When my brother died from depression I was scared of getting depressed because of what could happen. But depression is a natural part of life, it comes like seasons. Part of the risk of living and feeling pain is that it might take you out, that’s what makes sadness complex and challenging and mysterious and powerful in its own way, and I still hunger for life to give me everything, every fight it has, I want to know that I’ve stood in the ring Every. Single. Time. Life told me I was great and then took away something of mine as if none of that greatness had any meaning, ever, at all. So I don’t want to be great anymore, but I want to live, I want to live on the edge of where life and death greet each other, I want to stand in the exact spot where my brother didn’t want to live, where he was scared of dying five seconds four seconds three seconds before his heart stopped, when his consciousness faded, and live beginning from that moment. The moment of pain and confusion and defeat. Live into and beyond that moment. Live into more of everything: more suffering and more joy. I’m not going to be brave to be great anymore, I’m just going to be brave.
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