My journey of abuse — A Rabbi taught me more about life than a Psychologist.

It’s difficult to come to terms when things to be going all so well but at the same time feel as though they’re falling apart.

My journey, one that still continues to this day, has been riddles with mysteries and confusions. Mental Health isn’t a subject many understand, but we often assume to know so much about it.

Every person that I’ve ever discussed my mental issues with instantly becomes a professional psychotherapist.

I decided to seek help at the age of 23; when I couldn’t decipher for myself exactly what was wrong with me.

How my brain often wandered off into the unknown, How I’d often blackout during conversations, Walk away from opportunities for no apparent reason, Not pursue projects I’d spent hours researching…the list could go on.

I never truly discussed mental illness with my family because I did not quite know how to explain it.

The fear of not being understood was much greater than searching for a cure.

Naturally, I began with the most obvious solution; see a Therapist.

After months spent on therapy and countless amounts of sum spent by the hour for conversations with strangers; only to have them nod and smile — firing back questions at me instead of explanations.

“Why do YOU think you do that?”

“Why do YOU feel like you respond in the way that you do?”

I don’t fucking know, isn’t that what I’m paying you to figure out? — seemed like the most appropriate response.

It wasn’t until two years later and being tired of being a guinea pig for medication testing subject; I decided there probably wasn’t an answer to be found, that maybe this was just the way it is.

Until one day, as I browsing through the internet I came upon a series of minute long conversations with a very scholarly looking gentleman.

His name was Abraham J. Twerski.

It was weird, discovering that after all the countless hours I’d spent on therapy I’d find the answers I’d been looking for from a Rabbi I’d never met, from a religion I did not belong to, and the fact that it would take less than Ten Minutes for me to finally be at peace with myself.

He wasn’t pushing an agenda, nor was he preaching to me.

He simply spoke of life as an experience, and appreciation for what it is.

He did not shun atheists or other religious beliefs.

He spoke simply of experience.

Finding Purpose, a subject that had intrigued me for quite sometime never seemed like it could be so beautifully articulated.

“Be a Searcher”, became my motto as I delved deeper into the teaching of Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski.

It invoked in me a sense of purpose, to worrying about the end resulting; but at the very least trying.

It’s what led me here — to writing.

Sharing my thoughts and not being afraid to do so.

Not shying away from it.

Search for Meaning. Search for Purpose. There’s no harm in it.

In a social culture too crowded with information, I find it enthralling that we have the liberty to access such wisdom for free.

I do not blame my psychotherapists for not being able to find what was the root cause of my depression, nor do I blame them for experimenting their medication of choosing on me; what I do blame them for is not listening and making me feel like I was just another $150/Hour conversation to them.

In the most sensible way that I can word it, I think I could’ve probably had a better conversation and experience with a prostitute for the amount of money I spent on therapy.

I failed to learn the piano, so I decided I’d play the keyboard instead. //All aboard the Crazytrain.

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