Category Archives: Crazy Talk

Rough Week

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Its been a rough week. Maybe even a rough month. I have felt stress and pressure seemingly for no apparent reason, at least any reason which could account for this level of stress. I have been relaxing this weekend to decompress and it has been helpful, but I can’t help feeling as though there is something more going on. Something emotional.

I consider myself to be really good at a lot of things, but understanding my own emotions has always eluded me. Emotions can be scary, scary things. Don’t get me wrong, they can be awesome when it’s happy or calm or excited. Stray outside of the middle ground and things like anger, disappointment, guilt or even love can provoke a wide range of physical and perceptual responses over which I feels like I have no control. That is an uncomfortable place to be because it leaves me feeling vulnerable and even scared at times.

It’s no wonder that growing up I found myself connecting with fictional characters like Spock or other emotionally detached persons. Spock was a great example as he had emotions, but because they were so strong (and inherently scary) he controlled them and allowed his logic to guide him. I don’t have the luxury or curse of being able to totally suppress my emotions. In the past when I have encountered severe emotional difficulty, I have done my best to ignore them but that just leaves me vulnerable to depression which is no good.

I don’t know if all of this is a result of having more dramatic emotional responses due to my mental health issues or if I simply don’t possess the normal level of ability to manage my emotions. Either way I just need to work through this and try to gain a better understanding of what is going on in my head. It’s not easy, but I feel like I am a step closer to accepting, understanding and expressing my emotions in a healthy way.

Greener Pastures

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I tried Effexor last month at the suggestion of my medical professional as something which may augment my current daily dose of crazy pills.  It was pretty much the worst thing ever.  I trust him and he made the recommendation in good faith.  Thats just how things go.  But one of the side effects of messing with these kinds of things is the extreme changes in mood and perspective which can happen.  My mood and state of mind were significantly thrown out of whack until I managed to wean off of it.

This experience triggered a lot of thoughts about the meaning of life and things in general.  Though I realize the answer is 42, there is a lot intermediate work needed between where I am and the answer.  One of those things was and whether there are greater opportunities to meet guys with “normal” baggage outside of Utah.  I realize that all humans have baggage, but Utah gays seem to have full sets of Louis Vuitton, complete with hat box, full to to bursting with Mormon issues.  Unresolved issues over the LDS church (or any other religion) is as unattractive to me as bad teeth or bigotry.

I met a very interesting guy on a social networking “app” on my iPhone a while back (hi G!) and my interactions with him have indicated that there is at least one very awesome guy outside of Utah.  He is from Vancouver, so maybe that just stands to reason as Canadians are awesome in general.  My conversations with him confirm the fact that yes, guys outside of Utah have issues of their own but these issues are not Mormon issues.

All of this is moot, really, as I am a homeowner and have a great job here in Utah.  But I can’t help but wonder what might be out there and what exploring those possibilities is worth to me.

Creativity

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One of the less thrilling aspects of dealing with mental wonkiness is the fact that changing any of the tiniest elements of your state of mind can yield incredibly large changes in how you think and feel.  This is a double edged sword and can both hurt and help.  Even when it helps, there can be unexpected consequences.

Take, for instance, the fact that I am prescribed a mood stabilizer to help even out the more dramatic negative swings in my mental state.  I’ve been taking this drug for a year or two now and it has done wonders for me.*  I had tried an SSRI off and on over several years which was prescribed with the intent of directly addressing the symptoms of depression and anxiety.  This, for me, acted somewhat like a photographic filter which did brighten the mental picture to an extent, but I lost detail and clarity and the image became flat and lifeless.

The mood stabilizer (in tandem with seeing a great therapist as needed) is what did the trick for me.  Though I had suffered from chronic depression and crippling anxiety since as long as I could remember, they weren’t so much the cause of the problem as they were symptoms of an inability to course correct when entering a downward spiral.  My current crazy pills taken in tandem with seeing a great therapist in the beginning was a winning strategy.  Jumping analogies here, it was like putting new tires on the car and getting the steering and alignment checked.  I can now drive forward without fighting the wheel or loosing traction when the terrain becomes uncertain.

This is very obviously a GOOD THING.

There was, however, a very unexpected side-effect of this very good change in the flavor of my mental chemical soup.  I lost a great deal of creativity.  Almost all of it.  Seemingly overnight.  My writing fell off, my daydreaming and scheming died out, my design projects slowly faded and my photographic vim died and was buried before I realized it had gone.  I even stopped reading.  STOPPED READING.  Those who know me well will understand that is odd considering I grew up in a home where weekly trips to the library were the norm.  We were that family at the circulation desk with a milk crate or two full of reading material while the universe queued up behind us.  Oh, and that milk crate full of literary goodness?  That would last us barely until the next week.

I have always (rightly) resisted saying outright that this was a bad thing.  My life has never been better.  I’ve never been happier or more content or more positively in control of my life.  I am in no way numb or lifeless and I have never been busier socially nor have I had such great in the personal relationships.  Ever.  So thought it may not have been bad I will say that I found the loss upsetting.  So much so that in the beginning I struggled with taking my meds because I felt like I was smothering my creative side which was fueled in large part by my former anxiety and depression.  Creativity was an outlet for the frustration, anger, loneliness, and hurt that I felt all the time.  The reading was another element of my coping mechanism as it provided form of escape; it was a way to get out of my head for a while.

Recently I have given more thought to all of this and the reality of my “creativity famine” situation which I have more or less accepted for a very long time is far less final and dire than I had made it out to be.  Sure, I lost my angstiness which was my former muse, but this was a result of a very positive change in my life.  Looking at this constructively (or even creatively!) this is a huge opportunity for even more good change because, though potent catalysts, anxiety and depression are not particularly reliable, positive or safe to have around.  I was able to turn out some really great work and some really strong writing (most of which was purely personal) but it was steeped in a less-than-great state of mind and tied to those negative emotions.  My output was also no where near consistent and it lacked vision.

I’ve finally taken to heart the idea that creativity is something you can develop.  I now strongly and firmly believe that.  Some people I know seem to ooze creativity and create content left, right and center (I’m looking at you, Melissa).  This can be overwhelmingly intimidating if viewed in the wrong light (i.e., “Woe unto me, for I have smothered my creative side never to be creative again!”)  My cousin Melissa is one of the most creative people I have ever known.  Period.  And though I sometimes find it hard to think this, the reality is that she wouldn’t be nearly as creative or talented as she is now had she not worked at it her entire life.

Other people I know don’t do anything in the way of writing or art or other “creative” activities.  They even go so far as to they haven’t a single creative bone in their body.  Though that may be true, I have seen them flex hidden creative muscles in unexpected and delightful ways.  Like any other muscles, these can be strengthened with use.  Like any other skill, the ability to cultivate ideas and translate those into a medium is one that can developed and sharpened.

I am choosing to work at this.  I am choosing to kindle my creative spark.  I let those muscles atrophy but they are still there waiting to be built up.  Now that this journey is under way it is only a matter of time, work and patience that I will overtake my previous efforts and surpass them.

* The science of treating problems relating to brain chemistry, emotional issues and mental illness is still a very young branch of medicine.  What works for me, most likely will not work for you in the same way.  If you think you may need help, it may be comforting to know that you are not alone and asking for help does not mean you are weak or broken.  In the same way you cannot fix bad eyesight by sheer force of will, you cannot fix anxiety or depression on your own either.  Get help. The process of finding a treatment or combination of treatments is one that takes careful coordination with medical and mental health professionals as well as time and patience.  You can enjoy a better quality of life than you think is possible if you only just reach out for help.

Pep Talks

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Yesterday I had an interview at work.  Accordingly I got all dressed up to the nines in my suit and tie, completely forgetting that it was Halloween day for work and people were dressed up in costumes, not to mention it was casual Friday.  The suit was interpreted by co-workers as a costume of some sorts which I was happy to perpetuate to offset any awkwardness I was wont to feel and was thus spared feeling uncomfortable in my clothes as an addition to my normal pre-interview nerves.

This post, oddly enough, isn’t about the interview or the suit so much as a conversation these two things led to.  A coworker asked me how the interview had gone and the conversation touched on how out of place the suit felt which led to some very unexpected and very stirring comments of praise which I was not expecting.  These comments, these very specifically worded comments, were not so much about my performance at work so much as about the person I am.  Now, I don’t know about everyone else, but I tend to thrive on feedback and validation.  I have frequently stated that I am a feedback-based life form.  It is just one of the things that makes me tick.  It may seem weak or strange or any number of things, but feedback – especially positive feedback – really makes me happy.  This particular set of comments were very noteworthy for me though.

This year has been a very tumultuous one.  I’ve left my comfort zone a great deal this year to get out and try new things, meet people and have fun in ways I haven’t tried before.  I was met with a lot of successes and have made some new friends, rejoined with old ones, gained a roommate, and had fun outside of my normal activities and learned a lot.  I was also met with a lot of failures.  I lost a close friendship of mine, I managed to completely lose my nerve and creative drive behind sharing my coming out story, not to mention the fact that this was The Year of a Million First Dates.  The successes have dramatically outweighed what I perceive as failures and really, most of these failures are not failures so much as negative experiences.

I’ve been very careful in not talking about dating here because the last thing anyone needs (including myself) is some god-awful, self-aggrandizing dialogue to pop up here after bad dates which is unflattering for every party involved.  I will, however, take a moment to comment on The Year of a Million First Dates.  This year I went on numerous first dates, almost all of which I considered to be very good dates with very promising people.

The problem is that in spite of the fact the other people involved would claim they also enjoyed the date, they would become very remarkably busy after having a reasonable surplus of time.  Words like “soon” or even “very soon” would be used to describe when they would next be free to go out.  The conversation would then peter and they would generally disappear.  For people who went so far as to set a second date, an overwhelming trend of severe and debilitating stomach disorders kicked in.  It was frustrating at first, then dependable, and ultimately quite humorous.  I can confirm that one person did, in fact, contract a very dangerous and very real case of food poisoning but he was one of two people who made the second date.  Twelve months and only two second dates.

I had been more than willing, almost eager, to try and find fault with myself for all of this.  I very logically turned to the scientific method which would suggest that after so many failures and the one easily identifiable constant variable being myself, I was to blame.  That was the simplest answer I could come up with.  It was either that or being more of a homebody was saving me from getting the widespread radiation poisoning.  (Homebodies FTW!)  This isn’t a very healthy train of logic though.  It’s the kind of thinking that starts to chip away at self-esteem and makes people begin to think very little of themselves.  A couple months ago I determined that there was another simple answer which fit the situation better.  There is something wrong with all of them, or to be more fair, some thing in each of them made them for a bad fit with me.

The people who matter in my life, the friends and people who remain constant and genuine, serve as a constant silent validation that I am a good person.  I am thankful for them every day and relish the opportunities I get to spend time with them and speak to them.  A couple of them give me very direct validation (both for feelings and my parking) when I’m down and need it the most.  But yesterday, unbidden, this relatively new person in my life helped me put all the pieces together.  He complimented me for being me, not compromising that in an attempt please others, and that being me was a good thing…  What an awesome concept, one which can be forgotten all too easily.  One that I must strive to never forget again.

Surviving Year One

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I’m starting a series which I have been anxious to share and have been anxious about sharing.  This will be the chronicle of the first year of my life after I came out in May 2005.  This was a very tumultuous time in my life when everything seemingly turned to shit and the universe fell apart.  I felt isolated and alone and found great solace in writing, to the tune of up to 5,000-6,000 words a week and more.  I have very detailed records and accounting of almost that entire year and the challenges and issues I was dealing with on a daily basis.  As early as June 2005 I began to think I should share some of the lessons and events I experienced during that first year.

I have had a lot of inspiration and drive to share the events of this period from a lot of different sources.  If it hadn’t been for the amazing writing over at dooce.com by Heather Armstrong, I wouldn’t have had the gumption to open up and deal with the chronic depression and anxiety which I had struggled to cope with for years before and since coming out.  Her writing and example taught me that some of the things we need to talk about are the most difficult and even taboo in our society.  Some problems just don’t disappear by sheer force of will and we have to sit down and be very honest with ourselves and the people close to us about them.  Had I not found her blog in 2003, I don’t think I would be here now.

Another influence was the book “In Quiet Desperation: Understanding The Challenge Of Same-gender Attraction” which I read in the first month when first came out.  This book was an overwhelming non-answer to the millions of questions I had jarring about in my head.  In fact, this book left so many questions open and brought into play so much more self-doubt and fear for me, I nearly committed suicide after getting half way through.  I stopped reading the book at that point so I don’t judge it too harshly as I was not able to gather the full intent from the authors.  I felt strongly that there should be something more constructive, more real and evocative for people to connect with.  Something that shared the more intimate and real thought processes and the mistakes and triumphs of someone as they began to understand their sexuality.

I wanted at that time, more than anything in this universe, was someone I could relate to and not feel so alone.  Someone else who was dealing with the same issues I was dealing with so I could better understand my own situation and be less scared of the unknown as it was stretching out in front of me and consuming the life I has previously come to expect.  My hope is that someone may be helped in any way, large or small, by what I have to share.  I will cover things fairly chronologically, so you will be able to see the evolution of my story and of the person I was at that time.  I will be pulling stuff directly from journal entries, making digests of the notes and writing I have, or I may share thoughts I have regarding things then and now.

Finally, a word of warning.  The content of these posts may be difficult for some people to read.  This is going to cover a lot of ground including things like depression, anxiety, religion, sexuality and personal opinion.  These opinions are my own and will reflect both my current views as well as impressions and views I held four years ago.  It’s important to understand that my motivations are not to persuade anyone of one specific way of thinking or lifestyle or to marginalize anyones beliefs or feelings.  Please feel free to comment as I welcome constructive feedback and questions which I hope to address as time goes on.