The There and Then

 It's been a month of Lexapro, and I've re-upped for another 3 months.

When I told the doctor what it's like, she told me that people on Lexapro often talk about "zombie" symptoms, and she hit the nail on the head!

I feel a bit of distance from the present, as if instead of a here-and-now, it's a there-and-then. Which is a hard thing to explain, but I'm going to try.

Usually, in overwhelming situations, I feel boxed in, stressed out, and stuck. My temper gets short.

But now, the present feels more distant. Almost like it's a memory happening to me. Which gives me some much-needed freedom, because situations lose their urgency. The drawback is that I'm less inspired in the present, with no motivation to undertake creative things, and I run on routine. What strikes against this drawback is that I fall back on routine, and I am routinely a pretty good person! I keep in touch with my friends, I am kind to people, and I fall into conversation easily (although I'm not great at starting conversation at the moment).

So, where's this going?

Well, I think I'm going to stick with Lexapro at least through this year. It's really really good not having to deal with chest-tightening stress every day. (I still feel it every now and again, when things get REALLY CRAZY.) It feels healthier, like I'm not aging twice as fast, like I'm not headed towards an early heart attack.

And now, the real reason you came: Drama.

I found a golden currant bush growing under my fence last month, and I wanted to see if I could transplant it. It was unhappy with the arrangement, and lost its leaves, but it wasn't dead and crispy.

The other day, Katie was looking at my pot of wildflowers, and saw my sad shrub twig among them. She asked me if she could get rid of it, and I told her not to, that I was hoping it would come back. I told her that she could trim off the sadder branches and leaves.

Five minutes later, I look at the pot, and see that the shrub is completely gone. I ask her if she uprooted it, because I told her not to, and she said that of course she did, it was dead. I asked for it back, and she brought it back. (It was rather sad-looking.) I twisted it to show that it wasn't dead, and cut into it to show green inside. Katie began to realize that I was genuinely upset about this, and put it back into the soil.

Immediately, she asked if I forgave her. I was still hurt, so I told her, "It just happened, give me some time."

The next day, we went up to the mountains to do some panning for gold. I knew that there was going to be some tension, so I had written down my thoughts:

I wanted to take a moment to explain why I'm still upset about the gold currant bush.

When you asked if you could remove it, I told you no. I had transplanted it from the wild and, while it may have just looked like a twig to you, it was meaningful to me. I’d been watching it closely, excited to see if it would take root and grow. I’d even told my friends about it.

What bothered me most wasn’t just that the bush was removed, but that you went ahead and did it after I asked you not to. When I brought it up, you didn’t apologize—at least not at first. Instead, you justified it. That made me feel like what I said didn't matter to you, and I felt unheard and like I had no control. The apology came only after you saw I was upset, and that stung. It felt like you were sorry because I was upset—not because you recognized that what happened was wrong.

I want you to know I will forgive you. I’m just still hurt. I needed you to listen, and you didn’t. I needed you to own it, and you didn’t right away.

I’ll get over it, but I wanted you to understand why it mattered.

When everyone showed up, I knew it was coming, but everything was friendly enough. Then Katie came to me and said, "Do you forgive me for taking out that weed?" Which was a rough start. It felt like she wanted resolution without resolving things. And calling it a weed hurt.

I responded, "I wanted to talk to you about that first."

And here's where everything went downhill. I knew what I wanted to say, and I wanted to say my piece. But I could barely get a sentence out before she interrupted me, saying, "Okay. Okay. But do you forgive me?"

And I continued, "Let me say what I want to say."

She grew agitated, cried, saying, "I'll never touch your stuff again, okay? I thought you were kidding!"

"I don't care about you touching my stuff, that's fine. I'll talk to you when you're willing to listen." Now, here is something to learn about me. If we're fighting, and you shut me down, I will shut down. If you raise your voice, I won't raise mine, I'll just stop, and wait until you're ready.

Katie left.

A few minutes later, I'm in the South Platte River, goofy prospector hat on, panning for gold around my kids, when Jordan comes up, "Let's fucking talk."

Already not a great start. "Okay."

"What the fuck can we do? You want me to buy you five fucking plants? We'll buy you five fucking plants."

"It isn't about that, man."

"Well, Katie is crying. She feels unwelcome. We're thinking about going to a different part of the river."

And maybe I should have just given up. But I stood up for myself. "You need to back off."

"No. Do you want to fight? Would that help? What do you need to forgive her."

At this point, I knew there wasn't going to be a resolution. Jordan was trying to get up in my face. "Give me space."

"No. My wife is crying, and we're figuring this out. What do you need."

I stood up. Looked at him. "Give. Me. Space. I'll talk to her."

Kudos to me for not escalating things to his level. Especially around the kids.

I wish I wasn't upset about it. I wish that the entire thing hadn't meant anything to me. But it did hurt. And I wanted her to know why. She didn't get it. She was apologizing for touching my stuff, when I didn't care about that. She could walk into my house, open up the pantry, snag several cans, and leave without asking, and I wouldn't mind.

What hurt was that I tried to tell her not to, and she did. And when I asked if she had, she justified it.

I already feel distant from the present, like I'm only halfway here. The idea that I couldn't even stop one of my neighbors from doing something really made me upset, because it made me feel not just halfway here, but completely gone.

After Jordan left, I looked for her. But Katie had walked off, where even Jordan didn't know where she was. Eventually, I walked back into Jordan.

I told him that he had made things worse by coming to me around my kids and cursing, but he said that he didn't care. I started to tell him how I was feeling, and he interrupted me, mid-sentence, saying, "Okay. But are you her dad?"

It was hard. He was demonstrating that he didn't understand how I felt. I wasn't being vindictive, or trying to teach someone a lesson. I was hurt. And how dare I feel hurt. I have never been yelled at so much for feeling bad.

When he interrupted me, I looked at him. I said, "If you interrupt me one more time, I will stop. And I will go back to what I was doing, until you are ready to listen."

And so he did listen.

Eventually, he must have reported to Katie that the problem was that she wasn't listening.

Hours later, I found her. I asked her to talk. She mumbled, "Okay what do you want to talk about." She cast her eyes to the ground, hands in front of her, and took on the most penitent position I'd ever seen. It felt disingenuous, but I told her how I felt. After she understood, I told her I forgave her. I hugged her. I told her I was glad she was my neighbor. And I left.

Things are tense here. I'm certain that things will get better, but I don't know when. I have never seen such escalation for feeling bad. How dare I feel bad.

Still in my head is the thought that I really want to talk to Jordan about how I felt towards him cursing around my kids, acting badly around my kids, and about how much worse it made everything when he said "I don't care" when I asked him not to talk like that around my kids.

Resolutions take work. I feel bad that I couldn't just immediately forgive and forget, but I felt bad. I wanted to talk to her to make her understand, not because I'm vindictive and wanted her to feel bad, but because I'm sensitive and wanted to feel heard.

Moving forward

So, I got a new doctor, and just like my new dentist, it's got me realizing that my old doctor may not have been a good match for me.

By the end of our introductory session, she'd set me up for a sleep study to work on how I never feel rested, a physical therapist to work on my shoulder, and prescribed me escitalopram for my stress! (After she heard I'd been going to counseling for three years.)

It feels like progress, which is what I needed things to feel like. April came, May came, and I hadn't made any headway in lowering my stress. It was starting to make things feel hopeless, which was starting to make me sad, because I want to be present to take care of my kids, not just hiding in the pantry trying to get my heart to slow down.

And it has been a rough time to be a parent to these kids. I feel like when the new neighbors moved in, our kids went over there and learned some new bad habits to bring home. And it's hard, because I want the kids to play over there, because friendship, and because it gives me space to breathe, but rules are more lax, they are allowed to surf the internet with less restriction or oversight, and it's scary.

But this is about ME. Because I haven't had the mind or will to do anything about anything.

I'm looking forward. I don't know if this year will be a turning point, but I'm finally feeling like I'm taking action.

The Good Mood

 Yesterday was a dreary morning, a rainy morning, a morning where each of the kids seemed to have their own personal crisis keeping them from getting out of the door.

And when I came back home, Jessi mentioned that she was going to make a joke about how miserable things were, but wasn't sure if I'd be in the mood for it, since I had every right to be a bit grumpy.

But I wasn't!

And oh man, when I realized I was in a good mood? I got myself into gear.

Good days are harder to come by in this part of my life, so I feel like when I feel good, I have a responsibility to help others feel good, too.

I wrote ten Mother's Day cards yesterday and mailed them out, to friends across the country, because it was the best way I could think of to try to spread the smile on my face. And I felt so proud to be me, because even when the last few years have been the toughest on my poor little mind, my instinct when I'm feeling good is to reach out and lift up others.

And now, status update on 2025 and my thermonuclear war on stress!

My stress level is about where it usually is and has been. Uncomfortably high, with a tight chest happening about twice a week. I had a few seconds where the sky above my mind seemed to clear up, and it was amazing! I felt like I could do anything! But the clouds rolled back in, as inevitably as if I were trying to change the weather by force of will.

I exercise regularly, eat well, take several vitamins and herbs that are meant to be mood-boosting or stress-busting, and stay in touch with friends. I know that I don't get enough sleep, but those hours after bedtime are the only hours I really get alone with my wife and best friend.

I don't feel any closer to a solution, but I've got a therapy session today. I don't know what path we'll take.

I should continue to meditate and pursue EMDR at home. I don't know if I'm waiting for someone to say "Let's get you on some drugs". I guess I'm just pursuing every single possible alternative. (But seriously, if there's a happy pill, I want all of them.)

Write, Edit, Record, Produce!

 Every other Monday, I'm recording and publishing a podcast that's just a story that I'm writing.

I'm a book editor and I consider myself a good critic of books and stories in general, so it's with some authority that I say: it's not great!

But it's getting better, and it's getting easier, and that's what I'm aiming for!

Like many adults, I struggle with the idea of taking something creative and making it public. When it's in the world, it's out there, available for just anyone to look at! This must be something that creeps into our brains as adults, because half of the time when I ask my kids what they want to be when they grow up, they say they want to have Youtube channels! (We actually already have 2, each with one solitary video!)

So I'm not giving myself the chance to second-guess. I write, edit, record, and produce. Which racks my nerves to no small degree, but I know that if I were to say, "Well, let me just make sure it's perfect," then I would end up going in the same circle of editing something to death, and then moving onto another project because the current one isn't getting me anywhere.

And today is that every other Monday!

How will I look back on this podcast later on?

It might make me cringe in embarrassment! Or it might make me reminisce, think about how rough my stories were, like some grand artiste looking back at stick figures that they proudly stuck up onto the fridge.

No matter where this goes, the Internet is my fridge, and this story is my stick figure. Even if I'm the only one who ends up appreciating it, I'll be proud of my courage.

And hey, I'm getting pretty good at drawing these stick figures.

Oh. Well... keep it up.

The last five years, conditions in my head have only gotten worse.

Yesterday, I was in a really bad mood, but determined to have a good attitude.

I did well. I baked a cake in the shape of a bear with Echo, I took Daniel to play at Eli's house, I went on a walk with Crash, I went sledding with all three of them.

But I was so fed up at the end of it, because through it all, they were fighting, complaining, bickering, trying to get each other in trouble.

At bedtime, I told Crash to clean up pillows he'd left in the doorway, and he threw himself dramatically on his bed and wailed.

I went downstairs, muttering "fuck fuck fuck" under my breath, my heart pounding, my breath coming short and painfully.

I took THC, and it didn't help.

I sat and relaxed.

I slept for nine hours last night.

And I woke up today, tired, angry, and stressed.

And now I'm at it again. My kids are fighting, my kids are complaining at me for things I can't help with, and I'm already fed up with the day after an hour and a half of being awake.

I'm not doing well.

Sledding down the backyard hill!

Playing at Eli's house, sliding through frosted grass!

Baking a bear cake with Echo!

I read a comic yesterday, where a guy is talking to his brain.

"Hey little buddy, how are you coping?"

And the brain, with little cartoon eyes that look haunted replies, "Unsustainably."

And the guy just says, "Oh. Well... keep it up."

And I laughed at that comic so much, because truly, that's how I am. I'm coping, I'm doing my best, but things are only getting worse, getting harder to deal with. But what else can I do? Keep it up.

A weekend of COVID and crossbows!

 The news from the therapist was: that's not how stress usually works.

Cortisol (the stress hormone) is the sort of thing that rises rather than spikes, so she mentioned that my condition resembles more PTSD than normal stress. So, for what it's worth, when I said I'd look back at this part of my life and feel trauma, turns out it's happening faster than I thought!

Aside from that, the session really didn't seem to go anywhere. We read through a nice little document together about how to reduce stress, through breaking up large projects, using checklists, avoiding distractions, and accepting progress over perfection. These are all things I'm good at! Man, can you imagine if I were to allow more stress in from the sides?

True, I have started listening to the news again, but I feel like it's my duty to be aware of how the country is terribly consolidating power in the executive branch, where one of the worst people in the world is doing everything he can to worsen the world. Tariff wars, increasing fossil fuel generation, pulling out of the Paris Agreement, criminalizing DEI, outlawing transgenderism... we're headed to hell in a handbasket, and the least I can do is pay attention.

It was a not-good weekend. I tested positive for COVID on Friday, and just couldn't get comfortable or relax at all. I played videogames while the boys just overwhelmed Jessi. Funny enough, they created a homemade crossbow that works! And they shot a hole through awall!

Daniel's getting into Monopoly, and it's really exciting to see him be such a good sport! Our house is coming up with its own house rules. How I remember playing, houses could be bought and sold for the same price. Now, they can be sold for half price, but to unmortgage a property, you just need to pay back the money you got from mortgaging it!

Anyways, it's Monday. I've finished my latest book to edit, and I've got two more to beta read. I'm going to try and relax, focus on feeling better! But we'll see how well I can do it.

I hope I get out of this brain fog. After my first run with COVID, I felt like my brain fog lasted for months. I just feel distant from my own mind, and it's unpleasant to feel and know that I'm working at only like 40% efficiency!

A year against stress

2025. This year, I'm going all Global Thermonuclear War on my stress.

2025 Stress Battle - 1

 So, after my last post crying into a blog post, I made an appointment with my therapist, who I saw yesterday.

It was a weird experience, because I was feeling rather fine yesterday, but I knew I needed to be a good advocate for me in my dark times, so I read aloud the previous blog post, and it did the trick!

Here are some takeaways:

- Some more structure with my kids would help on the day-to-day

- I started to stress about money because money can be turned into time and energy

- Jessi is awesome and my therapist loves hearing me talk about how great she is

- Telling my therapist "my views on gender and masculinity are hella evolved" does not immediately impress her

- She is more than willing to look into medication, but she'd like to try other things first

- There's a kind of ADHD that just stunts emotional responses?

I think my brain has just spent five years reinforcing a constant stress response. So even after my kids are in school, and my brain isn't going up in sad flames, when I'm introduced to a stressful situation, it knows what to do: freak out and make things worse.

I have better control over my stress response, but it's exhausting to make myself express a certain way, to act calm when I'm angry, to play the referee when I just need to be left alone. And that's what's burning me out.

I don't know how I can get my brain to follow a different path. I've got another session with my therapist, Andi, in a couple weeks.

The good news is, my life is more than just stress! I do fun things, I promise, even with a brain that kind of sucks sometimes!

Got to see Tortilla in person and the house that I built for her!

Went sledding at our local hill! (I love this sign.)

Working out four times a week!

The boys have been playing Scrabble! Daniel loves it!

Made apple crisp! (And a la moded it!)