Me and my shadow

 I was two and a half years old when my sister was born. And right away, she was my best friend. One of the first photos we have together is when I was around 3 or 4 years old, and I had snuck into my parent's room one morning to say hi to her. Which I guess had become a common practice by now, because my parents seem to be anticipating my arrival. When I got to the pen where my sister was already wide awake and also seemingly anticipating my arrival, my parents decided to surprise me. I don't know if they yelled "boo" or something to that effect, but the sudden noise scared me a little bit. A fact that was immortalized by the photo my parents took of the moment, and the wet stain at the front of my pajamas. And yes, I still have the photo. 

From that point on, Christel and I, or "Sissy", were pretty much inseparable. Until that brief period as teenagers of course, when we went through periods of absolutely hating each other's guts. But otherwise, yeah, inseparable. 

One thing that contributed to that relationship was the fact that our brothers were a lot older than us. Will and Chuck were seven and five years older than me, and nine and seven years older than Christel. So, by the time they were out of the house, which is always accelerated when you have a crazy ass mother, both of use were still in elementary school. So, we grew up with each other more than we did our brothers. 

I was always an awkward kid. I never really fit in much anywhere and didn't have a lot of close friends. Christel usually did better in me in that department. She always seemed to end up with a best friend at any of the seven or eight schools we attended in Amarillo alone. But I could usually count on the fact that I could share with her any cockamamie ideas I had, or whatever new girl I was probably crushing on. And I could also share with her the heartbreak when the girl either didn't even know my name or already had a boyfriend that was not only older, but probably a foot taller as well. Things I couldn't share with my mother because she would make way too much of an issue over them. And not in the cute mom kind of way. But in the "lets stalk the girl you have a crush on" kind of way. So yeah, really leaned on Christel in those years. 

Of course, the moment she really went to bat was my senior year in high school when I thought I finally had found a girl that would go out with me. We had kind of become best friends as well at that point and I just figured it was a natural step from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend. That's when she hit me with the dreaded "dating ruins friendship" line. And then another dude who had a crush on her lied for some reason and said I threatened to beat him up for being friends with her, something I am way too mild-mannered for, and suddenly the girl was yelling at me over it in public. Yes, I cried. 

I came to school late the next day because my mom had to take me to an orthodontics appointment. And when I got there, people were running up to me and asking what happened between my sister and Rachel, my now former friend. I was clueless. I had just gotten to school and had no idea that my 5'3 sister approached the 5'10 cowgirl and basically told her where she was going to place her rather petite foot if Rachel didn't summon an apology, and quickly. Even going so far as to confront liar dude as well. 

 Now Rachel was not the girl you went around picking a fight with. Especially when you're looking up at her with your neck cranked back. But that didn't bother Christel. And witnesses to the confrontation told me that Christel was so angry and fierce in her defense of me, that Rachel had no idea what to do and simply walked away. Christel isn't really a fighter either. And when I finally caught up with her and asked what the heck she was thinking, she simply broke into tears and said she couldn't let anyone treat me that way. She was absolutely terrified of Rachel, and with good reason. She probably could have hurt her badly. But Christel didn't care, and she was willing to take whatever lumps to defend my honor. Of course, thirty or so years later, Rachel is a dear friend. 

After my graduation, our relationship took an unfortunate turn for a while. My mom took my growing up and wanting to have a life of my own, and finally having that much sought after girlfriend, as an insult and that put a lot of pressure on my relationship with Christel. It became a "whose side are you on" scenario, and Sis was one of the people caught in the middle. A place she wouldn't be able to find her way out of until after Dorothy finally passed in 2006. And after our dad died a year later, it put Christel in an unfamiliar place. She had to finally live for herself, but my parents hadn't really taught her how to do that. 

I can tell you that that experience put her into a lot of difficult places emotionally. Because she was so used to taking care of other people, she had no clue how to take care of herself. And she bounced around a lot with relatives and probably put herself in some awkward situations trying to find where she belonged. Even asking people she really didn't know if she could land with them. Because loneliness is a bitch. 

I think of all the people who underestimated her and the person she is today. I think of all the chains our mother shackled her with, and how hard she was worked to shed them. I think of someone who finally got the chance to be their own person at thirty-two years old, but no clue how to go about doing it at that age. Or when she had her daughter and had no family to lean on or support her. And how sorry I feel for people that don't want to see how hard she's busted her ass to be a better, stronger, kinder person. A person who had to learn to not only recognize boundaries but also had to learn to recognize that she had a right to them as well. Can you imagine how hard that is? 

One more thing, no one can make me laugh quite like my sister can. When we were in high school, we often compared ourselves to two Winnie the Pooh characters. Considering her high energy personality, and my somewhat self-absorbed and maudlin moods at the time, Tigger and Eeyore were obvious fits. And one day I found some figurines at a Disney store that fit us more perfectly than anything I'd ever seen. It was a simple scene of Eeyore sitting in front of Tigger, with Tig pulling back on Eeyore's cheeks so he could see what it felt like to smile. "So, this is what smiling feels like" the figurine reads. Perfect. 

Thanks, Sis. For being my rock, my comic relief, and my occasional bodyguard and defender. And for always being the one I could count on when I felt the most alone. 

I love you. 

Let someone know..

 When I was a kid, I could never imagine what it would be like to be the age I am today. 52? That's crazy! That's so far away for a kid at 10, or 15, or even 25. But here we are. 

I could never imagine the journey I would take to get here. Somedays I didn't even think I'd get here. And now that I am it does probably look a lot different than I imagined. And definitely from what I hoped. 

I imagined I'd be married and at least have a couple of kids. I really thought I'd make a good dad. I think I am pretty good with kids. And I really wanted the chance to reverse the universal scales of how I was raised. Put a kid out there the right way, so they could achieve their full potential. And maybe be the end of some of the dysfunction that's surrounded my family unit. 

Of course, I was going to marry the perfect girl next door to compliment my 100-mph brain. Someone who understood my thoughts and knew how to counter it the right way. I always figured she'd look like Elizabeth Shue from "Back to the Future II and III". And Karate Kid. And Cocktail. So, you could say I was a fan lol. Someone who understood the hurricane that is me when I am at full speed. I was married once, but it turned out nothing like that. 

So being 52 has not been like I hoped. To top it all off, I've come to figure out that my 100-mph brain may very likely be a result of being on the Autism Spectrum. Not exactly a shocking discovery, and actually a bit of a relief. But knowing earlier might have been useful. 

I am writing all this because like anyone getting older, I am pondering what's next and how am I going to get there. Will this still have the time to turn out like I hoped, or will I just be another old guy living alone in a small apartment with his pets, no family and connections into my golden years? 

These can be really scary thoughts. No one wants to get old and feel alone and unseen. And one thing I have definitely learned as I have gotten older is how much people misunderstand and often discount loneliness. And just how powerful and even insidious it can be. 

One of the leading causes of death for men of my generation right now, is suicide. I would say it's not just suicide, but loneliness as well. And loneliness can come from a lot of different places. And no, just because someone is surrounded by friends and family, does not mean they can't possibly be lonely. As a matter of fact, I know for sure that the worst kind of loneliness can occur when you are in relationships of all kinds. Because if that person really doesn't know who you are, or doesn't seem all that concerned with it, it's the worst loneliness of all.

None of this is meant to be depressing or sad, it is what it is. I guess I felt the need to write this because a guy I know, my age, just died. And it's likely he took his own life. And I can't help but think loneliness played a part in it. And that sucks. And it's also not some kind of plea or subtle way of asking for help myself. I have learned to deal with the loneliness every day. And I have hopes that I can still make the changes in my life to not feel this way so much. 

I guess it's just a plea to pay attention more to the people around you. Just a text or a call, a Facebook post on their wall, or a social media post celebrating someone. Just remember the people around you and try to make sure they know they aren't alone. I can say I have gotten much better at that and sending messages of all kinds to the people in my life, just to let them know I am glad they're in my life. It takes one minute, and I know how much it means to people. And honestly, it's way too easy to try and make sure someone knows they aren't alone. 

This is a tough world. And the coming months might make it even tougher. And we are going to need our friends, loved ones, and communities so much more than ever before. But kind words and thoughts are free. And their currency will never go down or disappear. 

I sometimes worry I lose the point of things when I sit down and write. Maybe that's why I haven't done it in a while. So, I guess what I am asking is that you take a look around and see who needs that smile. Or that hello. Or even that random "I love you". Because the only thing that can really get us through this life is each other. So go let someone know they matter today. 

Thanx, J. 

The Last Cowboy Song

This is the last cowboy song,

the end of a hundred-year waltz.

I was four years old when I discovered professional wrestling. My grandfather would sit me on his lap in his rocking chair, and we would watch the local wrestling from Amarillo. And every Thursday night, my mom and dad would take us all down to the fairgrounds arena and we would get to watch it live and in person. I became enamored with it right away. Something about the physicality and the drama caught my attention, even at a young age. 

One of the first names I became acquainted with at the time, was Terry Funk. Back then he was the brash younger brother of local hero and former world heavyweight champion, Dory Funk Jr. And his father, Dory Sr. had promoted wrestling in Amarillo in the surrounding area for decades until his death in 1973. Terry himself would become world champion in 1975. And that's when his legend really began to take hold. 

Growing up in Amarillo, everyone knew who the Funk family was. They had become local legends for not only their success in wrestling, but their philanthropy as well. Dory Sr was one of the founders of the local Boys Ranch and was well known for his many contributions to the area. And it seemed like you couldn't meet in anyone in town that didn't "know" the Funks. Of course, that wasn't always the case, but it felt good to think you could be part of the story of knowing the town superstars. 

The voices sound sad as they're singing along,

Another piece of America's gone. 

I actually had never had the chance to run into the Funks, until one fateful Saturday in October of 1988. My mom and dad had plans to go do something that I am sure I thought would be terribly boring, so I asked if I could go to the gym that day instead. I was by this time a dedicated trainee, and spending a couple of hours in the gym was obviously a much better idea than whatever my parents had in mind. As a matter of fact, my sister was even so desperate to get out of whatever my parents were doing that she asked if she could tag along. Even though she had never even been in the gym before. 

We pretty much had Fitness World II all to ourselves that day, except for one lone lifter lying on a bench wearing a Denver Broncos hat. It was while he was doing a set lying on his bench that his hat fell off into the floor. And my sister, being raised to have manners in a situation like that, simply walked over to pick the hat up and hand it back to its owner. When he sat up and cracked that big friendly smile, my sister and I both gasped as we took a look at that familiar face. After all these years, we were actually face to face with the local hero himself. And we could barely muster a "hi". 

Over the next several months, I would grow to know Mr. Funk better and better. And yes, I never called him anything other than Mr. Funk. Years of watching him on tv did not give me permission to call a grown up by his first name, so "Mister" it was. That was made clear to me by my mother the first time I referred to him as Terry in her presence. 

I wasn't what is now referred to as "smart" to the wrestling business back then. Which means I didn't really know that it was scripted drama. I had my suspicions but didn't really want to know it wasn't 100% authentic. And I bugged the crap out of that man almost every time I saw him, hoping to impress him with my knowledge of the both the business and his own career. I was literally a wrestling scholar at 16. And it says a lot about his kindness that he never chased me away, never had an unkind word, or even let on that I was bothering him. It was always a smile, a nod, and a pat on the back. Even agreeing to discuss the idea of training me to be a wrestler myself one day. But only after I had graduated high school. A promise I never got to test as my folks moved me to Arizona a short time later. But I will never forget the kindness he showed me in that short time I was lucky enough to know him. 

This is the last cowboy song....

There's an old saying that goes, "they don't make them like that anymore". And no one was truer to that statement than Terry Funk. He was from a generation of men that inspired me on an almost daily basis. As strange as it sounds, I have found an almost poetry to the battles those old cowboys had in those smokey old arenas of my childhood. Good guys vs bad guys in a packed arena, fighting it out for the thrill of the crowd. Those men were such a huge influence on me, I almost consider them to be like surrogate fathers to a kid desperately searching for role models. Whether it was the Funks, the Von Erichs, Dusty Rhodes and Dick Murdoch, or Stan "The Man" Hansen and Bruiser Brody, those old cowboys taught me the value of toughness, hard work, and always staying true to your word. Not to mention to remember that toughness and kindness were not mutually exclusive traits in a man. And without every one of them, I don't know if I would be the person that I am. Today Terry Funk passed away, and even though it's been 35 years since I got to know him, I am filled with profound sadness. Even though it was one of those things you were anticipating happening, I find myself still heartbroken. Thank you, Mr. Funk. Thank you for your kindness and generosity, for all the years of excitement and action, and for making a little kid believe in heroes. Rest well, cowboy. 

The voices sound sad as they're singing along, 

another piece of America is lost....

Mandy got married.

 When you've had enough unsuccessful relationships in your life, and loads of trauma as well, hopefully you start to see the correlation between the two. In my own experience, it took me decades to realize that the traumas in my life helped fuel the decisions I made regarding relationships down the line. We date, fall in love with, and usually marry what we know. And if what you know is toxic, abusive, neglectful, or any of those other traits, there is a pretty good chance that's what you are going to gravitate towards. 

I first met Mandy in May of 2003. She had just moved to Phoenix with her boyfriend Seth, and her 5-year-old daughter from a previous relationship, McKayla. She was working as a paralegal in town when her and Seth joined the 24 Hour Fitness where I worked as a trainer, and my manager was trying to convince to hire a trainer and compete in a local bodybuilding competition. Cindy, my manager, brought me into the room to help convince her as well. 

I remember being attracted to Mandy right away. But during the time I trained her, and even the months after, I always maintained a professional demeanor. Her boyfriend swore up and down that I was into her, but I am pretty sure he thought that of every guy in the gym. I was able to maintain my professionalism well enough that she was actually surprised to find I'd had an attraction to her once she'd broken up with Seth. 

After the breakup, Mandy was in need of a new job and asked me if I could help her get hired at the gym as a trainer. Once she was hired, we became pretty much inseparable. Again, as hard as it maybe to believe, I had no agenda in getting close to her. We just seemed to hit it off and got to be very close as friends. But that did evolve into us sharing a kiss one night while out with co-workers. Which eventually led to our first real date. A night I remember best for the 42(yes, 42) times her now ex-boyfriend tried calling her during the date. This alone should have been a red flag. The fact that she couldn't just answer the phone and tell him she'd talk later, or just be honest with him that she was on a date, showed a person afraid of tough conversations, and maybe even the truth. It was only when I answered the phone on number 43 that he finally got the hint. 

Only a few weeks into our relationship, Thanksgiving was right around the corner. I had no car at the time and wasn't really planning on anything for the holidays. So, I was hoping that I would get to spend the holiday with Mandy and McKayla. And when Mandy mentioned that her mother was planning on coming out for the weekend as well, I thought that this would also be my chance to meet her and spend the holiday getting to know all of them better. Unfortunately, I couldn't have been more wrong. 

When I mentioned Thanksgiving, Mandy mentioned that her mother had invited Seth to join them for dinner. I was both hurt and perplexed by this. Mandy said that she hadn't actually told her mother that she had broken up with Seth, only that they had been having problems. She was afraid her mother would be disappointed in her if she knew she'd broken up with him, so she hadn't gotten the courage to tell her. Not to mention the wee part about dating her former trainer, now co-worker, me. 

Hearing this new plan, I was crushed. Not only would I be spending Thanksgiving alone, but now I had to deal with the idea that my girlfriend would be spending it with her ex-boyfriend, and I couldn't even crash the party. 

When Thanksgiving came, my roommate was celebrating with family, so I would have the apartment to myself for the entire weekend. And with no car, I couldn't do a lot to get out of the house besides walking the neighborhood now and then. And being someone who struggles with depression, that meant wallowing in my sorrows for the entire weekend, just hoping that Mandy would at least have enough mercy to call to let me know that everything was okay, instead of allowing me to imagine the worst. 

After what felt like the four longest days of my life, I woke up Monday morning ready to go to work, and hopeful to at least get some answers. Work was less than a mile down the road, so it was a quick bike ride. I knew that Mandy usually had a client at 6am, so I was at least going to see her when I got in at 8. 

When I got into the gym, it felt like everyone knew something that I didn't. There was a different energy to the whole place, and some people even had trouble looking me in the face. It felt like I was heading to my own execution and didn't even know it. 

I found Mandy upstairs at the trainer's desk in the center of the gym floor. She had an odd, uncomfortable look on her face. The kind of look people get when they can't deliver uncomfortable news, so they think try being cute or funny, even when they're about to rip your heart out. 

I'm pretty sure my first two lines were something like "what the hell" as I started to press her for information. With that same uncomfortable smirk, she tried to explain that she was sorry for not reaching out, but Seth was always around, and she didn't want to upset him. To which I fatefully responded, "But I'm your boyfriend! It's not like you're married to the guy!"

Saying I didn't expect that comment to get the reaction it did would be the understatement of the century. At that moment, Mandy's expression got even more awkward. And then, like she was revealing some grand surprise, she lifted her left hand to the top of the trainer desk to reveal a wedding ring on her hand. To this day, I still don't know how I didn't throw up. 

It took several seconds to register what was happening. Mandy said that her mother had facilitated her reconciliation with Seth over the weekend. And in the excitement of it all, he proposed. Now, one would hope that she would think to mention the slight fact that she was supposed to be dating someone else at that moment, but it never happened. Instead, he suggested they drive to Vegas on the now so appropriately named Black Friday and elope. In a really bad effort to try and console me, Mandy assured me that she thought about me the whole way. Especially while driving through my hometown while on the way to Las Vegas. 

It was one of those moments where the world stops. Like a bomb going off. I was beyond in shock; I was emotionally comatose. I don't think I could see or hear for several seconds. And once I could breathe again, it was then that I started to realize why everyone had been looking at me the way they did when I walked in. Because she couldn't hide her excitement, Mandy had shared with everyone the exciting news of her surprise nuptials. Not stopping for a second to think that all of our co-workers were waiting to hear her say that it was me that she had gotten married to. And when she mentioned Seth's name instead of mine, then they were waiting for the punchline. Or at least a "bazinga!" And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she didn't even think I deserved to be the first person in our work to know what happened, let alone the sense of hurt or humiliation I might feel by finding out after everyone else that my girlfriend had married another man over the weekend. 

It was while sharing this story with my client one day that I began to realize just how much I had bottled up those feelings over the years. My client was so affected by it that he started crying when I told him about Mandy revealing her wedding ring. He was overwhelmed by the pain and humiliation that I must have felt. And it was in that moment that I realized that I did experience all of those things, I just didn't allow myself to feel it at the time. 

Looking back on this is a little embarrassing. I can't imagine what people would think of the crazy guy who would not only let someone treat him like that, but eventually allow that person back into their lives and even marry them. Yes, marry them. 

At that moment I had no clue just how much trauma I had really dealt with, or the extent of my mental health battle. I had struggled with depression and self-esteem issues for years. But it's only been in the last five years that I have started to see how they affected my life. 

The thing that made my client cry wasn't only the feelings he imagined I must have been experiencing, but also the simple fact that somehow, I got through it. And that it was experiences like that that sometimes-made people just quit and decide to end things for themselves. Which is what I hope people take the most from this. I got thorough it. I wasn't sure how, but I did. And I moved on. And I also eventually got myself to a place where I could not only look back on it and be okay, but where I can see that I am finally a healthy person. And that's worth being proud of. 

The Beginning

For almost twenty years, I have been writing blogs on various platforms, in a hope to find my voice. I have always hoped the stories about my life and how I have managed to survive and keep moving forward could someday be useful, and maybe even a guide for someone who needs to know that life does get better, and you can survive damn near anything if you try. 

The problem was, I didn't really know how to get those stories across. I felt that maybe it was because I didn't have enough experience as a writer. Maybe I just didn't have the "vision" to get these stories across. Maybe I am just not artistic enough. Whatever it was, I just felt unfulfilled in each attempt, and eventually got so frustrated that I just stopped trying altogether. 

It was only while recently telling one of the many insane stories about my relationship with my ex-wife that I started to realize that simply telling the stories as they happened and letting people see that I am still here maybe all I need to do. I was training a client when we started talking about relationships. And somehow, I got on a tangent and just started talking about one moment where my ex really hurt me. Funny thing is, I never realized how I had never really taken the time to process those feelings over the last twenty years until I looked at my client and realized he was crying. He started telling me that he couldn't imagine how hurt and humiliated I must have felt in that moment. That's when I realized that I actually never thought about it. That I had bottled up those feelings so much, that I still hadn't processed them. He told me that he knew I was a strong person, but the fact I was still standing and hadn't hurt myself or anyone else afterwards was a testament to just how strong I was. 

So, what I am going to do with this blog from now on is just that. I am going to tell my stories. All the crazy, dark, painful, sometimes insane, and occasionally funny stories about my life, and let people take what they will. With the reminder that I'm still here. I'm not always sure how or why, but I am still here. And I'm still doing my damndest to move forward, no matter what the odds. 

I don't know how often, or even what stories I will post here, but when I remember something that I think will be interesting, I will write about it. I don't know that I've led the most interesting life, but I know I have defied a lot of odds. I have done a lot of things that people said I couldn't do. And I got back up from more than my share of defeats, embarrassing moments, and just pain. And I hope that someone will see one of these stories and realize they can do the same thing. 

I am also a dreamer. I believe in magic. Still. Crazy as it sounds. Even at 51, I am still pursuing the life I have always hoped for, and I have no intention to settle. Whether it's the home or financial future I have envisioned, or even finally finding someone to share it with. I'm still searching. And I don't plan on quitting now. 

Changing my mind-Pt.2

 I had planned on using the psilocybin on a Sunday afternoon. I was going to finish with a client at 3, and then just spend the rest of the day focusing on my little experiment in mental health. But as things often do, the week kind of went sideways pretty quick, and I found myself desperately in need of a break of some kind. So my Sunday plan now became my Saturday plan. Because I felt that if this was going to work at all, the sooner the better. 

I admit to being what used to be called a teetotaler. Which means I don't really drink much, if at all, and I have never used any kind of controlled substance. So yes, there was a degree of nervousness in doing something like this. Not to mention the fact I was choosing to do it all on my own, without someone to oversee the process, or even just keep me company in case things got a little too intense while I was under. But the truth is, I felt like I had to face this on my own. And I felt like I understood enough to feel like I wasn't in any real danger by not having a person there with me. 

I set up my bedroom to be as comfortable as possible. My music was programmed into my phone, headphones charged, and an eye mask to help me go as deep as possible for as long as I would be under. With all this being done, I dropped the mushrooms into a tall glass of water, held my nose, and downed it as fast as I could. It was kind of gross. 

Once I had drank the entire glass, I lied down on the bed, put my headphones on my head, and covered my eyes. I think a big part of my nervousness was the idea that I would be giving up control, even for a few hours. The thoughts and feelings that were locked up inside of me, were about to be given free reign. But because I was committed to see this through, I told myself that it was best to lie back and not resist anything that was about to happen. It was both the best, and scariest advice I have ever given myself. 

It took about thirty minutes for the mushrooms to kick in. All at once was a kaleidoscope of colors going on under my mask. Even with my eyes closed, I saw all types of morphing shapes and colors. Never once holding still for more than a second or two, before hitting me with a different formation or color. It reminded me of the Claymation cartoons of my childhood. Everything fluid and constantly in motion. 

I had heard of people having nightmarish visions of demons and other creatures, or even picturing their own deaths. But having an Old Testament devoted dad, I have seen my share of pictures depicting what Satan is supposed to look like, so that really didn't worry me. And I have felt for a long time that I have died and come back to the world more than once, so that didn't scare me either. So lucky for me, it was all bright colors and clay figures. 

Once I started to really go under, I started to really hear my music. Again, this was slightly different than the way the studies were done, because I purposely chose my own music to try and elicit emotions. And boy, did it work. Within the first 45 minutes, I found myself in tears. Not just crying, but crying hysterically. A song came on that reminded me of my dad, and I found myself calling out to him. Another reminded me of an ex, the next my late best friend, and on, and on. I found myself talking to each person individually and dealing with whatever feelings were still left inside me regarding that person. And believe me, there were plenty of feelings to go around for a lot of people. But all of that talking to ghosts help me realize just how much trauma I had been dealing with in my life over the last several years. And that I have never really been able to fully deal with the cumulative effect of all that damage. 

For three hours I was overwhelmed with all of the emotions that I had seemed to hold down for the last several years. And I began to hash out every regret, mistake, and relationship that seemed to cross my mind. Including feelings of simply not being loved, or having love in my life. The answer to that last one came once I lifted my mask for just a moment. I realized that both of my dogs had positioned themselves directly next to me, and would stay there for the whole process. And as silly as it may seem, it really did drive home the point that I do have love in my life. And exactly the kind I was hoping for. But because we sometimes get so caught up in what we think we need, I was completely overlooking it. 

By the time I started to come around again, I was exhausted. My mask was now completely stained with tears, and I was somewhere between feeling wiped out, and almost euphoric. I realized a couple of things as soon as I started coming out of my "trip". The first being that "trip" isn't a word that really describes what was happening. Especially in the context of the people who first used that word. It was definitely a journey, but much more of the therapeutic kind than anything else. The second thing I realized was that I had done this exactly the way I needed to. The music, the isolation, everything. The way I did it enabled me to face so many fears, insecurities, and anger formed over so many years, that I wouldn't change one thing. 

The third thing it helped me see, was that the majority of my issues don't come from just the medical condition of mental illness. Don't get me wrong, I know that there is still a chemical issue, or a wiring issue in my brain that makes dealing with certain things difficult. And I legitimately have dealt with ADHD, OCD, and other issues. But once I started to come to, I realized immediately the effect that all of the trauma I have been through has had on my life. And to be frank, some of my first memories were of things that would only be described as traumatic. Physical abuse, assault, emotional abuse, and loss. From the very beginning they were there, and almost started to feel commonplace in my head. And in the period before moving to Texas, I lost both of my parents, my best friend, and the only aunt in my family that I was close to. I also lost my home, got a divorce, and was laid off from three jobs, all in the space of less than three years. Not to mention being homeless for a short time once I actually got to Dallas. 

It sounds crazy to think that all of those years of grief, and trauma, and anger, and sadness could all be dealt with in three hours or so, but it wasn't about dealing with every single item as it happened. It was more about dealing with the fact that it was all there, and going through the process of forgiving the people at the heart of it. Especially if that meant forgiving myself. 

It has been three weeks now since I first used the first dose. As per most of the research I have read, I followed up with another "hero" dose, six days later. While it was nowhere nears as intense as the first, I found it interesting that while the first dosage found me dealing with the past, the second found me focusing on the future, and just what I want to see from it. I have had a couple of slight bouts of anxiety, but I found myself able to deal with it and get out in front of whatever was bothering me. 

As for depression, I have had a couple of "down" moments, but I wouldn't categorize them as depression in the way I have become familiar with the feeling. I have been able to rally myself and feel confident moving forward again. I also no longer have that "foggy" feeling in the front of my brain anymore. I have been way more productive as well. Proof of that being in the fact that I have now banged out this entire story in two days. Something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago. 

It sounds odd to me to say an experience with a hallucinogenic drug was life changing, but for me it has been. And it's certainly not something I would have ever imagined happening. And even though I could wish for to have come along sooner, I am just happy that it's happened at all. I'm glad to have this fog finally lifted.

Changing my mind - Pt. 1

  I poured the contents of the plastic bag into a glass of water. The apple flavored electrolyte solution I put in my water bottle would provide enough flavor to somewhat distract me from the odd smelling substance I was sprinkling in. I had been given many ways to ingest it. Make a tea of it one person said. Cover it with peanut butter, or chocolate, or even hot sauce and just down it in one bite. But since I didn't know how to make a tea of it, and I really wanted to avoid tasting it at all costs, simply putting it in a glass of water and holding my nose seemed to be the quickest and simplest approach. And I have always been a fan of the simplest approach. 

A little backstory:

I have had depression since I was 16. At least I think that's right. Or at least depression as I have come to know it. I am certain there were other issues, or bouts of anxiety before that. But it was at 16 that I had my first full on emotional breakdown, so I would call that the beginning of it all. 

Of course, like a lot of people, I wouldn't really begin to understand what I was dealing with until much later. In my early 20's I started to understand about depression, ADHD, anxiety, Social anxiety disorder, and PTSD, and even the slight degree of OCD that I had. It was a bit shocking to hear I was dealing with any of these issues, let alone all of them. But once I did know, I became committed to learning what I could about my mental health and how to deal with it.

I started going to my first therapist at 22. My mom paid for it, in more ways than one. Because it didn't take many sessions for my therapist to come to the conclusion that my mom was the heart of a lot of my issues. But that's another story. I have been going to therapy on and off for 27 years now, and honestly don't know where I would be without it. But it can only do so much. Which is why, like everyone else, I eventually turned to medication to try and help me defeat this monster inside my head. But nothing I took ever really made me feel better. As a matter of fact, medication almost made things worse. At one point I was taking one medication for depression, another for ADHD, and yet another to sleep. But because even regular sleep meds can't seem to knock me out, I was having to take 1 mg of Klonopin every night. Which if you know what that is, you know how bad a time I was having trying to sleep. 

But all of those meds only made me feel drowsy and sluggish. Which is not at all what I was hoping for. And they didn't really make me actually feel better in anyway. They actually made me so drowsy that I would eventually run a red light and total my car. Which would lead to me finally doing away with any and all meds at that point. 

The best way to describe my depression is that there is almost a fog at the front of my brain that sticks with me all day. And when I am distressed or sad, it gets worse. I feel like I can hardly think straight or function normally. And all I can think about is how badly I want that feeling to go away. Which brings us back to the contents of that plastic bag. 

The contents of the bag was approximately 3.5 grams of psilocybin. Or as it's more commonly known, "magic mushrooms". I never imagined I would find myself alone in my bedroom on a Saturday night using magic mushrooms, but desperate times call for unique measures. 

I first heard about mushrooms being used to treat depression about two years ago. 60 Minutes did a story about researchers at Johns Hopkins University using psychedelic drugs to help alleviate mental health issues, and what the results of those tests seem to show. They would have a patient lie in a room on a couch with their eyes covered by a mask and headphones over their ears. The headphones would be playing some type of calming music, and there would be a therapist in the room with them while they went through their "trip". They would then dose the person a second time within a 5-6 period, and check in with them periodically after that to see what kind of results they would have. 

After six months, most subjects came back with little to no signs of depression or anxiety. And those that still had some issues, reported only minor occurrences at best. 

This was the first time I had heard of these studies, but it wouldn't be the last. There was also a story about athletes using psychedelics to deal with the onset of CTE, which is what happens when the brain becomes damaged by too many blows to the head. And then I would happen upon a book by a guy named Michael Pollan called "How to change your mind". 

In the book, Pollan went through the entire scientific(and not so scientific) history of psychedelic drugs. From the earliest known uses, to the accidental discovery of LSD, to the infamous Timothy Leary studies at Harvard in the 60's. He covered the studies of mushrooms, LSD, marijuana, and Ecstasy. Even going so far as to subject himself as a guinea pig in the uses of each of these drugs, according to the guidelines set by the institutions studying them. 

After going through all the information at my disposal, I felt the time had come to give it a try myself. Now here's the thing, I have never done any kind of recreation drug before. Never had the interest, never will. But if it really is possible that using one of these could actually "fix" my brain, I just didn't feel like I could pass on the chance. I even brought the idea up to my current therapist, who surprised me by giving me her wholehearted blessing to give it a shot. 

Once I found someone who could supply me with the mushrooms, I needed to figure out how and when I would use them. I decided to mimic the Johns Hopkins studies as best I could. But instead of just pumping generic music to my headphones, I decided to make a playlist just for the occasion. I wanted the music to help generate emotional responses, so I curated a playlist of songs that had special meaning to me, a "soundtrack" of my life, if you will. In an effort to encourage the subjects to go as far inward on their journey as possible, the researchers covered their eyes as well, so I bought an eye mask to help me keep my mind focused on what was ahead. 

Having never even considered doing something like this before, I was a little nervous going in. But considering how high the stakes felt by this point, there was no way I wasn't going to try. The worst case scenario for me had nothing to do with a "bad trip", or even something harmful happening. No, for me the worst case would be that it wouldn't help me at all, and I would come out of it with the same struggles as before.