Where do we go from here?

Bridging to 2019 

It’s the most fragile time of the year

It will never become any less dreadful to write about the Thousand Oaks shooting that happened on November 7, 2018 the longer that I wait.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was born in Thousand Oaks and raised in Westlake Village. When I moved out of Coffey Park in the late ’90s, I wanted to believe that the Thurston High School shooting in Oregon and the ever-infamous Columbine massacre in Littleton, Colorado were isolated incidents. But then there have been all the others since.

If only this were as simple to “solve” as taking a sick pet to a veterinary specialist.

And, even though the odds of being in the “wrong place at the wrong time” are slim, they are not as slim as I would like them to be. Gun violence is on my mind but I have been reluctant to write about it even though I want to.

Why?

It’s not so much out of fear of mental illness stigma. It’s more like I don’t want to be referred to as any of these shooters just because I have received treatment for mood disorders. I’m pretty sure my brother Randy who fought schizophrenia his whole adult life and passed away by suicide 4 years ago, wouldn’t, either. Nor would most others who have seen a psychiatrist or been in therapy.

I have also been worried about scaring off potential employers or future clients. Or friends and family, for that matter, but I bet that they are probably happy to see this post. I feel like the demand for authenticity and vulnerability emerged just when I thought I finally mastered being stoic—stifling and stuffing down sad, angry or fearful feelings that persist.  

The treatments in the past were not perfect.

They had unpleasant side effects.

I have become aware that my entire adult life has been shaped by adapting to the anxiety I try to hide like using blocks to modify yoga poses.

Anyway, I am not giving up and I am not truly resentful at anyone or anything. I just get hit with low vibes considering the sad and scary things going on in our world. I am now trying a new treatment and am hoping it works for what these days primarily presents as anxiety, along with depression and possibly PTSD and adrenal fatigue.

I pictured the doctor prescribing an Ayahuasca retreat in Brazil that would be a magic cure-all for me with effects that would somehow magically extend to everyone, but I will keep dreaming with gratitude for what help is available to me now so that I can work and do not have to go on disability.

And I will keep envisioning what will bring my best self forward as I approach my 30-year high school reunion.

My intention going into 2019 is to secure a job in the tourism hospitality sector—thinking globally but acting locally—where I can regularly have friendly, positive and productive interactions with people in person (too much telecommuting can prove to be too isolating) and talk about things that I actually enjoy discussing repeatedly. I will also be consistently maintaining and evolving this blog as an outlet to discuss what seriously matters to me. Hopefully, this will to be of benefit to those who are also concerned about such things.

The goal is to get better at having civil discussions about difficult topics, something with which Reid and I had some difficulty.

I want to assure Reid’s family—should they come across this—that although we did not marry as planned, I am remembering him the way I believe he would want to be remembered with “plusses and minuses” as he liked to say, neither erased nor exaggerated, as a multidimensional, perfectly imperfect human being who did not like to objectified. In other words, I remember him with forgiveness.

To be clear, the breakup was not all on him. We were hurting each other nonstop, so I ended it.  However, unfortunately not before things devolved loudly and publicly. With hateful words I emasculated him which might have hurt others who overheard more than it hurt him. I am heartily sorry about that to whomever may see themselves in this.

Then, after dehumanizing him in front of everyone, I excluded him.

Now that’s something that does not age well. Exclusion.

I truly am so very sorry about this and for those offensive words.

Diversity and inclusion is where it’s at and if you are going to put up a sign saying No Persons Under 21 (or some other specific thing about a person), you had better know what you are doing if you want to be on the right side of history. Because exclusion doesn’t age well. With safety and security concerns, though, it’s complicated.

I now officially affirm that when it comes to mental illness, there is not a stigma.

I say that because of how many people I saw sharing about their mental health struggles when a former classmate of mine committed suicide last summer after losing his dream job when his father had recently died. It appeared he was no longer going to be able to work in his chosen profession doing what he loved because of some keystrokes sent to the wrong person (a minor.)

I really wish he could have pivoted back into the wine industry.

Wouldn’t you hope that an industry serving legal adults would be sympathetic to his very human and very modern dilemma of evolving technology fusing one’s personal and professional lives, knowing that all of us out there in the workforce are doing our best to be open and transparent while maintaining appropriate boundaries and respect?

Next? Come back on Super Bowl Sunday…