This week I went through a severe mental breakdown. I was able to be honest with myself that I was suffering from depression. Its interesting to live in a world of social media where your daily routine comprises of reading peoples thoughts, activities, ideas, or behaviors. The public rant of politics, inappropriate jokes, or uplifting ideas keeps an entire world habitually prone to share their inner most deepest thoughts with the world. But, there seems to be something missing from the constant chatter..... the truth. I have been subjected to much speculation of being too open about my thoughts on a social media platform, but isnt that what these posts are to serve for? From the evolution of social sites such as MySpace and BlackPlanet as a means of expression, to Zuckerbergs social platform, social media in my eyes should serve as an immediate forum for thearpy. Releasing your thoughts and feelings from the mental prison guarded by social norms and social pressure is what prevents violent behavior and addictive habits. You feel human. You feel open. We all go through it. So allow me to be honest.... I have subjected my life to service. Since a adolescent who was bullied and beaten by the neighborhood thugs, I have always sought to build a sanctuary for the underdog. Often looked at as the skinny guy, the delusional optimist, or the dreamer, I wanted to grow to fight the little fights for the weak, sick, and under privileged. I spent my weekends helping sick children, vacation days uplifting the dieing, and my own personal funds feeding hungry. Not for the recognition, but for the feeling of humanity. That invisible feeling of sharing that seems to brighten anyones day. Often, I feel as If I made a mistake in life pursuing the greater good. Putting my name and reputation out to represent something more than monetary gain, but of humanistic feeling. Often times missing the mark. I had some of the best and worst days working in U.S. Congress. Millionaires I called friends, fancy parties, and expense accounts to entertain U.S. elites. But, as young man who still had friends and family struggling to find jobs and food, something didnt sit right in my 25 years of life. Had I reached success so early in life that I was more concerned of my with the thread count of my suit than truly representing the constituents I swore to represent and defend? Watching U.S. political elections intrigued me. Really, it damn near brought me to tears. Not at the system or the outcomes, but the hope so many people have for the leaders they elect only to see the leaders make deals, sign laws, and use money for personal gain at the expense of the taxpayer. My mom, my friends, my family. Over the past two years, I have experienced extreme poverty. Majority of my personal wealth has been given away to friends, family, and total strangers in one form or another. I cant help it. I feel guilty. Sipping $2,000 bottles of champagne at parties, flying first class, or sleeping in mansions have tainted me. I have learned not to care about materialism for self consumption but for tools of upliftment. Several days ago I was approached by a Muslim man in a Christian center in Malaysia who cried to me about looking for help after he was fired for taking too many days off to take care of his wife who was dieing of cancer. His family hadnt eaten in two days. I guess he took me for a counselor. I didnt know what else to do so I went to the pantry, without asking, and made him a large bag of fruits, rice, veggies, and a mountain dew for the kids. I had 12 ringgit (4 US Dollars) and gave it to him and told him to keep faith. It was all I could do, and the man wept severely in my arms. I cried too. Instantly feeling the warmth of a man who almost lost hope to see it rejuvenated. Experiences like this around the world have caused me great pain. Yesterday I saw a man laying face down in the street with only half a body. Because of my choice of a servant lifestyle, most of those millionaire and high status friends dont even answer my messages anymore. I was told it was election season and people are busy. I guess they dont feel a need. My family thinks Im completely insane and the latest insult from a good friend was what terrorist organization am I working for. That one minutes after I sat with a homeless man in Los Angeles and offered guidance, hope, and a bite to eat. From a wardrobe of 16 expensive suits, 56 ties, 20 pairs of shoes, I now have 2 U.S. military uniforms, 2 I TALK TO STRANGERS shirts, shorts, khakis, and a few cilivan shirts. I have made a drastic change in my life that often causes me great confusion, discomfort, and doubt in my career choice. At the pinnacle of success at 25 years old, I received more respect, money, and friendship to look the part than at 27 to be the part. To spend my weekends shopping for colored socks to match my suits I was treated to shrimp and grits by my mentor, but to share videos of my time in Africa helping 500 students.... he didnt even have time to watch the 5 min clip. I this week I felt worthless. Fighting to gain support and explain my behavior to my past life of socialites. Death surrounds me. I stopped counting at 20 of the people I have met in the past years, who have passed on. As young as two years old. I have seen executions, murders, and grave illnesses take the lives of the innocent. I have to censor my conversations of the truth about what I do or talk about in a day, it could be a joyous as the birth of of a child or as devastating as the death of a child in a drive-by shooting. In Warsaw, Poland I gave my sandwich I just bought to a homeless man. I couldnt help it. I was hungry but I had eaten earlier that day I know the look of a man who hasnt eaten for a couple of days. I have felt that feeling before. I lost hope this week. I felt like I chose wrong. Maybe greed and selfishness is the way to go. Maybe this is too much for me. Maybe spending a night sleeping in a hotel bathroom stall in Europe effected me more than I thought. But then I looked in the mirror and I had to remind myself I may never reside at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave and or see my name on a ballot, but that doesnt mean that I cant be the change I wish to see in the world. I cant single handedly change the world, but I can motivate and encourage. Maybe my perspective can help bring focus. Maybe my past can help bring clarity. Maybe my loss of friendships were needed to collectively only work with those who care. But, who am I to judge. One stranger at a time, I will affect change. I will leave the politics in my past and put the people in my future. It is great to talk about the things I have done, but as my experiences around the world grow, I am learning to speak less and do more. I may never gain the wealth again, but the people helped will increase everyday. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts. I feel better already. Who I was made me into who I am today. If you would like to help my 501c3 U.S. Charity please visit italktostrangers. I TALK TO STRANGERS® (ITTS) Foundation, a social corporation and movement whose philosophy encourages and challenges individuals to create genuine relationships through meeting new people. The purpose of the ITTS Foundation, Inc is to support the mission of the movement by creating programs and partnerships with organizations that promote enriching dialogue and positive collaborations among strangers.These conversations are geared to give individuals increased opportunities, experiences, and understandings about the world and the people around them.
Posted on: Thu, 06 Nov 2014 14:08:48 +0000