best efforts, it just isn't my portal to everlasting peace.

Chopra talks at length about something he calls "the gap", which can be understood as the spaces between your thoughts. It's a place deep inside of your being, at the level of pure consciousness, where you are connected to everything around you at the most fundamental level. They call it the "unified field", pure potentiality- the eternal birthplace of life. Every single manifested and unmanifested intention comes from this place. Every blade of grass with the intention to grow, every ocean before waves take shape, and every human being at every moment of time is rooted, surrounded and within this field of infinite potential.

There is a reason why Chopra and Dr. Dyer wrote books on this stuff and I didn't- it's pretty challenging to put the esoteric into words. The whole point of this mini-lecture is that all of the spiritual gurus emphasize that the best way to access the gap and the unified field is through meditation. A turbulent mind is a fruitless waste of energy that manifests unwanted things and creates more problems than solutions. Meditation allows you to calm your mind to the point where you can see those fruitless thoughts, acknowledge them, and release them. Through meditation, you can focus your awareness on your desires and your intentions- give attention to those things- and experience peace in every atom of your body. During this state of silence, or "pure being" as they call it, the miracle of the universe can be experienced while separateness simultaneously disappears and a deep seeded sense of faith begins to take root.

I have had some interesting experiences with meditation these past few weeks. I experienced a higher power coming through me, whispering in my ear that I need not worry, that my purpose in life will be realized and that I am a leader. That was pretty intense actually. Another time I had a realization that perhaps if I opened myself up to the possibility of love, then maybe the job hunt would begin to work itself out. I can't compartmentalize my life, and the more I struggle against a current, the bigger and stronger it gets. I can't control anything. Control is the ego in perpetual fear of it's demise, and I think I'm finally seeing that. I'm beginning to truly trust in the power of the universe and loosen my grip on the wheel. It's starting to feel really good...

However, when I arrived home last night, what welcomed me was nothing but a notice detailing the $345 I owe the landlord- my share of the utilities for the past 3 months- taped to the refrigerator. The calm ocean in my mind suddenly became choppy, and in a matter of minutes, 10-foot waves began speaking to me, declaring that I'm fucked, that I'm suffering, and that I am a total failure because how the hell am I going to pay that with what I have in the bank? Needless to say, I did not wake up this morning with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart. But I was and am committed to creating that when it is missing.

Since then, I've been meditating every morning. I sit in the lotus position on my bed, pillow supporting my back, all artificial lights turned off so that the sunshine can pour into my room and illuminate the space with it's blissful energy. I set the timer on my iPhone for 20 minutes, the suggested length of time for daily meditations. Then, I close my eyes and place my hands loosely on my knees. Sometimes I listen to meditative music, and sometimes I just listen to the silence, which Ekhart Tolle claims is the easiest access point into the unified field. Actually, he wrote a book about it called, "Stillness Speaks", which I ordered and happily received this morning! Some days are better than others, meaning on some days, my mind won't shut off and the spaces between my thoughts are nonexistent. But other times I can really slow them down to the point where a calmness envelops my body and I feel really.... connected. That's the word that comes to mind. Connected and peaceful. I think that the more I try and stop the thoughts, the louder they get.

I know I am a blogger, but I've never been a blog reader. There is one blog, however, I have recently begun visiting on a daily basis, and it is that of Jason Mraz. He's really made a big difference for me. The way that he shares himself on his blog is inspiring- he holds nothing back and ventures to places even bloggers with zero readership would ever go. He has zillions of subscribers, and that is what inspires me. His courage and commitment to being authentic in the face of the traditionally shallow world of the famous is notable. He inspires me to keep pushing the bar on my own self-discovery to the point where I can't imagine a life without meditation. Never in a million years would I ever expect to do what I always made fun of my dad for doing: sitting in silence, with my legs crossed, my eyes closed and not even a hint of boredom. I guess I really am growing up.

My Parents

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Fish and Foliage

It's Monday night at 7:30 pm. The peacock feathers that adorn the wall in front of my desk are blowing in the wind being created by my ceiling fan. It's quite beautiful to watch, actually. I also stuck some of them in a now dead mini palm tree that is sitting in front of my window. I have been telling myself to go and buy some fresh soil to replant it in since the stuff it's in is crappy Ikea-grade dirt. But despite my best intentions, I never actually went to the store and now it's completely haggard and dead. Maybe it's time to invest in some new foliage. And perhaps a fish too. I like to have life in my room, and plants and fish really energize a space with that life force I so love to be surrounded by. Since Cupcake died, I haven't even thought about purchasing another fish, worried that I would hurt his soul's feelings by pretending like I could replace him with another. No other fish can ever take his place, and I think I've communicated that to him. But at the same time, I feel like it's time to move on, and perhaps a new fish friend and new plant would be just the way to do that.

I spent all day in bed yesterday, perpetually on the verge of blowing chucks as a result of the alcohol I ingested the night before. I have to say that my inability to handle even minimum amounts of alcohol is really quite shocking. I don't drink all that much anymore, a direct result of moving to a new city of total strangers. However, I was under the impression that all the drinking I did do during college left me with a stomach of steel I would have forever... I guess not. I'm a lightweight now, just like my momma. That's ok though- I don't need to be drunk to have fun, and I certainly don't need it to meet guys. I must admit, though, that it does make the chase a bit more of a game and a bit less of the who-will-be-my-next-boyfriend. It lightens the load, so to speak.

One thing that gets me is when during an interview, the interviewer gets to the part where they tell you about the various "benefits" of the job, which may include a six week vacation, health and dental insurance, and even a monthly wine party to foster community among the employees. "Oh wow!", you think to yourself. "That sounds lovely!" But it's a total set-up. You can't get hung up on the frills when you don't even know if you made it past the first cut. It's such a fine line between being positive and confident, leaving an interview you believe to be a success, filled with a sense of excitement for what the future holds, and assuming you didn't make it, you aren't good enough and idealist.org is still your only friend. Oh, and don't hurt yourself because you still aint insured. It's a fine line between setting yourself up for disappointment, and causing your desires to manifest. I'm totally lost somewhere in between, treading water in the sea of "I dunno". Thank god for the moon, because sometime soon, the tide will go out. And when it does, I'll stick my toes in the sand, wiggle 'em around, and dance under the moonlight. Until then, I'll try and enjoy the water.

My Self

After publishing that last post, I received a surprising amount of positive feedback from individuals I didn't expect to hear from. It surprised me that they read my blog in the first place, nevermind that they actually enjoyed it. It made me realize the difference I can make in people's lives by sharing myself authentically, which naturally includes sharing the everyday bullhonkey I struggle with. More importantly than the bull, however, are the tools, strategies, and spontaneous epiphanies I leverage to get out of the shit and back onto solid ground. I think THAT is the gold I can give. THAT is the silver lining on my dark clouds, and as long as I share it, I'm free from it. It is in the spaces between the letters- the silence between my 100-mile an hour thoughts- where my Self lives. And it is in this place that anything is possible. Now I just have to learn how to find that place when I'm lost. I'm learning...Slowly...


BREAK

I actually wrote that first paragraph two days ago. I stopped on the last sentence, uninspired to continue for some reason. But now I'm back on the horse...

I interviewed for a job at the Association of Farmworker Opportunity Programs about three weeks ago (the picture on the left is the symbol of their 2009 National Conference, which takes place next week in Arizona). I don't think I have ever wanted to work somewhere so bad in my life- not even at the International Rescue Committee, an organization I've been obsessed with since I discovered it while studying in Brussels. Unlike the IRC, AFOP is an organization that focuses all of it's attention on domestic undocumented worker issues. They oversee member organizations in 49 states and Puerto Rico- only Alaska is excluded- who receive grants from the Department of Labor to develop programs that support migrant workers. Some of the programs include ESOL classes, pesticide safety programs using a "train the trainer" model, and housing assistance. When I discovered this job opening and began researching the in and outs of the organization, I was struck with the kind of inspiration you feel when you imagine your dream job. This is it! After volunteering with organizations that focus on supporting refugees, I realized that my passion lies with the underdog, the people who live in the shadows of this great nation, quietly toiling in America's fields for wages that put our nation to shame. On top of that, they are exposed to the evil effects of the corporations that run this country, namely Monsanto and the pesticides that poison hundreds of thousands and people every year. My commitment to animal rights has led me straight into the belly of America, shining a bright light onto the total lack of awareness we have when it comes to the food we are supposedly nourishing ourselves with. Ingesting, we are- but nourishing? Not so much. The word "nourish" is defined as: to sustain with food or nutriment; supply with what is necessary for life, health, and growth. But when you read the ingredients of that frozen pizza, or that fast food burger, what looks like a paragraph in some crazy foreign language is the stuff we are settling for, the "nourishment" we are giving our bodies that make it cry out "no!! please! not that shit again! don't you love me??"

The plight of the migrant worker and the battle against corporate America are intertwined and inseparable. By taking a closer look at where the ingredients in our food comes from- be it the chocolate chips in our cookies, the beef in our favorite canned Stroganoff, or the tomatoes atop our prized frozen pizza- an entire world appears. A world where six and seven-year-old children toil in the fields alongside their parents; where 10 hours of hard labor yields nothing more than a two-digit number, pain, hunger and fear. What really gnaws at my core is that fact that all of this injustice occurs, day in and day out, in the darkness of our own shadows. These people are a part of each of us, woven into the fabric of America and coursing through our veins as we sit in our cubicles, as we drive our cars. The longer they live in our shadows, the bigger our shadows will become until we cannot see where our flesh ends and the darkness begins. As an eternal animal rights advocate, I can't help but relate my favorite quote to the issue of undocumented worker's rights: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated", Gandhi declared. Is it no surprise that in this country, where time IS money, migrant farmworkers are being treated as if they were animals? When you look at the manner in which animals are grown and manipulated, force fed, medicated and jam packed on a factory farm where the only moment of peace and freedom comes in death- is it no surprise we treat fellow human beings so terribly? Members of our own species? Unfortunately, it is no surprise at all.

And so, to bring this 'round full circle- I have never wanted a job so much in my life. I have sent follow up emails and even called last Friday, eager to find out where they were in the process. I was so nervous, wondering if calling was being too pushy or annoying. I finally conjured up the guts to dial, and when she answered the phone, I froze. Now, this women is absolutely lovely, and I thoroughly enjoyed interviewing with her. But when I finally spoke, all I could ask was if she'd received my emails, to which she replied yes and thank you for checking in but "we're still reviewing applications". At that, I gave an enthusiastic OK, adding that I was looking forward to hearing from her. It is now Friday, a week later, and I have not yet heard from her. I think about this job day and night, hoping that each time my phone rings its them calling to offer me the job. Of course this morning was no different. I've been reading tons of Deepak Chopra this week, getting in touch with my inner Self (as I mentioned in the first paragraph), and learning about the power of attention and intention. I decided to call again, to check-in again and re-introduce myself into her existence (or something like that). She didn't answer, so I left a message. I don't really know what I said, but I do know that I was courageous and reiterated my interest in the position and that "I can't stop thinking about it". I wished her a "Happy Friday" and a wonderful weekend and then hung up. It's out of my hands now and up to the universe to orchestrate what happens next. My intention has been released, and now I will just focus my attention, in a detached manner of course, to my desire. Hmm... I hope I'm doing this right. I wish I could call Deepak and ask.

Ode to My Serotonin

You're probably wondering what the title of this post signifies and why it's been exactly one month and a day since I've written last. Or maybe you're not. Either way, I'm going to explain:

If you are not familiar with the inner workings of the human brain, you probably have never heard of the chemical serotonin and may have no idea what it does. Well, good thing I'm here to explain it to you! Serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine are all neurotransmitters and are responsible for continuing a nerve-fired message (aka- a thought) along the "cable", so to speak. I just did some reading about serotonin so to better explain it's role in mood stabilization, but turns out it is responsible for much more than whether you're happy or sad. Serotonin, as far as I understand, is responsible for controlling your mood and everything that effects it, such as sleep, appetite, etc. It's mucho importante, apparently.

Now, the point of all of this background information is to tell you that since the age of 11 or 12, I have been on some sort of "selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor", or SSRI, as a result of depression-like symptoms. These drugs help to keep more serotonin in your brain because apparently, there wasn't enough of it in there to stabilize moods. I was first put on Prozac, which made me completely numb to stimulus from the outside world. I was floating without direction and couldn't care less. That was not fun. Then, I was put on Celexa, which worked for a while (a while being 4 years or so). I don't remember what caused me to desire a switch, but about 4 years ago, I was put on a lighter version of Celexa called Lexapro. Since then, I've been living my life with control, and feeling sad when I want to instead of at random and for no reason.

About 5 months ago I had a breakthrough, and decided that I no longer wanted to be reliant upon drugs to make me happy. After all of the transformations I have gone through this past year and the breakthroughs I've experienced, I felt I had all the tools I needed to maintain mental homeostasis on my own. I was stupid about it at first and didn't consult with a single soul before I suddenly halved my dosage. It was only a matter of time before I felt an extreme drop in my mood and ability to see the bright side of things. I mean really, that's what it is. I was unable to be myself- a naturally happy go-lucky optimist who loves life. That was unreachable at the time. I spoke with one of my dad's friends who is a psychopharmacologist, and he warned me that after being on medication for so long, the only way to stop is to wean off of it SLOWLY. I listened and immediately created a wean-off plan that spanned over 3 months. It was the beginning of a drug-free life... Or so I thought.

It's been 2 months now since I've been officially drug-free. I know I moved to a new city with only a few friends and no job- an environment that would put stress on even the happiest, most stable person. In the beginning, it was fine. But for the past month, it has NOT been fine. The only way to describe it is that Brynn has gone somewhere else. Only the shadow of who I really am has been around, dominated by an angrier, more hostile and depressed version of myself. I refused to believe that it was because I truly do have a deficiency and a need for drugs. I kept telling myself that my body just needs more time to even out, to get used to pure blood unadulterated by man-made chemicals, to reach homeostasis on it's own. But I was getting tired of being depressed for no reason. I was feeling homesick in a way, but instead of missing a place of comfort, I was missing myself. The me that I love to be.

I went home this weekend for Rosh Hashana and to help take care of my poor dad who fell off of a ladder and on to a huge potted bouganvilla plant, breaking 5 ribs and cutting open his elbow. I got off the plane and angrily called my mother demanding to know where she was. Why wasn't she here the moment I stepped outside? What injustice! How ridiculous.... It sucked. I saw her and wasn't overjoyed like I normally would be, because I was sad for no reason. There was a black cloud over my head and I could't see the sun.

After discussing the issue with both of my parents this weekend, I decided that the best thing to do would be to go back on the medication for now. Instead of 20mg, I'm going to take 10mg and see how that makes me feel. What's different this time is that I'm going to be actively involved in medicating myself and not just an uninformed patient, unable to see any other way of solving the problem. I'm beginning to learn more about serotonin and it's role in the body, as well as alternative methods for balancing a lack of it. My brother and his girlfriend see an acupuncturist in Miami that they absolutely love and can go on and on about what a difference in their lives this man has made. Perhaps I should seek out a Chinese medicine man? The only problem is, of course, a lack of funds. I was one of the (what was the number? 40 million?) Americans President Obama spoke directly to last week who have no health insurance, so speaking to a psychiatrist would be pricey. However, my parents have pledged their financial support in helping me figure this all out, which is wonderful. My father's cousin in Virginia also has a psychiatrist friend who I could go and see if I felt compelled to do so. We'll see.

As defeated as I feel right now, I know what is most important. I could look at all of this as a battle between me and the drugs, or me and my "deficiency", but that wouldn't give me any power. I would just be at the effect of it all. No. I'm going to instead look at this as a journey, one that is far from over. I may have begun swallowing white pills again, but that doesn't change my commitment to myself and my confidence in my ability to be self-sustaining. In actuality, it is testament to that and something I will keep in the forefront of my mind at all times. Life's too short to waste on a bad mood.