Category: Mental Health

Concrete, Water Buffalo, and a Black Hole

Several years ago (I don’t know how many, but it was more than ten), my oldest brother’s garage had a void under the concrete pad (floor) of his garage. We could see it as a black, empty space when looking through the 3/4 inch gap between the edge of driveway and the garage pad itself.

Our Dad was out visiting from NH and together we all took on the project of using ready-mix concrete (just add water) to fill in the gap and thereby shore up the pad itself to reduce the risk of it collapsing and swallowing cars or water buffalo.

Note: My brother did not have any water buffalo at this time. But it just seems like water buffalo would not benefit from falling through a collapsing concrete garage pad. Although he has since moved to Florida, and I cannot visually confirm, I am confident that my brother continues not to have any water buffalo in his care.

Also note: No water buffalo were harmed in the creation of this post.

Also also note: While this post will discuss some very challenging emotions, I am safe right now.

The Plan

Our plan was to mix the concrete and pour it through the 3/4 inch gap between the driveway and the garage pad to fill in that black hole underneath. We went to Home Depot and picked up a couple 50-lb bags of concrete mix. We mixed in water from a garden hose and proceeded to pour/push it into that 3/4 gap. Getting the mixed concrete through that gap was way more of a pain in the ass than it sounds. You see, properly mixed concrete doesn’t flow as freely as water, so it took effort to make sure the concrete went into that gap rather than just gathering in a blob on the driveway.

After the first bag, there was no visible change to the hole. That concrete was just swallowed without having any effect we could detect. So, we mixed another bag and repeated the process. The result was the same: nothing. After another trip to Home Depot to get several more bags of concrete mix, we repeated the process again, several times. The result was the same: nothing.

Home Depot. More concrete. Mix. Pour/push. Still no change. We had been at it for hours at this point.

The Understatement

My Dad just peered into the gap, which, other than concrete residue around the gap, looked just like it had when we started: a black hole. He calmly took his cigarette out of his mouth and just said, calmly, “Oh my good word…” We all just started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and the spot-on, highly technical assessment of the situation my Dad had provided.

When the project was done, we had ended up using 1150 pounds of dry concrete mix in filling that hole, all of it pushed through that 3/4 inch gap over the course of several hours and several trips to Home Depot. According to some basic searching online, an adult water buffalo can weigh up to about 1200 pounds, although some larger ones have been seen. That means, we used approximately 1 water buffalo of dry concrete mix in the completion of this project.

When I mentioned water buffalo in the intro of this post, it was just an attempt at fun (see below). The fact that the amount of dry concrete we used here aligns with the weight of 1 water buffalo is purely accidental. That said, I’ll take it as a much-needed win.

The Black Hole

From a mental health perspective, I am dealing with two major issues right now:

  • Anhedonia: An inability to experience pleasure; having little interest or enjoyment in doing things
  • Dysphoria: An overall mood state of unease, dissatisfaction, or hopelessness.

It is not uncommon for folks like me that struggle with Depression or other mental health challenges to experience anhedonia and/or dysphoria as symptoms. I am experiencing both at the moment.

These two assholes prevent me from getting any joy out of things that usually make me happy AND make me feel certain that this state will continue forever.

My brain is currently a black hole, sucking in and destroying anything that gets near it. Like the void under my brother’s garage pad, it feels like no amount of enjoyment will ever have an effect to make me feel better. I can pour in as many Water Buffalo of concrete I can get my hands on, and it won’t matter.

I am going through each day doing things more out of habit than because they make me feel good. I enjoy coffee. I am having coffee, but not enjoying it. I am eating (although less than usual), but not enjoying what I eat. I love my family and am spending time with them. But I am getting no enjoyment out of it (despite some laughter). My family is not doing anything wrong and my feelings for them have not changed, I just can’t capture the light they provide to me.

Both Sides, Now

I have Joni Mitchell’s beautiful song, Both Sides, Now, in my head as I write this. I think it is because I have both tried to help someone who is experiencing these symptoms (and struggled to understand why I couldn’t help) AND experienced these symptoms myself. In the past, I have been the concrete; currently I am the void.

Whether you are the concrete, the void, or even a water buffalo, please know that you are NOT alone. There are people that understand. I am one. There is no guarantee that tomorrow will be better than today. But it CAN be. It’s worth making another trip to get more concrete. And if that isn’t enough, it’s worth it to make another.

Almost There and Back Again: A Fat Man’s Tale

Content Warning: This post contains discussion of suicide.

In this post, I want to share my thoughts and feelings leading up to, during, and after my attempted suicide on March 8, 2024. I am not going to go into a lot of detail in some areas, but I will share some pretty raw stuff. So, buckle up, yeah?

Note: the fact that I refer to myself here as “Fat Man” is not self-deprecating humor or meant to apply any judgement to myself or others on being heavier than other folks. Weight stigma is a real and insidious problem. This post will not focus on my weight at all, so I feel no CONTENT WARNING is necessary. If you or a loved one struggle with weight stigma, I highly recommend the Maintenance Phase podcast.

Other Note: Fans of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy will likely find some fun easter eggs in this post. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

The last 16 months or so have been a bit of a roller coaster for me. I know that metaphor is overused and a bit lazy. I wanted to come up with another one but the best I can land on is The Great Space Coaster which doesn’t really fit. Where my Gary Gnu fans at?

This ride included the following (not necessarily in chronological order):

  • (dammit) Several mental health crises with my family at home that took a massive amount of my energy to deal with in order to support those I love
  • (dammit) Two medical leaves from my dream job at Microsoft due to my Depression/Anxiety
  • (woohoo!) Completing Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) and Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP) for my Depression/Anxiety
  • (SUPER woohoo!) Purchase of a super powerful gaming PC for the first time ever in my life
  • (dammit) Terrible performance reviews at Microsoft as I tried (and failed) to meet the increased demands of my role. The things I was really good at, and that had gotten me promoted a few years ago, just weren’t enough anymore.
  • (SUPER dammit) Termination from my dream job at Microsoft due to my inability to meet expectations of my role despite my best efforts to do so
  • (SUPER dammit) Feelings of betrayal and abandonment as family members expressed how I was failing to meet their expectations of me despite my best efforts to do so
  • (SUPER DUPER dammit) Suicide attempt on March 8
  • (woohoo!) Surviving said attempt
  • (Super dammit, but necessary) Hospitalization
  • (woohoo!) Discharge from the hospital (followed by pepperoni pizza) on March 14
  • (woohoo!) Did I mention pizza? Mmmm

Note: While I am going to share that my suicide attempt involved an overdose of one of my medications, I am not going to refer to it by name. Instead, I will call it Lembas (the magical “waybread” that the Elves in the Lord of the Rings series use to sustain them when travelling long distances).

Concerning Failure

In a hole in the ground (my basement office) in Minnesota, there lived a Fat Man. Not a nasty, dingy, dirty hole with nowhere to sit down or play computer games, but nice hole with a gaming PC and comfy chair.

One of the things I tend to do when I am struggling with my mental health is to isolate in my basement office. When I am having a hard time “being” then “being around other people” is SO MUCH harder. I also worked from home for the past several years in that same office. I also also have hobbies that I either must do in my office (computer games) or that are just easier to do in my office (so I can watch or listen to what I want without needing to coordinate with anyone else).

The bottom line is that I’m in my office a lot.

Venn Diagram of Me in my Office

From my perspective, I take part in several different activities and happen to be in my office (by necessity or by choice) when I do them. I see the smaller circles inside the diagram, not just the outer one. I almost always (not when I need to isolate) welcome my family to come in and talk with me if they need or want to. So, from my perspective, I was not failing anyone, I was just using my office.

From my family’s perspective, I am in my office almost all the time and therefore not available. They tend to only see the outer circle in the diagram: “Me in my office,” which I fully acknowledge is understandable. This generates feelings on their part that I am not there for them or that I just don’t want to be around them and am therefore failing as a father and/or husband.

As noted above, I had failed in my dream job at Microsoft. So, I was failing at work AND at home despite my best efforts in both places.

Meme showing two buttons, and a man sweating over which one to press. They are both labelled FAIL

The Unexpected Journey

After struggling for a month with the loss of my dream job, and an absolutely brutal (from my perspective at the time) family therapy session the night before, I decided that everyone would be better off without me.

I had just gotten a refill (30-day supply) for my Lembas prescription, and I had not yet insisted that the bottle be stored in the lockbox that only my wife has the combination for. Thus, I had access to all of it. That proved suboptimal.

Around 11:30am Central on Friday, March 8th, 2024, I locked my office door and downed the entire bottle of Lembas along with my nighttime meds for the day (which includes a bit more Lembas) that I take to help me sleep. Thus, I had like a shit ton of Lembas in my body.

I sent a text to my family indicating how I felt and that if they ever loved me they should let me be and let me go. I wanted to say goodbye in a way that wouldn’t leave them wondering why I had gone but also would not generate immediate red flags that would make them rush to intervene. Thoughtful, yeah? #FacePalm

I turned off my computer and sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. After what seemed like less than 5 minutes to me, I woke up Saturday evening (according to my wife, since I had no idea) in a little room at the Acute Psychiatry Services (APS) unit of a local hospital feeling dizzy as fuck and only barely aware of myself or my surroundings. I will share more about APS later in this post.

My first thought was utter disappointment that my attempt to take my own life had failed; yet another fucking failure. I knew at that moment that I had just made EVERYTHING worse than it already was. AND, I was more trapped than I had ever been in my life.

Riddles in the Family Text Chat

My text to my family ruined my planned exit. My text had a similar to feel to ones my youngest daughter had seen before from friends who were having thoughts of self-harm. She ended up texting my wife and my oldest about what I had sent. One of them came to check on me, found the office door locked (which I pretty much NEVER do), and knew there was a problem.

I kind of want to make a “what does it got in its pill bottleses, precious?” joke here but it seems like too much. Is it too much? Yeah. It’s too much. Never mind.

The bottom line is that my youngest played a key role in saving my life.

In the Houses of Healing

Hospitalization for mental health is most decidedly NOT FUN or enjoyable in ANY way. The wards for the most acute needs, like the APS I mentioned above, are essentially “people storage” designed to prevent patients from self-harm. There is medication management but no other therapies. It’s just to get patients stabilized and safe enough to move to a more tradition in-patient setting.

In APS, the unit itself is locked down and the rooms and environment are designed to deny any means of self-harm. Solid beds bolted to the floor, padded corners everywhere, nothing sharp or even dull and hard. And individual rooms that disallowed turning the lights all the way off so that the staff can observe you at all times via video. APS is essentially human storage. Or at least that is how it felt to me.

I was on a mandated 72-hour hold in the APS unit. Those were the longest 3 days of my life. I didn’t have the brain power for reading or much else, so I mostly just had my thoughts which were filled with disappointment, darkness, and doom.

The very firm foam mattress of my bed triggered really bad muscle spasm in my back. That added a lot of physical pain to my experience and made every moment feel so much longer. I have bulging discs in my lower back that make the way my pelvis shifts when I lay on firm surfaces super painful.

The few bright spots were a visit from my wife and two visits from my oldest daughter. My daughter and I discussed the fantasy series I have been ruminating on for decades. I had told parts of it to my girls as bedtime stories and they both LOVED that. I shared more of the ideas I had put together over the past several years and we had such a great time. She got so excited she started (when she got home) drawing up some possible designs for character clothing and key locations. It was pretty amazing. Because of those conversations and how excited we both got over it, I am actually starting to write the damned thing.

Eventually I was moved to a more general psychiatric ward for those struggling with mental health and/or addiction issues. It is a more relaxed environment for more freedom and a bit more independence. It is still locked down and designed to prevent self-harm but there are showers, various therapy activities, social interaction, and easier communication with the outside world.

My time in the general ward was certainly better than in APS. I was able to read again, socialize with other patients, and even play some chess with another patient that loved the game and was starving for someone to play with that knew the game well enough to play with strategy and not just the basics of how the pieces move. That was fun. I only beat him once (gotta love a Knight fork). We both really enjoyed our games.

I only spent a few days in the general ward. After my first meeting with the in-patient psychiatrist, it was clear that I had been very thoroughly “doing the work” of managing my mental health via consistently taking my medications, actively participating in psychotherapy, and had a great ability to advocate for myself in insightful and healthy ways. She concluded quickly that getting me home as soon as possible was the best course of action.

As we were planning for my discharge, the psychiatrist asked if I needed refills on any of my medications. I mentioned in a very deadpan way that “I seem to be out of Lembas for some reason…” and she guffawed with delight at the joke. That felt really good.

I want to say that the people that work in mental health facilities are heroes. They are understaffed, overworked, often poorly treated by patients, and seldom get appreciated for their efforts. The health systems in place in the United States, designed to prioritize making money rather than actually providing care, are a total shitshow. But healthcare workers are not at fault for that in any way. They do the best they can with what resources they are allowed and very much deserve respect and gratitude. They certainly have mine.

Well… I’m back.

Now that I am out of the hospital, I will be doing another round of PHP and resuming care with my own psychiatrist and therapist. I am also respecting the needs to my family in order to help them feel that I am safe. We are being far stricter about what medications are locked up and I am being very patient with my wife needing to periodically ask me how I am feeling. My actions had a massive impact on all of them. It is heartbreaking to me to know what I put them through.

If you have dealt with self-harm/suicide as part of your own mental health challenges, please know that you are not alone. There are people out there who understand. I am one of them.

If you have a loved one who tries to harm themselves, please don’t blame yourself or them. There are too many factors in play to pin judgement on anyone. The best path forward is to show up for them with compassion and empathy.

I hope this post helps someone. It certainly helped me to write it.

Thanks.

PS for Saint Patrick’s Day: The nurse that brought me from the APS unit to the regular ward is named Patrick. I had the joy of telling him, “I didn’t see a single snake the entire time I was in here. Thanks for all you do.” Who’s got two thumbs and makes jokes with the hospital staff after a suicide attempt? #ThisGuy

Abassynia, 2022

I’m not gonna lie. 2022 has been a tough year for me. I really struggled with my Depression and Anxiety for most of it. I’m glad to put 2022 behind me. At the same time, I feel like I am more resilient at the end of the year than I was at the beginning. There were parts of 2022 that I do/did appreciate.

Note: see “M*A*S*H” Abyssinia, Henry (TV Episode 1975) – IMDb for context on the title of this post. The sentiment doesn’t fit super well, but the reference was just too much for me to pass up.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?

While I think this phrase is a gross oversimplification, and is sometimes outright bullshit, I do think it holds SOME truth. We ARE undeniably shaped and impacted by our experiences. Sometimes the result is some kind of growth (I’m not referring to some random protuberance that appears on someone’s face here) and we end up better for it. But sometimes experiences just suck and that’s all there is to it.

Everything happens for a reason?

This is a phrase that I find to be a common one people of faith use when someone they know is going through some shit. The reason is usually that God has placed this challenge in their life to help them grow or to test them in some way. While their intentions may be good, I find this phrase/idea to be decidedly unhelpful drivel.

Let me explain.

I’m a recovering Catholic. I still consider myself a Christian; though I don’t use my Christianity as a weapon or a stamp to mark people as “other” or “less than” like so many Christians do nowadays. That shit infuriates me. I place more blame for this on leaders in organized religious groups than on the individuals, though. While religious faith (not just Christianity, but all of them) can help people find meaning and even some peace in their lives, I firmly believe that religious faith is also an amazingly convenient means for people with power to manipulate people without power. Way too often, faith is the hilt people offer to religious leaders to allow themselves to be turned into instruments of harm.

No. there is too much. Let me sum up.

I believe, when you boil things down to the most basic level, EVERYTHING happens for some combination of four reasons:

  • Physics
  • Chemistry
  • Biology
  • Human decisions

There are undeniably folks who will take issue with my excluding “the will of God or some other deity/deities” in this list. That’s fine. I’m not attacking anyone here. Just sharing what I believe. To me, the idea of a god taking discrete manual actions to affect each and every person’s life is to label that god as a moron.

Even a junior-level database administrator knows that relying on manual tasks to maintain even a hundred databases (let alone billions) is a guaranteed path to failure. So they use automation and scripts to allow their efforts to scale. Even if one’s response is that an all-knowing god IS capable of doing all this manually, why would they do their work in the least efficient way possible? Are junior-level database administrators smarter than an all-knowing god? Really?

I jumped up on my soapbox a bit here, huh? I hadn’t intended to when I started this post. But I’m keeping it in so that this post is an accurate reflection of what’s going through my head right now. Again, not meant to attack anyone.

A look back at 2022

I feel like some sort of retrospective of accomplishments from 2022 would be valuable for me, so here goes.

  • While I did not post often, I did continue to blog about my experiences with mental health challenges. Since this is a personal blog, I don’t pressure myself to post with any particular schedule. I post when I am able. I don’t post when I am not. And either is OK.
  • I had a fantastic year at work. I’m in my dream job at Microsoft where I help the folks who produce Power BI and related products and services understand the goals, priorities, and challenges of some of the world’s largest organizations. Feedback from all sides was that I went above and beyond even though I was just doing the job the way I felt it should be done. That feels great and keeps Impostor Syndrome on the sidelines way more often than not.
  • I had the courage to take a leave of absence/medical leave from work when I realized that I just COULD NOT get myself well AND do my job at the same time. I am fortunate to have this as an option, both from a benefits/financial perspective, as well as from the standpoint of a compassionate and supportive manager and team.
  • Back in July, I started sharing daily check-ins on how I am feeling/doing each day. See #MentalHealthDailyCheckin » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) for more on this effort. I started just posting on Twitter and eventually added LinkedIn and Instagram as well. I’ve only missed a couple of days, which greatly exceeds my own expectations. Since I have never had the discipline for keeping a journal, this has been a very low-effort way to reap some of the benefits that others get from journaling. Also, the feedback from this effort has been amazing. The outpouring of support and appreciation for my openness has overwhelmed me with joy and love from friends, family, coworkers, even total strangers.
  • It took a bit longer than expected, but I did finally get my youngest daughter to say, “tits.” See There are no “bad” words » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) for more on this noble pursuit.
  • I managed to make it through my first ever experience in which suicide felt like a really good option. See Cat Pee, Suicide, and Bananagrams » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) for more on this.
  • I made the incredibly difficult decision to surrender 3 of our cats in order to do what I needed for my own mental health even though it was a very unpopular choice for my family. See Surrendering Cats: Pre-game Show » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) and Surrendering Cats: Post-game Show » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) for more on this.
  • For the first time, I shared that I am the child of a sex offender, around which a lot of my childhood trauma revolved. See John Cazale and Inmate 19250 » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) and Overcoming Victimpostor Syndrome » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com) for more on this.

Wrapping up

I made some really difficult choices this year. On the whole, I feel like I made the right ones. I’m still here. That’s a big one. I’m hoping 2023 is less… interesting for me. I can’t imagine having another year so jammed up with strife, tribulations, bullshit, drama, and so forth right after this one. I made it through 2022, and I’m proud of that, but 2023, take it a little easier on me, yeah?

Remember the Can’t

I’m having a hard time today. I mentioned it on Twitter but that seems too transient a platform to rely on for helping others feel less alone when they need it. So, this very brief post will just have a list of thoughts going through my head right now.

  • It is not a character flaw to be unable to function due to a mental illness/disorder, to “can’t” as I sometimes refer to this.
  • It is OK to can’t.
  • There are probably people you care about that are can’ting right now.
  • I am can’ting right now.
  • Despite how it may feel, can’ters are not alone.
  • I am safe.

If you can’t, please know that you are still worthy of love and compassion and that the world is better with you in it.

My Self-Care: Computer Games and Podcasts

I am on medical leave from my dream job at Microsoft for a while. My Depression and Anxiety have been acting up for months and I burned through my paid-time-off with little to show for it. The whole grin and bear it thing, even it if helps, just doesn’t lead to long term stability. I am super fortunate to have medical leave via Short Term Disability as an option along with a manager and team at work, and a family at home that care about me.

Concentrating and focusing are both really hard right now. And I find blogging about my experiences helpful, not just for myself, but for the possibility of making someone else’s experience even a little bit easier. With that in mind, I have decided to share some of what I do for my own Self-Care. I’m not up for tackling anything heavy, so I figure this is a win all around.

Important disclaimers

There are some ground rules and expectations I want to set before I go any further.

  • That fact that these things help me DOES NOT mean they are going to help you.
  • I have ZERO desire to become some sort of social media Wellness Influencer.
  • I will not be asking you to buy any tonic, tincture, salve, balm, or poultice.
  • Anyone that claims to have a “sure-fire” cure for ANYTHING when it comes to mental health is almost certainly trying to take advantage of you.
  • Since my mental health challenges include quite a bit of social anxiety, I am going to focus on self-care I use that does not require direct interaction with other humans.
  • Han shot first.

Computer games

I have a long history of playing video games, all the way back to the Atari 2600. As far as console games, I later moved on to Nintendo, Sega Genesis, PlayStation, and XBOX. The first computer game I played/loved was Wizard’s Crown which was a fantasy role-playing game (RPG) for the Commodore 64. That got me hooked on RPGs. I love the process of turning a powerless character into a hero across a compelling story line. In recent years, I have focused mostly on playing games on computer rather than a console.

Here are computer games I really enjoy and find helpful when it comes to self-care:

  • Minecraft
    • I started playing Minecraft when it was still in beta, long before Microsoft (my employer) purchased Mojang, the studio that created Minecraft.
  • Diablo II: Resurrected
    • Activision Blizzard, the creator of the Diablo series has been in the news for the past year or so regarding sexual harassment and a toxic work environment for female employees and their response so far has been a shit-show. I had pre-ordered this game, an updated version of my favorite game of all time, before I learned about any of that. Since playing this game does not involve any additional money to play beyond that original purchase of the game I had already doled out, I still play it.
    • I was a long-time fan of World of Warcraft (WoW), another Activision Blizzard game, as well, which requires an ongoing subscription to play. As soon as I learned of the terrible circumstances described above, I cancelled my WoW subscription and uninstalled the game. Activision/Blizzard as it exists today will not get another dime from me.
    • Microsoft is in the process of acquiring Activision Blizzard, which gives me hope for the future. Perhaps, once this is finalized, and if I see real, profound proof that working conditions have improved for ALL Activision Blizzard employees and the management and other personnel that perpetrated/allowed the behavior/discrimination are out the door, I may consider WoW again.
  • Neverwinter Nights
    • I don’t really have a note that I wanted to put here, but the other games have one so I didn’t want Neverwinter Nights to feel left out.

I find playing these games both relaxing and fun. They offer a valuable distraction and diversion that helps me set aside my Depression and Anxiety for a while. None of these games require ongoing demands for fast fingers and reaction times. My ability to take out a Zombie in the games above is more about my character’s skills rather than my own. When I am struggling with Depression and/or Anxiety, and energy is hard to come by, this aspect makes playing these games a viable option more often than not.

Podcasts

I’ve only gotten into listening to Podcasts in the past year or so. While I listen to several podcasts, this post will highlight the ones that I consider part of my self-care. All of them provide me with a great balance of teaching me something new and making me laugh. To avoid pushing these podcasters toward jousting for my affection, I have listed them in alphabetical order.

  • Depresh Mode with John Moe
    • Honest, humane conversations with top artists, entertainers, and experts about what it’s like to live with an interesting mind. No shame, no stigma, and more laughs than you might expect from a mental health podcast.
  • Sawbones: A Marital Tour of Misguided Medicine
    • Join Justin and Dr. Sydnee McElroy on a marital tour of misguided medicine as they discuss the weird, gross, and sometimes downright dangerous ways we tried to solve our medical woes through the ages.
  • You’re Wrong About
    • You’re Wrong About is an American history and pop culture podcast created by journalist Michael Hobbes and writer Sarah Marshall. It has been hosted by Marshall since its inception; Hobbes also hosted until 2021. Launched in May 2018, the show explores misunderstood media events by interrogating why and how the public got things wrong.

Wrapping up

I find that taking time for myself is a vital part of my mental health. I understand that I am saying this as a straight, white, male living well above the poverty line, allowing me to benefit from large servings the privilege our modern society (at least in the United States) can give out. Not everyone has the means, time, opportunity to avail themselves of all the same things I have access to. I long for a world where EVERYONE has access to the resources they need, be that medical care, education, adequate food, a safe place to call home, and even just a damn hug (if they want one) once in a while.

The Trouble With Postmortem Compassion

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

It is not common for me to start a post by citing the United States Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards, but here we are. Assuming I do this right, my choice here will make sense shortly. I hope.

S5.4.2 Each convex mirror shall have permanently and indelibly marked at the lower edge of the mirror’s reflective surface, in letters not less than 4.8 mm nor more than 6.4 mm high the words “Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear.”

eCFR :: 49 CFR Part 571 — Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards

I’m not sure when this was added to these standards. I was going to do a little more research to determine that. Then, I came to several realizations one right after the other:

  • I don’t give shit.
  • You don’t give a shit.
  • Acknowledging when this requirement was added to the standards has no bearing whatsoever on this post.
  • Given the above realizations, including the enumeration of these realizations here provides no value but I did it anyway.
  • I can be a real jackass sometimes.

There’s science behind why convex mirrors can give you the impression that whatever you see in the mirror looks further away than it is. You are more than welcome to look that up. But I’m going to continue.

A giant bag of dicks

A few years ago, I was on a leave of absence from my job due to my Depression and Anxiety being a giant bag of dicks. I should share a little background here and since it worked so well above, I’m going to use a List.

  • Depression is a dick.
  • Anxiety is a dick.
  • “Depression and Anxiety” does NOT equal “Depression + Anxiety” in the way that having “two apples and three plums” means you have (2+3=5) five pieces of fruit.
  • Rather, it is more like Depression to the power of Anxiety (or vice-versa); each one making the other “a lot worse.”
  • Whenever something is troublesome, having “a giant bag” of that something is “a lot worse.” Since having one hornet nest is bad enough, having a giant bag of hornet nests would be a total shit-show.
  • Thus, Depression (which is a dick) and Anxiety (which is a dick) yields a “giant bag of dicks” rather than “two dicks.”
  • Math, y’all.

My oldest, Paige, had her learner’s permit for driving, meaning she could legally drive with either me or my wife in the car with her. She was playing Cello at the time and took lessons from an amazingly awesome music teacher about ten minutes away. Since the giant bag of dicks (see above) made being around people REALLY HARD and uncomfortable, I went with Paige to her lessons, but instead of going into the teacher’s house with her, I sat in the car trying to read, usually with at least some success (trouble concentrating is a pretty common symptom of giant bags of dicks).

It was lovely weather at the time so I sat in the passenger seat with the windows down. The music teacher lived on a pretty quiet street so it was wonderfully peaceful. I was having trouble reading so I put my tablet down and looked out the window, my eyes drawn to the side-view mirror. I still shudder and get waves of super intense emotion and shock when I recall what I saw in the mirror that day.

Eye scream

As I have shared before (see Trauma, EMDR, and the Kobayashi Maru Test » Can’t Juggle (cantjuggle.com)), my mother suffered from Bipolar Disorder. And she struggled a lot. For decades. And when she was really having a hard time, even when she couldn’t form the words or the noises necessary to scream in aguish and exhaustion and rage and sorrow and defiance and surrender, she had this look in her eyes that I can only describe as screaming. Despite the countless times I saw my mother’s eyes scream, I didn’t realize what it was until a particular day (years after her death) when I was sitting in my car outside a music teacher’s house.

As I looked in that mirror, and saw my eyes, the rest of my face changed to be my mother’s face. But the eyes were identical. It looked just like how you might see a transformation in movie. My face faded out, except my eyes, and suddenly I was looking at my mom. My eyes were screaming in aguish and exhaustion and rage and sorrow and defiance and surrender. No. That’s not right. OUR eyes were screaming in aguish and exhaustion and rage and sorrow and defiance and surrender.

In that profound moment, I realized how much I had in common with my mom in a way I never had before. In that profound moment, I realized how alone my mom had been most of her life. How much pain she was in. How much she needed someone on her side in a way that actually felt helpful to her. In that profound moment, the decades of compassion that my mother desperately needed but was denied descended on me without mercy, pummeling me, like someone was beating me with a… well… a giant bag of dicks.

I wrote a poem. Honest.

A few days after this, I wrote a poem about this experience. I infused it with anguish. I infused it with transformation. I infused it with newfound compassion. I called it Eye Scream. And I lost it. Can’t find it anywhere. As I was writing this post today, I came to several realizations one right after the other:

  • That poem was actually pretty damned good.
  • I was proud of it.
  • I don’t need a poem to share this experience or what I took from it.
  • I don’t need to enumerate these realizations here but I did it anyway.
  • I can be a real jackass sometimes.

Assigning blame

For so many of us, when we see/hear about/experience something we deem to be “bad” or “suboptimal” or “wrong,” our reaction is to want to find someone or something to blame for it. It has to be somebody’s fault. Often, we end up pinning all this blame on some individual or group of people we seek to marginalize or exclude. There are places to pin some blame for what my mother went through, perhaps, but at the moment I feel like providing a list (lots of lists today, yeah?) of someones and somethings that were decidedly NOT at fault here in any way:

  • Vaccines
  • The Infield Fly Rule
  • People named Chet
  • My oldest brother’s hamster, Ginger, that I used to throw across our porch
    • I need to point out here that this was a thing I did several times. I was really little and kept wanting to hold Ginger and SOMEONE kept letting me hold Ginger despite the inevitable throwing of Ginger across the porch when her tiny claws tickled my palm and I was afraid she would bit me. So, there is actually some blame that comes into play here. But not related to my mom.
  • The Solid Gold Dancers (look it up)

A call to action

I try to focus my posts on my own experiences rather than trying to push anyone to take any particular action. I am going to diverge from that just a little here. I still have such regret that I didn’t give my mom the support she so desperately needed. I don’t blame myself, but I can’t help thinking about the profound impact it could have had for my mom if I had treated her with more empathy. She’s gone. I can’t change that. I found compassion for her in the end. But she wasn’t there to feel it. THIS FEELING SUCKS SO MUCH YOU GUYS.

If there is someone close you that you have trouble finding empathy for, my call to action for you is to take a moment to think about what they may be going through. Try to see the world through their eyes. Try to see what they see when they look in the mirror and how it might be affecting them. After all, as I can tell you from my own experience, you may just realize: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.