PTSD (Day 15)

I remember once sitting in the corner of a room surrounded by men. I was told that because of what I had done, there were going to be consequences, and for me to bend over. Hanging from the wall over my head was a cross.

I remember once sitting in the corner of a room surrounded by men. I was told that because of what I had done, there were going to be consequences, and for me to bend over and take it like a man. Hanging from the wall over my head was a cross.

 

I remember once sitting in the corner of a room, surrounded by men. I was told that because of what I had done, there were going to be consequences, and for me to shut the fuck up and take it, and remember who owned this school. Hanging from the wall over my head was a cross.

I remember once sitting in the corner of a room, surrounded by men. I was told that because of what I had done, there were going to be consequences, and for me to sit quietly in this room until my departure. Hanging from the wall over my head was a cross.

 

I remember once sitting in the corner of a room, surrounded by men. I was told that because of what I had done, there were going to be consequences, and for me to hand over my uniform. Hanging from the wall over my head was a cross.

 

The first was a toolshed. The second was a principal's office. The third was the back hall of a gymnasium. The fourth was a parsonage. The fifth was a church. The central theme of men controlling the situation and determining justice based upon their own agenda, all underneath the watchful gaze of the cross should have been enough to turn anyone away from God altogether. Or, at the very least, cause the symbol of the cross to be a hated one.

But one day I sat down with a pastor and shared this story with him. I told him that I had been clinically diagnosed with PTSD, and that my doctor had said it was given to me by the church. The pastor put his hand up and said "I would change that from the church to a church." 

 

Perhaps so. 

Some people might read those opening sentences with the recurring theme and use the quote "If wherever you go there's a problem, guess what?", insinuating that I am the problem. However, I can absolutely testify to the fact that more harm has been done by men acting under their supposed "authority from God" than by people wanting nothing to do with that authority. 

 

The majority of people who used to follow me on Facebook when I was a good little conservative republican Southern Baptist have either unfollowed me, or unfriended me. That's fine. They are probably seeing me as one of the people God refers to in I Timothy 4:1, when actually, I love God more than I think I ever have in my life. I just detest our so-called president, (who was impeached) which sadly, many of them think is God's angelic messenger--even comparing him to Jesus.

Jesus would be nauseated by that, and probably is. But I digress.

PTSD has been the catalyst in my life for the most good, and the most bad. For example, I deal with generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, major depressive disorder, and PTSD. But the three former have only made me twitchy and annoyed and sad from day to day. PTSD has made me contemplate suicide. I've attempted 4 times in my life, and contemplated dozens of times. But it has also given me a purpose: To find others who deal with the same thing, and uplift them with both Christian and/or secular encouragement. 

For those who say "Christian counseling is the only counseling you need.", again, let me respectfully disagree. As an example, I went to a counselor for weeks who had a cross on his wall, and the only thing I came away with was "pray more and the PTSD will be less". That's some first class textbook advice, let me tell you. It's about as worthwhile as telling a stage 4 cancer patient that if they will just pray more, God will heal them. 

 

Spoiler alert: God never promised he would heal our bodies. Jesus only said "Thy Will be done."

However, one day, I went out for dinner with former co-workers and something huge happened. I was sitting at the table in this crowded restaurant with my friends around me, and I got a sudden cramp in my leg. I quickly pushed my chair back to straighten my leg, and I inadvertently collided with the back of another chair at the table behind me. I turned, and to my horror, there was a little girl in the chair who looked terrified of what had just occurred. I apologized to her profusely, and then looked at her father and apologized to him over and over also. You could see the look on their faces of "Look, we don't know you. You scared our little girl. Kindly go back to your dinner and leave us the hell alone. This is awkward and you are upsetting us with your apologies."

I saw there was an empty chair at the end of our table, off to itself. I picked up my stuff and moved to that chair so I wouldn't accidently bump the little girl again. I love children more than anything in the world, and the idea of upsetting one mentally destroys me. As I sat down, one of my coworkers looked at me and said "Why did you move?" I told her I didn't want to risk making the situation at the other table worse. She smiled, put her hand on my shoulder, and said "You aren't going to make it worse. It's over now. They've probably forgotten all about it. Your anxiety is causing this. You love kids, and your depression and anxiety is making you relive it over and over. You're reliving it right now, aren't you?"

I nearly broke down. This woman without any type of psychology degree or medical licensing did more for me in that one moment than weeks of counseling by a person with a diploma on one wall and a cross on the other. Because she understood.

More harm has been done underneath emblems and symbols than we can ever know. Sometimes, the greatest encouragement comes from the chair next to you, rather than the chair across from you.

To be continued.

Living With Mental Illness (Day 14)

I often find memes that sum up so perfectly the things that I deal with in life. Some are quite amusing, like the one below:

Ladies and gentleman, that one right there is not just a daily thing, it's a moment by moment thing. Like right now, I am not particularly worried about anything, but if I think for a moment, I will come up with something. Like that customer I worked with the other day. As they were leaving, they kind of gave me a weird vibe like they were not sure what to think about me. Maybe they didn't like me...maybe they thought I was creepy...maybe I was too nice to them and they think I'm a freak...maybe I said something wrong and now they will tell everyone they know about the creepy photographer....OMG this is horrible!!

I could worry about that for the next hour, but I have stuff to do.

Several very nice people have pointed out that some people may not read my blog entries because they are too long, or too disorganized. I should stick to the point and be real and raw with it. As for too long, if you can scroll Facebook for an hour with no problem, too long isn't an issue.

You make time for the things that matter to you.

Do with that as you will.

As for organized, I can try to do that. So here we go.

Yesterday in church our pastor said that we should come to God in our times of distress, and when we do, to make sure we are REAL with God. Don't mince words or think we have to be proper or hide our anger and frustration. If you need to tell God "You know what? You FUCKING PISS ME OFF, God!" then do so. God welcomes our raw emotions, and much prefers them to us trying to hide our feelings behind propriety and pride.

Today I saw a tweet/meme that hit me so hard I had to take a moment to fully process it and appreciate it for it's succint summary of my life. It's so accurate I almost want a t-shirt with this tweet on it.

You ready for this?

My friends....

Holy. FFFFCRAP.

I remember once being in a meeting that had been called by a few people regarding a position I held, and after being told I was being removed from that position, I was told by one of the men "Daniel I don't think you intentionally do things that make people uncomfortable, I think you are just misunderstood."

I've heard that line so many times before in regard to me. "I think you are just misunderstood." It's usually followed by (or preceded by) my being fired, dismissed, removed, ostracized, swept under the rug, or put away quietly. What they really mean by that statement is "I'm sure you don't see anything wrong with what you did/said, but the rest of the normal world doesn't understand it, so...yeah."

But here's the thing. Here's the hell of it. Here's the absolute soul-sucking, maddening, terrifying, damning reality that I deal with every day:

I know when I am about to do these things.

Yep. I see myself about to do the thing(s) that I know in the past has gotten me in trouble, gotten me ousted from a group or a position, or made a customer/friend/church family member suspect that something isn't right with me, and I do it anyway.

And that person will find it's easier to just avoid me rather than say "Daniel, what you did/said the other day made me uncomfortable."

But, you know, because I'm an empath, it wouldn't matter which one they did. If they avoid me without telling me what I did wrong, I will wonder forever what the horrible thing was that I did to them to make them do that. However, if they come out and tell me I hurt them/creeped them out, I will hate myself for it, and probably try to FIX what I did by offering to do whatever I need to do TO fix it, when actually, they just want me to leave them alone now. Which makes it even worse, because if they want me to leave them alone, I must have done something TRULY horrible, and that makes me question whether or not I am even WORTH dealing with as a person, and maybe the world would be better off if I wasn't even here....

Whew. Ok. Back to the point.

When your car hits a patch of water and you hydroplane, you have this horrible feeling of SEEING your complete loss of control and watching it happen while you sit helplessly trying to turn a steering wheel that isn't doing anything.

That's what this is like. You are aware of your self-destructive behavior. You see it about to happen. You remember what happened the last time you did/said this. Your brain (for a microsecond) says "Don't do it!" but then the other 90% of your brain, the part that isn't wired correctly, says "I should do it, because that's what I do, or it's what I want to do, or it will make me feel like I have a purpose, and maybe they will be happy with it, and maybe they will actually like me for it, and maybe it will make their day, or maybe it will make them laugh, or maybe it will make them smile, and it will make me feel like today isn't just another day where I feel like an human anomoly...

And so I do the thing.

And the person avoids me the next time they see me. (Or avoids me after the 10th time I've done it.)

So yeah.

If you happen to be one of those people who was the victim of my awkward...

Sorry about that.

Just wanted to post it again for emphasis.

Also, and this is crucial, here is something I need to put out there. In fact, it's so important that I am going to make a graphic so you can save it and share it if you like.

I think I'm not going to write any more for a while.

My brain is tired.

Depression (Day 12)

This blog post will be painfully short. Mainly because it's emphasis is going to be placed on just one thing.

Adjusting to new medications when you deal with mental illness is hard. Those of you who deal with this know this.

As adults, if we have a chronic condition like IBS or Fibromyalgia or Diabetes, and we have to change medications, we say to ourselves "This is gonna suck, but I'm an adult, and I've gotta deal with it." Maybe we will have to fight with constipation, insomnia, dry mouth, or other physical annoyances. As adults, we accept that, and move forward.

People with mental illness deal with a second blow when we are adjusting to new medications. Specifically, ones that target the mental illness itself. When we make the medication change, we often have no idea how our mind is going to respond to it. Will we have vivid hallucinations? Will suicidal thoughts creep in? Will we become hyper-OCD? Will our world become a roller-coaster of highs and lows that rival the most manic of bipolar episodes? Will everything be ok again? We have no idea.

Today I am adjusting to new medication. I'm very twitchy and spazzy today. It's also making me hyper-aware of every tiny little thing around me. I startle like I've heard a gunshot every time an acorn hits our tin roof.

And there are a lot of acorns.

Here is my point: If you know someone who deals with mental illness, and they happen to share with you that they are adjusting to new medications, please, for the love of all that is decent and holy, EMPATHIZE with them. Give them an extra measure of understanding that day, or week. We need it more than you can understand.

For those who deal with mental illness, I'm also giving a shout-out to you. You know what this @#$%^& is like.



via GIPHY

Franceska

Prom night is my busiest day of the year as a high school senior portrait photographer. I usually have at least 12 customers that day, and because of the time constraints imposed by the student's needs, as well as the number of students I have to work in, it's usually a nightmare. There is no time on prom night to be overly creative, or give special attention to this person or that person, although I do try my best.

Two years ago, Franceska Blanding booked me for her prom portraits. On prom night, photographers are often seen as "He's booked? Okay, call the next person.". In short, we aren't very special. So when Franceska called me again the following year, it really made me smile. She'd already had senior portraits taken by another photographer by then, but she was so sweet and so kind that I asked her if maybe after she graduated we could do some pictures just for fun. She said she liked that idea.

After graduation, Franceska wanted more senior portraits than she got in her senior year, and as I had wanted to do hers anyway but missed the chance, I was excited for this! We met, had a great time taking photos in the fall colors, and as she was getting ready to leave, I asked her if we could stay in touch, and maybe do more one day. I told her that often, white students flock to white photographers, and black students to black photographers. It's just how it is. I wanted more "color" in my portfolio, and she said she'd love to help with that.

I put out my hand, she took it, and we shook hands. Then I said "Don't forget me, ok? I promise not to forget you." she smiled and said enthusiastically "I won't! I promise!" Just for a happy thing, I put out my pinky finger, and she smiled again and locked hers with mine. "Pinky promise." we said.

When we locked pinkies, for a moment I looked down at our hands. The contrast of colors of mine and her fingers interlocked was something I had not taken notice of when I had shaken hands with countless people over the years, but this time, I had a moment of "Wow." Just 55 years ago, this moment would have been quite different. Our handshake would have been a forbidden act in the eyes of many; even more so the hug I got before she got into her car.

This beautiful person, with a sweet spirit and kindness that shines outwardly from her heart would have been maginalized by the world around her, even though hers is kind of friendship most people aren't even ready for. Today, I am thankful for her. Thankful that I've made a friend for life. And I'm thankful for the people around me who understand and will appreciate what I'm writing in this post.

Today is a good day. :)

Cognitive Dissonance (Day 11)

I'm curious if my blog will have more views today because of the topic, (very unlikely) or because of the attractive figure of the woman walking in the water. If it does get more, I'm going to hope it's the former, but accept it's probably the latter. Either way, I'm proving a socio-psychological point in that--a point will be discussed at a later date.

Gather round, Piggies! (Nod to Miss Barbara Greene.)

Let's say for a moment I stand in the middle of a room full of people, and say "I have a quote to read all of you. I want you to tell me what you think of the quote, and in turn, what you think about the person based on the quote itself. I'll tell you who said it after I get your feedback. Ready?"

The room quiets down.

"I could stand in the middle of a busy street and shoot someone, and my people would still support me." I say.

A few recognize the quote and nod, a few don't.

I ask "What do you think about the quote itself, and who do you think said it?"

"Sounds like a criminal. Someone who thinks they are above the law. Probably a gang member on the rise. Or maybe a dictator?" someone asks.

"Any more guesses?" I say.

"Whoever it is, he's a magananimous ass for saying something like that." someone says.

"Would you consider the person who said this to be suspicious? Would you trust them?" I ask.

People shake their heads no, and the few who recognize the quote either sit quietly or are ready to argue.

"Donald Trump." I say. Then I show them the video where he said it during a campaign rally to prove I didn't make it up.

One of the people who is a die-hard supporter of Trump says "Well, yeah, he said that. But he didn't mean it that way. He'd never actually do it. He's just Trump. Trump is Trump. He doesn't know how to be politically correct. That's what makes him such a great president. He's a wild card. Plus, he's a Christian, and he's all about America. That's what's important, here. And besides, Obama did this and Hilary did this...."

Did you see what happened there? The person knew that was an asinine thing for a man to say, but since he is a supporter of this man, he has to find a way to reconcile the conflict that quote creates in his mind. He knows that if some random person on the street said that, he'd call him a criminal, but since it's the president, and the man he voted for, he now must either admit the president commited a huge blunder in making such a horrific statement, or he must find a way to put a positive spin on it. And not just to defend his man to others, but--here's the crazy part--defend him to himself.

This is called Cognitive Dissonance.

Let me show you two different scenarios so you can recognize the difference between cognitive dissonance and ignorance. Ignorance can be excused, cognitive dissonance cannot.

Let's say you vape regularly. Then someone told you that vaping is actually more dangerous that smoking cigarettes. You have been shown no solid proof of this person's claim, so you might say "You're wrong. Vaping is totally safe. No smoke goes into your lungs, just water vapor. I read that in blah-blah-blah..."

That's not cognitive dissonance. That's ignorance. You fully believe the person's claim is wrong, and until someone shows you hard proof otherwise, you are going to stick to your belief, however wrong it may be. Because to you, your claim is correct.

Now let's say the same person then shows you hard evidence of such. Maybe in a medical journal, or an interview with a respected doctor. Maybe even a celebrity you know and love backed it up as well. A celebrity you have shared on your social media page and sang his praises for being an amazing person who is so smart and how everyone should listen to them.

That celebrity just said vaping is dangerous.

Now you have a problem. If you admit the celebrity's statement about vaping is right, (or might be right) you now have to change the way you feel about vaping; or, at the very least admit you are going to keep doing it in spite of it being dangerous.

Or, (and this is the fun part) there is a third option: You have to come up with a reason in your mind that both the celebrity is right and so is vaping--

"Well yeah..." you say. "...but he's probably being paid to say that. He does so many good things for cancer research and standing up for little kids and so his agent probably said he should do that so it looks good to parents. But I bet even he vapes and just doesn't tell anyone. He's young like me, and don't we all go through that stage? The stage when we are in our late teens and have to learn from our mistakes? That's what I have to do, too. Learn from my mistakes. So if vaping is dangerous, I'll figure it out. But you can't expect me to not rebel a little bit, right? I mean, this is my time to be young and stupid!"

Cognitive Dissonance: Knowing what you are doing (or supporting/defending) is wrong, but creating a defense in your mind for the act itself so that you feel better about not condemning it and changing your belief.

Examples:

Finding out with hard evidence that your significant other cheated on you, but telling yourself that men cheat, and that's just how it is. Besides, at least he has confessed to it rather than hiding it from you. (All four times.)

Discovering the news post you shared on social media was actually not true, but rather than admitting you unknowingly shared a fake post, saying "Well thank goodness it wasn't true, but what if it had been?"

Claiming you really don't care about politics, but when every post you make is political in nature, saying "I just do it for fun. Who doesn't love making fun of current events?"

Calling gay people perverts, then when your best friend comes out as gay, you say "Well, he's not so open about it, though. He's not as sexual as some of these gay people you see on TV."

Making racist statements about the Hispanic population, then when your friend says "My mother is half-Latina." you say "Well yeah, but she came here legally. I'm talking about those Mexicans who are stealing our jobs!"

Knowing eating an entire jar of peanut butter in two days is bad for you (or at the very least, excessive) but saying "Well, I could be eating a lot worse, or I could be not eating at all! Peanut butter has health benefits too, and I eat it with bananas, which have Vitamin-K, and so many people are deficient in their Vitamin K...."

The famous pastor you love and respect defending a white supremacist group by not actively calling them out for their acts of violence, and you saying "Well, I'm sure he has a reason, after all, he's a man of God. Judge not, lest ye be judged, right?"

Knowing you should stand up for your friend who was sexually assaulted by a guy she met online, but instead saying "Well it's her fault for posting pics of herself wearing clothes that are so revealing. She's practically advertising her body."

I could go on, but I think you get my drift by now.

There are two ways you can go about your day after having read this post. If you see you have been guilty of cognitive dissonance, you can either admit to it, and change your way of thinking about that particular incident where you exercised it, or you can exercise cognitive dissonance again, and convice yourself as to why you shouldn't take it seriously.

"Well yeah, he has a point. But...he's___________!"

I'll let you fill in the blank.

Algorithms (Day 10)

Algorithms.

What a cool word.

Let me introduce an interesting fact: You are not seeing everything your friends post. Now, this is actually a pretty good thing, because if you have hundreds of Facebook friends, and each one posted just one thing every day, you'd have to scroll your feed for hours and hours every day to see all of it. Facebook has an algorithm to fix that. The people you interactive with most (and even liking a post is interacting) are the ones you will see most in your feed. Facebook takes note of who you interact with, and who you don't. Then they use that info to determine whose posts you see most, or least. As an example, I have one person from overseas that I interact with daily, and since I like something they share almost every day, they are always in my feed. This works to my advantage, because I get to see their posts daily. Other people I don't interact with often (if ever) rarely appear in my feed. They are still on my friend list, but I never see the things they post. Also, if someone I interact with daily does not interact with me, I gradually disappear from their feed, even if they appear in mine every day.

Eventually, people you rarely interact with completely disappear from your feed. Facebook puts them "out of sight, out/out of mind", if you will.  Then, one day, out of the blue, you remember one of them for some reason, get curious, and go to their page. You scroll for a moment, see something you like, and like it. The next day, they have appeared in your feed again; as if from nowhere. It throws you, because you have forgotten what it's like to see them in your feed. Don't worry, though--if you don't interact with their posts, they'll vanish again in a couple of days.

It occured to me that this is as lot like life. The people you interact heaviest with are naturally the ones you care about most, and the ones you want to keep closest to you. (Whether they are loved ones, or secretly dispised.) You want to know everything they do, whether good or bad. For people you only casually care about, you may only speak to them every once in a while, and so you only really want to see them if they are doing something that affects you, benefits you, or that you might find particularly fascinating. People you don't interact with at all are usually people who don't share in your life, and so you really don't need to hear about theirs either. (Maybe every once in a while, just to confirm they are okay, but for the most part, you have filed them away.) It doesn't mean you don't love them, they are just not at the top of your list anymore.

Facebook understands this, and so if you interact with someone daily, their posts show up in your feed daily. If you only casually interact, their posts only show up occasionally. If you hardly ever interact, you will only see a post of theirs once in a blue moon. When those "blue moon" posts show up from those people you don't interact with, you either scroll past it, and they vanish for another blue moon, or you "like" it, and they show up again the next day.

Facebook's algorithm has another aspect. This one involves keywords.** If Facebook sees you regularly interact with posts that involve SEC college football, for example, (especially if it's a specific team) when someone (regardless of how often you interact with them) posts a status that involves that team, magically, it appears in your feed.  

**You may have noticed this blog post showed up in your feed when you hadn't seen me in forever, just because I included those extraneous keywords in the nonsensical last sentence I put in the status involving this post.

In a way, this is also like life. If someone you rarely interact with suddenly says something about something that you are passionate about, you take interest immediately!

"Why is Karen suddenly so interested in________? That's MY thing!"

"Who the heck does Jessica think she is talking about my husband? She better keep his name out of her mouth!"

Five minutes ago, you didn't even think about Karen or Jessica, but now they are VERY important, indeed! Of course, as soon as you see Karen was only mentioning her thing in passing, and actually had no real interest in it, all is well. When you figure out Jessica was talking about another person with your husband's name, you sigh in relief, and forget about it. Then they vanish from your "feed" again.

Facebook understands the psychology of human behavior, and they have implemented it into their algorith they use for determining what shows up in people's feeds. They want you to keep coming back every day, after all, so you can see the ads they have used even more algorithms to determine will show up in your feed.

Like the one for Oreo cookies that your phone heard you mention yesterday while you were in the cookie aisle at the store. (Yep. That's a thing. Big Brother is watching you.)

So where does this post end? Dear heavens, is it over yet? The point in this blog post has nothing to do with Facebook's algorithm. It has to do with your algorithm.

Every day, you go about your daily ritual of interacting with the same people, over and over. Some you "check in" on or speak to every day. Some you only talk to once a week. Some you rarely ever talk to. For the most part, those people are just as content with this frequency of interaction as you are. Some of them want to hear from you every day, some of them don't. However, there is another group of people. Friends you once spoke with or interacted with daily, but overtime, you found new interests, and prioritized accordingly. Or perhaps the person was going through a bad patch, or dealing with emotional baggage, and their posts were killing your buzz. You come to Facebook to be entertained, not get bad vibes. So you hid them from your feed.

My first blog post (Day 1) got 87 views in just the first 24 hours; whereas my post from a few days ago only has a grand total of 18. This is normal, though. Those 18 people are my readers; the other 70 were just curious (or bored).

Today I have an assignment for you. (For those who actually read my posts, that is.) Click on your friend list and find someone you haven't interacted with in a while. No need to message them for this experiment, all you have to do is click on their profile, then scroll through their feed and "like" a few things. Facebook's algorithm will detect this, and begin putting them in your feed every day. This person who was "out of sight/out of mind" has returned, and you will discover they are still alive and well (or maybe not well) and you can take part in their life again.

By the way, that person doesn't have to be me. In fact, if all of you chose me, there's no way I could return the favor. But if we all chose one person to reconnect with--what might we learn about all we have missed, or forgotten?

Until tomorrow--

Oh! Also. I'm considering continuing this blog on an ongoing basis, just to talk about other things in life that interest me, and perhaps might interest others as well. Relatable things. I'm going for my degree in Psychology, and hoping to work with children who have undergone emotional trauma, and a lot of what I am learning is quite interesting, to me anyway. I also teach social psychology. I'm an artist, and a book nerd.

Would anybody be interested in reading my ramblings? If so, drop me a comment below, or on Facebook. I'd like to know if I am just talking to myself, which is pretty normal for me some days. ;)

Depression (Day 9)

I saw the image below one day online, and I loved and related to it so much that I almost want to have it's words tattooed on my forearm, where many people have put their semicolon.

Because let me tell you something piggies--

That's facts, right there.

End of post.

Depression (Day 8)

This post is important. Mainly because it contains one crucial truth.


People dealing with clinical depression are in a constant state of mourning.

One day, my therapist said "Tell me what you are feeling right now."

I told him I was dealing with grief. That I was in mourning.

He said "Did you lose someone?"

"Yes." I said. "Me."

People with depression, just like people who have lost a loved one, are experiencing grief.

The person who lost the loved one will begin by grieving the person they lost, and then eventually begin to grieve the person they themselves were before losing them. Because that person they were is gone.

The daughter who lost her father will grieve his loss, and then grieve the loss of the daddy/daughter relationship they shared. So she begins by grieving him, and then grieves the loss of who she was to him.

The mother who lost their child when they were just a baby will initially grieve the loss of the child, but will also grieve the loss of the person they were to the child.

The caregiver who lost their friend to cancer will mourn the loss of being that caregiver.

You mourn your own death.

People with clinical depression mourn their own deaths every day. We mourn the person we were before things went bad, or, if we don't rememeber when they went bad, we mourn the moments that things were so good they eclipsed the depression, but now they are gone.

This grief can last for weeks, months, years, or an entire lifetime.

Sometimes, this grief is almost unbearable, and all we can do is turn to God, or if not, turn simply to hope. (Because sometimes, it gets so dark we can't see God.)

The other day I was having one of those days. I was getting ready for teaching my class, and had become so used to holding my little house of cards together day after day, than the balancing act had become rote. Then, a little girl in our homeschool group came over to me, smiled, and sat down next to me and put her head on my shoulder. For that two and a half minutes, the darkness lifted, and it was like feeling normal again. I can't thank her for that enough. I truly believe children have a sixth sense about people who are hurting, and can see it before others even know (or bother to know) it's there.

Please.

Be kind.

Everyone is fighting a hard battle you don't know.

Depression (Day 7)

Looking back over my life, it's quite easy for me to see one particular pattern in regard to my employment. That being, if I didn't enjoy my job, I didn't last long there. In fact, I can give you a quick list of jobs where I lasted less than 2 days before telling my supervisor this job was not for me, and I appreciated the opportunity:

Machine operator at a carboard factory.
Forklift driver at a textile factory.
Small parts packer at jet-ski factory.
Cable spooler at a fiber-optic factory.
Press operator at sheet metal factory.
Part picker at a warehouse.
Overnight stock clerk for a grocery store.
Floor polisher operator.
Inventory clerk for a big-box store chain.

That's probably only half of them. Several of those jobs could have led to a nice retirement package with full medical and other benefits. I didn't care, though. The way I saw them at the time, they were the most boring, banal, tedious, and tiresome jobs I could ever do. So I walked. Every time. To the utter disdain of family members who were raised in a time when jobs were scarce and factory employment for a man was the norm and punching a clock in the morning for your 12 hour shift and standing in one spot watching a conveyor belt go by was what men (and women) did, and you either hated your job and dealt with it, or you took pride in it and hoped for advancement. I vividly remember two seperate conversations where my fathers-in-law pulled me aside and said "I've worked in a factory for my whole life, and while you may see it as drudgery, it's provided for my family. You better get your life together and take care of my daughter and your family. Life's not all about you!"

And they were right. I have nobody to blame but myself. Looking back, I see how I missed out on many opportunities that could have had me in a much different place right now. All because I couldn't deal with one particular aspect that all those jobs have in common. I still have trouble figuring out what it was.

So let's move forward and talk about the other side of things: Jobs I held that I didn't quit after two days. Jobs I loved, and what happened that kept me from still being there today.

I worked for a plant nursery for three years as a teenager. I helped customers and gave advice for the best plants and shrubs to place in their yards, and how to care for them. I left that job because I was told that since there was no opportunity for advancement beyond minimum wage, I needed to get a better job.

In my early 20's I worked for a vending company stocking vending machines. I had seventeen accounts I managed. After two years, the company lost it's battle against Buffalo Rock/PepsiCo and went under.

I was a night manager for Papa John's Pizza for two years, then one day I was called into the office and told my hours were getting cut...in half. I took a part time job in sales to supplement, but eventally the schedules conflicted and since I made more money at the sales job, I left Papa Johns. The company I worked for in sales went bankrupt a month later.

I worked as a floor director for a local ABC affiliate, and at the same time worked for WCGQ radio as the overnight DJ. Working the jobs concurrently made my sleep schedule a mess, but I loved them both. The problem was neither job had any kind of benefits, and having two small children at the time made that very difficult. I eventually went full-time with my photography, and left broadcasting behind.

Photography has been both a nightmare and a complete joy. I think it's because it's an incredibly volatile industry, and most people see it as a job anyone can do. Everyone has an Aunt Sally that has a camera and will do it for free. Plus the ease and affordabilty of digital cameras has made my job extremely high on the luxury scale. Luckily for me, I've been doing it long enough to have an established name and client base, and have the experience to back it up. I have no idea how people new to this business in my area do it. They probably are charging almost nothing and praying for customers, which is what I did in the beginning. Either that, or this is a side-job for them, which is what it should have been for me in the beginning, looking back.

Aside from the photography, though, there was a job I held recently that I loved, dearly. I worked for 2nd & Charles, a bookstore that sold comics, all manner of books, music, movies, and all sorts of lovely nerdy stuff. When I first walked into that store, I knew I wanted to work there. I didn't even need the job, I just wanted it. The current manager was kind enough to bring me on, and I loved it. This was the single greatest work experience for me (outside of my photography) that I'd ever had. I literally looked forward to going to work every day.

Then a year or so into it, there was a management change. The new manager was a nightmare, and managed to run off  2/3 of the crew within a few months of their arrival. I held on for as long as I could, but when my hours were cut down to 5 a week, I couldn't do it anymore. I put in my notice and walked away. Eventually, a new manager came, and I tried to come back to work. Unfortunately, the nightmare manager put a note on my record with the company that I had quit and given no notice (which wasn't true) and requested that I be marked as "ineligible for rehire". I asked current management if this could be undone, and was told "Sadly no."

It was a good job while it lasted, and I miss it dearly. There were coworkers who I loved that the nightmare manager ran off who are in the same place I am now; in different places in their life working full time jobs they either love, or tolerate. There was something magical about that bookstore, though. Maybe one day I can find another job like it.

(sigh)

So what is the point to this blog post? Honestly, I'm surpised anyone would read this far. If you have, you must either be a mental masochist, care a great deal for me, or be hoplessly bored.

This is the point, I suppose: There were wonderful people I worked with there. People who dealt with all kinds of mental disorders. Depression. Anxiety. Bipolar. PTSD. Some are still there, some are not. I made a little "family" while I worked there, and I miss them. Going back into the store is hard, because I want to come back to work, but I can't. I want to help customers and recommend books and sort the shelves and make things look nice like I always did, but that would be awkward if I did it without a name badge, I suppose.

For the people I worked with who made that store so wonderful, thank you. It was an amazing 16 months. Never, ever doubt your worth. For the customers who regularly asked for me, you are the reason I loved working there over and above the books and people I worked with.

And now, for you, the reader of this post--when you go into a store, (be it an restaurant, a dollar store, a big box store, a supermarket, or any place that is a retail--serve the customer--type of place, or any service industry for that matter) don't forget this important fact: There are people there who are dealing with all kinds of garbage you may never understand. People who are struggling with addiction, mental or physical abuse, and dealing all forms of depression and anxiety. Some of them are doing this to get paid, and nothing more. But some of them are literally finding a place where we can put on a smile and do something we can enjoy for a few hours. Something that we are good at. We often feel like we suck at life, such as indicated in the "bad at being a person bingo" card I saw a few months back that one of those coworkers shared, and I had to take a moment to reflect on and fill out myself:

That far bottom right one, though. That's facts, right there.

Just please, be kind.

That's the point of this reckless, directionless ramble. It didn't start off that way, but that's how it ends.

Be kind.

Be kind.

Be kind.

Be kind.

Be kind.

Always be kind. 

Depression (Day 6)

Comedians often talk about those little things everyone knows about, but nobody wants to admit to. That's what makes the funniest comedians the funniest. George Carlin. Robin Williams. John Mulaney. Ellen DeGeneres. They point out those little quirks we all have, but we are too embarassed (or in denial of) to aknowledge.

Today is my birthday (46 years, woo-hoo!) and I'm amazed I'm still alive after all the stupid things I've done. I once stood in a bed of fire ants while they ate me alive just because I was too scared to move. I turned a wheelchair and dirt bike combo into a Roman chariot and almost lost my hand in the subsequent ride. I combined tequila and speed at a party once and woke up 24 hours later in a cold bathtub that was being used to dump melted ice from the coolers of beer. (Hey, at least I can say my life wasn't boring.) So it would seem like today (of all days) I should have zero room to talk about depression. But that's not how life works. Depression doesn't take a holiday just because you have a birthday, get a paycheck, or go to a party. Even if you have an amazing fun-filled day at Disney World, the monster still sits and waits on you at the end of your journey, like a morning hangover after a wild night of partying. So let's get real for a moment and talk about that, and other realities and peccadillos that we all have, but nobody wants to cop to.

Have you ever been scrolling on your Facebook (or social media of any sort) feed and saw a post that you absolutely loved? Maybe it was a hilarious meme, or a witty quote, or the perfect sentiment for your day. You hover your cursor over the "like" button, poised to click, then you jerk your hand away like you've almost touched poison ivy. The person who shared the post is someone you are currently mad at, and if you like it, they will see you liked it, and think you two are okay again. The fact that the post is something you love is irrelevant now; because you don't love the person who posted it. (At least at this moment.)

Another situation: I once posted a quote from one of my favorite books. Paraphrased, it said "Don't dwell on loss, because the things we lose often come back to us in ways we never expected." It got a lot of smiles and comments from people saying "Yes! I needed this today!" I realized later that I hadn't cited the quote's source, but by then I decided it didn't matter. A few months later, I shared it again, and this time I gave credit to it's author. Not suprisingly, many people who liked it before didn't like is this time...because now that they saw it came from the Tao Te Ching, they didn't agree with it anymore. (Because everybody knows unless truth comes from the Bible, it can't really be truth, now can it?)

Am I saying the Bible isn't truth? Hardly. What I am saying is a lot of Christians want to discount anything that doesn't come directly from scripture, even though the loudest proponents of such are often the ones who read scripture the least, and rely solely upon what they think sounds the most "Godly". Many even twist scripture to fit their mold, or best serve the cause they are currenty wanting to promote. Like the image below, which is about the most horrific twisting of the Bible I have ever seen-- Taking a humble, kind, empathetic and loving cupbearer (Nehemiah) and comparing him to a haughty, cruel, magnanimous sciolist like that buffoon in Washington.

(If you are one of the few who shared that post, I probably already unfollowed you. You're welcome.)

Ok, that took a weird turn.  Let's get back to the original idea behind this post; the fact that the funniest thing about the best comedians is they call attention to the big ugly white elephant in the room. (And I'm not talking about the oval office in this case.) Because it's my birthday, I have dozens of notifications on my Facebook. On any given day, other than November 4th, I might get about 10 notifications all day long. On my birthday, I will get about 250+ posts, just to say "Happy Birthday". Tomorrow, they will do the same for other people on their friend list.

I used to do it, too.

But why? Why do we do that?

I think it's a combination of two things. One, we are busy people. I know I am. I have to budget my time and sanity (which seem to become less and less the older I get) to those people who live outside my bubble every week. I simply don't have the mental ability or emotional stability to talk with everyone I know at least once a week. But what I can do is when I see you, I can shake your hand and ask "How are you?"

(For the record, anyone and everyone who wished me a happy birthday is special to me, and I love you all for thinking of me today!) :)

What if we all did an exercise this week? I'm serious about this one, too. This is an optional homework assignment, just like I give my kids in Social Psychology class each week. Ready? This week, once a day (or just once, if that's all you can manage) when you give a gratuitous "Happy Birthday" post to someone, or if you pass them in the store and say "How are you?", instead of just accepting "Fine" in response, I want you to stop and talk to them. It may be uncomfortable for you, especially if you haven't actually talked to them in a while. It may be uncomfortable for them, too. Especially if they haven't seen you take an interest in their day in a while.

But do it.

If you are going to ask "How are you?", don't make it rhetorical. Make it real. Show a genuine concern for the person. Put yourself in their world for a few minutes and share in/bear their joys and burdens.

There may be someone out there who needs that, desperately.

Maybe it's their birthday, and this is the only day anyone will speak to them, and those few interactions will only be through a computer-prompted social media post.

Recently, someone told me "I'm so sad. The only reason I haven't killed myself is because I know I'd hurt people if I did, and I can't bear to hurt anyone." Needless to say, I cried with them, and made sure they knew that I was here for them. There are days when I have felt the same way.

Someone in your life might be in the same boat, and you are the one person they will speak to today day who might offer more than just a rhetorical "How are you?" Maybe you can be the difference they have been looking for. The evidence that they matter.

Be that person.

Class dismissed.

Depression (Part 5)

Imagine for a moment that you are a teenager. Or a child. Or any age, mind you, but I'm going to use the example of your teenage self. You wake up one morning after a restful night's sleep, walk to the bathroom, and to your horror, you discover that sometime in the middle of the night, some unexplainable phenomena has taken place, and you are now the opposite sex of who you were before. If you were a guy, a female body now stares back at your from the mirror, complete with developed breasts, and a feminine version of your face. If you were a girl, all your feminine features are now gone, and you have hair on your chest and chin. Your genitalia has swapped as well, of course.

You let out a silent scream, then find your true voice and let our a real one. You discover your voice has changed as well from what it was yesterday, to a masculine (or feminine) one as the case may be. You clamp your hand over your mouth in disbelief. What in the HECK is going on?!

Your mother enters the room, and walks over to you. She says "Oh, sweeteheart, what's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?" You stare at her, dumbfounded. Clearly, she sees you standing on front of her in a different body than you had the night before. Yet, she takes no notice of this, and continues to speak to you as if you have always been this sex. You are her son, but she walks to the closet and says "Did you wash your pink dress? You'll need it for the party this weekend. That boy you've had a crush on is supposed to come. Aren't you excited?" You panic and run to the closet. Your heart sinks as you see that all your clothing has changed as well. You no longer have any guy clothes. Nothing but dresses and skirts. You do have two pair of jeans, but both of them have pink sequins.

If you were a girl the night before, all your girl clothes are gone, and you have nothing but dress shirts and jeans. Your mother asks if you and Karen are going out this weekend, and if you've kissed her yet. Your dad comes in and says "Hey now, we've talked about this. What he and Karen do is their business, just no premarital sex. Right Sport?

Karen? Who is Karen? You're a girl! And a straight girl, at that! At least you were a girl yesterday, but now everyone seems to believe that you have always been a guy!

Now imagine each scenario as it would apply to you. Imagine being told that the sex you are (whether you are mentally ok with it or not) is the sex you will be. To add insult to injury, you are told that any sexual feelings that go against the norm for the body you have is SINFUL. So the man you were yesterday (who is now a woman; but with a man's brain) should be ashamed of any romantic feelings you have toward women. The woman you were 24 hours ago is gone, and so any plans you had for being a cheerleader are out the window, and your dad is expecting you to join the football team.

If you look at those situations from that standpoint, and are asked "How would you feel if that happened to you?" You'd either look at being Transgender in a completely different light, or you'd say the dreaded "Yeah, but...", which is basically a cop-out for "I don't care. I'm a narrow-minded person who is not going to show any empathy toward my child (or anyone else's) if they question the gender that GOD GAVE THEM. And if I do, I'm still going to tell them it's a sin to be gay."

And you know what? That's your right. You have a right to your own opinion and parenting style.

On the other hand, for the children and teens (and adults also) of the LGBTQ community, I am eternally grateful that there are people (like me and others like me) out there who are both Christians and loving and accepting of the broad spectrum of human beings in our world. If it weren't for people like that, there would be a lot of children no longer walking this earth. Kids who take their own lives because their parents and loved ones refuse to accept or understand them for who they are.

I can hear some of you now: "Whoa, Daniel. This is supposed to be a blog about your depression and anxiety and PTSD. Where did the LGBTQ soapbox stuff come from in this post?"

Please, allow me to explain.

I've dealt with my mental illness since I was 8 years old. For the majority of my life, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't put a label on it. When I was a teenager, I told my youth pastor about how I felt, and told him I was concerned about depression. He said "God can fix that. Just focus on Him. Bask in the warmth of God's glory and love, and He will erase all those feelings. If you find yourself feeling depressed after having fully surrendered it all to God, pray HARDER. Maybe something you've done--some unconfessed sin--is blocking the power of God in your life."

So naturally, I believed that when my depression did not go away, that I was blocking God's healing. I was obviously sinning in some way, because if I truly wanted to be fixed, God would fix it. (Psalm 37:4, anyone?)

Am I comparing being trans (or any area of LGBTQ) to having a mental illness like depression?

Yes, yes I am. What I am not saying is that being LGBTQ is a mental illness.

Quite the opposite.

If you believe that God makes no mistakes (but people do) then you cannot claim a person who is transgender is committing a sin, or is mentally messed up. Since this is something that has been a part of their mental and genetic makeup since they were born, you must consider the possibility that God wanted and needed them to be just as they are. If you are unwilling to accept this, you are telling the little girl with the boy brain that she is sick and needs to pray more. Or the little boy with the girl brain that he is having homosexual feelings, and those are perverted.

I've lived with anxiety disorder most of my life. While I didn't know why I felt the way I did, my heart was screaming for someone to understand. I was oversensitive (often) and was labeled as being a wussy-boy, or queer. I wanted to play with dolls just as much as action figures, and was told dolls were for girls, so that must mean I'm a girl. I cried when I saw someone else was crying, and so I was labeled as being a crybaby. When I would get frightened of being around older boys, I was accused of being a sissy, and asked if I was gay.

What I just needed was for someone to understand that my complexity was just as frustrating to me as it was to them, and that more than anything I wanted to be accepted for who I was.

I'll have more on this later. A lot more.

Take this blog post and do with it what you will, even if it changes your way of looking at me, forever.

(God, I hope it does.)

Depression (Part 4)

"Tell me about when you were 8 years old." he said.

My therapist isn't like what you'd picture. He wears cargo shorts and sneakers and t-shirts with various 5K and 10K runs he has been a part of on them. I don't think he wears them on purpose, I think they are just very comfortable. I know the shirts I wear when I run are like his.

He also doesn't sit in an armchair with a pad and pencil while I lie down on a couch. He has a little rolling chair that spins, and he often sails across the floor with it when he needs something from one side of the room or the other. My chair is a recliner, and it makes a funny squeak when you rock. Behind him on the opposite wall from me is a poster that has a grizzly bear dancing ballet, and below in huge letters "Be you. Always be you."

"The thing I said I wanted to talk about this time?" I said.

He nods.

For the next 20 minutes, I verbally recall the events that took place that day. He sits quietly, listening. He never interrupts. Even when I get to the parts I know he wants to comment on. When I get to the part where it happens, I look over at him, expecting him to have some sort of reaction. Instead, just a small nod and "Mmm." of concerned acknowledgement. This is something I know I will be facing one day, sitting in his chair, with someone else in my seat. Will I be able to sit as quietly and patiently without speaking out of turn? I don't even know.

When I finish, he says "You seem to have made emotional progress on this particular issue. Maybe this is something you've pushed past, or perhaps pushed back?"

I tell him I don't know, and we talk for a few minutes about it. The way he speaks to me about the memory I shared reminds me a lot of the episode where Mr. Rogers talked about bad people, bad memories, and how to deal with your anger:

The same kind of peaceful voice and calm demeanor show in his eyes as he talks about what I told him. About the person I was angry with. How it’s okay and healthy to be angry, but how it’s what you do with the anger that matters.

“So now we've covered the incident when you were 8. We've talked about what happened in the meeting a few years ago. We talked about what happened on your trip. The incident at work that made you angry. Is there anything else you want to talk about?" he says.

I think for a minute, then say "Nothing that I can think of right now, but can I ask something?"

He nods.

"It's strange," I say. "Let's say a genie popped out of a bottle and said he could make one of these events completely go away--not just the memory, but the event itself. So that I would never have to endure it, or the repercussions. In other words, I get a complete do-over of that day, and can change it any way I like."

He nods.

"Here's the thing: If that genie thing happened, I'd let the thing that took place when I was 8 stay, and instead change everything I said and did the day I went on that trip."

"You'd allow the event when you were 8 to remain, if you could have a do-over on the first day of that trip?"

I nodded.

"Most people would eagerly pick the first one to erase, why the other one instead?"

"Physical wounds heal." I say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think it's important to understand that everyone deals with anger, pain, abuse, grief, and regret in different ways. I remember once reading an article where a woman who was the victim of daily spousal abuse, both physical and sexual, was more hurt by her father not listening to her about the abuse than the abuse itself. Another person who had been the victim of repeated rape at the hands of an abusive lover, was hurt by her best friend abandoning her when she was 14 infinitely more. People who have never been the victim of abuse often don’t fully understand this. To them, physical abuse is seen from the outside, and lines are drawn in black and white, when in reality, the human mind deals with these atrocities in infinite shades of gray.

It’s also important to understand the stigma that goes along with men and women who have been victims of abuse. While it’s difficult to wrap your mind around a little boy or girl being taken advantage of by an adult, it’s impossible to understand the horror that surrounds it. Most abuse victims never talk about the abuse. Girls are often made to feel as though they perpetuated the abuse by dressing inappropriately, acting inappropriately, or giving off  “mixed signals”. Boys are made to feel like they were badly behaved as a child, so they asked for it. (Also, discussing sexual abuse would make people question their manhood.) Thus, the perpetrator already has the cards stacked in their favor against their victim. (I never told my parents anything  about what happened to me, for example.) I could easily write an entirely new blog post (or five) about that topic. Perhaps I will in the future, if enough people ask. (Enough being even one person, actually.) For this one however, I want to stick to this important idea: There are many people out there who would gladly endure more abuse if they could fix this one thing in their life.

Another important thing: Mental illness makes a person additionally vulnerable to abuse. We already see ourselves as damaged, so any new and foreign emotions are often questioned by the person experiencing them. (“Do I really feel this way?”) We can’t trust our mind to behave normally, so our feelings can’t be trusted to be accurate. Many days we want to just give up. Often, the only thing that gets us through is stability shown in another area of life. I don’t know exactly how to best end this blog post, because I have never been that organized in my writing. What I do know, is I recently saw a Twitter post that drove my point in this post home. When you look at the image below, I want you to remember something: It is literally a guarantee that you know someone who is a victim of abuse. The kind of abuse is as widely varied as anyone could imagine. They may have told you about the abuse, or maybe they haven’t. Regardless, in their life, you are a source of stability. With that in mind, be kind to EVERYONE, and never make fun of ANYONE. You never know who might be looking to you as the reason they go forward, rather than giving up.

FYI, I teach English Literature and Psychology to the highschoolers in our homeschool group.

I wonder how many attach(ed) themselves to me.

Depression (Part 3)

I teach social psychology to our homeschool group on a high school level. Last week we discussed social norms, and I had given the class a homework assignment: Pick a social norm, and violate it for a period of time. A day, a week, whatever, and note people's reaction. Examples of social norms are holding the door for someone who is following close behind you, saying "excuse me" when you burp, dressing in baggy clothes if you are overweight, or not encroaching on someone's personal space. These are accepted concepts that most people don't have an explanation as to why we do them, other than "It's polite." or "It's how I was raised." These responses are erroneous, because who determines what is polite? Why were you raised that way? In Italy, a burp is considered a compliment after a nice meal, and if you visit a large city on a busy day, you'll hardly see anyone bothering to hold the door for people. Social norms are not rules, they are understood ways of behaving that can greatly vary from place to place.

I asked my students about the norms they chose to violate the previous week, and about their results and observations. One student (a female) decided she would "not sit like a lady". Wearing pants, of course, she made a point all week long to sit with her legs apart. She said she got weird looks from people, and eyes directed at her crotch. Another student (a Latina) made a point to walk around with her phone to her ear and speak loudly in Spanish. She said people looked at her funny, and one person even approached her and asked her where she was from. (How is that relevant?) Another student wore formal attire all day long and visited McDonald's, the bowling alley, Walmart, and so on. He got odd looks and whispers.

Since I'm the teacher, I didn't think it was fair for my students to violate a norm and me not violate one also. So for the previous week, anytime someone asked me "How are you?" or "How's it going?", rather than give the expected answer, such as "Fine." or "Good.", I literally told them how it was going. I chose something that was happening to me that day, (good or bad) and proceeded to tell them all about it. As you can imagine, this really threw a lot of people. They wanted (or expected) me to give a one-word answer that would respond to the question politely. It made a couple of people very uncomfortable, and you could see the look in their eyes that said "Wow. Yeah. See, I didn't really want to know about your day, I just said it to be polite."

Now we all have good days and bad days, and most of us would agree that we usually just say "Fine." on bad days just as easily as on good days. We do this because we don't want to burden others with our troubles, or we don't want to discuss our problems with this particular person, or we don't want to admit life stinks today. We feel like expressing our problems is complaining, being ungrateful for our blessings, or just plain over-sharing.

People without depression know what it's like to have bad days. Days when nothing is going right, or days when you just feel a little "blue". You can usually count on there being activities and people you engage with that will pull you out of it, though. On days you feel "blah", watching a specific movie, seeing a specific friend, or going to a specific place would fix it, although you may not be able to do those things. You take comfort in "Gah, I feel so down today. I need some Starbucks!" or "This week has been horrible. I need to hang out with my best friend for a recharge." (Or maybe start planning your next vacation, or dreaming of Disney.)

But what if your down moments come without warning? What if you woke up feeling amazing, and on the drive to your first stop you suddenly felt like the world was crashing down? What if the place you looked forward to visiting all week long (because you can always count on it to make you feel on top of the world) became dark and gloomy the moment you walked in? The environment hasn't changed of course; you have. Everyone else is going about their time as they always have, making polite conversation and laughing. Meanwhile you want desperately to join in, but you feel so lonely and scared, and have no idea why. So you sit in a corner and play on your phone. People see you over there, of course, but they see your posture, and your mood, and think "They look like they need space." and so they give it to you. Your heart cries out "Come talk to me. Please!" but your brain and body say "I just want to crawl in a hole and hide for a week."

That happened to me a couple of weeks ago. The place I was at at that moment was a place I look forward to all year long, and instead, I found myself sitting in a corner, screaming internally that here I am in one of my favorite places, and I'm wasting this precious time hiding in this dark place. I wanted so badly to go over and interact, because this was a moment I knew would be gone in just a few short hours, but my body was frozen in this place of despair. What made it even more difficult, is that this was a place I already felt like the world saw me as an outsider in. "What is that guy doing there? This is a place for moms, not dads."

My point in this blog post is that people with depression are violating a social norm every day. We are consciously aware that we are violating it, and also that there is seemingly nothing we can do about it. We know that when we go to this place, or do this activity we should be happy. In fact, we may have looked forward to it all day (or all week, or all year) and now we are here and just want to hide in a hole. We have no idea why, and we just want it to be fixed. We want to run over and join in and feel the same joy we have felt in the past, but we remain rooted to the spot we stand in, and feel the darkness encircle us like a cloak of night.

I want to come up with some sort of creative little way to write the conclusion of this post, because there is already a part of me that says "Why are you writing this? Nobody wants to hear it. You're bringing the mood down. Instead of saying "Fine", you are oversharing, and making people sad. That's not what social media is for. If you post this, people will hide you from their feed, because they want pictures of kittens and puppies, not to read about your problems."

And I'm right on that. If I post a photo of a puppy, it'll get many more likes than this post will. Because who doesn't love a puppy? It takes no effort to love the photo of a puppy. It takes one click. Reading a blog post takes time, and who has that? I remember a friend telling me once "I saw your blog post. I didn't read it, though. Too long." and I thought "It took me about 3 minutes to read it when I double-checked it. I bet you spent at least three minutes looking at memes after you scrolled past it."

What I want you to take away from this blog post is this: A lot of people on Facebook (and social media) are dealing with clinical depression. Most of them won't actively discuss it, for the reasons I've discussed here. What they will do, is post a picture of a puppy.

Remember that as you scroll.