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.

Day off.

I wake up with an entire day in front of me. I am not coming home after 8 hours at work too exhausted to do anything besides eat dinner and sleep. No, it is a day to myself.

Well...

There are some requirements of adulthood that I must attend. I should sit down and pay the bills, dust and vacuum, do the laundry, change the furnace filter, do the dishes, and buy groceries. Additionally, there are a number of maintenance tasks associated with the roof over my head. Minor repairs and the fact that we are renovating a room will figure into the day off. The home is not just a roof over our heads, but an investment. Oh, and there's the issue of winterizing the balcony.

Then, I can have my day off. Sure.

If by some dark sorcery I accomplish everything above on my day off, I am still unable to sleep this night. I did not finish all those things, but there is a part of me (that I have been trying to cultivate for the last 4 years) that is proud of what I did get done. Did the inner critic who set the bar low and surpassing it was easy? Setting that aside, doubt still comes to disturb my sleep. Maybe I could have done more?

There is a term, internalized capitalism, which fits my mantra "I am not enough." Internalized capitalism is the idea that hard work brings happiness, not your health. It is when you determine your worth based on your productivity. Being profitable is your number one job. And, one feels shame for resting.

So, I lie awake. What more could I have done yesterday? Instead of musing on it here in bed, is there something I can still do at this time?

No! This is my day off. I didn't even get to experience that really. I am frustrated. My mind is a hurricane of what more could I have done and what I really wanted to do. The storm rages and I get up to watch TV or read a book to get through the storm. A sleepless night to sabotage productivity the next day. A nice recipe of shame to continue my week.

#journal #shame

I am afraid of good things.

I am not humble or modest. When there's something "good" happening for me, I shut down and I isolate. Any celebration or congratulations are loaded with shame.

Anytime I journal or blog, I write "I am not enough." If I have written that out over a thousand times, it doesn't get close to the amount of times I hear that in my brain in a single day. I project this slogan "you are not enough" onto those around me. The cashier thinks I am not enough because I am buying the wrong groceries to be healthy. The passerby on the street as I walk my dog thinks I am not a good enough dog owner. My therapist is not watching the clock because there are more appointments to attend. No, he knows I am not good enough to help myself and take any advice for healing.

A text message, an email, all the modern day notifications on my phone are reminders of my inadequacies and failures. The glasses I wear are not rose-colored, they are polarized. They don't prevent eyestrain, they are polarizing in that they divide me from reality. I only see avenues for shame.

I found some relief in treatment through psychotherapy and EMDR. Meditation and journaling also helped to an extent. Each of those tools involve hard work and concentration. It is not easy to face the emotions I have avoided for 40+ years. Throughout my life, I have formed habits that feed the shame. Changing the way I see things, changing those glasses is incredibly difficult. It takes my full focus. As I shared above, I cannot walk the dog and remember that I was born to be enough. None of us are born worthless or inadequate. Yet, that is how I feel. I talk to myself as if I am a burden and without any worth.

Therefore, an award for being "Volunteer of the Year" at my regional Canadian Mental Health Association is not an honor. A new job is not an accomplishment. These are minefields for me. Did they make a mistake? Now, that they named me "Volunteer of the Year," watch me make them regret it, because I will somehow. If I was hired to pet puppies all day, I am sure I would screw it up.

Alright, I suppose I challenged myself by naming my journal entry, "Can I Have Empathy for Me." I am not sure how to tackle this because it feels more permanent than a tattoo. I am not enough, no matter what I do. This is not a narrative in my head or something I can medicate away. It feels like a fact. The truth. The only positive thing I have at this moment is..well..this moment.

Perhaps mindfulness and trying to be present is what I might focus on today. Somehow, I will have to try and quiet the evidence of failures in the past and the fears of future disappointment and just try to press the "OK" button on this post. Then, I have to deal with the next 10 seconds, and so on.

#Anxiety #Shame #Journal

With anxiety, an opportunity is not good fortune. An opening or chance at something is blood to the shark that is anxiety. Imagine the famous Jaws theme had the words, "What if..what if..what if..what if.what if.what if..."

Challenging The Narrative

I continue to nurture self-love. Finding joy in who I am verses what I have accomplished is an hourly challenge. Art has helped me cultivate these new and foreign feelings toward myself. The pieces I create come from the enjoyment of the process. The final artwork is a manifestation of the emotions I felt during the creative process. I was essentially in the moment. Me. The person I am was there.

I struggle constantly to keep that performative part of me obsessed with accomplishments at bay. What if I could sell my art? How can I make art that will sell? The people pleaser inside of me wants to go out there and sell hand painted, watercolor cards and worry stones that I have carved and polished. What if nobody is interested? Fear is triggered in these curious thoughts.

On one hand, selling art could be one of those mythical "do what you love" things. On the other hand, will I enjoy the process of being in the moment if I am trying to fill orders or making the same thing over and over again because it sells? See, I don't believe people will buy things that I create for me because I have spent 40+ years not loving me and the things I 'accomplish.'

Some of the people I absolutely respect, like Daniel J. Hogan, Adriean Koleric, or even Jessica Abel somehow manage to create amazing works of art and keep a day job. They pursue their passions and pay the bills. However, I am terrified of this idea. I had big ideas before my breakdown. While I was working I was going to make a number of video projects. I never did. I focused on my career and accomplishments. I worked plenty of nights. When I wasn't working, I was too exhausted to do much of anything.

I suppose that was a different me. That version of Chris was unaware of the all the pain I have suffered since. Yet, there is a pattern in my past equating my self-worth to what I am doing, not who I am. The fear that nobody would be interested in buying my artwork is rooted in this sense of accomplishment. I personally benefited from the process of creating the pieces already. Why should I care that they are piled up here in the corner and not selling? Unless, I am afraid that they will be rejected.

I've written it before, but people at parties and social gatherings never ask you what your passions are. We always start new interactions with "What do you do for a living?" Even when I had a career, I was intimidated by that question. Call it imposter syndrome, insecurity or whatever. In fact, I think those closest to me would say I still have a career as a writer now. My "even when I had a career" comment was another jab at myself.

My self-worth has always been tied to my accomplishments. The personal bar, or goal for myself was always unattainable. Somehow in my recovery, I have found art as a small thing that I can do and not mentally abuse myself. Sometimes I try to explain it away, "Maybe I like watercolor painting because I cannot fully control the water and have to accept it for what it is." Of course, I have learned a lot in the last few years and that theory doesn't hold a lot of water, pun intended. I've gotten better at my craft. Moreover, many people can do excellent photorealistic work in watercolor. My friend Heather L Gilbraith's Bouguereau Women or the work of a new acquaintance Larry Kapitzke are fantastic examples. Creating art from within myself is not an accomplishment. It just is.

Reality

"Money makes the world go 'round." Could I work a job, slinging packages on a delivery truck, being a cashier, or making license plates and pursue my passion? Not a full-on career, but a means for living as I create art on my time? I've asked the question of myself before. I want to say 'yes.' I feel like I should say 'yes,' because what kind of pretentious ass am I if I say, 'no.' What would people think of me. What would my family think of me.

Could I combine my passion and making money? Perhaps commissions, gallery shows, teaching what I do? Well, I feel like I wrestled with this thought above. I don't know that I can enjoy the process if the goal is a product at the end. Again, it sounds pretentious, privileged. I would guess it is fear talking. I am afraid of failing. Could the venture ruin art as a potential recovery tool?

Reality is that money pays the bills, not my mental health. This is where the past Chris would bottle all this horse shit of emotion and thought up and tuck it deep within. I would use all these words as exhibits of what a loser I am in the court of Chris. Your honor, each and every person around us goes to work, pays their bills and lives in this system. Some, even find time to pursue things outside of work. Clearly, the problem is within us.

While that critical voice has caused me so much suffering, the truth is that its role is to protect me. the criticism is a very overprotective agent trying to save me from myself. In this case, is the voice is attempting to save me from harming a my relationship with art as a recovery tool? Or is the voice trying to stop me from taking on too much too fast? Is the voice completely misguided or only somewhat overprotective?

Opportunity Mocks

I am privileged to even debate these things. That is a factual thought that promotes that familiar guilt and shame within me. I suppose that may have contributed to me stepping away from writing this for a day or two. I wanted to collect and process my thoughts because there is a job opportunity on the horizon. I was moments away from physically shuddering after writing about reality above. I felt tears nestled behind my eyes, ready to leap forward.

I am terrified. I fear letting down those around me. the ones who continue to support me and those that say they see my improvement. I am scared of potential co-workers and employers being disappointed in me. I dread the day that I have to tell my partner that I couldn't do it. I quit. I failed. It's all there, in my head, that part of me who knows I am not enough. These thoughts are the manifestation of that core belief. Most of my days are spent in anxiety waiting for others to realize what I know.

Here I sit with these thoughts because I applied for a full time job and have an interview scheduled. In my recovery journey I have learned the importance of mindfulness and being in the moment. Ruminating about the past is a way to trap ourselves into wishing things were different. Wishes and time travel are not possible and thus the exercise fuels pain. All the Jawstheme 'what-ifs' are related to the endless number of futures that are possible. Being in the present is a super power.

Right now, I am frightened. That fear is based in my history of perceived failure. It is fueled by the potential ways I will screw up in the future. Anxiety assumes every decision is world ending. Starvation, divorce, homelessness and catastrophe are one decision away. Are you sure you want to go to sleep now? There's more you can do.

Reality and anxiety are not friends. Does the planet get vaporized by a black hole if I screw up my interview? Will a deity rain destruction on humankind if I am offered the job and refuse? Could a plague decimate all life on Earth if I accept the job and decide a few months later that I do not want it? I would be disappointed in myself by any of those personal outcomes, but I think the galaxy would be fine. Perhaps those outlandish results are wishful thoughts. The idea of the world ending coincidentally with a personal failure means I do not have to sit with my pain and disappointment. Hmm.

I do not know how to handle the pain of failure, disappointment and self-criticism. Unfortunately, I will never learn if I do not try. If I stay suspended in fear, frozen in indecision I remain unable to cope and tortured by 'what ifs.'

In the last 15 years I have done my best to have a paperless work flow. It was easy for a video professional. Those times I did need something printed, I would send my files to a local copy shop. Without a home printer, I wasn't buying ink cartridges, fixing paper jams, or wondering why my computer couldn't see the printer. Recently, my partner has been working on her Masters and many of the courses provide articles as the teaching materials, rather than textbooks. Screens are not great for reading. We spend so much time in front of screens, I can understand why my spouse prefers paper. I love my e-ink reader, a very old Kindle, but it is a special kind of hell trying to read a PDF on one of those. So, we decided to get a printer. Now, I feel absolutely filthy.

1980s Hacker Mom

The dream of the future was alive in my youth thanks to my Commodore 64 computer. Buying joysticks, a tape drive, a floppy drive, and a printer for the home was the start of something exciting. We got an Okidata Okimate color printer that was surprisingly inexpensive! That is, compared to the typical black & white printers at the time, which were more focused on small businesses, not hobbyists. Like the printers of today, the Okimate had cyan, magenta, and yellow to print in color. However, all three colors were stitched together on one ribbon in a single cartridge. Perhaps 5 inches of cyan, followed by 5 of magenta, 5 of yellow and repeat. If the Okimate was sitting on magenta, but needed to make green, it would fast forward to yellow and then print cyan over that. Need more green? Skip magenta again. It was wasteful, there's whole parts of the ribbon that had never been used. Get to the end of the cartridge? Sorry, buy a new one.

Not so fast! As you can imagine printing took a long time back then, so what else are you going to do, but watch? Mom noticed the color skipping behavior of the printer. When a cartridge reached its end, my mother grabbed a number two pencil and rewound the ribbon, much like us old people had to do if a cassette tape malfunctioned. She placed it back in the printer and we tried to print something new. It worked! Occasionally, the printer would attempt to use a color that was previously used the first time around and that would make some colorful glitches.(Maybe this is my first introduction to something I now enjoy, glitch art) Yet, this hack was worth it to a teenager who's most important prints were silly posters for the student council election. This is before the days of spell-check. I remember that poster on which I misspelled intelligent. Ugh.

Offset and Get the Fix

That brief trip down memory lane illustrates how printer manufacturers make money. In the early 2000s printers were dirt cheap. Buy an HP printer for $50! Better yet, buy an Apple computer and we'll throw in a printer for free. The companies do not make money on the hardware. They make money by selling you their proprietary ink cartridges. I remember those $50 printers having replacement ink starting at $30 apiece. Buy 12 of those in a year and you've just purchased 7 printers. Have a color printer? Now you're buying 4 different ink refills.

As consumers took notice of this pusher/drug user model, we started to fight back. Making a mess with syringes people began filling the previously used cartridge with ink. Whole businesses sprung from this and created a 3rd party market. We could get aftermarket ink on the cheap! As technology progressed those disruptive companies manufactured cartridges that looked exactly like the original equipment.

Of course, tech progressed at the printer manufacturers as well. Inexpensive chips could be added to print cartridges in much the same way car keys were chipped. Not an OEM cartridge? Sorry, you cannot print today. To further increase profit printers came with more bells and whistles. All-in-one printer scanners and 'wireless' printers were made to justify a higher price upfront. Ever have success with a wireless printer? Finding them on your network is harder than finding a giant squid in the ocean. No problem touch screens to the rescue. Easily configure your printer on the network, for an added cost of a touch screen.

Tanks for Nothing

In recent years, a few companies like Epson and Canon have taken a note from consumers and created eco or mega tank printers. They do not take cartridges, but have reservoirs for the ink. I was impressed by this innovation because I want to be less wasteful. This looked pretty interesting and excited me. However, I am very cynical. What's the catch? Well, the main benefit for the companies is getting your money upfront. Rather than giving you the typical smaller than normal ink cartridge in the box when you buy the printer, they give the tank printers a 2 year supply. Instead of paying $120 for that all-in-one printer, you pay $400 because you're getting 2 years of ink.

Okay, the working poor at Epson have to pay for their mandatory Disney+ subscription to forget about life. Plus, regular yacht maintenance is not cheap for the CEOs of the printer giants. Either pay for the ink with the purchase of the tank printer, or buy cartridges over the lifetime of another printer? The super tank printer seems slightly better for the environment, so how about I purchase...ERROR 5b00

The next best thing to selling you ink on a regular basis is planned obsolescence. While researching Epson EcoTank and Canon Megatank printers, I found lots of complaints about similar errors. Canons spit out the error above which means that the waste ink absorber pad is full. Inkjet printers can clog easily, so this pad is there to soak up things after a print or during a cleaning. So by maintaining the printer, you are killing it. You cannot replace the pad. You cannot print with the error. Epson has a similar design and gives you a less cryptic message, 'end of life.' Consumers who have called in for service have been told that the repair plus shipping is likely going to cost more than buying a new one. Epson's own site says the following.

Most consumers who are out of warranty elect to replace the printer because replacement of ink pads may not be a good investment for lower-cost printers. In most cases, when this message occurs, the printer's other components also may be near the end of usable life."

What about just making a serviceable ink pad? Again Epson, "Implementing this type of a design would result in more expensive printers. Most users would not benefit from such higher costs because their printers will never reach the Parts End of Life message.

Paper Jam

Today, after researching what printer to purchase, I feel exploited and weary. Epson is completely correct in its assumption people will buy new printers if they receive the planned obsolescence error. Bringing this issue to our governments would likely result in zero interest from politicians. We, the people, do not have the time and energy to fight lobbyists and lawyers. A lawmaker is more likely to send you a new $120 printer, then take your concerns and investigate.

We live in a disposable society. There are no vacuum or television repair businesses. Washers, dryers, and even bicycles make their way to landfills because the cost of repair is far more than replacement. Warranties are lip service more than anything else. When you complete the phone maze to finally get a human, they explain to you that buried in the fine print is a clause that says, "Not today, Sunshine." Instead of manufacturers backing a product with pride, retailers and other companies fill the warranty gap with "extended warranties." Much like the manufacturers, they have their own fine print. Thus, we are left with making another purchase to avoid the headache. The path of least resistance always wins.

There Is No Margin

One last note to add to my research. If we go back to the beginning, printer manufactures create these devices to make a profit. One of the ways companies have found to sustain profits is through subscription. So, HP has created a program where the printer tells HP it is running low and they automatically send you new ink in the mail. They have several monthly payment plans and you can quit to let the useless device collect dust at any time. Sound familiar? This is how Xerox works. The price of their copy machines is beyond affordable for even large businesses. Instead, most lease the machines and pay for the toner and maintenance. As an aside, movie theaters are now stuck in this model thanks to the rise of digital projectors. We live in the age of Subscribe or Die, I guess.

So what could I buy to solve the issue of printing many documents at home in an economical and environmentally friendly way? As I said above, I was weary from the research. I gave up on finding something that would be a useful and worthwhile investment for our future endeavors. Instead, I opted for something that could handle infrequent printing. No clogs in a laser printer. I will bow to my new master, Brother, and be thankful every time I am able to easily find the required toner cartridge. Perhaps I should take bets on how many prints it will be able to make before it reaches the manufactured "end of life" count coded into the machine?

Tears cloud my vision as I type. The realization that my anguish is self-inflicted is difficult to accept. The external world has brought me to this place, but it is up to me to find solace. So, here I am writing to myself and those of you that may find yourself here.

The COVID-19 pandemic brings bad news and self-isolation every day. There are those of us out there who are Highly Sensitive People, now called Sensory processing sensitivity, that have a heightened emotional response to what is happening in the world. Seeing the death tolls rise and the matter of fact attitude of reporters and politicians can be extremely difficult. Personally, I see the people losing work and feel ashamed that I wasn't working enough before the pandemic. Fellow humans living paycheck to paycheck that are panicked about rent and mortgage payments also fuel that shame. My privilege of having a partner who has taken care of me as I try to deal with my mental wellness is a tremendous source of shame. I feel like a burden. Once again, I am using the external world as an excuse to abuse myself mentally.

If I wasn't around during this crisis, my spouse could support someone worth it. Things are not entirely secure for us. I should have had a regular salary well before the pandemic. What if I get my spouse sick when I leave to get the groceries? I will be a source of more pain, if that's even possible. I deserve to get the virus more than those hardworking people that have been deemed essential workers.

Shame is a powerful depressant. It is ultimately demotivating. Shame is also familiar to me. I know how to lay down in shame. To hide and make myself invisible and avoid fears and expectations. Facing the shame, anger, sadness, and fear is mostly foreign to me. It will be uncomfortable and hurt me in ways that I am unfamiliar with. It is bubbling up as I write this. I shudder with a desire to push it back down. I am not strong enough to handle this. Again, I engage shame, but this time about not being able to handle the shame? Things begin to stack up here. I pile on more reasons to be sad and upset.

I am not working much, so I should be super fit, right? No. I am a fat ass who has woken up everyday for the last 2 months saying 'I am going to workout.' My spouse said I should contact my psychiatrist, but I didn't yet. So she must be disappointed in me. Look at myself right now, in this state, pathetic. My sister asked me to call today and I haven't. I am a terrible brother. Who is going to read this? They will likely wonder what a loser I am. Why do I make a mess of everything?

I have heard various theories on the time we spend with emotions. Some addictions experts think cravings last about 7-10 seconds. Recently, I read that an emotion like sadness or happiness passes through the body in a minute and a half. Either way, we bring ourselves back after the time has passed with thoughts like those above. I specifically found other reasons to remain in pain. At this point, I can use this information to continue to feed my shame, why do I keep hurting myself? Or, I can attempt to break the loop.

Finding ways to stop this pattern is very difficult. I have a perceived notion that I have bottled emotions up in the past. Reading on mental wellness and therapy has illustrated to me that acceptance is a better strategy. So, if I break the loop am I bottling it up or accepting where I am and moving forward? The only person who has that answer is me. That can feel like a lot of pressure to someone who would rather be invisible and run from expectations. Right now, there is a desire to explain that I was better at accepting my emotions a few months ago, but I have failed. I think that could be my shame at work again, demotivating me and bringing me to familiar territory.

Examining my past with the help of psychiatry has allowed me to see some of the origins of my shame. I then perceived another idea that if I just worked through some of this ancient pain in meditation, writing, and therapy I would be better. Suddenly, writing was a daunting task. Meditation became a punishment. I deserved to relive these things because I am an awful person. In therapy, I started to avoid the past. That brings me to today. When the news of the pandemic breaks the dam that I have been holding back.

I needed this outlet. It was, and is, necessary for me to feel heard. I hope nothing I said triggered you. Of course, I'm deflecting outward again. I am worried about you legitimately, but it also serves me because I am avoiding myself. The only way we can make real change is by first observing what is happening. We learn by making mistakes. The pandemic has taught many of us what is necessary versus what we may want. One of the things that I still have trouble remembering is that I am not alone. That is one way to see our world crisis. Each of us is suffering despite our nationality, race, or gender. We are all humans. Each of us wants to be heard and loved. We cannot avoid the way the COVID-19 is harming our lives. Just as we cannot avoid our individual pain and emotions.

Stay safe. Wash your hands. Call a friend.

Much love.

#Shame #MentalWellness #Pandemic #SPS

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

The expected results are always easier to deal with than the unexpected. Consciously or not, I have had a tendency to throw myself under the bus. I know how to deal with failure and defeat. Success, in my mind, is just postponing the next failure. I am even more anxious after a success because I am waiting for the next shoe to drop. In fact, give me a hot minute and I'll convince myself I was not successful at all.

The first delivery person in history carried a package from one person to another. Eventually, they started doing more deliveries and got a cart. Soon they upgraded to a horse-drawn wagon, a flatbed truck and finally a semi-trailer truck. Now imagine the packages are personal traumas. Often we carry these around with us. I've got a fleet of semis following me. Rather than letting go of the traumas, working through the issues, and forgive myself, I add more trucks to the fleet. When I make a mistake, which is a great opportunity to learn, I look back at the thousands of trucks. Those semis contain evidence of past mistakes and failures. My mind believes a clear pattern and a self-fulfilling prophecy is at work.

If I have my arms out, carrying all these packages for decades, I would have no idea what to do without them. What do I do with my arms if I don't have all these gift-wrapped traumas? So, I ensure my arms still have work by creating my own problems. I know I shouldn't have too much sugar because of my diabetes, so I'll just eat all the ice cream. I get the satisfaction of delicious sugar and then the amazing shame in knowing I should not have done that. Procrastination serves up some daily pain. I make a to-do list that is so long that five people couldn't finish it and then I get overwhelmed and do none of it. The next day, I add more to that same list and my week becomes full of fail. I keep myself in this abysmal state because I am familiar with it.

Depression, Anxiety, and Addiction

It's well known that depression and anxiety are like conjoined twins. They feed off each other in many of us. Occasionally, they are joined by their sibling, addiction. The cycle often goes trauma, depression and/or anxiety, and then addiction to dull the pain. The word addiction typically makes us think of substance abuse, from psychedelics to alcohol and caffeine. There are also behavioral addictions like gambling, video games, porn, and social networks like Instagram.

Dulling the pain with addiction is also feeding it. *Add a new truck to the fleet because I know I shouldn't be doing this. Anxiety flairs to hide the shame of it all. Depression builds until you can take no more and need to get another hit. The dopamine kicks in and you feel alright. Lather, rinse, repeat.

More than once I have heard people propose the question of being addicted to the depression or anxiety. These are behaviors of sorts, right? Could it be possible? If porn lights up the same parts of a brain in a scan as heroin, could the feeling of anxiety? One of Norman Doidge's books talks about people's brains that have been rewired to feel pleasure from pain. He specifically referred to a study of people who enjoy BDSM. The pain center of the brain has been linked to the pleasure center in many of these individuals. Could my brain be wired in a similar way? I want to be in pain?

Sabotage

Is my pain all I know and I wouldn't function without it? Maybe the familiarity and predictability simply a comfortable place for me? Is my brain specifically wired to give me shame and worthlessness? Regardless of the reason, self-sabotage isn't always so easy to notice.

New things are scary because of my fear of failure. So is it sabotage if I say, "no" to an opportunity because I will miss out? Or is it sabotage if I say, "yes" to the project since, deep down, I feel that I will completely screw up? On one hand, I feed depression by denying the opportunity. I can look back at the past and wonder what would have happened. If I accept the opportunity, I get a dose of anxiety about my possible failure.

"Get busy living, or get busy dying." This quote from The Shawshank Redemption is some toxic, tough love I give myself. I know being stagnant, frozen in overwhelm is not helping me. It's a long game sabotage. I can look back on my life yearsfrom now and think, "If only I realized my worth sooner. How much more could I have done?" Telling myself to get busy pushes me further into depression.

In Ian McEwan's latest fiction Machines Like Me new, artificially intelligent androids die by suicide. While half of them choose this option, there is one who seems to have deleted most of his software, essentially giving himself a lobotomy. The theory in the book is that this android attempted suicide and couldn't go through with it, leaving him in this state of minimal functions. I started to wonder when reading this is suicide the ultimate self-sabotage?

In my own struggles with thoughts of suicide, I have found myself thinking of lesser punishments or personal sabotage. Frequently, I've thought that I am such a burden to my loved ones that I should run away and be homeless. This fantasy is about removing myself from life as I know it. When I have those days or weeks when I don't want to get out of bed, it's in this same vein. Paralyzed in bed is hiding from my pain, fear, and shame. Or, I imagine being locked away in a psych ward where I cannot harm myself or others. These are all examples of me giving up. The twisted dreams of a sabotage one step away from ending it all.

The real danger of self-sabotage is when I cannot carry any more packages. When I look back and I can no longer see the horizon because of all the semi-trailer trucks full of the things I refuse to let go of. The fact that I can sit here and talk about self-sabotage is a testament to my resolve (at this moment). If I can notice it, I can do something about it.

Introspection

Philip K. Dick said, "The problem with introspection is that it has no end." Somewhere in this blog I have spoke about being present. Surely, I warned myself, and others, about getting caught up in the sadness of the past and the anxiety of the future. I think I have said that now is the only time that I really need to focus on. I recall offering the advice that each new moment, every 7-10 seconds, is a chance to change. The idea being many of our emotional states last this long. The catch is that we can use that time to trigger an additional 7-10 seconds of the same feeling. This is where I am lost. I am dwelling in the sadness and shame of my perceived worthlessness. Each time I start a sentence in this blog with "I," there is a desire to type "hate myself."

I have been here before. How did I get out? I don't remember, but maybe the important thing is that I did get out. In fact, my urge is to run away. All those lesser suicide options above are clues. I have been trying so very damn hard to be productive and pour myself into tasks. Another sign that I am avoiding the pain in hopes it will pass in the next moment. Self care of meditation, mindfulness, and art are no longer practiced. My mind thinks that those strategies obviously didn't work. So, why bother?

After sitting down to write this, I think my mind is somewhat right about those self-care strategies. While perfectly useful, at this point they are less effective. As I said, those fantasies of running away are the clue. It is time to stop running and do the opposite. What if I step into the pain and suffering? Allowing myself to feel those emotions and go deeper into Chris and find the version of me that wrote about being present. He's here, but he's buried under the fear, shame, embarrassment, insecurity, and guilt. I need to forgive myself for all the self-sabotage. I need to thank my inner critic for carrying all those packages of trauma. Even though my critic has mentally beaten me severely, he did it to protect me. Misplaced anxiety and fear sabotaged me in hopes to keep me from collecting more trauma. I have to learn to trust myself and that mistakes are how I learn to be better. Now, in this moment, I'm going to have a good cry.

Be kind to yourselves. Much <3 to you all.

#MentalHealth #MentalWellness #Depression #Anxiety #suicide

Are you taking an antidepressant? Something for anxiety, ADHD, or another medication for a neurological condition? You have my respect and I want you to know that you're an amazing hero.

Imagine being give the choice to lose an arm or a leg. The first impulse is "how about neither!" This is similar to the choice presented by medication. The side effects of most medication put us in a no-win situation. "Side effects include" an endless list of terrible is a commonly used joke on sketch comedy shows. When it comes to antidepressants, many of the side effects harass the mind and brain. When I was on Effexor there were people warning me about brain zaps. In my case, I experienced no such thing until I started tapering off the drug. It was excruciating.

In one of the interviews for my upcoming podcast, my guest told me she was on something like her sixth medication! Various reasons led to being on so many drugs over the years. Either insurance stops covering a certain drug, the company stops making it, or the med was a bad fit. As I briefly mentioned above, many of these mind altering drugs require you to taper off of them by taking a lower dosage for a month, and then an even lower one, etc. So here you have this thing that may not be working for you, but if you quit it outright, you'll be feeling worse. Your friends and family on antidepressants are incredible to endure that.

Buzzing, dizziness, nausea, pain, headaches, and migraines are just the stuff that I can explain. The brain zaps were terrifying. At times my head has felt like it was in the jaws of a steam shovel or a very tight hat. Sometimes, it is too much work to focus my eyes. Weird sensations behind my ears, eyes, or the back of my head are off-putting and distracting. "I'd love to listen your story, but I think part of my head may be an open wound."

Avoid Calories By Eating Calories?

The combination of side effects can be debilitating for someone who was already having trouble. When I'm feeling like there's little to live for, getting out of bed and showering seems moot. Sure, let's add a medication that makes me nauseous and gives me a headache. I'm certain to leave the bed. All better. It makes no sense!

The experts tell us these things take time. So far, I've been told it will take at least a month for the medication to get into my system and start working. So you're depressed, not leaving the house and you're given a medication that will initially enforce this routine. In addition, you've reached out for help and been prescribed this drug as a solution. When you cannot get out of bed it can feel like the medication doesn't work for you. This is how broken I am. Nothing will help.

I've been going through this daily for a month. Is this worth it? Maybe I am just not treatable. However, asking for a new medication was a necessity. I was flirting with self harm, having thoughts that were disturbing. I felt proud that I had reached out. I took the new pills with water and hope. Then, things got worse. It's hard to help yourself when you cannot think straight. Getting to a therapy appointment is difficult when you cannot leave your bed.

This is why I think people taking SSRIs and SNRIs are pretty damn amazing. When I sit down in any mental health group, I am always in awe by the brave people being so vulnerable. I often think, "these are the people who should be in charge, the politicians and leaders of our world." That's what Brené Brown is usually spouting, "you cannot have bravery without vulnerability." It just blows my mind that someone with any mental disability would ask for medication that is going to challenge them even further. Seriously, if you're not on meds but you know someone that is, tell them how incredible they are. It's like seeing a tsunami headed for you and grabbing a brick to hold you down instead of a life jacket. These individuals are super human. They deserve your respect and love. They have mine. Now, I have to go lie down or cry, or both.

Wait. I feel like I need to embrace some positivity. Can side effects like dizziness and nausea be useful? I suppose it's like pinching yourself to know you're alive. The meds do keep me from feeling like doing self-harm, and those sensations are a reminder that I'm living. I suppose every time I feel as if I need to close my eyes and lie down before I vomit, it is a reminder that I am still here. I am still trying.

What should you be doing right now, instead of reading this? If I were you, this is the question that would ruin the rest of my day, and likely the entire week.

In an interview, author Mark Mason was telling the story about how Everything Is F*cked A Book About Hope came to be. Manson was making money passively, as his previous book continued to sell. Currently, The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck has sold 6 million copies. Manson was sitting at home, not getting out of his pajamas and playing video games. In the interview, he said he feared he had peaked. Manson had made his mark with that book. There was no plan or goal beyond having a successful book. The latest book is how he got through that funk. As a listener, I couldn't fathom thinking I would ever hit my peak.

In my reality, I am never satisfied with my progress. Anxiety's leash is constantly tugging me through the neighborhood of dissatisfaction. If the house is clean, I should probably go through the closets, scrub the grout of the tile, or fix the screens. Another common tactic is to change the perspective. Sure, the house is clean, but I'm behind on my podcast scheduling and editing. I'm not working out. Perhaps Manson's fear of peaking was in a similar vein, "what's next?" Regardless, I would love to feel as if I accomplished something for more than a fleeting moment.

Where to Begin?

Instead of writing this, there's a million tasks waiting for me. To list them all would take my lifetime. I've tried many time to organize my thoughts and prioritize them into a coherent plan. Sometimes this helps me manage the overwhelming feeling that runs me into depression. However, I mostly vacillate between overwhelmed and hopeless. The act of sitting down to prioritize things just becomes another thing on the list. My mental health, meditation, and self care all fall onto this distressing list of tasks that has me depressed.

As the cycle of depression continues to deepen, the source of these feelings become apparent. I am not enough. This core believe in my mind is driving the dissatisfaction in everything I do. *The house is clean, so what? I'm not enough. Unfortunately, knowing this is the reason of my pain hasn't offered much relief. When I'm in so deep that I've let go of the things that previously worked, like meditation and artwork, it is incredibly hard to start again.

I was merely keeping my head above water, but I was still lost at sea. I didn't meditate enough. The medication may work for others, but it's not enough for me. The narrative that I'm defective, undeserving, and not enough bleeds into everything. Exploring the origins of this belief is part of therapy. Working through those emotional memories in therapy may eventually bring some change. Sitting with, and tending to, the hurt child within me is supposed to help me manage better today. The idea being that an event, like a messy house, triggers that childhood emotional response of I'm not enough that I felt when I had a messy desk at school and got shamed for it in class. If I can work through that pain and hurt, it may be less likely to be triggered in the future.

Meanwhile I Am Still A Prisoner of Time

Engaging painful emotions is challenging for the most devout Buddhist monks, let alone an average person. All the while, the house does need to be cleaned. I do need to workout, pay bills, and walk the dog. The never-ending list only grows. It never contracts. Each new task is a new brick in my unbreakable backpack from the Not Enough™ store. I grow weary with it on my back and look over the edge of the mountain trail wondering what the drop would feel like. Avoiding the overwhelming list is not an option.

In the past, I've found journaling, or listing things far more helpful than thinking about them. Seeing the tasks, ideas, or fears in black and white can shed much more light on them. Sometimes this helps avoid the loops my anxiety and depression favor. A goal like "tomorrow I just want to be a success" is unrealistic and undefined and when I see it on the paper. In my mind it is a lighthouse looming over ever passing accomplishment.

In the past, I've also written about S.M.A.R.T. goals. I haven't used them in practice as much as I like, but that's likely because the strategy has fallen victim to my vicious loop of depression. I used the practice successfully for a few months to start working out and then I stopped. Thus, the practice must not work for me. Once again, the depression and its Not Enough put a stop to something that may have been helpful. Obviously, if there's one common thing that we humans stumble over again and again it is working out. I'm not alone. Even in writing this I had to admit I was successful when I made a SMART goal to workout. It lasted quite a long time, in fact.

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

Sometimes I feel like I've written all this before. Anyone who has read my blogs for the last two years must be bored and frustrated with me. "This guy still hasn't learned. He keeps saying the same thing over and over." Perhaps that is what recovery looks like. If continued use of alcohol can lead to addiction, then maybe working through the same thoughts will result in something sticking.

Re-framing the tasks that overwhelm me can help, but the real work is still in self-worth. That emotional pain that triggers tears even as I write this is a tremendous weight. My eyes water because I am ashamed that I'm not enough to figure this out. Like a race car, I go around and around, eventually ending up in the pits. Then, I have to lift myself up and get ready for the coming laps.