Why Suicide Is Not the Answer to Your Problems

You are at the end of your rope, and you can’t take it any much longer. You are in pain, and you are suffering, and you feel there is no hope. The first thing that you need to do is to seek the services of a professional counselor. As a published author of a managing fear book and as a layman, here are six reasons why suicide is not the solution to your problems.

1. Things Change Over Time


Regardless of your situation, things do not stay the same. You may feel very bad today, but it won’t last forever. Remember this fact: Regardless of your current situation, everything changes over time. This includes your current situation. Nothing remains the same forever.

2. There Are Always Other Options… Always


You may feel lost and confused, but the answers to your specific problems are out there. The key is that you have to find the answers. The answers to your problem will not come to you. As mentioned before, the first step in finding the solution to your problem is to seek help from a qualified professional.

3. You Can’t Predict The Future


You are fearful, confused and do not know where to turn. You think that there is no hope for you. When you are in this situation, remember the 99 percent rule. The 99 percent rule states that that no one can predict the future with 100 percent certainty. Even if the thing that you are afraid of does happen, there are circumstances and factors that you can’t predict which can be used to your advantage. For instance, you miss the deadline for a project you have been working on for the last few months.

Everything you feared is coming true. Suddenly, your boss comes to your office and tells you that the deadline is extended and that he forgot to tell you the day before. This unknown factor changes everything. We may be 99 percent correct in predicting the future, but all it takes is for that 1 percent to make a world of difference.

4. Focus On The Facts of Your Situation and Not Your Thoughts

When people are depressed they rely on their fearful, depressing, and negative thoughts. That is a huge mistake. Your fearful thoughts are exaggerated and are not based on reality. When you are depressed, focus on the facts of your current situation and not on what you think. Do not assume anything regarding your current situation. Seek help from a professional immediately.

5. Go To The Hospital Immediately When Its That Bad

If things are so bad that you are unable to function, drop everything and go to your local hospital or crisis center immediately. The people there will take care of your situation right away.

6. No Situation Is Hopeless

Your loved ones, friends, relatives, God, mental health counselors, priests, ministers, etc. are all good sources of help. They are all willing to help you and they can make a difference, but you must be willing to take advantage of this help. Regardless of your situation, take advantage of the help that is around you. Remember: Every problem has a solution. You just have to find it.

 

 

Mihran Kalaydjian Performing She Left Me Alone

Melody: She Left Me Alone
Lyrics: Edward Khoury & Elias Bandak
Music Arrangements: Edward Khoury
Pianist: Mihran Kalaydjian ” Mino”
Record Labels: Paramount Studios
Location: San Fransisco

She left me and left me alone, she forgot the man she loved; she hurt me and hurt my life.

She left me, she forgot the man she loved, and she hurt me and hurt my life

The love is in my heart for you
It was found there, unconditional and true,
I flutter in the seventh heavens clouds
The lands of pink roses and sugar mounds,

The key to my heart has rested there,
Bursts of heat and sticky sweat love fill the air,
My lungs filled with the scent of love,
And you giving soul lifting me above.

I Had a Brain Tumor

I Had a Brain Tumor

but I’m fine now.

Everything begins somewhere.

A tremor in the left hand, slight muscle weakness, the inability to paint my own fingernails. I accepted these changes as subjects of fascination — idiosyncrasies particular to my body. When I told my mother, she suggested that I incorporate more vitamin C into my diet.

In winter of 2010, the snow piled up against the windows of my garden apartment while I vomited breakfast, then water, and finally a bitter yellow substance for an entire day until I was too weak to move to the bathroom anymore. I fell asleep on the floor wondering whether I would wake up the following day.

How sick do you have to be to call for an ambulance?’ I had texted my roommate who was away on holiday.

After that episode, I began to experience strange throbbing headaches — little lightning storms that I combated by closing my eyes and standing perfectly still until they receded. I lived alone then, an hour into the depths of Brooklyn, in an Italian neighborhood that I reluctantly cherished. I took dance classes five nights a week, unless I was attending a reading or a lecture or some party somewhere. Those were long days, late nights. I lived off coffee and dollar slices of pizza. My fridge held almost nothing but pickles and condiments.

Soon, the headaches joined forces with crippling vertigo. Little spots formed at the edges of my vision. Nausea overwhelmed me in the mornings. I was thin, but that was fashionable.

Once, when the headaches were frequent and fierce, I told my mother that I felt as though someone were pinching the back of my neck and squeezing my brain. I didn’t know it at the time — I wouldn’t find out for months — but I wasn’t wrong.

Near the end of October 2010, there was an early winter storm that swept through New England.  My co-worker, who had been tracking my complaints over the months, escorted me to a nearby clinic.

From there, things progressed quickly. I was given strict instructions to take a cab directly to the hospital. Do not walk, do not get on the train. I nodded dutifully as I continued throwing up into an H&M shopping bag. In the emergency room at Beth Israel, a nurse took me for a CT scan. I had never been in a hospital before. I waited for the results. A concerned attendant peeked through the door at me, then withdrew again. More concerned faces. Bad news, they intoned, without quite saying what was bad. I was admitted, decorated with IVs, and told to wait again. At one point, a young doctor said to me, “That’s quite the goober you’ve got in your noggin.” Goober? That was the first I’d heard of it. He showed me the scans.

When I think of tumors, I think of metaphors of invasion. Something foreign, forceful, and undesired. The growth of darkness where before there was light. The young doctor pointed to the screen and said, “There.” Therewas a shadow at the back of my mind. A sphere lodged against the cerebellum, a presence that was both alien and of myself. Not a tumor yet, but not not a tumor either. To confirm that either way required a series of MRIs.

From the emergency room, I was moved to the neuro step-down unit. That was serious, a friend informed me by text. An older doctor whose glasses sat at the tip of his nose and whose voice was firm but kindly throughout his explanation of the condition hemangioblastoma agreed that it was indeed serious.

At that age, I thought I had things figured out. I thought I was invincible. I could take another Advil. I could push through the headaches, the vertigo, the nausea. Everything was fine, I’d convinced myself, because everything was supposed to be fine. Sickness, tumors, brain surgery: those things happened to other people. The doctor asked to schedule the surgery immediately. I asked for a moment. For twenty minutes straight, I sobbed aloud at the edge of my hospital bed. I don’t want this, I can’t do it, I don’t want this. How did this happen? Why?

Hemangioblastoma are vascular tumors located in the cerebellum, brain stem, or spinal cord. Accounting for less than 2% of tumors in the central nervous system, hemangioblastoma typically affect middle-aged individuals and can be associated with Von Hippel-Lindau syndrome in which tumors recur continuously throughout a person’s lifetime. They are noncancerous, but can cause serious complications over time. As long as surgical excision is possible, prognoses tend to be positive.

To ask why or how,  I was diagnosed with a rare tumor known to affect an age range far beyond my own, is to commit my thoughts to a wheel of irrationality. I could turn the question over and over and never have an answer. From there on out, I moved as though in a dream.

I had to call my mother. Nothing could happen until I’d seen her in person. But when she answered, I couldn’t form the words. Handing the phone over, I asked the doctor to explain the problem. Three thousand miles away, a grown woman pulled over to the side of the road and cried, then purchased a plane ticket so that she could attend the imminent craniotomy of her frightened twenty-something daughter.

My mother kissed my face, told me she loved me, but did not accompany me to the prep room. The walls were white and the hallways went forever. Four hours of surgery turned into eight. There had been some bleeding, they said.

Four hours of surgery turned into eight. There had been some bleeding, they said. I woke panicked and groggy. What time was it? Did my mother know I was okay? In the ICU, the nurses told me I had the healthiest lungs in the ward. My head was so heavy. I remember the morphine made me sick. I thought my stitches would split back open.

Slowly, the physical evidence of trauma faded. I wrote so many pages pondering the dreamless darkness of those eight hours. If I had died, would they have gone on forever? Would I have known myself missed? Had I glimpsed into the after and found it empty? For weeks afterward, I dreamt vivid, terrifying flashes that woke me in the night.

Through a scattered plot of points over a period of years, I can trace a path from the first suggestion of something amiss to the doctor’s final diagnosis. At any number of crossroads, I could have turned another way and arrived at the end more abruptly. I think of the neurology appointment I made in March of 2010, then canceled because the headaches had subsided for awhile. Or the end could have been different, could have been worse, could have been nothing. If I had taken more vitamin C or had eaten better or slept more? If the tumor had been cancerous or inoperable? Or — again — that wheel of irrationality.

It’s many years on now and I can climb mountains as well as stairs. I write stories and keep more in my fridge than condiments. My hair has grown out and most of the feeling has come back to my head, though they severed the nerve there. Whenever I tell anyone that I once had a brain tumor, I qualify the statement by adding: but I’m fine now.

 

At the end, this is the main reason I play the piano, it was my first medicine to come over my pain and the change I had in my life. Please respect my thoughts.

Gain In Pain

Gain In Pain

By Mihran Kalaydjian, CHA

Consultant, Strategist, and Writer

 

I fall a prey to great affliction,
Undergo sufferance with botheration.

Why should I undergo pain and fret?
Why should I twitching heartache get?

Why should I undergo this distress?
Why should I have this unhappiness?

I stumble to interpret and expound,
I am helpless to unravel and come around!

In God’s wonderful and glorious creation,
There is nothing whatever without reason!

‘Oh! God! Why have you thrown me over-board?
Oh! God! Why am I saddled with such a load? ‘

‘Oh! Ye man, when life is trying and troublesome,
Difficult, with misery, formidable and toilsome;

With worry, trials and tribulations,
You are made tough to get invigoration;

You gather spirit, strength and tenacity,
You become chaste, pure with sublimity;

Distress gives you the grit and determination,
To overcome the bitterness in the situation;

With sufferance you learn endurance,
You engender enthusiasm and tolerance;

With pain you restrain and gain wisdom,
You are seasoned, cohesive and solemn;

With affliction you beget verve and inspiration,
You become deeply profound with beatification! ‘