Those poop baggies are infuriating to open, that’s why I missed the car crash. Coco did her thing about 9–10 meters away from the corner where a small black sedan went head-on into a lamp post. That was a number of weeks ago and our rescue doggo is finally starting to enjoy walks again.

I was working hard to see Coco as my inspiration, if she can set aside her fear and anxiety so can I. After the witnessed accident, however, she reverted back into the darkness of fear. Coco ran with reckless abandonment seconds after the crash. I reeled her in and tried to pick her up to offer comfort, but she scratched and writhed to simply get away from the area. So, I ran with her for about 4 blocks. We ended up in a small park that offers some shelter from the city around it. Tail between her legs and jumping at every single noise, other dogs wouldn’t even excite her.

The next week was a real challenge. In fact, we drove Coco to an off leash park away from the city to get her some exercise because she wanted nothing to do with walks any more. Coco didn’t want to accept reality, like me. Once again, I found myself looking into a mirror. Coco had fallen into the old pattern of fear that kept her using pee pads on the balcony. She was not interested in adventuring outside and smelling all the amazing refuse people just leave on the sidewalk.

Fear of failure, fear of not being enough keeps me from being social, working, living life, and yes, peeing outdoors. This pattern of mine is one that has been imprinted on me for many, many years. Like Coco, it is easy to fall back into this destructive thought pattern. I can also bounce back like she can. I try to measure my mental health in moments. There are no good days or bad days, just moments. Right now, I’m here writing this and it feels like a hopeful and decent moment. I might stand up in twenty minutes and see the sink full of dirty dishes and fall into intense shame. Maybe thinking of my life in moments helps me cope a bit easier.

The reality that every moment wasn’t going to be “happy” for me had been easy to live in when I simply expected the worse. Accepting that I will find moments of happiness is very new to me. Of course reality is not fair. For example, I felt Coco needed to accept that we live in the city and accidents may happen. We had to get her back to walks around the city without fear. She’ll learn. She did it before. Can I do this for myself?

In week two after the trauma of witnessing the accident, Coco had her nose down on the sidewalk and her eyes on any car that was moving. The tail was not expressive, but not firmly tucked away either. Other dogs we ran into were a pleasant reprieve from the loud buses and the overcompensating noise from motorcycles. Once again, Coco was transforming. She was breaking her pattern of fear, slowly, at her pace.

In the third week, the tail waved like a stubborn flag in a tornado. Loud vehicles were scary, but there were interesting things to smell, and sidewalks we had not yet traveled. I remain envious of her growth. Sometimes I can see that I have made progress as well. Those are good moments. I have much work to do, as does Coco.

Our rescue doggo needs more leash training. Though, her obsessive little nose has taught me a lesson. “Stop and smell the roses,” they say. Coco is living in the now when her nose is to the ground. She’s not worried about being abandoned, car accidents, or what I want. This is a valuable lesson in mindfulness for me.

With my psychiatrist, we occasionally explore the past. How did I become full of anxiety and lose my sense of self worth? There’s a difference between exploring the past and living there. Often, when we examine our past we get caught up in it. The stories of our hurt, pain, failure, etc. feed themselves. We stop observing and leave the now.

The real issue with leaving the now is our desire for things to be different. Our minds spend a great deal of energy wishing things had not happened in the past. Or, we wish for an unrealistic future, “I wish tomorrow Coco would behave on the leash.” Both of these things are impossible to accomplish in this moment, right now. Accepting the past and the unpredictability of the future would appear to be key for me.

Unfortunately, finding acceptance is a process. For me, there’s a fine line between acceptance and ignorance. “Can’t change the past, so why worry about it?” Well, that sentence may be avoidance of those locked away emotions and not forgiveness and acceptance. Avoiding those feelings has a lot to do with how I got here.

So, my journey continues. I find it strange that I pick up organic dog poop in a plastic bag that will preserve it for a million years. Of course, I’ve been repressing emotions and ignoring the hurtful patterns of my past for my entire life. At some point we all have to deal with some shit.

I hope to see you in the now.

Much💜

#mentalhealth #depression #fear #time #acceptance

For most, suicide is not option D. This bit of wisdom was shared by Ana Marie Cox in an interview on mental health. A doctor gave her this insight after she was institutionalized after attempting suicide. I was as shocked to hear that first sentence, just as she stated she was in the interview. Really? Everybody doesn’t think about suicide?

In my teens, I thought about suicide in excess. If options A, B, or C did not work out I always had D. It wasn’t a ploy for attention on my part because I felt I was alone. That may not have been true, my family may have been there for me, but I felt alone. The loneliness a sign that my depression has been hanging around for much longer than I thought. I never made an attempt at suicide in my youth, but looking back I can see the inclination to do self-harm. There was an uneasy voice in my head when I was near danger, “what if I just leaned over this railing even more?”

Even with self-harm and suicide lurking in my younger years, I had a stupendous fear of death. Having never been convinced of any sort of afterlife, thoughts of my own demise were paralyzing, even into my forties. To me, death is not like falling asleep or a vision of walking toward the light. Death is like abruptly ending this observation midway through the third sentence above. The thought of my death would result in a panic attack, insomnia, and the occasional bad poetry.

Last year, I went to the hospital because that fear of death was gone. I had a break down. Guilt from my behavior, shame from addiction, and fear of showing my weakness to the world overwhelmed my native dread of death. I wanted to give up. I believe that fear is still missing. Though, I’ve started to wonder if it is the big bad behind my low self-worth.

There’s a colossal belief within me that a key to “getting better” is finding my own self-worth. As it is now, I live off of the acceptance and approval from others. I am desperate to be needed because I don’t believe I have a right to be in the same room with you. The emotion behind that is fear. It is a fear that I have no worth. Could it be that I’m afraid of dying without having proved my worth? Am I that cliché male of the species who distresses that he has nothing to leave behind when he is gone? That’s an ugly thought. It feels petty and pathetic to be worried about my legacy.

As I share my mental health story, occasionally I wonder if it is manipulative. Since I don’t feel as if I am accepted by others, perhaps I can get them to have simpathy for me. You can see how questioning my own motivations is driven by the fear that I am not behaving as I should be. I judge myself rather than accept who I am, grey hairs and all. I desire to be received by others because inside I don’t believe in me.

The urge for validation from the people around me ties nicely with the toxic idea of leaving a legacy. I am attempting to measure self-worth with money and things. Comparing myself to others only continues the depression and low self-worth. Even looking at what I’ve done in this world, my deeds are never enough.

That feeling may be a product of the competitive nature of our world. Even so, many of us look at our accomplishments in a very warped way. We want forward progress we can see. That’s not always the case though, is it? Ray Bradbury’s A Sound of Thunder gives us the idea that the simple act of stepping on a butterfly in the past can affect the future. Rather than fearing that my wages are a disgrace to my spouse and family, I might hope that the simple act of saying “thank you” to the bus driver yesterday helped her get through another tough day, week, or year of work.

I’m not sure if that’s blue-sky thinking or a valid concept. My depression and fear carry considerable weight in my thought process. Still, making generous assumptions about my simplest of acts could be something to work towards, a way to find some worth within. What are your thoughts?

#depression #mentalhealth #suicide #fear

She arrived at the Canadian rescue in November of 2017. The only history available for “Petunia” is the official documentation that got her across the US/CAN border. She was spayed, received a rabies shot and a microchip in the states prior to crossing the border. Petunia was also given meds to treat a cough and prevent heartworm.

The rescue organization saves dogs from shelters that euthanize, breeders, or simple surrenders from owners. Small dogs may be at a particular risk in the last 10 years or so because people like Paris Hilton who use the animals as accessories. Harsh judgements like that aside, every pet deserves a loving life even if it means uprooting them from thousands of miles away. The philosophy of the rescue that saved “Petunia” is that they can help more dogs find a “furever home” (this pun is used by all rescues, I swear) by using a kennel facility. Instead of finding foster homes until such time the dogs can be adopted, this rescue takes care of the animals at their location as best they can, while a call is put out for a new family.

“Petunia” has now traveled many miles, being abandoned at a kill shelter, to being poked, medicated and brought somewhere entirely new. When I meet her in February, she’s shaken and wary. “Petunia” seems to have bonded with one of her caregivers in 3 months and now she’s about to be removed from that relationship as well. She’s full of anxiety, afraid to be touched and her tail is so firmly tucked behind, and under, that you could mistake her for a boy dog. Things don’t get better at our new “furever home,” located downtown instead of the country like the rescue where she could run about if she chose. This tiny ball of anxiety has been abandoned and confused for so long that it is her natural state.

What If?

That’s the question anxiety is constantly trying to prepare us for. I am perpetually worried about everything. How poorly will you judge me for ending the sentence before with a preposition? Will people think I’m weak for sharing this? Does anyone really care, or are they showing me pity? Did I look like an idiot at the grocery store today? Does my sister hate me for not calling her recently? Maybe she'd rather I didn't call?  My old friends must think I’m a loser for breaking down, right?

The first week with “Petunia,” who we renamed Coco, was very challenging. My fears of not being accepted and Coco’s fear of abandonment clashed. It felt like she didn’t want to connect for fear of losing us. Meanwhile, my mind was wanting that unconditional love from a pet. My insecurity barked at me as Coco started to bond with my spouse in the second week. Rationally, I was telling myself that having her as a somewhat distant roommate for the next few years was better than her being euthanized. Emotionally, I was crushed. All my “what ifs” that played out were validated. My negative self image isn't my illness, it is the truth.

At the same time, I was fascinated how similar I was to Coco. The psychiatrist has asked me if I think I have abandonment issues because of my need to be validated by others. The desire to get my self-worth from those around me is driven by fear. Coco was afraid to be left alone in that first week, but also afraid to get close to us. For me new people, new friends, are more humans I will fail. This is where Coco and I differ. She’s all, “I’m not getting close to you because you’ll probably leave me.” In contrast, I believe that I will fail you and lose you, so why try?

Old Dogs

Talking to people about our rescue, Coco, I got lots of advice. “Give her some time, she’ll come around.” One person with a dog of a similar breed commented that her dog was now 9 years old and still timid. She continued to mention that her dog prefers women to men. It’s not just me. However, that doesn’t fit the negative narrative that depression wants to keep replaying, “there is something wrong with me.”

As Coco does start to warm to me by the end of a month, my story has to change. How can I keep depression’s motto alive in my head, “there’s something wrong with me?” Well, one month and Coco has come around and is no longer afraid of me. It’s almost been an entire year of groups, therapy, and classes to work on my mental health. Something must be wrong with me if Coco can beat much of her anxiety in only a month.

Why can’t I learn this new trick? Am I too old? Coco is still suspicious of strangers, but one could argue that’s a healthy fear. It can protect her in a cagey situation. What is my fear trying to protect me from? The obvious answer is pain and hurt. Coco was afraid of the same thing in the first week. Yet, she didn’t turn it on herself, as I did. My concern about failing others is a way to prevent myself from getting close in the first place. It is self sabotage.

Training

On good days, I can see how far Coco has come in a month and be inspired. Potty trained outside, being brave in a big city on walks, letting me pick her up, learning her name, and getting used to our schedule are just a few of the things she has accomplished in such little time. Anxiety comes to her face a lot, but she’s persevering. Every change she’s accepted has been due to practice. That’s what training is, essentially.

For me, practice and routine are difficult. The negative voice interrupts me, “The dog got better in a month, what’s your problem?” I fall into that loop of self-loathing. Change takes time and practice, but perhaps I keep trying new things instead of sticking to one? That was me being hard on myself again. I have stuck with some strategies that work, but impatience can easily tempt me back toward the negative self-talk. It’s another fear. I’m scared that no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to love myself. I think I’m supposed to sit and stay with that emotion, but it will take some training.

Meanwhile, Coco has decided the entire sectional couch is hers. She loves walks, belly rubs, and Piña Coladas. Just kidding, no alcohol for the pooch. Coco’s tail is rarely hidden from view these days, unless it disappears in a wagging blur when my spouse comes home. Her ears seem to be always alert, even when she looks like she’s napping. That anxiety of me possibly abandoning her to go to a psychiatrist appointment, or my partner leaving for work, keeps her attentive. Though, overall she’s made some impressive leaps in behavior. With Coco’s influence and example, I hope that I too can overcome my fears.

#mentalhealth #depression #anxiety

As someone struggling with mental health issues I recognize parts of myself in Trump. I’m working hard to correct my behaviours, regulate my emotions instead of deny them, and find self-worth from within. All of these things start with having compassion for myself. Perhaps the best way to go about that is to have compassion for others.

President Trump is mentally ill. Note, that I am not a doctor or qualified to claim this as fact, but I do see the similarities that I am working through. This unmanageable need to be liked, to have recognition, and power can all be signs of insecurity. For me, some of this may stem from abandonment issues. Before you go searching Trumps childhood, know that there are a number of ways our minds can form these unhelpful neural pathways and patterns. I grew up with a mother and a father, so why do I fear abandonment? Yet, much of my therapy is starting to point to this issue. I want to control my environment, or at least believe that I do. While Trump makes outlandish claims of his success and adoration, I do the opposite putting myself down and believing I am incapable of being loved. This is how we both control our narrative. I refuse to believe that I have any worth to anyone and Trump believes he is a miraculous gift to anybody that interact with him. No matter what critics say of him, or what loved ones tell me, the two of us control the narrative in our minds.

Opposing Trump with anger, internet memes, and commenting on his social media posts have no affect. His delusion protects himself from harm and controls his inner narrative in order to not see anything that doesn’t feed his beliefs. Those people are jealous of him, weak, or terrorists. I imagine that would be how he twists the feedback. For myself and the self-hate, I see compliments as me getting lucky or being praised for something that anyone can do. Again, dismissing those things that do not jive with my belief that I have no worth.

When I say we should have compassion for Trump, I’m not excusing his behavior. I don’t want my friends and family to lose healthcare, jobs, or their lives because of something he does or says. All I am proposing is that we have to look at each other with compassion. Trump is an everyday reminder of why we need more compassion in the world.

How Can We Subvert Trump By Being Compassionate?

Nobody wins in war. Arguing is not any different. Fighting the powers that be means you’re a freedom fighter, right? Well, to the opposing side, you’re a terrorist. Our world is not one that can be simplified into good vs. evil. That is the fairytale that we keep feeding generations, but humans are far more complex than good or evil. Compassion is far superior, in my opinion, because it builds a bridge instead of blowing it up.

The next thing I hear when I speak of compassion is “But, they’re not going to show compassion! Trump won’t return our compassion with some of his own.” It’s not a fair exchange, that’s how you know you’re doing it right. We give of ourselves without expecting anything in return. Compassion starts small with friends, family, and coworkers. It does not start at the Trump level. Look at the example of our modern day tech bubble, everyone wants to be the next Uber, Twitter, or Facebook. Those successes didn’t start day one at the top of the world. Facebook started at one university. This small community eventually grew by adding more Boston area universities. Students who had friends at other universities outside Boston eventually told them about this new thing. Facebook added more and more schools. Eventually, Facebook included high school students, and finally allowed anyone to join. Curious parents who watched their kids interact with this website decided to join and check it out as well. Compassion starts the same way. We naturally pay it forward. If you smile at someone walking the opposite direction on the street, there’s a phenomenal chance that they will smile back.

If you’re protesting Trump, try to imagine that person on the other side shouting in support of the President. You’re angry because Trump sexually harassed a number of women. What if I were to tell you the person on the other side was related to Monica Lewinsky. As you’re rightfully steaming with anger, that person also has a similar feeling about Bill Clinton and has chose to ignore the allegations against Trump and support him. Both of you want women to be treated with respect, why are you shouting at each other? Perhaps the Trump supporter is excited about the huge tax cut, but you’re opposed. You don’t know why that supporter is there. Could it be that the democrats refused to cut taxes which forced his employer to move overseas for cheaper labor? Who is to blame? His employer who was only trying to make shareholders happy by showing a profit. Should we blame the democrats for not cutting taxes? Is the supporter at fault for not choosing a better job? The idea is having compassion for the person’s situation, not for what they’re doing at the moment.

Yes, those are hypothetical situations that I made up and controlled the narrative of, just like Trump and myself do with self-worth. Regardless, I have to believe that compassion is the best method to make the world better. That’s the goal of the anger focused at Trump, right? It’s not about labelling him or putting him in his place, correct? We just want a better world. Show compassion, respond not react to those you disagree with. As an incredible friend told me, “true subversion is not yelling as loud as you can, but actually doing the things that are better than the things we are doing now.”

I’m not alone in this idea of compassion instead of opposition. A number of groups reported record donations after Trump’s election. What would be more rewarding, an argument on Facebook with your conservative uncle, or volunteering for the local ACLU and telling a citizen they don’t have to worry about the travel ban and will get to see their family again?

Compassion and anger are both emotions, and they feed themselves. If you give compassion it will feel good and you’ll want more. If you continue to use anger, you’ll continue feeding it and become embittered with everything around you. Perhaps you’ll even start to hate yourself. Trust me, you don’t want that.

#anger #emotions #mentalhealth #compassion #fear

Not too long ago, I proclaimed that I would choose love as my super power, over flight, strength, or invisibility. The idea of choosing compassion over anger, or being right, sounds very idealistic. Nelba Márquez-Greene’s words in the video below are so powerful because she speaks them from a space of love and compassion. In my opinion, she seems so genuine as she talks about her daughter and the tragic events.

I’ve spent much of my life looking outside for my self-worth and telling people what they want to hear to get acceptance. Nelba Márquez-Greene’s quality of being open and authentic is something my father had and it inspires me. I believe to move forward that I will have to be my own hero. I cannot aspire to be as unrealistic Spider-man, nor can I be my father or Márquez-Greene. When we look at our heroes, we must go deeper than just their deeds.

As I said, I have a tendency to be a pleaser, a “yes” person. I want badly to be liked by you, by everyone. Thus, my father’s trait of being genuine is the core reason why I idolize him. In the video above, Nelba Márquez-Greene is telling her story with compassion. She has been through a tragedy and honestly says don’t give me the “Well at least…” bullshit. Nelba Márquez-Greene wants to talk about what happened, not the loss. She wants to bring change with compassion and community.

Spider-man, well maybe I once gravitated towards him because not everything went his way and he still carried on? There’s the lovely line from Spidey’s uncle Ben, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Yet, I am having trouble really finding what it is that would make Spider-man my hero over Nelba Márquez-Greene and my father. Sorry, Spidey.

The search within myself for meaning and worth is incredibly difficult. The emotional work is draining, time-consuming, and absent of facts. I realize that I cannot shape my life to be more like my father or Nelba Márquez-Greene. I have to become me. I hope that sometime in the future I can write an apology blog to Nelba Márquez-Greene and declare myself as my own hero. Until then, I will be inspired by her words and her work.

You can learn more about Nelba Márquez-Greene and her foundation at The Ana Grace Project

Last week I spent 2 days trying to productivity my way out of feeling. This is old hat for me. Where does that phrase come from? Yuck, that’s my mind’s way of finding more avoidance, I start searching for that answer instead of sitting here and dealing with my emotions. I’ve been suppressing tears. Why? I wish I knew.

It goes like this, I woke up one morning to a note from my spouse. Regardless of the content, I felt shame and guilt. Even before reading it. I assumed it was bad news. I assumed I’d done something wrong. I stayed up late the night before, trying to keep the tears away. I promised not to stay up too long and I did. I was guilty. I didn’t share my battle against the tears. I was ashamed. Sharing my vulnerability would have made it real. Guilt and shame fit. What did the note say? Doesn’t matter. In the past I’ve stayed up late avoiding my issues with unhealthy distractions and destructive consequences. Another reason to guilt myself. It didn’t matter that the late evening was spent problem solving website issues. I was judging myself on the past. I was not at all focused on the now, on the content of the note.

I believe depression is an awakening of sorts. Those of us who reach this stage realize something isn’t right in our lives. It is acknowledging that the problem isn’t with the outside world, but within us. Nobody in the history of the world has said, “This was the best day of my life! It will never get better than this. Well, I guess I’ll jump off a bridge. I might as well leave a success.” People who have suicidal thoughts have lost self-worth. That loss is very difficult to live with. How do you correct this problem in your own mind? If it was something on the outside of the body, a cut, a rash, or a bad haircut we know what to do.

What makes depression worse is that we are creatures of habit. The truth is that we want the pain of depression. The predictability is a comfort. Depression becomes standard operating procedures. We can’t make sense of success. We write it off as luck because personal success would challenge our assumption that we have no worth. We take our meds, see therapists, and tell people we want to be free of the dark corners of our minds. Yet, if I wake up tomorrow free of depression, what will happen? Predictability will be gone! Without a logical pattern to understand how will I know what to say and do? In this state of mind, in the depression, my low self-esteem won’t let me see that I can function in a world without comfortable predictability.

Damned If You Do

There it is. Please help me, but I don’t want help. I project this can’t win attitude on others when they try to listen and help. My morning letter from my spouse was a positive one, but I assumed it was bad.

I cannot imagine living with me. Of course I can’t because I have lost self-worth and contemplated suicide. Before sitting down to write this I was outside and chose to cross the road at an intersection without a stop sign or a traffic light. “Maybe I’ll get hit by a bus,” I thought. As I walked on, an older woman limping down the sidewalk passed and I wished I could donate my somewhat healthier legs to her. Let’s give her a better life with this donation and also end my pain. How do my loved ones deal with that? It seems hopeless.

I couldn’t live with someone’s depression myself. In the past, my ex-wife was depressed and I ran. I asked my father how he stayed with my mother as she suffered through depression. Conveniently, I don’t remember if he had an answer. I only remember my mother telling me that he was hurt by the question. I wish my father was here to help my spouse. Of course, that wish is me avoiding responsibility. If I just got better, my spouse wouldn’t suffer. Even worrying about my partner is avoiding my own issue of depression.

Nonetheless, it cannot be easy to live with me. As I explained, sometimes I don’t want to help myself. I have tools from therapies, group sessions, and classes. I didn’t use those resources last week. Instead, depression and the stereotype of the suffering artist had me writing this. Even admitting that fuelled my depression. “Idiot, why aren’t you using your tools? Come on, Chris!”

Stigmale

The other option was to let the tears come. A difficult task for a male in our toxic Western society. We often talk about the social influence has on the development of girls to women, but rarely talk about “boys being boys.” We’re told to “man up,” instead of emote. Crying is a weakness. I knew for days that what I needed was a cry, and yet, I couldn’t do it until the pain became unbearable. Should I listen to a sad song or watch an emotional movie to bring the tears? No. I just needed to let them come.

I needed to feel safe to allow them to happen. Though, repressing them for so long had my eyes watering in a public cafe as I reflected on my week. What are you feeling as you read that last sentence? Are you feeling empathy for me because you can relate to sadness or because you’re embarrassed for me having this emotion in a public space? You could argue there isn’t much of a difference, but it may illustrate how much we’ve tried to distance ourselves from emotions in society. The fact that we feel shame or awkward having emotions in a public space is troubling, in my opinion.

Coming Out The Other Side

At the end of the day, I reached for my mental health tools. It’s very tough because even these helpful tools can affect me negatively. Chet(me) was quick to make me feel bad for waiting days to get the tools out. That’s the loop, the depression feeding itself, once again.

I confessed to my partner how I perceived her morning letter. Once again, revisiting the idea that I project the “can’t win” attitude on her. She held me and I cried. The release wasn’t as cathartic as I had hoped it would be. Perhaps, this is because of that male stigma that I am fighting against. There’s a part of me that believes crying serves no purpose. It doesn’t solve the issue. I feel the same way about anger. Getting angry never seems to fix anything, so why bother crying or getting angry?

These emotions are natural that is, we all feel them as humans. Repressing the tears for days resulted in a number of issues for me that I could have avoided if I simply let them happen when I first felt the need for tears. Supposedly, the trick is to feel our emotions, without getting caught up in the story. In other words, figuring out what is behind the emotions instead of getting carried away with thoughts of fixing the future or past events that led to the feeling. Initially, I was feeling bad because it is the season. I haven’t worked regularly in a year and much of my identity is my work. What do I have to be proud of? That question is going the wrong direction, it is heading towards the story. Beneath my identity issue, under the idea of having no work is the common theme that I have no self-worth. It’s possible that this is what my tears are trying to tell me.

This is why depression is called a mental illness. The perception of reality is distorted with many of us. While many mental disorders may present themselves in behaviors, depression can sometimes remain within. This is why suicides of loved ones can affect us so deeply. Sometimes it is the only sign that there is a problem.

How To Get Help or Help Others

• There’s this great Wikipedia page with a list of suicide crisis lines for a ton of different countries. Talk to someone it can help. Even if you haven’t attempted suicide, thinking it is a distant option is not healthy. It has been option D for for me since junior high. I recently learned that not everyone thinks this way. Reach out using one of those lines above or find someone you trust to share your emotional struggles.
• Make It Ok has a number of resources to help you talk to friends with mental wellness issues. They want to abolish the stigmas around mental illness in society, so take a few minutes to check the site out.
• Reach out to each other. Those of us dealing with mental illness will not come to you. My self-worth is nonexistent. I am not going to email, text, or call you after I write this. I don’t want to burden you. I don’t even want to be with me! There’s even an urge to apologize for recommending that you to reach out to me and others with mental illness. After all, “it takes two to tango.” Sometimes friendships feel unequal when you have to be the one always making contact. Well, my spouse had a sign in her grade school classroom that fits, “Fair isn’t everybody getting the same thing. Fair is everybody getting what they need in order to be successful.” Help your friends be successful, reach out and engage each other.

#mentalhealth #depression #masculinity #emotions

Previously, I introduced readers to Chet, my personal internet bully. Today, I’d like to share another voice-- my anxiety, the frantic and frazzled Sparky.

Our human minds cannot be still by design. Curiosity about the world around us keeps us safe. Even interior inquires that alert us to aches, pains and the like encourage us to go to the doctor. However, in those situations where we are comfortable, in our everyday routines, our minds wander. Try to clear your mind and concentrate on the sensations of your fingers and palms the next time you wash your hands. It’s nearly impossible. My mind jumps from feeling the temperature of the water to what I have to do next in the day. Sparky has business for me. If I bring my mind back and truly feel the soap, feel one hand lathering the other, my brain wanders to the fact that I am practicing this because I am broken. Thanks Chet.

Being in the moment is difficult.

If it’s not Chet beating me up, it is Sparky telling me what I should be doing. “We’ll show Chet, today,” exclaims Sparky, “Get up early, exercise, clean each room in the house, apply for 4 jobs, submit 2 articles to our editor, get to inbox zero, buy all the Christmas gifts early, call your mom, go grocery shopping, pay the bills, fix the sink, paint the living room, and make dinner!” A sizeable list for a healthy person, but perhaps not impossible? Regardless, the point is that my personal project manager, Sparky, never lets up. There’s always something that should be done. Those things above that are not accomplished today, will move to tomorrow’s hit list. Sparky’s unending to-do list keeps pushing down on me like the world on Atlas’ shoulders.

Sparky continues to micromanage my days by chiming in at the most absurd moments. While I’m trying to work, he wonders if I am going fast enough. Sparky wants to know what’s for dinner. He’s curious about how busy the airport will be next month when I intend to travel home. How will I get to my psychiatrist visit next week? Where will I park? Do I need groceries for dinner tonight? Does that person over there want my table by the power outlet? Have I been in the café too long? Should I leave? When did I last get the oil changed in the car? Is there food on my face? This work is taking too long, isn’t it? My boss likes me, right? Am I too slow? Do you think my spouse thinks I’m too slow? Maybe she even wonders if I’m lazy? Her parents? And then Chet joins the conversation. All of this takes mere seconds.

“Nothing is worth doing unless it is perfect.” This is Sparky’s answer to combating the insecurity of Chet. Thus, when I get on the Sparky train, things don’t happen spontaneously. To appease Sparky and Chet, I try to plan my way to silence my mind. Doctor appointment tomorrow? Alright, I’ll wake up, shower, brush my teeth, put on deodorant, get dressed, do my hair, eat breakfast, double check Google Maps for the time it takes to get to the doctor, leave early to find parking, and bring a book to read while I wait. What have I forgotten?

“Do I have a backup plan for parking? What if there is construction on the way?”

“Oh, hi Sparky,” I cringe.

“If your appointment isn’t until 10am, what can we get done in the morning. And after!”

“It’s going to be okay, don’t worry.”

“You don’t really think that.” Chet’s criticism interjects. “You’ll mess this up somehow.”

This is the formula that quite possibly gave me my trademark white hair so early. I live in fear. The anxiety has, at times, spilled into paranoia. Without self-esteem, anxiety fills in for confidence. Instead of thinking “I can do this,” I torment myself with all the things that can go wrong. Even with the simplest of tasks, I move from one crisis to the next in my head.

Focusing on a task, is very difficult. These two voices in my head work together and yet against each other. My inner critic inspires the anxiety. Sparky’s desire to beat Chet with perfection only give the insecurity an opening. The constant reminder from the inner critic that I’ll never be enough quiets the anxiety. "Why try if I am going to fail?" My anxiety-focused project manager also encourages me to take on less challenges to preempt the self-hate and critique. "I can't do this."

I started writing about Sparky a month ago, shortly after revealing Chet. I had difficulty finishing the story because I wanted it to be perfect. I made excuses to to do “more important” tasks instead. I was afraid. Moreover, I work hard daily to not get caught up in the spin. As I struggled to complete this confession, I bounced from believing I have made progress to wondering if I was in denial. Am I shutting down in response to Chet & Sparky? I know that ignoring their voices is not the answer. I have to learn to accept them for what they are. Like friends with differing opinions, I should seek to find compromise, not avoid them. Chet inspires me to be a better person. Sparky will keep me out of dangerous situations. More on that in the final part of Fractured. Wait, did I just use the “should” word? Damn, this is a confusing journey.

#mentalhealth #depression #fear

."Better late than never" is not something you want to lead with when it comes to impressing potential employers. Yet, it has taken me the entire month of December to publish my November income report. While I was laid up post surgery and took a week off to visit my family, it was a tough month because I lost my regular client.

At the end of October, I had my gallbladder removed. The procedure took a day and then I was sent home to rest. Writing is something you can do while resting, right? Between the drugs and the trauma of surgery inflicted on my body, I slept a lot. Having your stomach stitched together in 4 places is distracting at best. At worst, it is terrifying (never sneeze when you're being held together with string & good intentions). I managed to do a couple interviews and write a few things despite recovery.

A little more than 2 weeks after my procedure I went to the States to visit my mother on her birthday. It was only a 5 day trip, but we were able to see friends and family. It has been 4 years since I left my job and my former coworkers invited us out to lunch and even paid. Every trip back they do this. Those are pretty amazing people. Got some marketing or an app/website you need built, check out ddm. As for me, I did some social media posts for a client and published some stories and interviews I wrote prior to leaving.

After returning from our trip, I spent more time trying to sell my story I wrote the previous month as a test for a new client. Since they passed on it, I reached out to a previous podcast guest, Alan Henry, over at Lifehacker. It was a long shot and I probably should have went through proper channels, but it was worth a try. One of the editors gave me the bad news and I remained positive as I reached out to a local publication. I received an initial response requesting samples of my work, but I haven't heard anything else.

More Low Numbers to Come?

From there, things went downhill. My client of the last 2 years has decided to close their doors. I was looking for additional work, in part because I knew things were rocky in New York. Yet, I had hoped my work would lead to opportunities for the small company. As with most internet ventures, they were slowly getting some traction. In the last 3 months, I had multiple people contacting me to have their products and people featured on the blog. It was exciting that the audience was growing so much that we had offers like that. Thus, it came as quite a shock to me.

It has been a difficult December, coming to terms with my job loss. I guess I'll write about that very soon in the next report. If I was a fiction author this would be a character building set back, according to cliche. However, I'm just struggling to find companies or people who pay writers online as so many sites make money off of people who write for free.

Other Income & Monthly Summary

My friend & co-host has been busy editing our podcast. I've thrown up some short posts on our patreon page and completed the notes for each show. Thus, we'll be ready to record new episodes in the new year. We're going to make some changes to the Patreon campaign in order to motivate ourselves & perhaps inspire more listeners to patronize us. We do the show live on Thursday evenings and then my friend edits the show and we put it on the site. We do the podcast because we enjoy it, but we're not always quick to put it on the site for listening. So, we may offer the raw recording of the live show to patrons at any dollar amount.

As for freebies, I did work on something for my friends' business here in town. I wrote it on the plane ride this month. I haven't taken the time to edit it. Though, it would appear that I should probably remove it from "freebies" because they offered to pay me in store credit. That's exciting! I was just happy to add something diverse to my portfolio, which is why I was listing it in this section.

As shared above, the numbers are low because I was out of commission thanks to surgery. Then, I took 6 days to go back to the States and visit my mother, sister and my friends. Finally, I lost a client. So, the last week of the month my normal workload was absent. December is going to be even uglier because it is the holiday season. It's very tough to find work between Christmas and New Years. Hopefully, I can muster the courage to sit down and write that report sooner.

Can I watch this on my TV instead of my laptop? Drags file to the open Airflow window and it starts playing on the television instantly. Yes. It appears that I can.

Airflow is amazingly simple and I absolutely love that. The beta application is on Mac and Windows. It works in cooperation with Chromecast or Apple TV.

Most “over the air” streaming innovation is focused on our mobile devices so I find it refreshing to see something for our computers. My phone battery and I thank the developer. He can be found on Reddit discussing the app in r/appltv or r/Chromecast.

Biases & Plex

Coming from a production background, I prefer wires. Producing a stage show of any kind involves many wires. Trusting a wireless mic or casting a laptop screen in front of an audience is an unnecessary risk to us old dogs.

The mic audio isn’t working? Change the cable or the mic. Wireless issues involve invisible frequency and power issues. How do you fix the invisible? Wires and hardware connections are so much better to work with. This is why I typically attach my laptop to our TV via an HDMI cable. Old habits die hard.

Another solution for streaming from your computer is Plex. It’s always seemed like overkill to me. Though, I honestly prefer streaming things rather than having a drive full of media. Plex’s intense interface and setup makes me feel like I have to have a library of films and shows to justify it.

The Annoying Chromecast

The truly astonishing thing about Airflow is that it works flawlessly with the Chromecast. We’ve had terrible luck with the device in our home and it’s a common story around the web when it comes to casting from computers. Google’s tab casting built into the Chrome browser is wholly unreliable. When it comes to applications on Android phones the casting experiences are hit or miss. Google’s own Songza and now, Play Music both randomly stop playing our tunes.

Airflow is actually streaming files from my computer and not casting something streaming off the internet. Part of me wonders if that’s why it works so much better than the other things we’ve tried on the Chromecast. Don’t get me wrong, I think the Chromecast is worth it’s price. Furthermore, many younger people seem to be more into Youtube channels than Netflix and the Youtube mobile app is probably the most reliable app next to the beta Airflow.

I said I liked wires.

Internet TV Is Not Here Yet

15 years ago, the idea of internet and television being married together was full of customization dreams. “What if you could choose the camera angle on your sports ball game? We’ll have access to statistics, actor bios and information galore!” Instead, cable drags it feet because ad dollars make their world go around and nobody clicks online banner ads.

Thus, we’re in this strange, in between period where people are cutting the cable and using Hulu, Netflix and Youtube to consume content because those companies somewhat understand how to make money online. However, those services can’t fill all our needs and people are still searching out content on torrents and using less than legal methods to get the programming they want. Why? People always choose the easiest method to do something. Dear content distributors, just follow this popular advice: “Shut up and take my money.”

Enough Ranting

If Netflix or streaming other services in general is your main goal I would steer clear of the Chromecast and look at the Roku family of devices. 6 or 7 years ago, I had one of the first gen boxes and loved it, but eventually it became too slow. Yes, these days televisions are building many of those features into the hardware. The issue becomes the manufacturers are the gatekeepers. Yes, you can have Netflix but not Amazon. Exclusive deals never favor consumers.

Personally, I think I might get an Intel NUC or Raspberry Pi to stream things on the TV in the near future. That is, until content distributors can get their act together. If you’ve got $35–40 sitting around, grab a Chromecast and check out Airflow because it’s really easy to send files to the television without some other service or device acting as a proxy.

#Chromecast #Roku #Netflix #StarTrek #Airflow #Streaming #Plex #television #cable #TV