MY first boss despised us.

I was 16 and applied to be a busboy/dishwasher at a restaurant. The manager thought I was an irresponsible punk. To be fair to him, I had zero work experience. Furthermore, he didn't like any of us teens. We were all worthless in his mind.

If you think about it, this was an opportunity to mold me and the others. We could be shaped as leaders and mentored to excel. Instead, we were scolded and crushed flat. I have used this example before, but when a toddler touches a hot stove and gets burned they never do it again. Kids learn quickly. I was already developing this shame monster as a youth, so my first boss slipped right in there and burned me. I am not a worthwhile employee.

Thus, my first job shaped those to come. Being smothered by peer pressure at school and quashed at work left me with two options. I could believe that I am worthless because it seems this adult believes that. Or, I could protect my ego and get angry with the boss, the job, with work. Back then, I wasn't as black and white with my thinking. So, I chose to do both. I am a worthless employee. Also work did that to me so I want distance myself from it, or get angry at the job. Admittedly, with the way that most people are treated in entry-level jobs some of the anger may have been justified.

As I continued working in my youth each job was an opportunity to prove those employers (and my shame) that I did have worth. I volunteered for the extra shifts. I learned what was required to get better positions. I moved into key holder positions, manager positions and at nearly every establishment I burned out. It was never enough for that shame I carried. All those failures only enforced my self-loathing.

When I returned to university I was excited. I felt I was finally building a career. After a lot of freelance gigs and scrambling once I graduated, I finally found a home. I had a job where I was an equal, respected, and my colleagues supported me. This is how I look back on it, which is out of character. Those close to me at the time note that it wasn't so rose-colored. I was carrying a lot of stress. I may have enjoyed my new found work family, but the job did come with anxiety.

Leaving the job was not easy, but now that my life was more in balance I met someone. That relationship led me to move from my home to another country and I was no longer able to keep my job. Coming to a new country meant paperwork and more paperwork. All that bureaucracy takes time and I was unable to work in my new home. I managed to do some freelance work for my old company. However, I had a lot of time to over think.

My career was likely a fluke. Shame was back and stronger than ever. I was worthless. Somehow I had gotten lucky and that was now over. After getting residency, I had some interviews. Unfortunately, I didn't really have a network in my new home. I didn't have that inside track that other candidates may have had. Hopping from job to job in my youth lasted longer than my career, so it must be my truth. Now, I had a partner on top of a family to disappoint. Broken, jobless man is not something we value in society and media. I breathed these shameful thoughts minute by minute. I broke down. I wanted to die.

Therapy and medication versus 40+ years of shame is not a fair fight. It is a process that I will continue the rest of my life. Working through past trauma is not easy. I am not enough is the over arching theme and it can also color my recovery. I am not good enough at therapy to deserve to be healed. I have recognized that a great deal of my self-worth has been tied into my job/career. I don't want to be social if I have to say I am unemployed. In the West, that is all we talk about, our jobs that we do 40+ hours a week and the weather. My self-worth is based on internalized capitalism, always be producing. For you older folks this is the Protestant work ethic, doing anything but work is a sin.

Here I am with my toolbox of therapies attempting to parry every strike from my core belief that I am worthless. It is a 24/7 job. When I see opportunities to re-enter my career, I am terrified more than ever. I look back and see the connection between my self-worth and work. Surprisingly I see my progress from breakdown 'til now. Will a new full-time contract be different or will I repeat the pattern?

From the perspective of our capitalist society one must be employed. Those basic needs of food, shelter, water, and clothing are not guaranteed. Regardless of my health, I must work. While we may have made some progress with the stigma of mental health, it remains difficult for many to recognize how debilitating invasive thoughts are. Sometimes a serious physical accident can have severe consequences and we do not expect the survivor to return to work. However, someone with depression just needs to cheer up and get back to work. Anxiety? Relax and focus on the job.

I have been in a new part-time position for a month facing the fear of failure, the fear of repeating my pattern. I have received support from the new colleagues, but I cannot shake the need to prove myself. The imposter syndrome is thrumming in the background of every meeting. I will never do enough to impress my employer. Those close to me are waiting for the shoe to drop and to watch me disappoint once again.

In the moment, I can use my strategies and see some pride in what I am doing. I can know I am making a difference. Unfortunately, those positive feelings can be used against me by those damaging thoughts of worthlessness. I am overcompensating, being cocky, or completely ignorant of how easy my job would be performed by someone more talented.

That overwhelming fear that I will repeat the pattern of burning out while I try to prove my worth to those around me is so real that I can taste it in the air. Walls that I was easing down in therapy are quickly rising back up.

Of course, it is me who I am trying to prove myself to. It's not the fault of those around me. And, I wouldn't have known if I was ready to return to work unless I actually tried. Then, there's the thought from above that this is a journey. My healing will happen throughout what is left of my life. Would I ever be able to work absolutely free of the self-loathing? Perhaps, not. Does this fall under the 'it is what it is' category? Maybe I will never be ready to balance a career and my mental health. I don't know. If I did, well I wouldn't be having these thoughts, I guess. Anyway, time for bed. I have to work tomorrow.

In 2021 I spent a decent amount of time with the regional Canadian Mental Health Association in a couple roles. First, I tried volunteering on the distress line and then I got involved with a committee and fundraising. There's no doubt the not-for-profit organizations have struggled during the pandemic, but what struck me was society's attitude toward mental wellness. The stigma of depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc. is slowly eroding away. Yet, I am still trying to help raise funds for assistance. In particular, how is that money spent?

I can look at the annual report and give you specific numbers, but like so many things in our world the answer is always "more money is needed." I promise I am not going to go off on one of my capitalism rants. I also do not need to tell you about how badly mental health is underfunded. Certainly the pandemic has drawn more attention to the issue as we all isolate and no longer have those connections humans desire. There has been some increase into funding mental health because governments recognize that should we find "normal" again, after the pandemic, mental wellness services will be needed.

There, we have more money. Well, that's that. Thanks for reading.

Wait...

The programs in place were already underfunded. Any boost allows organizations to pay their bills. Or perhaps, they can expand counseling resources from two therapists to three. Group homes can get the maintenance they needed 4 years ago. A help line may now have the funds to be 24 hours or start a texting service as well. There is a large need in our communities going unfilled. Naturally, any money going to not-for-profits should expand their services to help more people.

I mentioned that I volunteered at the distress line. It was a very challenging situation for me personally. I entered the training believing that this role would help me keep many of the strategies I have learned in my mental wellness journey. Use it or lose it, practice makes pattern (not perfect!) and all that. I received a great deal of training at no cost to me and the professionals were there during every call I took. Afterwards, I would be debriefed and offered any assistance I may need. If those on site couldn't help me with a troubling call, I could speak to a therapist through a health plan that the organization has. Volunteers getting health benefits? That's cool.

I lasted a few months before I decided that wasn't the position I was ready for at this moment in my life. I may share more of that story in the future, but in the end I do not fit into the crisis model. Again, because we have ignored mental health for so long as a society, these distress lines are incredibly busy. Thus, the need for volunteers. Financially it isn't possible to have psychologists and therapists on the line for 24 hours. The crisis model is used by volunteers to help callers get through the immediate emotions. Moving callers from panic to concern, for example. Then, volunteers and callers come up with strategies should a similar situation happen again. Finally, volunteers offer the contact information for more long-term services. In this model, volunteers can help more callers. Referring people to long-term services means I am not on the phone for 3 hours with someone. It is also important because it doesn't create a dependency. If you are calling me 4 times a day, I cannot help others.

A Thought Experiment

Imagine if we really funded mental health as we did COVID-19? What if those of us volunteering at the crisis line were actually paid for our experience? We value programs to help community wellness, but do we recognize the roles of those within it?

As I said, that fast moving crisis model wasn't for me. Still, others thrived. Many of the volunteers eventually do more training and become paid staff. It's a tough field, though. In my search for someone to talk to I briefly saw a counselor connected to an addictions clinic. The individual took some time off and I was reassigned. When they returned, I saw them for a couple months and then they left permanently. Most of us have encountered issues at work where there just are not enough people on hand to finish projects on time and efficiently. It is very stressful. Now, imagine that in a mental health setting where people come in 8+ hours a day and tell you such intimate and difficult stories. Burnout must be inevitable.

In a similar story, my first attempt at getting help was at a teaching hospital. One day a week they do intakes for a program. They interview everyone that shows up in a 3 hour period. From there, they only admit those with the greatest need. I was turned away. Setting aside my emotions, imagine that as your job. "It sounds like a difficult situation, dealing with suicidal thoughts twice a day. However, at this time we cannot admit you to the program (because I just met someone thinking about killing themselves 4 times a day)." You work at a place so underfunded that you are weekly turning away people who may die. Burnout is inevitable in this situation.

Personally, I believe I could better serve in a group situation where I could share my experience and have those long-term connections with group members. Sometimes this is called peer support. Many organizations have a professional and someone with lived experience lead a mental health group. I have been looking for a space to do this kind of work instead of the distress line work. I feel it is a calling of sort. Of course, I cannot live on volunteer work alone. I must make money. Thus, this blog is somewhat self-serving. It would be amazing if I could find a position like facilitating a group and to receive pay for it. Unfortunately, that's not a reality at this time.

Kudos to all the work we've done as a society to combat the stigma surrounding mental health. There is progress to be proud of, but no amount Silcon Valley startups offering apps for video therapy or phone counseling at a small subscription price are going to move us forward. We need to fund mental health like we fund a military. The private sector is all about profit for shareholders and they cannot be in charge of health, mental health, or education for that matter. We'll get more prescriptions from big pharma, instead of funding people with lived experience and history to help others. Nobody wants to live in a world where we have to subscribe to pay for our life giving organs. Mental health care needs to be taken seriously not only by society, but by government and budgets. The people doing the work do not need achievement awards or LinkedIn reviews. They need to be fairly compensated and respected.

#MentalHealth #MentalWellness #Funding #Watercolor

The fear of what will happen to the economy during the pandemic permeates our daily lives. Politicians, entertainer-journalists, and your friends and neighbors are frightened about the financial future. "What will happen to the economy?"

The Fantastical Beast Economy

I am fascinated that we refer to the economy like the weather. As if we do not have any control over it, the economy roams the planet devouring currency and disrupting markets. We lose jobs, our homes and possessions because of 'the economy.' The value of our labor and the products and services we offer changes because of 'the economy.' Leaders suspend protective laws, start wars, and base taxes on 'the economy.' If the economy isn't a creature like the Loch Ness monster or a force of nature like a hurricane, what exactly is it?

The definition of the word revolves around the production, distribution, and consumption of goods and services. We are the producers, the distributors, and the consumers. So do we fear ourselves? If the economy collapses we are out of work and cannot afford to consume. It's an ouroborus, the serpent eating its own tail. Or is it? We are the force behind the economy. Perhaps the problem we will face after the pandemic isn't 'the economy,' but what we choose to value.

Worth

As individuals we have different interests and passions. A Michael Jordan autographed photo has little value for myself and others. However, there are those who would pay top dollar for his authentic autograph. Of course, there is some complexity there. Were I to have stumbled onto a Jordan autograph, I may be tempted to find someone who would pay a pretty penny for it. This is how our society operates, trading valuables for promissory notes.

Prior to the 1930s many countries used the gold standard to back currency. A dollar represented a number of ounces of gold. Like the example above, I don't really have a need for gold. I don't create electric circuits or desire gold jewelry. Yet, gold was a commodity that one could trade for necessary items like food and clothing. Whether currency is backed by gold or not, I cannot deny that it is nice to have a standard accepted by everyone.

Once again, we are talking about representation. Money and the system obscure what is happening and the real value being traded. The economy represents production, distribution and consumption of goods and service. Currency now represents monetary policy, instead of gold. We've agreed I should be paid currency for my production. I will use the currency to pay others for their goods and services. During the COVID-19 pandemic, there is less production as we get ill and stay home. Though, we all still need to consume necessities. Thus, 'the economy' is failing?

'The economy' is about our work and consumption, right? Money is a stand-in for the things we need and desire. The currency is used to bridge the gap in what each of us value. I make a wooden chair, you trade me some promissory notes that I can exchange for some shoes from someone else. With my very basic and general understanding of 'the economy' it is hard to understand how it can fail. Of course, I am not getting into the speculation market and stock exchange. Perhaps that is what we fear will fall apart, not the economy.

Value

One definition for 'value' is worth. Another is meaning. The fact that nurses and doctors are working incredible hours in dangerous conditions during the pandemic is not about monetary worth. What they are doing has meaning far beyond currency. After being in a car accident, the value of my partner holding and consoling me is worth more than a suitcase full of currency to pay for a new car. No one wants the money for cancer treatment, they need the treatment.

Without promissory notes people barter. Prisoners find value in barter since cash is hard to come by and perhaps not worth as much as tobacco or real cheese. When Greece went through the recent financial crisis a barter economy emerged. In fact, the website created for this barter market in Greece exchanges credits similar to bank notes. So what is the difference? I would argue connection. A small community of people bartering is building a network of human connection. The value bleeds into meaning. We often take pride in helping others. We trust the people in our networks and those closest to us. Emotional connection creates a healthier society. Perhaps one where N95 masks are given freely to those in need and not hoarded for profit.

The 1913 Liberty Head Nickel

The economy represents how we interact with each other and currency seems more like a placeholder. That Michael Jordan autograph may be worth a new TV to you, but I would likely only value the paper it was written on. I want the paper, you want the autograph, neither one of us needs the bank notes in reality. We only use them to represent value we create. There are only 5 Liberty Head Nickels. To a collector this single coin could be worth $2-4 million dollars. To the bank, the coin is still only worth $.05. Value is in the eye of the beholder, so how will our economy fail? The stock market, or gambling on the how people may value future goods, may indeed fail.

One of the disadvantages of the gold standard was the distribution gold deposits. This means some countries would have more than others and that could limit trade and growth.'The economy' is a system born from us. It is not as important as what we value. Perhaps the pandemic is an opportunity to examine what worth truly is?

#Economy #Capitalism #worth #value #money

I moved to Edmonton, Alberta several years ago from Michigan. The automobile capital of the world is Detroit Michigan, otherwise known to hockey fans as Motor City. Three hours away I lived near communities with factories making rear view mirrors, upholstery, door panels, and more. The auto industry tentacles spread from Detroit all around the state like a virus attacking the cells in a body. In 2008, General Motors and Chrysler asked Congress for a bailout. The affect on Detroit was devastating and it was all over the news. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of the story. Those communities all around Michigan making parts were infected as well. They didn't get a bailout. People had to leave their homes and the state to find work.

I share my story because it is the filter in which I see the oil and gas industry of Alberta. In the capital of Edmonton, politicians fight to keep the flame burning because it is the revenue that sustains the entire province. It trickles out all around in the "boom and bust" economy. For example, I have journalist acquaintances who have written for trade magazines for oil and gas. Those journalists wouldn't put food on the table without the work. When oil prices go up, Alberta is reliving the gold rush era. When the price goes down, things get bleak. As someone who lived through the auto bailout, this reliance on oil and gas in Alberta is terrifying.

Climate Crisis - Blame and Defense

When thousands of students held a strike at the Alberta Legislature on September 27th they were greeted by signs in the windows of the politicians that read "I Love Oil and Gas." Greta Thunberg is expected to come to Edmonton on Friday, October 18th and the current government seems hellbent to have nothing to do with her. Greta is black and the government is white. This is the political atmosphere of our world and possibly more dangerous than the actual climate crisis. The government has taken the defensive position out of fear. Being seen with Greta could hurt their chances of being reelected into a system that is about helping people. This is the goal of Greta too. Her actions are about saving people, not the planet. As a politician, would it not be nice to see a fellow human being following in your footsteps and choosing the path of a leader at such a young age? Can the environment minister, Jason Nixon, not support her for that, even if they have different ideas politically? That's the beauty of gray, and not part of our current cultural atmosphere where everything is about blame and defense.

Greta threatens people with her use of language. She is fed up that business as usual has tried to sweep the very, real climate crisis under the rug. Perhaps it is a poor strategy as she is putting people on the defensive? However, each of us are in charge of our own response. We value those who fight for what they believe is right, more than we value empathetic communication. So, the response over and over is one of anger and defense. It's a black and white world. Greta blaming adults and governments for not listening may be just as bad as those shouting that she's wrong. We don't live in a society of discourse. We live in a world of sound bites, memes, clickbait headlines, and choosing sides. You are with us or you're against us.

Too Big To Fail

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly I don't know why she swallowed a fly - perhaps she'll die!

There was an old lady who swallowed a spider That wriggled and wiggled and tiggled inside her. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly I don't know why she swallowed a fly - Perhaps she'll die!

Our world is a complex one. A single solution to a problem can often result in numerous other issues. The automobile virus that surrounds Michigan could not simply be eradicated. However, fear kept us from looking for alternatives. Cash for Clunkers was created to assist the Big Three automakers to get back to business as usual. Michigan wanted to put the past behind them. The state could not simply pick up and diversify in a short time. The infrastructure of its government, industries, and communities was all built within this huge system that relied on the auto industry. Similarly, Alberta, its inhabitants, and Canada as a whole stay afloat because of oil.

Alberta cannot merely stop producing oil and gas. It's a harsh reality. At the same time, as a species we cannot continue on like we are. Our children will pay with their lives. The climate crisis is not about "saving the planet" like so many in the 1990s and early 2000s boasted. It's about saving humans. Blaming temperature change on the planet is not a solution. Like Michigan and Alberta economies, the environment is a giant system that is woven into our lives. The hard work is in the sacrifices we decide to make to ensure our own survival. Time is wasted when we try to point fingers with blame. This is why Greta and others are striking. They are giving up something important, like their education and work, to bring light to an issue.

The time for choosing sides is over. It is time to seriously sit down and discuss strategies before it is too late. Greta herself, has even said that it isn't her you need to listen to, but scientists. The demand is that we do something about the climate crisis. It is not that we must all stop driving cars, using plastics, heating our homes, and using light bulbs at night. I'm not a scientist, but renewable resources seem like they would be more profitable for longer than fossil fuels. Of course, that's if you want to sustain your business interests and not just get rich quick. Your opinion can differ from mine and we can discuss it instead of being defensively trying to win an argument. Communication has to happen before it becomes impossible. See, communication needs oxygen. We may have that now, but the future is uncertain despite what those who want to keep their political positions, jobs, and cash, tell you.

That last bit feels as if I am also casting blame. It's a difficult thing to avoid today. Especially, when I am alone in a room typing this instead of having a conversation with my politicians. As I said above, this is not a black and white world. This is a complex system that we are all part of, whether we like it or not. The economy, the government, the planet, our communities, our jobs, and neighborhoods are all systems intricately tied together by a common thread, us humans. There's no argument of whether Alberta oil and gas is right or Greta is, if no humans are around to shout.

Responsibility and Resolution

In the 80s GM closed several auto plants in Flint, Michigan. According to The Detroit News there were around 80,000 people working for GM in Flint prior to the closings. In 2015, there were only 7,200 employed by the auto giant. At Christmas of 1988, Michael Moore told the chairman that he had filmed a family being evicted from their Flint home on Christmas eve. Chairman Roger B. Smith responded, "Well, I'm... listen, I'm sure General Motors didn't evict them. You'd have to go talk to their landlords."

Is Roger passing the buck? Is Moore blaming him for something he had no control over? General Motors is a complex system. I'm certain they didn't close those Flint plants on a whim, but had a meeting about the impact it would have on General Motors. The people who lost their jobs may have sacrificed themselves for the others who luckily remained employed at other plants. This kind of boom and bust is one that we are used to. The lose of drinking water and breathable air are not anything we want to experience. Oil and gas are intricate to the survival of people in Alberta, right now. Can we use those profits to build something better for our children? First, we have to have the conversation as a group of humans, not politicians trying to get votes or CEOs looking to keep investors happy. World War I and World War II did not end because of a show of might by armies. It was not the heroic fighting of the soldiers that we should idolize. The wars were won in rooms with pens. People, humans signed armistices. They declared to end hostilities. If we have any heroes today, they shouldn't be costume vigilantes, bombastic politicians, or striking children. Heroes are the people that can see that the world is not black and white and can come to the table to talk solutions.

While sitting and listening in my recent group therapy I heard a lot of talk about the masks we wear. Like me, many of the people in the group are getting to know themselves. They expressed the desire to be around others who are authentic and genuine. This was a familiar feeling for me. I have struggled to make sense of this as well. Relationships flourish when we are vulnerable, but we can also have boundaries. How do we find balance between the two?

This Is Me

There's a danger in identifying with that which makes us neurally different than others. I have certainly fallen deeper into depression by declaring to the world that depression is all I am. We are not our injuries, disabilities, jobs, or parent's children. Each one of us is an individual. I simply wanted to state this upfront because it is important. If we are to be truly genuine, we are all the worries, feelings, thoughts, victories and failures together. We are not just one part of the whole. I recently heard poet, John O'Donohue, say this in an interview, "Identity is not biography."

Part of learning who I am means letting go, in a way. To really let emotions free is a scary process. I have always held them at bay and tried to control them. For example, I cannot cry in a job interview if a question evokes those emotions. It isn't socially acceptable to express our emotions freely. We must be humble in our success and persevere through pain. This societal messaging can seem like a systematic oppression when you're vulnerably exploring yourself. Once you open the valve, it is much harder to close. Thus, my mind can start to do some unhealthy comparison. I'm open and honest and the world is not. I must be the broken one. Personally, I find blame is often a sign that I'm not being honest with myself. Looking for faults in the world rather than acknowledging that I am hurt is a distraction. I am sad that others are still wearing masks and scared that maybe they are not. Maybe they do want to hurt me? All of these thoughts and emotions are within me, regardless if they are true or not, and it is my responsibility to welcome and respect them.

When I let myself be vulnerable, when I am authentically me, it is an alienating experience. One must be courageous to stay in that space out in a world that is black and white. In the larger society around us, we are right or wrong. There are very few places where emotions are freely accepted. Furthermore, I struggle to stay vulnerable because it is new to me. Going out into the public is like being covered in second degree burns in a sand storm.

"Why can't everyone be vulnerable and honest?" This question, a thought, comes in to bring me out of that emotional space. It builds and the frustration becomes resentment. Was I better off before, when I squashed the emotions? Maybe I am better off being alone because it hurts to get close to people?

Isolation and Solitude

There's a distinction between making space to process emotions and isolating. One I do consciously and the other is subconscious. One is work and the other is not. When I begin to question the world around me, I am once again, avoiding my feelings. I may think that I need some downtime and believe that I am doing some self-care by avoiding social situations. The question I have to ask myself is "what is the emotion behind the decision to stay home?" Is it fear of fitting in? Is it shame?

There's nothing wrong with solitude. At this point for me, it needs to be intentional. I am not protecting myself, but exploring without distraction. Can self-care be a cup of tea, a good book, or a movie? Maybe? For me, those often seem more like distractions from some emotion or situation I am avoiding. When given the opportunity to be social or stay home, 85% of the time the social situation is going to recharge my batteries more than staying home. Humans are social creatures. Anxiety, depression and other neural divergent conditions often encourage us to hide.

Friendship and Boundaries

What about our peeps? Can they be as genuine with us as we are with them? Again, 'maybe' is the answer. If it isn't us, we all have that "Debbie Downer" friend. We have the popular one, the chatty one, the artistic, new age one, etc. Our friends play different roles in our lives, just as we do in theirs. It can feel like rejection when you open up to someone and they do not reciprocate. People have individual tastes, though. My partner would not be open to your numerous stories of gruesome surgical blunders, but I would listen. Boundaries are healthy. If someone is truly your friend, you can explore boundaries with them shame-free. Through, open communication they can say, "I'd rather not discuss that." Likewise, you can say, "That makes me uncomfortable."

It can be very difficult to try to find boundaries in today's world. There's a culture of "Gotcha," a desire to call people out. As friends, I would hope we can respect each other's opinion. That's not always the case in the real world, of course. When we expose our emotions, things get uncomfortable. Maybe that's because we don't often speak with our hearts? If can tell a friend in passionate anger my opinion, can I not apologize with just as much sincere love?

Turning It On and Off

Is the switch to turn off my emotions behind my ear? My interior world before my breakdown was a place of paranoia, anxiety, and self loathing. A comment like, "Nice blog, Chris," would invoke questions of sarcasm. If not sarcastic, is the person feeling pity for me? Are they saying that because they think I want to hear it? In my mind, I could continue deeper and wonder what my late father or my deceased grandmother would think. Am I a disappointment? This is all to say that my interior world is a vast echo chamber. All of that and more can happen in the time it takes me to say thank you to the initial comment. Therefore, I don't have to turn my emotions off with a switch. I have plenty of space to process it.

As I said above, I feel very raw and exposed when I am vulnerable, but the best person to comfort me is always here. It's me. All those questions I asked after the comment are motivated by fear. It's a fear that I do not belong. Rather than express the fear with further questions to echo the fear, I can try to use the space to feel it. Welcoming the pain doesn't mean I have to tell the commenter. Perhaps those deeper issues of my father's opinion and feelings of failure may be better explored in solitude, but I can use my inner space to hold and welcome the emotion rather than more questions. Writing this here seems like one of those "in a perfect world" situations. Truthfully, I am not always capable of sitting with emotions.

Processing emotions is taxing. It can be exhausting. This is why people in my therapy group, and myself, struggle in a world that wears masks. We don't have the energy to put a mask back on. When we do, we feel inauthentic and that hurts. I thought I was finally getting to the core of my issues, but now I have to pretend that I am okay for the benefit of the world around me? It feels like a step backwards. I think my strategy is to be genuine with myself. I'll do my best not to wear a mask, but I will try to have boundaries. We are supposed to choose our battles, right?

Confidant

So, how do we find that close friend who we can be vulnerable with? Maybe we don't. Perhaps I can share my insecurities about my art with other artists, but my fear of being a terrible husband are behind a boundary in that case. Instead, I may address that directly with my partner, or a close friend who is also in a committed relationship. Yet, I cannot talk to my partner or friend about my artwork because I fear they won't understand. Does that make sense?

It can feel like change is impossible, but I like to remind myself that I am not the same person I was twenty minutes ago. Those things we experience can change and influence us. If people change, so do our relationships. Our confidant today, may only be an acquaintance next week. It sounds extreme, I know. Fiction in books and movies like to tell us that emotional bonds are forever, but we don't need to grieve every loss. My best friend lives miles away in another city with his family. If we talk once every three months, that's okay. Before, we may have been much closer, but we both have families now. I can embrace that with joy and some sadness. I can make a new friend and confidant. And, that person could move away, or explore a passion that similarly removes them from my life. I think the key is to value the present moment with those around you.

How do you find friends? There's lots of things written on the internet on this topic. I think the first step is to not isolate so much and be social. This is where I am at. This is the thing I can do at this moment. Before I go, thank you for reading this. I appreciate your encouragement and comments. Maybe we're friends?

#MentalHealth #Shame #Emotions #Boundaries #Vulnerability

I've lost confidence in my ability to recognize my harmful patterns of behaviour because my psychiatrist proposed that I may be taking on a victim role. This new label is uncomfortable and I want to crawl back into bed.

victim [vik-tim]: 1. a person who suffers from a destructive or injurious action or agency. 2. a person who is deceived or cheated, as by his or her own emotions or ignorance, by the dishonesty of others, or by some impersonal agency.

Ouch. Trying the definition on for size, does fit. There's a strong sense that by writing this right now, I'm engaging in the practice of victimizing myself. This is why I want to go back to bed. This is why I am frozen, frustrated, and floundering.

I was struggling with my familiar pattern of shame, and the anger I direct at myself. To my psychiatrist, I described a situation where I made a decision, and in that moment it felt good. It was free of strife. As the hours wore on, I started to get angry. "Hadn't I felt pressured into that decision by my spouse?"I thought. Through therapy, I've learned that anger is not a "negative" emotion. It's perfectly okay to be angry at someone. It's simply about responding, not reacting. "Perhaps my anger shouldn't be towards myself? I can be legitimately angry with my spouse."

I brought those thoughts up to the psychiatrist. I felt in control, calmly made a decision, and confidently moved forward. Hours later, my self-critic came in to challenge my resolve. Breaking this pattern is so hard. This is when the psychiatrist proposed that the anger was a result of me making myself the victim. I had taken the situation and made my spouse out to be my oppressor. I was projecting my frustration with myself onto her. Now, I was using the "it's okay to be angry" that I've learned, in this warped way. I was ignoring my responsibility and laying blame elsewhere.

My Own Parent

I've written before about my stoic father. He was genuine and a good person, but I don't ever remember hearing him say, "I love you." Beyond that, he was good cop 85% of the time. As bad cop, mom spent her time telling me how she "should" punish me. I should be grounded, this is the guilt I carried a lot. Thus, this may be part of how I learned to punish myself.

The guilt and shame goes back to the way my mother was raised. Like every parent, mom wanted to give me the childhood she didn't have. Her parents, my grandparents, were very judgemental and negative. After growing up in that, it makes sense that mom would want me to not experience such criticism. Therefore, I was left to punish myself for mistakes, and things I perceived as mistakes.

Now, my grandparents were not negative 100% of the time. Neither was my mother. To be fair, I am also not punishing myself all the time as well. I'm simply sharing my perspective into my patterns. I suppose I'm clarifying because I'm so turned around at the moment. "Is this description of my past, me playing the victim again?"

Regardless of the past, I am my own parent in this moment. Seeing myself as a child is probably not helpful. Yuck. I'm really in a dark space. I'm not trusting myself, right now. I'm afraid the progress I've made with my emotions is now my same old pattern masquerading as development. Again, "is this me playing the victim to my depression and shame?"

Agency Now

Both definitions for victim above deal with agency. I'm feeling a distinct lack of agency since hearing the psychiatrist's theory. Hi, I'm playing a victim to the theory! I was given this grenade to hold onto 3 days ago. I've been ruminating on it ever since. In other words, have I been present?

Right now, I'm writing this in order to find clues and sort through the thoughts that are making me feel like garbage. I'm not simply observing and analyzing the thoughts, though. I'm reliving events. I'm in the psychiatrist's office. I'm back at the discussion with my spouse. I'm worried about my mom and spouse reading this. I'm not here. I'm not present.

I have no agency in the past because it is done. I have no influence on the perceived futures where I've offended my spouse and mother. Agency is control. This is the value that I find in negativity. Assuming the worst, being judgemental is exerting control. If you always believe the worst, you won't be surprised. This is perhaps the power my grandparents used to make themselves feel good about the world around them. The criticism I remembered seeing in them, and the way they behaved around my mother, as she was growing up, was their way of controlling the environment. Here I am, following in their footsteps. Judging the past and the future is not being here, in the now.

Once again, I feel like I need more concentration on being in the now. It seems like an oversimplified solution to my issues. There's another problem, looking for solutions, rather than accepting where I am. Being present is a powerful tool, not a solution. I have agency at this very moment. I can break down and cry, getting lost in the sadness that I feel. I can also hit the publish button to send this out and stop beating myself up. It's just a bit tricky in this state of mind. My resolve and confidence are weakened. If I stop beating myself up right now, am I ignoring the issue? Am I bottling it up and not learning anything? I suppose those questions are dragging me into a future I have no control over. I can only make the decision with the information I have in this moment. Anything else could be flirting with victimization.

#Depression #MentalHealth #Now #Victim

I am sensitive to conflict. It's a topic that is on my mind a lot latey. Last September, I was affected by the anger on both sides of an online dispute. More recently, I felt the need to speak up in another community argument on Mastodon. The printing press was the beginning of a revolution, but the internet has brought humanity to an arms race. All the voices are shouting and no one is listening. Of course, that's my perspective of current events. I think I feel this way because I'm a microcosm of humanity.

Planet

Brexit, Trump, Bolsonaro in Brazil, the tragedy in Syria, and the continued hate in Isreal are all complex issues. In general, it looks like xenophobia is taking over the world. Many hope this is the last gasp of conservative times and brighter days are ahead. People think events like this will galvanize others to fight against the unjust people in the world. This is what frustrated me in the blogs linked above. Fighting begets more fighting.

The willingness to be empathetic with a white supremacist may feel like a waste of time. People believe what they want to believe, right? It's true, some may not be open to empathetic communication, or offer you compassion in return. In fact, this is the play book of US conservatives these days, "Thanks for crossing the isle to try to negotiate, but no thanks." Look, I don't have a solution to bring world peace. I'm just saying searching for a solution has to be better than name-calling and threatening an eye for an eye.

Chris

I realized today the reason I'm so sensitive to all the conflict. Looking at the surface level, my mind tells me that I'm getting old. Sure, that's it. I've seen these things happen a few times in my lifetime. Still at the surface level, the world says I'm a white male and that means I'm threatened because I might lose power. Below the surface is something much more accurate. I am conflict.

I don't like myself. I write about mental health, in part, as therapy. I'm over here trying to convince myself that there's a better way. Yet, inside I loath who I am. When I am in a safe space like a therapist's or psychiatrist's office and I share something emotional, I often get the question, "How do you feel right now, after sharing that?" My first reaction is always, I said something stupid didn't I? This doctor thinks I am hopeless. Pathetic. It's the same when I share something here on the web. I judge myself and project it onto others if necessary.

I am the human writing these words about the value of compassion and empathy. I am also the human who hates that I am here writing this. I should not be so weak. I shouldn't have to keep writing the same thing over and over again. Why can't I learn? People must be so sick of my crap. Those are not empathetic thoughts. I am conflict.

I cannot unfriend myself. I cannot protest myself. I don't think it would be healthy to speak out against myself. After all, that's sort of what that critical voice is doing to me already. My options are limited. Like so many of the conflicts around us, the solution is not an easy one. Conflict resolution takes time. Compassion takes time. Wish me luck and maybe test drive empathy yourself. Hint, it has nothing to do with guns or weapons.

I took this picture wondering how this even happened. How did I end up with identical 8 year old laptops? Like many things in my life recently, the answer is somewhat complex and related to mental health.

First, I offered to adopt the second laptop because it was not functioning. I wanted the challenge of seeing if I could breath life back into the device. When you work at a retail store, your first job is sales not repair. So, when the original owner was told "We cannot promise that a fresh install will work, but you'll lose everything,"  I was somewhat alarmed. These things are not cheap, Mr. Apple Store "genius." Why not try? I wasn't part of this original conversation, so I have no idea if the "genius" offered to backup the data before the fresh install (which is completely possible on Macs with their Target Disk Mode). Yet, this is a 7+ year old device. I've added a new battery, more memory, and a solid-state drive to my personal laptop that is 6+ months older, and I am frequently frustrated by its sluggishness. Thus, I can understand why one would choose to buy a new laptop instead of fixing this one. Of course, it's a matter of cost which brings me to the more complex answer to "how did I end up with a second 8 year old laptop?"

One of my deepest wounds is about my worth. I place a tremendous amount of value on productivity, salary, and how others see me. It's impossible to love and approve of one's self when you are constantly comparing yourself to those around you. There's always someone smarter, braver, bigger, stronger, faster, etc. I can never measure up. I used to make this joke at the expense of my mother's parents, "If I was President, my grandparents would say, 'It's not a very well paying job. You can do better.'" When my mother was in a deep depression, she couldn't get out of bed. For me, it's always been unemployment. How can I ever live up to the expectations I've made for myself? Impossible.

Even now, as I write this, the self critic in me feels that I've been unemployed more in my life than employed. Thoughts that I'm a loser for typing this to the world are loud and frankly hurtful. The reality of those emotions flooding in had me step away from writing this post, briefly.

Being unemployed for long periods of time, and my childhood have created some unfortunate financial habits. As such, I jumped at the possibility of being gifted 7+ year old laptop. My mother helped me realize that we rarely invested money, or saved for vacations while I was growing up because of my dad's health. Dealing with all the complications of Myasthenia Gravis didn't leave us with a lot of money. Nor was there the security of believing that it was a possibility to take a trip to Hawaii in the following year. And so, we didn't look to the future. This infected me with the "I could walk out the door and get hit by a bus" virus. This bug makes me and others see money differently.

My self critic enjoys not being financially stable or employed because it gives him life and meaning. When I see a shiny new phone, laptop, or something else I cannot afford, it is fuel for shame. Therefore, in shame I jumped at the opportunity to get an identical laptop because I don't deserve a new one. I can't afford a new one, because I am not earning enough, because I'll never earn enough.

It's getting easier to see these damaging thought patterns in my life. However, it often happens after the fact, when I can take a step back and see what transpired. Then, my demon returns to tell me, "So much for getting better. You screwed up again." At this point, compassion is useful. A compassionate friend reading this may note that it's great that I can finally recognize the pattern. That's a first step. That same friend might also feel like giving me a hug. This is a role I can take, accepting myself as I am now and giving myself compassion. It's something I have been successful at, but it is not easy. I hope in time this will become a new pattern.

In the meantime, what am I doing with this second laptop, really? Do I donate it somewhere? Perhaps, I offer it back to its original owner, or sell it and give the money to her? There's silly projects I can do with another computer, but I'd rather have a little Raspberry Pi that consumes less energy. I realize this dilemma is one of privilege, but I'm grateful to have another chance at recognizing my self-worth issue.

Much <3

#selfworth #mentalhealth #acceptance #compassion

Victims of violence live in dread and despair, fearing the event(s) could occur again. Depending on the trauma and the individual, I imagine the process of letting go of the fear, to not have to look over your shoulder and be on high alert, takes time. Yet, how does one process a fear that is completely self-imagined?

From the moment I wake up, I am in fear. I get out of bed at a decent time so that no one will think I am a loser. I workout in my building’s small gym because I am afraid my appearance will be mocked by others. I don’t go to the YMCA or another gym with lots of people because I am distressed by the thought that someone may see me working out wrong. After my shower, I take an inventory of the people I may see on the day, from the cashier at the grocery store to friends and family. What did I wear last time I saw these people? I can’t put the same shirt on today, they may think I’m unclean, or worse.

Looking at the email and messages in the morning continues to deliver horror. All of us have internet connected devices in our pockets. What if you sent me a message and I didn’t respond right away? You’ll think I’m ignoring you! Worse, how should I respond? If I say the wrong thing, you may not like me. Speaking of messages, I better send my spouse a nice text before lunch or she could possibly leave me.

Continuing the unhealthy diet of fear, I have to work now. Unfortunately, my effort will not be good enough for my clients. Today, will probably be the day that they let me go. If only I worked faster. If only I was smarter. If I was more charismatic, maybe I’d be better at my job. By lunch, I’m exhausted. The fear of not being accepted for who I am has drained me. My facade crumbles and I run to junk food. That is, as long as no one is around to see me indulge.

Powered by carbs and sugar, I can now get back to worrying that the world hates me. Of course they do. I’ve just eaten a whole bag of chips or pint of ice cream for lunch, like a sad character in a movie. Why would anyone like me? Damn. A message comes through complimenting some work I did. I tremble a bit, uncomfortable. Thankfully, the fear reminds me that the message is a fluke. I got lucky. It was an easy assignment. Great, this client will now expect more of me henceforth. When they learn the truth about me, it will be an incredibly epic failure.

My spouse messages me asking me how I am doing. Since I’ve shared how fragile I am with her, she’s checking in on me. I’m uneasy and scared that it is simply pity. Why would she love someone like this? The thought is distracting and I’m fulfilling the earlier, fear inspired prophecy that I won’t get enough work done today. Another reason for her to leave me, I reflect still consumed by fear.

Perhaps, I better go to the grocery store and buy something she loves for dinner. Who am I kidding? She eats what I make because it is easier than cooking for herself. Surely, I’m not good at baking or cooking. As you can see, at this point in the day the fear is near paralyzing. Everyone at the grocery store is looking my way, judging me. Is my hair messed up? Could I be holding the basket awkwardly? Are my reusable grocery bags old and ugly? No, they recognize that I’m worthless. I must be in this person’s way. I’m in everybody’s way. The cashier silently considers my purchases which are disgusting and pathetic, since I’m restocking on junk food for tomorrow.

Dinner isn’t done soon enough. I spent too much time worrying about what to make and got to the store late. My partner wants me to tell her about my day, but we both know that I don’t work hard enough so there can’t be much to talk about. I take my medication and eat the food, all of which she provides. My job doesn’t pay enough, fear reminds me. She offers to do the dishes, but I’m feeling so guilty because I’m a failure that I keep trying to help. I want to prove value somehow, but inside I’ll never believe I’m useful.

Like so many other couples, we decompress from the day with some TV. While it is a chance to lose myself and the fear in a fictional world, I must choose something she will like. Otherwise, she’ll realize that we’re too different to stay together as a couple. She’ll believe we have nothing in common and choose to leave. I’m horrified that the one person who has accepted me will finally discern that she made a mistake.

While we get ready for bed, she tells me how much she likes the show we watched. I understand that she knows I am scared. Therefore, fear tells me that she is overcompensating with the comments about the TV show. I don’t have long before she comes to her senses and comprehends this is no way to live.

Life

The one thing that the fear has right is that this is no way to live. Avoiding the world around me to protect myself from being judged, from expectations, from not being accepted is slowly killing me. Unlocking this fear of acceptance seems to be key to getting a life for me. At the moment, I knock on the door and get the angry rebuttal of a teenager. Emotions of anger, fear, sadness and shame rumble through the gap like a subway train as I peek through the door. When a train thunders through a doorway, instincts take over. As we know from above, my instinct is fear. So, I close the door.

The only person who can open this door is me, but at this time I cannot. What’s next? Well, I don’t have to do this alone. Truly, I must open this door. I need to accept myself. However, nobody bursts through doors like they do in television and movies. Service men and women, military or civil, use a tactical response. They try to learn as much as they can about the situation they’re getting into before kicking the door down. Therefore, I am getting help to learn about the other side of the door. It’s a difficult and long process. It feels very arduous in a world where we get solutions and gratification so quickly. Progress is slow and not in a straight line.

At the beginning of this journal entry, I may have compared myself to a victim of violence. I feel as if I should apologize for that because I have never experienced a situation like that. In my experience, someone who loves me abuses me mentally. I wish for escape from the situation, it is within my power. The abuser in question is me. I would not be here if I didn’t care about myself in some way. Yet, I cannot quit the fear.

If you find yourself in a similar situation, you have to grasp the fact that you don’t have to do it alone. Understand that there is no quick fix. Just like getting a healthy body takes many hours at the gym, you have to remember the brain is no different. How do I process all this fear that is completely imagined? Gradually, I stumble through with agony and the occasional helping hand from each of you.

“There's a difference between fear and paralysis. And I've learned that I don't have to "grow up" to be open to opportunity, to be willing to step through doors without being pushed. I just have to be brave. I just have to be slightly braver than I am scared.”

Victoria Schwab

 

#fear #mentalhealth #suicide #anxiety #depression

My death is such a terribly frightening thought that my brain refuses to ponder it for more than 4.7 seconds. In April, I enjoyed Taryn Arnold’s For my 25th Birthday My Best Friends Wrote Me Eulogies and recently, I attended a funeral. These events got me thinking about how I want to go out. See, thinking about my funeral is different than thinking about not existing. For anyone that finds this post, I hope you enjoy my musings. For my family and loved ones, this is a set of instructions.

Immortality-challenged

Deep breath.

Alright, that Super Brownie Sundae Challenge at [insert restaurant here] has done me in, literally. First up, you need to make sure that the establishment doesn’t end the contest because of me. Just because I failed the 2 gallon gut buster doesn’t mean it’s not a fun way to promote their restaurant. Arguably, ending the silly promotion after my death looks like admitting guilt. Tell the owners and the media that I died doing the thing I love, eating ice cream.

Next up, what do you do with my body? What are my wishes? I guess, despite being dead, it’s respectful to do as I wish. If I’m being honest, I would simply ask not to be dead. I assume putting me in a new body or a terrifying robot is still Hollywood fantasy? Fine. So do I wish to be cremated? Or do you need to find a big enough cigar box to put me in and bury me the back yard. Presumably, next to the squirrel you saw dad hit with the lawn mower when you were 6 and forced him to perform a funeral for it. It’s only a tough question because I’d just rather not be dead.

Cremate me, I guess. We’ll get to what to do with that leftover bone and ash later.

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go

I don’t want to leave you hanging on like a yo-yo, but everyone grieves differently. Personally, my process rarely starts before the funeral. Rather than enlisting the help of a religious leader–that is, instead of paying a church to perform my service I would love a friend or family member to take the lead. Of course, only if he/she is comfortable doing it. I assume that the Hoff is either too expensive or frozen under glass in a tomb in Germany. You could ask Taryn Arnold or Justin Hall because they both have the right attitude and empathy. Otherwise a funeral director will work. Ideally, a grief counselor would be amazing.

While some find solace in faith, I believe it would be better to have professional help for mourners. If there’s a tacky printed program to commemorate my funeral service, be sure to add the name of a grief counselor and a way to contact her or him. I don’t mean to snub those with religious beliefs. I believe they will already have a support system in the form of their own pastor, priest or shaman.

As in life, the funeral is about me. One of the things that really bothers me at services is when the priest or religious leader turns my friend, or family member’s death into a commercial for his/her faith. “Don’t mourn Cindy, she’s in a better place because she put money in a dish when we passed it around and performed a sacred incantation. It’s a great reminder that you need to buy now because supplies are running low!”

I’m sorry for that tasteless portrayal of a faith leader, but that’s how I have felt so many times during funerals. I am hurt, vulnerable and dazed from losing someone very dear to me. Is this time to sell me life insurance? Are we exiting the funeral home through the back door to ignore the life insurance agents collected outside the front doors like paparazzi? No. It’s called respect. My funeral service isn’t a commercial for faith “X.” Let’s respect all the mourners and me. Let’s talk about me. It’s my favorite subject, alive or dead.

Paying the Piper

Let’s get to this “ceremony.” This is the part I like the least. Ceremony, I can’t stand it at weddings or funerals. Please don’t do any weird symbolic things with candles, sand, rope or ribbon. People have a hard enough time dealing with death. Let’s not confuse them with metaphors.

The same goes for poetry. I cannot stress this enough. I need poetry like a fish needs a bicycle. Typically loved ones reading the piece are overcome with emotions or deliver it dead pan. Pun intended. Jokes aside, this is the most important rule– no poetry. For me, poetry only serves as a distraction from the service and the mourning because I despise it so much. If someone thinks they have a poem or song that just fits, convince them otherwise or hire my friend Andy Luther to read it because he’s great at cold readings. (Should I keep a pun count?)

Here’s a novel idea, how about talking about my cause of death? It seems to be the hushed conversation of the audience but rarely covered in the service. “Chris gorged on a 2 gallon ice cream sundae, fell into a diabetic coma (diabetic hyperosmolar syndrome) and passed, shortly thereafter.” Perhaps I am so terrified of death because we don’t face it head-on in our society? I do know that mourning the loss of my uncle became very real when I was allowed to see his blue, bloated body before they cremated him. It may sound morbid, but how many of your deceased loved ones have you seen on a death bed or in a state of lifelessness? At the funeral service, they make the bodies up to look as if they are sleeping. I think it can be very hard to accept the loss if we are constantly ignoring the truth. So address my death in the service. I’m not saying to put my body in the cooler full of ice and drinks. Though, the “stiff drink” pun would be amazing.

Tell stories of our harrowing adventures together. Share tales that embarrass me, I promise not to blush. If you want to roast me, that’s perfect. Please let there be laughter at my funeral. Making people laugh brings me endless joy. There’s a talking point right there! "Chris was a cliché in life, always desperate to make people laugh."

Now, let’s eat! It might be in bad taste to have ice cream if I have truly cashed out from a diabetic coma, but the after-gathering is a very important part of any funeral. The service is the last official act to help many cope with accepting the loss, but the bland sandwiches afterwards are just an excuse to console each other. If we’re being realistic, this is the first time many of you will have seen relatives and friends in ages. This is a social gathering.

Many people say, “I don’t want a funeral, just have a party!” We have parties to celebrate events and the simple act of showing up is all you need to do to support the person or event. The party itself should be for the guests. And so, after the service, enjoy the people around you. Catch up with acquaintances, relive the old days and be present. This will be something I will be unable to do. Think about that. Use the bereavement leave from your work to see these people while you’re all in the same town. It only takes one 2 gallon sundae to take them away from you and leave you with regrets.

Heaven is a Cloud Service?

You’ve cremated the husk that stored my personality, now what? First, I don’t know what to believe anymore. Do crematories actually toast me individually, or do they load my body in with a bunch of others and melt us down together? If that’s the truth, what’s the point of holding onto the ashes of me, someone named Wilma and twenty other cadavers? Again, it’s symbolic ceremony, spreading my ashes on the beach or something. Especially if it’s me and a bunch of other people. Donate to the State park in Michigan in my name if ceremony is your thing. A hover bench with my name on it or an outhouse with excellent ventilation.

If what you get is truthfully just my ashes, do something weird with me. You can get the ashes added to a paint and commission a painting of me as Vigo the Carpathian. Have my ashes added to jewelry, stained glass or a tree.

Next, what do we do with digital me? Well, you can give my friend Quoc the keys and let him pretend to be me with a random update every few years. That sounds very Andy Kaufman, doesn’t it? All I ask is that my ridiculous legacy is available for people. Earlier, I wanted to make a Chris Farley joke, but I knew the Saturday Night Live clip would not be available because of the mess that is copyright. People should be able to hear my story. Presumably my death certificate reads, “Cause of death: ice cream.” That’s amazing! Don’t deny people of my ancient tweets about farts. The down side would be my likeness in VR, AR or a CG me being used to sell people things I truly wouldn’t approve of. However, you didn’t listen to my rants on Big Data when I was alive, so I assume Facebook literally owns my likeness and there’s nothing you can do about it anyway.

"Thank you for your cooperation. Good night."

As the Boyz II Men said, “it’s always hard to say goodbye.” Can you imagine doing the opposite of what Taryn did? Trying to go around to everyone you love and saying, “thanks” before you leave this Earth? That would be very hard. I’m so thankful for the 4 people I talked to today, let alone those that have had a tremendous impact on me in the last 30+ years. Thanks for the friendly conversation this morning, café employee! Seriously, saying my last goodbye & thank you to her and the other 3 people I interacted with today would be brutal. Not to mention, going through that with my wife. Yet, that’s the important thing to take away from Taryn’s “For My 25th Birthday, My Best Friends Wrote Me Eulogies.” Say it now.

So, I should take this time to thank you. Not just those of you that I call my family & friends, but even those of you that somehow found your way to this page and read this far. While I don’t have ads, the tap, or mouse click that brought you here is still a shared experience that I value. If I’m not hit by a car tomorrow, your page view may inspire me to open up about something else or bring us together in another way. Thanks for reading to the end. If I am currently on life support as you read this, please consider this blog post as my consent to be put in a cyborg-like abomination. The worst that could happen is that I become a murderous robot cleaning up the streets of Detroit.

The sundae gif at the top is from an interesting short animation from Xander Marritt & Elias Freiberger. "A reflection of life, a personification of the immediacy in the way we conduct ourselves. This shit is Bananas." Watch below and learn more at bananas.life.