Time of Your Life

‘Suddenly the River swept round a bend, and the banks rose upon either side, and the light of Lorien was hidden. To that fair land Frodo never came again.’

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings



Forever is an interesting concept.

It’s an appealing idea, that something can live beyond us, timeless and unchanging. Everyone wants to believe in the golden glow of the afterlife, eternal sunshine and fields of flowers. In the ending that leads to something better. Everyone wants to believe the end isn’t really the end.

Because nothing lasts forever, does it?

Today I’m talking about goodbyes.

Life is all about change. We grow up, finish school, get a job and start a family – not necessarily in that order. Every new beginning is also the end of something else. So we say goodbye. It might just be for a little while. See you tomorrow, on Monday, in a week or two. Sometimes the parting is longer. See you in a month, after the holidays, next year.

And sometimes the goodbye turns out to be the last.

This is where nostalgia comes in. We long for the brighter moments of the past, forgetting all the hardship that went with them. We look back and wish we’d done things differently. If only we’d seen, if only we’d known, if only we’d had the courage. If only.

But this is how we learn – through experience. We know now because we didn’t know then. This is how we grow, day by day. When you’re young, the years crawl by, and it seems like time will go on forever. It doesn’t, of course. Time catches up with every one of us.

My grandfather passed away when I was thirteen. It was the first death in the family I’d known. We weren’t close, and looking back, I don’t think it made the impression it could have. There were other factors there. I spent my teenage years feeling directionless, always waiting on an uncertain future. Looking back, I regret not pushing myself to do more, learn more, acquire more skills. I just didn’t have the vision, the drive. There was nothing to push myself towards. And there was still time, after all. I was still young.

I am still young. But not as young as I used to be. None of us are. At some point, the river bends. Situations change. Relationships, no matter how much you want them, don’t always work out. The people you care about aren’t always going to be there. This year my uncle passed away, and my mother just had major surgery.

My grandfather had cancer. My uncle had cancer. Today I found out my mother has cancer too.

I guess it runs in the family.

We act as though we still have time, and the future goes on and on and on. Time to waste on trivial things, and take for granted the people who really matter. We act as though we’ll live forever. Maybe that’s the real tragedy.

I’m realizing now that sometimes next time means never. If you want something, go after it. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: don’t take anything for granted. Life is shorter than we think. You don’t want to only appreciate what you had after it’s gone.

That said, maybe the end carries lessons you would never have learned otherwise. Maybe something wasn’t working, and it’s better that it ended before it got worse. Maybe it was time. Because what if the end really does lead to something better? Maybe saying goodbye leads to hello again.

But not always. What we’re all afraid of is a simple, painful truth.

Sometimes the end is just the end.

The Path That Can't Be Seen

'Sometimes life is hard, but sometimes we make it harder than it really is.'

When I was younger, I wanted to be the cool kid.

You know how it goes. Just like the hero of every teen movie ever made, I wanted to be that guy. The one who makes the best jokes, dates the cutest girls and has a brimming social life. The one who’s funny, confident and popular. I wanted to be the life of the party.

Because I wasn’t any of these things.

Instead I was awkward and insecure, uncomfortable in social settings. I was quiet. I stayed home a lot. I felt like I was missing out, that life was passing me by. I dreamed about being someone else.

That was then. Now I’m well into my twenties, and I’ve grown up a little. When I look back on my younger self, it’s with a mixture of curiosity and pity. Because I am more confident now. I’m funny, at least some of the time. I have a busier life, and more friends.

I still get awkward and insecure. But I’m also well-meaning and sincere. I’m still quiet, because I think deep thoughts. Sometimes I even write them down. I work entirely too slow because I want things done well. Social settings wear me out, but I’m fine talking all night with just one or two people. I read books, play games, drink too much milk tea. And I love cats, of all shapes and sizes.

I’m a work in progress. Aren’t we all? 

But I don’t want to be someone else anymore. I like who I am.

I’m never going to be the life of the party. And that’s okay.

Today I’m talking about expectations versus reality.

We all have our own beliefs about how life is supposed to go. They may have come from our parents, our upbringing, our religion, our peers. What we never had and wanted, or what we had and took for granted. Each of us views the world in our own unique way. It’s only natural. 

But sometimes those beliefs hold us back. We think that because we don’t live up to a certain standard, our lives are doomed to failure. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Let’s start with the demons.

In his excellent book, David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits and the Art of Battling Giants, Malcolm Gladwell discusses how the giants in our lives aren’t as overpowering as we assume. David and Goliath is held up as the original underdog story. But it doesn’t make sense. Goliath was bigger and stronger, true. But David was quick and had good aim. He used a sling and cracked Goliath’s skull. It’s the difference between a sword fight and shooting someone. Was it really so improbable that David won?

David was a shepherd boy, not a warrior. He didn’t live up to Goliath’s standard, and didn’t need to. He won because he fought on his own terms. He defied a demon.

What are your demons? 

What makes your heart pound, and your stomach clench, and your hands tremble? What makes you angry and bitter and sad and afraid? What are you running from, but can never escape? They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but what if it breaks you instead?

What makes you want to be someone else?

It’s hard to face these things. Trust me, I know. But for better or worse, our struggle makes us who we are. The demons in our lives can define us – or we can defy them. You might even find they’re not as overwhelming as they seem. 

I know it’s hard. But look your demons in the eye.

Be brave when you’re afraid.

Moving on. Adversity is just one area where we’re so often wrong. Another is romance.

For example, Disney.

Confused?

Don’t get me wrong. I like Disney. Who doesn’t have fond memories of their movies1 growing up? The magic and adventure, pathos and laughter. And the romance. Perfect guy meets perfect girl, they overcome their one great hardship, and once the credits roll, the young couple is off living their happily ever after.

Sorry to rain on your parade – but happily ever after doesn’t exist. 

Classic Disney is filled with heavily romanticized notions of true love conquering all, flawless figures, and princes coming to sweep the princesses off their feet. Impressionable children grow up thinking this is what love looks like. But it isn’t. 

Real love is messier, full of ups and downs, conflicts and misunderstandings, ever-shifting emotions. Passion fades and feelings change. Actually making it all last requires hard work and commitment. Relationships end when a couple gives up, thinking this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. 

But it is. It’s their idea of love which is wrong.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, pornography does something similar. It depicts a distorted, hypersexualized view of the world which isn’t real. Not to say Disney and Brazzers are on the same level, porn is far more damaging. But they both have the wrong effect on impressionable young minds.2 

To be fair, Disney is evolving with the times. In Frozen, the perfect guy is too good to be true, and familial love is just as important as romantic love. Inside Out has an insightful, bittersweet ending. Moana is (arguably) a princess adventure without any romance at all.

I know it’s not real, you say. But are you sure your beliefs about love are based in reality?

For example, not so long ago, I thought being in love meant feeling warm and fuzzy all the time. Um, no. I believed in love at first sight, not knowing that sometimes a spark needs time to grow. I had a narrow view of what made a woman attractive, only gradually realizing that there’s more than one kind of beauty.

Some are lucky enough to have parents or role models who demonstrate how loving someone really works. But a whole lot of us have to figure it out the hard way. Emotional boundaries, healthy communication, respect and compromise and sexual consent. This is what love is really about – not the idealized fantasy found in popular media. 

Relationships are never perfect. Accepting this is the key to making one work.

It’s understandable how we form these beliefs. We all want order, a sense of how the world works. And this leads to the greatest conflict of all.

Do you believe in destiny?

It’s the question that lies at the heart of faith. Is there a divine order? Are the stars aligned or set against us? Or is it all sheer happenstance, emergent history and culture and human nature interacting which creates the life we live today?

I don’t know. I doubt I ever will. In the end, it comes down to one’s beliefs. Those who believe in God will seek God. Those who believe in science will find facts. Those who believe in disorder will see chaos. Humanity has been asking these questions since the beginning of time.

There is one thing I know for certain: life rarely goes the way we expect.

The ideas you have about yourself will be wrong. You’ll face your fears and be forever changed. You’ll fall in love with someone you never saw coming. You’ll take paths you never imagined you’d take, and do things you never thought you’d have the strength to do. And you’ll learn that sometimes, the hardest part of all is letting go.

I don’t believe everything happens for a reason – but I do believe that there are reasons to be found in everything. It’s up to us to learn from the past, to find meaning in hardship, to strive to be better than before. To fight for what we want. 

And most importantly, to recognize when our prayers are answered in ways we could never have predicted. 

After all. The unseen path could actually lead to something better. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life rarely goes the way we expect.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s a good thing.

1 Off the top of my head, my favorites were Tarzan, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, and more recently, Tangled. What. I liked the lantern scene.

2 Also check out the movie Don Jon for a closer look at porn addiction and unrealistic expectations.

Just One More Time

'The danger is in coming to love the prison.' 

- C.S. Lewis

I have a love-hate relationship with Hearthstone.

For the uninitiated, Hearthstone is a digital card game set in one of video gaming’s most colorful fantasy universes. The concept is one-on-one matches fought against real people via the miracle of the internet. It’s way more competitive than anything else I play.

And it’s a blast. You choose from one of nine different hero classes, each with their own unique cards and strategies. The Warlock utilizes a playing-with-hellfire approach, dealing in demonic forces that injure both you and your opponent. The Priest uses light magic to heal and strengthen your allies, even bringing them back from the dead. Others may favor the Warrior’s aggression, the Druid’s rapid growth, and so on.

The game doesn’t stagnate either. New expansions are continually released, adding everything from dinosaurs to gang warfare to Lovecraftian Old Gods. There’s always something new.

Sometimes I think Hearthstone is a bad influence on me. Being portable, it’s tempting to jump into a match whenever you have ten minutes to spare. But matches play out in real time, and cannot be paused.  If you’re interrupted, you’ll be forced to forfeit. Stick it out and you’ll often be defeated anyway. That’s just how the game works. There is always a winner and a loser.

And losing sucks.1

When I’m on a winning streak, I’m on top of the world. On a losing streak, I feel like throwing my phone against the wall. I get fed up, think that this time I’m never coming back, and uninstall.

But I do come back sooner or later, lured by new cards, stories and gameplay. Because it’s fun. I keep chasing the high, ignoring how it feels to crash.

Today I’m talking about addiction.

No, I’m not addicted to the game. Really. It’s addictive; there’s a fine line there and I haven’t quite crossed it. But it makes a good example. This is how addictions start. You begin with something pleasurable that becomes an obsession. Then a compulsion. The repercussions pile up, but you keep doing it. You can’t stop. You’re always chasing the high, even though the high is slowly ruining your life.

Addictions come in two different flavors. Substance addiction involves an actual drug or medication. Think cocaine, nicotine, alcohol. Behavioral addiction is dependence on a rewarding behavior. Sex, pornography, gambling, shopping, overeating, the internet, and, yes, video games. They sound different, but function the same way. Basically anything enjoyable can become all-consuming for the wrong person.

But why? What causes an addiction to develop?

All in Your Head

The number one factor in becoming addicted to something is whether or not you enjoy it.

I’ve mentioned before that I don’t really like drinking. It’s fun with the right company. Taken too far, though, my emotions spiral out of control. I get depressed. For me, getting drunk isn’t much of a high. I doubt I’m at risk of becoming an alcoholic. For people who love drinking, it’s a different story.

Whereas I do love video games2. Always have, ever since I was a kid. So yeah, I admit it. I’m at risk for those.

But here’s something counterintuitive: what you’re addicted to doesn’t always matter. What’s more important is that it fills a void.

The second factor is the inner emptiness.

I daresay we’ve all felt this at some time or another. The sense of being hollow, incomplete. Maybe you feel like you’re not smart enough, not popular, not successful. Maybe you’re lonely. Maybe you feel trapped in a life you never wanted. Whatever it is, you just want to forget for a while. So you find something that makes you feel better.

That’s how it starts.

Addictions aren’t just about the pursuit of pleasure. They’re also about escaping reality, running from problems instead of facing them. That never works. But we do it anyway. To treat an addiction, the underlying issues must also be addressed. Otherwise you end up right back where you started, chasing a high. If not the same high, then a different one.

But what’s really going on inside your head?

Your Brain on Everything

So here’s the deal. Our brains, efficient neural networks which they are, treat all pleasures the same way: by releasing a neurotransmitter called dopamine. The likelihood of any substance or behavior becoming addictive is directly linked to the speed, strength and reliability of that release. Whatever gives you a stronger, faster and more consistent high carries the greater risk.3

In nature, pleasure is tied to activities humans as a species need to survive. Say, eating, exercise and procreation: a filling meal, being fit enough to hunt down the next meal, finally getting that hot cavewoman. Our brains grant us pleasure as a reward. The actions we took to obtain the reward are then reinforced through memory and learning. Patterns are established, making us better equipped for our own survival.

Animal training works the same way. Using the lure of a reward – food, in this case – your faithful cat, dog or parrot learns a series of behaviors which gain them the reward. Eventually, through repetition, these behaviors become second nature.

This is what I do all day. I know what I’m talking about.

Addictive substances and behaviors are dangerous because they hijack the system, providing pleasure without the effort. Those substances and behaviors are reinforced as the quickest and most potent way to get the reward. Over time, the flood of dopamine overloads the brain’s reward circuitry, which produces less and less dopamine as a result. This is how tolerance develops. The addict now needs even more stimulation for an ever-decreasing high.

The brain can recover over time. But recovery means resisting not just the addiction, but also the cues that trigger it.

Changing Scenery

Back in the 1970s, the US government made an alarming discovery: a good 15% of American soldiers in Vietnam were addicted to heroin. Thus began the aptly named Operation Golden Flow. Soldiers had to pass a urine test before they were allowed on a plane home. Those who failed were stranded in Vietnam until a successful detox. Expectations were low. This was heroin, after all. One of the most addictive drugs around.

For those who passed, however, the recovery rate was startlingly high. 95% of former addicts gave up the drug and reintegrated into American society. They didn’t suffer through endless cycles of relapse and withdrawal. They didn’t need further therapy. They just stopped.  

It didn’t make sense. The prevailing wisdom of the time was that breaking an addiction was all about mental fortitude, the right mindset, the willpower to resist the urges. The focus was on the addicts themselves.

So why were soldiers in Vietnam so easily shaking off their addictions back in the States?

The environment had something to do with it.

In this context, our environment refers to our surroundings. The places, feelings and circumstances we deal with daily form the cues which trigger our addictions. Lying alone in bed at night. Feeling tired after work. Seeing an ashtray, a deck of cards, a computer. For an addict, once-harmless scenarios become stepping stones on their brain’s warped pathway to pleasure.

That’s the key. The veterans were cut off from their cues. This is the logic behind checking into rehab: removing yourself not just from the addictive substance or behavior, but also from the circumstances which lead to it.

All this is oversimplifying a complex problem. Addictions are a cocktail of genetic, psychological, biological and environmental factors. We’ve seen how they can be a coping mechanism, a brain disease, a behavioral disorder.

One thing’s for certain. Addictions are dangerous. You pretend you can stop any time you want to. But you never do.

Instead you’re always tired, your immune system is shot and you have no self-confidence because you’re at home jerking off to porn every night. Or your life becomes a haze of hangovers and blackout drinking, while your relationships crumble around you. Or you smoke three packs a week for twenty years, until one day you find out you’re dying of cancer.

Addictions rob you of the life you could have had. That’s something you can never get back.

Whatever your high is, make sure you know when enough is enough. Know when it’s time to stop. And be willing to reach out for help if you can’t.

Maybe I should give up on Hearthstone. Better sticking to RPGs. But it’s still really fun. And Death Knights look awesome.

Maybe just one more game. 

1 Sounds kind of like gambling, doesn’t it.

I should probably explain the difference between Ranked and Casual Play. Ranked is where the competition intensifies. Winning increases your rank and nets you greater rewards, while losing lowers it. Playing Casual, meanwhile, has less rewards, but losing only costs you your pride. Staying out of Ranked Play is probably best for players wanting to keep things fun and lighthearted.

2 Among other things. 

3 For a more in-depth look at how addictions alter our brain chemistry, have a look at HelpGuide.org.

4 Also check out this excellent TED talk for a wider view of the environment’s role, and addiction in general as a form of false bonding.

Book Review: The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

I’ve mentioned before that I like Mark Manson.

A hugely successful blogger and author whose topics range from dating advice and travel anecdotes to psychological self-sabotage, his writing contains a common thread of self-improvement. Mark Manson wants you to be a better person – by accepting what makes you feel worse.

Think of self-help and odds are what you come up with is general optimism and upbeat advice. Think positive; focus on the good; align yourself with the universe, whatever that means. This, Manson argues, is stupid. Everyone gets stressed and depressed, and sometimes life just sucks. Forcing yourself to feel good is avoiding reality. The pursuit of happiness only reinforces that you are unhappy as you are. We rarely have a good idea of what makes us happy anyway.

In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Manson explains that we are always, consciously or not, choosing where our focus and energies are directed; what, ahem, we are giving a fuck about. To be better people, that focus must be well-thought-out and intentional. Through entertaining examples and his own personal experience, he shows how faulty values and self-limiting beliefs blind us to what’s truly important.

That sounds bland, but trust me, it’s eye-opening. Funny too. He swears a lot.

‘People aren’t just born not giving a fuck. In fact, we’re born giving way too many fucks. Ever watch a kid cry his eyes out because his hat is the wrong shade of blue? Exactly. Fuck that kid.’

Sorry if you’re offended. I’m amused.

Admittedly, the book is aimed more towards Western society. The author, an American, rails against entitlement and first world problems. Having travelled extensively through over fifty countries worldwide, it’s clear that all those different cultures made an impact. He’s been critical of America (among other countries) in the past.  

Mark Manson’s irreverent, no-bullshit style isn’t for everyone. Go check out his blog to see if it’s for you. Also, a disclaimer: certain parts of the book are featured articles. A few chapters may sound familiar. But the book does present it all in a cohesive package.

The Subtle Art is an anti-self-help book. It doesn’t want you to feel good. It wants you to think about why you feel bad – and understand that feeling bad is a part of feeling good. Its counterintuitive notions make a lot of sense. The acceptance of a negative experience is a positive experience. Our circumstances aren’t always our fault, but they are always our responsibility. Our bleakest moments can also be the most transformational experiences of our lives.

Light and darkness. See why this book appeals to me?

I fully recommend it.

A Different Dawn

         If I lay here

                    If I just lay here                                  

                       Would you lie with me 

                                      And just forget the world?

                                                                    - 'Chasing Cars', Snow Patrol

Today I’m talking about endings.

We all have things we truly care about. Hopes, dreams, places, people. We look to them for comfort, reassurance, stability. For light, when all we can see is darkness. Is it any wonder that they come to mean so much?

That these are the people we love?

So we hold on to them, for as long as we possibly can. We hold on to hope. To the idea of them always in our lives. We want to believe in the stories we tell ourselves, about dragons slain and demons conquered. Because reality can be cruel.  Sometimes hope isn’t enough.

Sometimes dreams die.

Because that’s all they ever were. You wake up to a colder, clearer dawn. And you know things can never go back to the way they used to be.

But maybe they were never meant to be that way.

The author, Najwa Zebian, talks about building our homes in places not meant for us, in the hearts of others. When they leave we feel bereft because we built our lives around them. We need them like no one else. But in the end, the only people we truly have are ourselves.

The sun always rises. It’s the only thing we’re ever guaranteed. The world changes, people come and go, but the sun will always set on one day and rise on another. We can never go back, but we can move forwards. We can pursue new goals, new experiences, spend time on what really matters. We can build on what came before. We can find someone new. We can be our own light in the darkness.

As painful as they are, every ending is also a new beginning. Grieve for the end, but look for the dawn.

Even though you know a part of you will always remember the sunset.      

           

Dead Men Tell No Tales

No spoilers, impressions only.

Pirates of the Caribbean has been around for a while now.

The first movie, Curse of the Black Pearl, took the world by storm back in 2003. There was an ancient curse, undead pirates, swashbuckling action split between the tropics and the high seas, a pair of heroic young lovers-to-be. And it birthed one of Johnny Depp’s most famous roles: the iconic Captain Jack Sparrow.

The second and third films made an epic trilogy. The stand-alone fourth was less well-received. Now, a good six years later, the fifth instalment attempts to reinvigorate the franchise. Does it succeed?

Well, no. Not really.

It’s hard not to see Salazar’s Revenge – Dead Men Tell No Tales in North America – as a rehashing of old elements. Everything I said up top? It’s in there. Only now it all feels rather tired. Jack Sparrow used to be drunk but savvy, an unpredictable wild card. Now he’s just drunk. Mister Gibbs is still Jack’s loyal first mate, Pintel and Ragetti still the comic relief. Then there’s Barbossa. Villain, plot twist, reluctant ally, deuteragonist. Jack’s nemesis has played a lot of roles over a lot of movies. Maybe it’s the wig he’s wearing this time around, but Barbossa definitely feels old.

But let’s focus on the new faces. Salazar’s Revenge follows young Henry Turner on his quest to lift the curse of Davy Jones from his father, Will Turner. Not a spoiler, you find out within the first five minutes. Joining him is Carina Smyth, a headstrong young woman on a mission of her own. Their pairing is one of faith versus science. Henry lives and breathes myths and legends, Carina logic and rational pursuits. Henry is a generic nice guy. Carina’s condescending attitude gets old fast.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence after the last movie I saw, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 – which was excellent, I fully recommend that one. But I found it a little much that in this movie, both the hero and heroine have daddy issues.

They’re not bad, really. I just found it hard to care about them.

Captain Salazar and his merry band, on the other hand, are great. First there was Barbossa’s skeletal crew, then Davy Jones’s coral-encrusted monstrosities. This is the third set of undead pirates thus far. Yet their ghostly style feels fresh. Their ruined ship, the Silent Mary, is awesome. Salazar’s hair drifting without wind is a nice touch. The villains, at least, get points for originality.

They can’t carry the story by themselves, though.

This movie has pacing problems. The first act drags, the second fails to build momentum, and the third feels rushed as a result, as though we’ve stumbled into the climax. It was a fair ending. But despite the action, much of the first half left me bored.

The fifth instalment attempts to return to the series’ roots, while also carrying the story forwards. There are numerous throwbacks to the original trilogy. But it feels like the Pirates franchise is past its prime. Even the post-credits scene was more irritating than exciting. It’s only more of the same.

I hate to say it, but maybe it’s time the dead men stayed dead.

Salazar’s Revenge is a fair action/comedy. I’d still recommend it for pure entertainment value. Just don’t expect too much. I can’t see this being anyone’s movie of the year.

Sickened

So I’ve just finished reading Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood. It’s not for the faint of heart.

This is the story of Julie Gregory, whose childhood was dominated by her mysterious illness. At her mother’s insistence, they would see doctor after doctor, putting her through tests, dietary restrictions and even surgery. In the end, every physician concluded that there was nothing wrong with her. Julie’s mother would fume at their incompetence, bringing her to still more hospitals and specialists, telling anyone and everyone that her child was sick, dammit. They had to get to the bottom of this.

But the only sickness was in her mother’s mind.

Sickened is a story about a bizarre form of child abuse. Munchausen syndrome refers to a person feigning illness to garner attention and sympathy. Munchausen by proxy (MBP) is doing the same to someone under the perpetrator’s care – typically a spouse or a child. The author describes being told to ‘act sick’ as a child, while her mother lied to doctors about headaches, nausea, fevers, heart problems, and more.

The setting is backcountry America during the 70s and 80s. Julie’s mother is a tragic, manic figure beneath a mask of normality, herself subjected to horrible abuse in adolescence. Her father is saddled with an inferiority complex, violent when enraged and addicted to television. Her younger brother is the only normal one of them. While there are warm and even comical scenes, dysfunction abounds. On their isolated farm in Ohio, foster children and aging war veterans brought in for the government funding they represent are also subject to mistreatment and neglect.

The author’s ‘illness’ is the core of the story, however. As she grows, she is medicated, malnourished, emaciated and overworked with farm chores, all at her mother’s behest. Her schoolwork suffers, with teachers and peers eyeing her as though she could drop dead at any time. The real tragedy is that the author actually wanted to be sick, to gain her mother’s approval. The illness became her identity.

MBP is highly controversial, with good reason. It’s hard to believe a mother could do all this to her child. The first few times the author strikes up the courage to tell others the truth, she is met with scorn and flat disbelief. Only as a young adult, living free of her parents at last, does she begin the slow and painful process of growing beyond the imaginary illness that consumed her life.

Disturbing though they are, stories like this put things in perspective. Despite all my worries, I’ve got it pretty good. Other people’s lives have been far worse than my own.

Sickened is an extreme example of something that I think is, sadly, quite common: growing up convinced there’s something wrong with you. You’re too loud, quiet, fat, thin, quirky, boring. The list could go on forever.

When all along, the only thing wrong with you is the belief that there’s something wrong with you.

I’m not sure whether to recommend the book or not. It’s slim, less than 250 pages. But I don’t think this counts as light reading.