depression – Page 3 – life with interest

Jolt.

April 11, 2020April 11, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

She dipped her toe in the shallow pool of water and lurched back. She already knew it would scald her, momentarily, but her toes couldn’t resist the test. The jolts of awareness that break up the monotony of the day. Yet another day. Placing her right foot into the tub, forcing herself to keep it there, liquid fire tormenting her ankle and calf. But this time she didn’t budge. She slowly sank into the cloudy bath of mineral salts and the grey reflection of a nondescript ceiling tinged beige in the light.

The water consumed her. At first, through a sudden sting that felt as if she might be being burned alive, and then softer, a warmth which swallowed her deeper. Her toes danced under the still-running faucet, still pouring its liquid flame. Right when she could no longer take its heat she ran her toes firmly against the bathtub knob, pressing into its curved edges, barely gripping it to push it quickly towards its opposite offering. Liquid ice shocked her toes and ankles and calves as she still felt existent heat burning her torso, lying there somewhere under the slipping current resulting from her mere existence.

A bottle of red wine, some blend, opened two nights prior, sat taunting on the counter, along with a wine glass she brought to this very occasion to pour into it the blood red juice of calm into a soul hectic. She failed to remember to drink it, or pour it for that matter. It sat there next to the small heater. A heater which, as her gaze softened on the bottle, turned on suddenly and reminded her of the silence seconds before, which she hadn’t even noticed, with her racing mind always exponentially louder than any sound or taste or touch which dare not to cause clear distraction.

She thought to herself how she needs the sound, the heat, the water scalding, to wrap around her so tightly that for a single moment she gets lost in it. Lost in forgetting whoever it is she is now or was yesterday or who she might be tomorrow, but instead she just pretends to be a creature, any creature, prey and hunter, with the vulnerability of sculpted glass and the strength of unpolished granite.

Bottles floated beside her like dead bodies lost in some battle, left to rot. Bouncing up and down against her flesh, smooth and plastic, as they were. The casualties of sharing a tub with a child. Not at that very moment, but the day prior, without time or resources to purge its victims out on the open battlefield of parenthood.

The water around her too soon turned lukewarm, another victim of reality reflected. She romanticized sinking further into it, her chin and lips swallowed by simple water still. Those pools which are far deeper, intoxicating with their virtue, as vultures make offerings of vice, and so she sinks into it, the lukewarm, the cacophony of a thousand endings, the stories painted in the embrace of tub water displaced into a delicate dance, the same element against her, she reasons, that churns violently about the sea.

Politics, Etc.

Lockdown Day 24: Devs, Plagues, and Capitalism

April 9, 2020April 9, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

The future and the past, told to us in stories since we were children, have merged here and now, in the present. The past: tales of plagues and great suffering, great depressions. The future: artificial intelligence taking away jobs, the wealthy only further consolidating their wealth, while everyone else aggressively treads water and slowly–or quickly–sinks.

A “great depression” hit me yesterday–and not an economic one. One far greater than the typical extisentialist dread. Because meaninglessness doesn’t hold a candle to the curse of humanity: our survivalist and tribe mentality, rooted in our biology, traps us in a constant state of moving backwards when we should be moving forward. Often it’s like we’re on a train, looking out the window, when another passes quickly the other way, and it seems like we’re moving forwards, but actually we’re still drifting to a stop, or at standstill.

Living with a mind that likes to solve problems by putting together different variations of multiple ideas or experiences, the depression comes when I acknowledge that solving for humanity’s achilles heel is much like trying to divide zero by zero. Don’t get me wrong–there are many beautiful, caring individuals who are today risking their lives to help others. There are beautiful parts to humanity as well. But as far as the general sense of progress towards a greater existence, it simply feels as if we’re constantly on that train, moving backwards without noticing.

It may not behoove me in my mental state to watch near-term speculative science fiction, but my husband’s childlike enthusiasm for a Fx series called Devs (and his semi-joking threat to part ways with me if I don’t watch it) led me to watching episode one, and by the end, I was hooked. Its writing is clumsy at times–poignant points are made a bit too perfunctory–but the overall concept is well worth exploring. Inspired by the double slit experiment, the show explores the dark side of quantum mechanics, in giving humans the power to recreate the past and see into the future. It primarily asks us to question the absoluteness of free will, and it seems the physics of it are close enough to possibly possible that it lets ones imagination run free–and/or not free at all (as all our actions and thoughts are on a “tram line,” as the lead character so brilliantly played by Nick Offerman (yes, that Nick Offerman) tells us.) And the show itself is smartly set sometime between now and the next few years, with a might-as-well-be present day San Francisco as its backdrop. It could certainly be present time, with the quantum mechanics work occurring in a lab somewhere on some tech campus, without anyone knowing what was being discovered that could overnight throw our society and way of existing on its head.

Much like Coronavirus has.

There will always be unavoidable threats that face us. A giant meteor could veer a little too close to our solar system and continue its way into our atmosphere and land at such force that civilization is virtually wiped out. An alien species could attack us. The sun could (will) eventually die, as every star does. We derive comfort from progress, our great human “innovation,” yet if there is anything this crisis has–should tech us–it is that we are practically defenseless against these greater threats. The greater the threat, the more incogitable the threat. Instead of moving forward, we’re buried, suffocated, by fake news and conspiracy theorists who vehemently hate science and seek to destroy true progress for the sake of their own comfort thinking they know everything because they read an article somewhere that told them so.

I have little faith in society and thus not the most faith in democracy. I’m not sure the ideal way of managing a massive collective of people, but democracy (and especially whatever version of it we have in America that isn’t actually democracy at all), is fundamentally flawed, as it trusts that the people in a society actually know what’s best for them. It also, at least in the case of American democracy, enables the wealthy to manipulate and gain influence quickly.

Yesterday, Bernie dropped out. I’m not sure his way would, long-term, solve everything. But certainly a system which focuses on making sure every one of its citizens has access to healthcare and a high education is a start. People don’t want to believe that, though, because they’re afraid of being forced to do anything, even if it is in their best interest.

In the conversations and debates I have with friends who are centrists, I find a battle against the belief that progress is good. I sit here, locked in my 800 square foot apartment, wondering why we blindly trust that progress is a good thing. It can be. Certainly vaccines have saved many from horrible illness and death. Our electric cars will reduce emissions and at least minimally slow climate change. But much “progress” is actually regress. Our advancements… do not always advance us.

Even for the positive progress and innovation in the world, why must this type of progress only come from the desire to be wealthy and/or powerful?

I like nice things. I do. I enjoy gourmet meals and wearing overpriced jeans that fit just right and traveling the world in relative comfort. I also like the security that comes with money. No, not money–but wealth. Not “super wealth,” but enough wealth to not have to worry. Wealth that grows enough that you don’t have to think about it wealth. I’m certainly privileged to even imagine a world where that is possible, and lucky to have fallen into a career that, unlike all the things I thought I’d be doing when I was in college, actually pays a livable wage and then some. But, then I wonder, is this world where striving for security–striving for not having to worry about being unable to pay healthcare bills and put a roof over my family’s heads–is a world that shows us any progress at all.

Or are we all really just shifting slowly backwards on that train, lost in the great illusion of progress as “pro?”

Motherhood

Lockdown Day 22: The Bittersweet.

April 7, 2020April 7, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

My attempts were futile. No matter how many times I put the canopy over his head and tried to explain how it would keep him dry, he pushed it off gleefully to feel the rain falling on his head. Soon, he also felt the rain pouring on his feet, as he quickly clawed off his shoes and socks. This was moments after he realized, 10 minutes into our walk, that his father had not come with us. “Where Daddy go?” he inquired over and over again, frantically looking for my husband. “He didn’t come with us,” I attempted to explain to my 20 month old socially isolated son, who, after five minutes of repeating “where daddy go” finally got the memo and replaced his “where daddy go” chant with repeating, in the most adorably sad voice, “bye bye dada. Bye bye dada. Bye bye dada.”

The good thing about it being under 50 degrees and pouring on day 22 of lockdown is that no one in their right mind was outside, at least in our little apartment complex. Being so close to our front door, I opted to let my son–already soaking wet–run through puddles barefoot. This is what childhood is all about… except usually it’s with other kids. But my son, who doesn’t understand why “boppa” and “grandma” can no longer visit, who screams into my phone “call friend” so he can see another kid around his age who makes funny faces at him virtually, seems mostly ok with this whole lockdown thing. He might not realize he traded in friend and grandparents for more momma time, but I can tell he likes that I’m home.

But the days of working from home have turned into one big blur. I made a commitment to myself yesterday that everyday at lunchtime I would eat a super quick lunch, then take my son out for a short walk. It was definitely the perfect day to commit that to myself in an area that typically has nice weather, the day before it was 48 degrees mid day and pouring rain.

I hadn’t paid much attention to the weather (what’s a little rain?) and I asked my husband to get my son ready for a quick walk so we could get some fresh air. My son was already enthusiastically shouting “need go home a park go home*” (“go home” means “go out” to my son) when I opened the door and noticed the little rain was actually quite a lot of rain. I grabbed an umbrella, threw on a hoodie, and figured the rain would keep us safer. One might say my son could catch a cold from being out in the rain and getting all wet, but–he won’t catch coronavirus.

After I quickly lost the battle of “keep the canopy down so you don’t get soaked,” I watched my son sit up in his stroller, uncovered, staring in awe at the rain, the heavy grey sky, and the sopping wet verdancy around him as he reached out with delight to brush against the soaking leaves–leaves only slightly less soaking than his outgrown brunette hair and fuzzy Elmo hoodie. Given he couldn’t get much wetter, I opted to take him out of his stroller to roam free. I questioned whether I was being a bad mother for letting my son run shoeless through puddles in cold-for-California weather, but I made the call to not care either way–he was having fun, and fun comes in short supply these day. Splash splash splash, he stomped, from one puddle to the next. I let him wander freely with the exception of keeping him far away from the postman and the construction worker who were having a socially-distanced chat by the mailboxes.

We weren’t outside for long. We headed back to our apartment to get warm and share all of our adventures with “dada.” I went back to my bedroom to resume work and prep for a call, and my son went back to the other room to watch too much Sesame Street. As I curled up in my bed and got back to work, I felt the same unsettling mix of deep existential sadness swimming through my veins in tandem with a tinge of peaceful delight that I’ve felt for days now. The deep pit of guilt for feeling anything positive in any of this, with so many suffering, and yet, finding so much of “this” is making me happier than I’ve been in a long time. The long focused periods of work where I can perform my best and not be distracted by severe anxiety. The getting to see my son for a few minutes on breaks and give him a quick hug or see the newest thing he has learned (or visit, after finishing one big project for the day, when I heard him giving dada a credit card and telling him that he wanted to “buy a mommy.”) The eating small portions when I’m hungry versus stuffing my face all day long with too much food. The being home and fully present when I’m done with work versus having to drive 45 minutes in traffic and arriving home too exhausted to do much with my family other than sit on the couch and survive social interaction before it’s time to go to sleep. Getting to see my son go down for his nap in my husband’s arms. Doing what’s best for my mental health and my professional productivity. Living a life that feels like I have a life… I mean, one where I can’t see other people outside of my family and where I’m constantly worried about my loved ones getting sick and dying… but a life nonetheless.

This weekend, as I roasted onions and garlic for fresh red pepper tomato sauce I was attempting to make for the pasta my husband found at the supermarket last week, I stood in the kitchen and let the thick, blood red aroma fill me. I reveled in the suspense of potentially cooking something edible, and the likelihood of it being barely that. Ultimately, the pasta was undercooked and the sauce too bitter, but that didn’t matter. I found joy in the process of making it. In the process of doing something just to try it out. Anything not entirely burnt was preemptively deemed a success by yours truly. And as I ate my pasta too-al-dente with sauce surprisingly flavorless and thin, I grew excited about what I could do next time to experiment and make it better. Because now, for the first time in years, I have the time to just be present in the world where the future is so uncontrollable I’m forced into sweetly hovering in the present. My anxiety still stabs my heart and takes my breath away at times, but lesser and lesser each day this lockdown wears on. I connect with a few friends and family members here and there, in text messages and on zoom virtual happy hours, but my contentment seems more to do with the semi-solitude that social isolation forces (and enforces.) It feels as if my little family of three is floating out amongst the stars, light years away from other sentient creatures, despite radio contacting others for comfort here and there. And there, amidst those stars, I finally am getting a taste of what happiness can be, and it tastes far better than my pasta sauce, though perhaps equally bittersweet.

Politics, Etc.

Today is the Day I Grew Up.

April 3, 2020April 3, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

It seems with every passing year, there are a few stretches of 24 hours where I mutter that to myself under my breath, or allow its veribage float and flutter maniacally in my mind for a brief while, only to be forced out by reconciling my desire to not be old with not actually being old. There was the day I graduated high school, then, the day an airplane–then another–hit the Twin Towers and I watched a city that was once my urban backyard crumble with a vulnerability I never mentally allowed it to have…

…there was the day I got my first real job, the day I got my first solo apartment, and the day I moved back in with roommates. The days of frantic calls from home and hospitals leading up to the day my father died. The traumatic birth of my son, when I lie on a hospital bed, seconds after giving birth, trying to tell myself my son died, just to prepare myself for the absolute worst after the doctors took him from me and tried to get him to breathe on his own (it took over 36 hours for that to happen.) The day my son first called me mommy and not “dada!” (well, it was more like “mommy mommy mommy.”) The day I saw my first (ok, eighth) grey hair and decided I wouldn’t pluck it from my head.

But none of those experiences aged me so permanently as living through an–actual–global pandemic. With so many humans having to life through horrific wars, this pandemic, which kills under 1% of its victims in most regions, is a “baby war.” Even those who feel the impacts of it more acutely, in job losses or crippling illness, are still unlikely to die from it. More will know someone who passes from the disease when all is said and done, but for a horrible pandemic, it, well, it could be a lot more horrible.

Still–as a mother, as a 36 year old woman less than four years away from turning 40–as a worker who is trying to balance working from home without childcare and still being a mother and still having some semblance of sanity AND managing burning waves of anxiety that rip me apart from my inside until I’m left hollow and shaken–I feel–old. I feel my age. I feel those 36 years of knowing exactly what all this is. Of watching people ignoring health official recommendations. Of seeing how in our wealthy country we somehow do not have the proper protections for our vulnerable healthcare workers and EMTs on the front lines. Of watching democracy fall apart because people would rather believe whatever it is they want to believe based on what makes them feel safe, rather than think for themselves. Of watching foreign powers infiltrate our social media and deliver a constant feed of Fake News to further terrorize our democracy into a shadow of its former self.

I grew up, because I know too much, and pay too much attention to all of it. I envy those who find comfort in conspiracy theories and/or religion. I see my life ahead of me, however long that is, of a clear next phase of my reality. I’m not a “young–carefree–mom.” I’m a mother who worries and wonders what will come of our country and our world. It’s not just this pandemic. The pandemic brought to the forefront what is already going on and shone a bright light on rapidly rising inequality and wealth distribution. It shows those of us who care to look that our nation is fractured, possibly past the point of return, though it will take a while for it to crumble. It is, perhaps, the beginning of the fall of the American empire–which is maybe not a horrible thing for the history books, but not so great as a citizen. I question what that means and look to foreign political leaders who are using this situation to consolidate power and take on authoritarian rule overnight.

Growing up means seeing what’s there. The cracks. Seeing all of the cracks in the foundation of our society and being forced to accept that there is nothing to do to avoid its collapse. And, as history tells us, societies must collapse and be reborn in some other model. And here I sit, just a 36 year old woman, a mother, an employee, a half-decent friend, a someone, a no one, just watching the fantastical stability of society slowly, quickly, and again slowly combust, right before my very eyes.

Today is the day I grew up. And this time, I’m aging at full speed, with society etching worry lines into my forehead, and painting dark circles of sleepless nights under my eyes.

Politics, Etc.

Now is not the time to panic.

March 27, 2020March 27, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

It has been 18 or so days since I woke up feeling like I was coming down with something that turned into nothing except the feeling of my chest being pressed in the center by a 50lb weight. It has been 18 days since my sore throat has come and gone, along with it occasional sniffles. It has been 14 days since I contacted my doctor and she told me that I couldn’t come in to be seen, but my symptoms were concerning enough that she would preemptively treat me for pneumonia and give me a strong antibiotic and an inhaler. 10 day for so since I developed a cold ice gel sensation in my lungs that burned a cool burn and tingled through my entire body, waking me up in the middle of the night. 3 days since I thought I was getting better, but the sore throat and bruised lung sensation returned. 1 day since I realized I’m not getting better.

It may well be that I have a new poorly timed allergy after years of suffering no such symptoms come spring. I’d like to see my doctor in person and be checked out properly. This cannot happen, of course. Not in the age of coronavirus. My lungs are sore and likely inflamed. I have shortness of breath when I walk and sometimes I need to sit down to catch my breath. It’s terrifying. And it’s probably not Coronavirus. It’s especially terrifying if it isn’t Coronavirus, because I may have some undiagnosed Asthma or something that would make getting actual Covid-19 really, really bad.

Today, for the first time in two weeks, I went to a store. I really wanted eggs so I ventured into Whole Foods and tried my best to remain 6 feet from everyone, but that was impossible. I found one empty aisles and made a beeline for the back of the store, switching into a different aisle half way to avoid someone who turned the corner. I kept my face down while peering up to identify the eggs. Found them. Grabbed two boxes of eggs. Then a few other things. Grabbed two cans of pinto beans then immediately regretted it as I didn’t have a cart and I was well on my way to dropping two dozen eggs and acquiring a virus that may in under a month take my life. I felt I had to buy everything I touched, so I did. The two dozen eggs, the two cans of pinto beans, the sorbet bars that turned out to be ice cream bars with sorbet in the middle, a tea, and a dark chocolate coconut bar at checkout.

I failed miserably at checkout. But they didn’t make it so easy. There are blue x’s on the floor but the people behind me came up too far and I went up too far and then it was all over. I was panicking and accidentally put my chocolate bar on the pile of food that the people behind me were purchasing. I apologized and kept my head down. I felt horrible for the woman checking me out who must have at least been 50, and probably in her 60s. She had gloves on, but surely she was at high risk for being infected. Given the situation, I’m shocked that grocery stores aren’t turning into order ahead and pickup or delivery only. Maybe that’s not financially feasible, but it would be safer.

The grocery store shopping expense was surreal with the barren shelves and the people shopping all either clearly trying to avoid being anywhere near another human and then others prancing about and walking past me at full speed, way too close. I couldn’t hold my breath the entire time as I did when I went to the post office to drop off a letter the other day, so I just gave in to get my eggs. If I’m going to die, I at least need to experience the delicious fluff of a few more good homemade omelettes.

This will all end eventually. We all know it will. I’m not even really anxious anymore. I mean, I am anxious, but that’s not the predominant mood of the week. I’m just sad. I’m so fucking sad and I don’t know how to process it. Because it’s not like the depression I’m used to which is largely just a self defense mechanism to keep disappointment at bay, this is a true, raw sadness that brings me back to the months leading up to when my father passed away and the weeks after. It’s this emptiness. This being stuck in limbo. Especially while others act as if everything is ok (even though in this case everyone is actually experience the same loss of normalcy) and I know everything is not ok. It may be ok for me, personally, but the world is not ok. There is so much broken in the world and especially in this country. We all need a wake up call but the saddest part of all is that even a pandemic will not wake people up. How many fucking people approve of how Trump is handling this mess? How many fucking people think he’s doing a great job despite lying over and over again how this wasn’t a big deal? You know what’s sickening? That no matter what he does, his supporters don’t care. And people think he’s doing a good job when his actions (or lack of action) is literally killing hundreds of people, if not thousands of people. Yea, great job.

I don’t think the problem is capitalism. Or socialism. It’s people. People are pretty horrible, when it comes down to it. I can’t say I’m better than the average anyone. We’re all in it for self preservation and survival. But our drive to self preserve is our downfall. I’ve tried to explain to conservative types that even rich people are better off if people in their society are not left to suffer in poverty. We don’t have to bring the top down to bring the bottom up. No one gets it. Here is a real example. We give everyone healthcare. We make sure that everyone can have paid sick leave and see a doctor and not spread a virus so quickly because people refuse to stay home from work when they are ill in fear of losing their jobs. Our country is ridiculously wealthy and yet look at us. Doctors. Nurses. Those on the frontlines. Having to reuse masks and protective gear. What the hell is wrong with us, America?

This morning I read an article that has been circulating about how what many of us are feeling is grief. It’s not just about the loss of life, or even the momentary loss of our way of life. It’s knowing that our world from before has forever changed. That we may move on but we’ll never forget. We’ll be a little more nervous about things like hugging friends and the germs we might acquire touching anything in public. It’s this deep sense of loss. And I was thinking yesterday how what I really feel is mourning. Mourning the loss of the early childhood I expected for my son, mourning that I may not be able to have another child if I responsibly wait until all of this has passed to try, mourning that even though I’m incredibly socially awkward I was just in the past year starting to make a few friends at work who I hung out with in person once in a blue moon, which made me incredibly happy, and now that’s all over too. Or, at the very least, on hold for who knows how long.

Sure, we may be allowed back into the world sooner than later. But the virus will still be lurking. I won’t want to go out to restaurants or bars or anywhere. I’ll drive to work, take the steps without holding the railing, sit at my desk, try to find a seat on the far end of the table in meetings, and immediately drive home without stopping along the way. Just weeks ago I was thinking of all the classes and activities I would enroll my son in over the coming years. How fun it would be to take him back to the zoo now that he knows animals and would recognize them. How we would go to the aquarium a few more times this year, every few months watching him grow into being amazed by the schools of fish swimming by and glowing jellyfish floating about on display.

There will be memories made at home, too. I get to see my son much more than I would otherwise while working from home. Not much during the day, but at lunch I can see him, and then after work I don’t have to spend 45 minutes in traffic waiting to get home, exhausted. Instead, I have more energy to be a mother. Which is nice. I mean, outside of my lung problems, and finding it hard to breathe and have energy for much at all these days.

I’m definitely trying to focus on the positive here. Trying to connect with friends who I unfortunately lost touch with, because we’re all so busy but now we’re all stuck at home (though some have quite an active virtual social life!) I’m trying. Like we’re all trying. But I’m sad. And I just have to say it. I’m sad for all of the people who are losing their lives in Italy because there are not enough hospital beds. I’m sad for my friends stuck in New York City who are terrified of going out to get food because few are taking the shelter is place seriously there and the hospitals are overwhelmed. I’m sad for my son who cannot go on the playground that he finally has gotten brave enough to climb on. My son who can’t see his grandmother or grandfather in person after seeing them very frequently for his entire life to date. My husband who misses his parents. Myself who misses being around people and the things I’d do to calm myself like window shopping at the mall and going to a coffee shop and listening to the cacophony of conversation around me. Everyone who has an ill family member, or who worries they soon might. I mourn a time of not having to think any of this. It was only a few weeks ago. And if turning 36 didn’t make me feel like I’ve turned the corner into my mid life, this sudden shift into calm chaos certainly does.

Politics, Etc.

It’s all going to be ok. Right?

March 22, 2020March 22, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

People who do not have anxiety disorders may understand a smidgen of similar panic these days—that deep sense of dread that no matter how hard you try and plan you just are not in control of anything in this rabid little big giant world of ours.

I know I ought to stop reading the news, devouring every qualitative and quantitative data point about this virus. I hadn’t spent a single minute becoming the world’s expert on the flu or other causes of death at scale so why do I find it so impossible to look away from the many articles about infection spreading across the world?

Maybe it’s the tightness in my chest that hasn’t fully dissipated for two weeks despite a full course of strong antibiotics. Maybe it’s knowing that many of my loved ones—my mother, in-laws, and grandmother—are in the at risk category which means things could get very scary if any of them got infected. Given worst-case projections that 75% of us many get sick it’s hard to not worry.

There is also a chance this will all blow over fairly quickly. Maybe the rates of death are much lower here than they have been in other countries. Maybe medicine will soon keep the worst of the disease at bay. It doesn’t help much to be a pessimist, though I wonder how much it helps to be a realist in this situation. I mean, it is important to take necessary precautions and isolate, but beyond that what can we do? How panicked do we want to be?

I don’t understand those who don’t feel the heavy weight of anxiety right now, but I envy them. Those who are in the what will be will be camp seem to accept this may get pretty ugly, but they aren’t particularly worried about it. Then there is the camp that thinks the entire situation is being hypersensationalized. That the media is playing up our fears when the data is not yet available to get an accurate analysis on what is really going on. That this is all not worth shutting down our economy over, despite acknowledging that some people will die from this who weren’t otherwise ready to meet their proverbial maker.

But it’s challenging to pretend everything is business as usual when it so clearly isn’t. Ignore the news—fine. Don’t engage in conversation and social media chatter about hospitals becoming overwhelmed and people of all ages becoming critically ill and unable to breathe. Got it. I just don’t know how to tune out how dramatically life has changed, in an instant. How we can no longer see our friends, or anyone really. We go for walks and sprint to the other side of the street when anyone heads our direction. We do not have a moment to look a stranger in the eye and exchange a friendly silent hello or an awkward accidental glance in anyone’s direction.

Two weeks of this is certainly survivable. It may be longer than that. How long? So many think it won’t be long at all. It doesn’t make sense for this to be a month or two and then we return to normal. To defeat this thing it seems we must accept it will seriously disrupt our lives for quite some time. Months? Years? Certainly not weeks.

There are positives to the isolation as well. It forces us to return to simplicity, in solitude or with our close family. We cannot go out to be entertained, we must entertain ourselves (or at least cozy up on the couch while watching Netflix.) It provides pause to a modern life that sprints ahead with no retrieve, and gives us the opportunity to think, create, and, if we can quiet our minds enough, sleep. So I’m trying, I’m really trying, to focus on the positive and not expect the worst. The focus is to keep loved ones safe, keep ourselves safe, and take everything one day at a time.

Isn’t that what the non anxious folks do?

Politics, Etc.

Cheers to Our New Dystopia.

March 21, 2020March 21, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

Children played in the street, unfazed by the sounds of shelling nearby. Parents ready to grab their children at any moment and run fast to temporary shelter to attempt to save their lives for another day. Toddlers and infants freeze to death in the night.

That is not our dystopia. It is the story of civilian families in Syria, caught between a sealed Turkish border and shelling on all sides, in a war far filled with horrors far beyond our imaginations as we grow anxious over our 2%-8% chance of dying from a destructive virus that looks a bit like a Ferrero Rocher candy as illustrated.

It’s hard to say it helps to put things into perspective as those who are incubated, strapped down, without the allowance of family to provide comfort, and fortunate enough to have their own ventilator, feeling as if they’re drowning for days upon days, may actually prefer to be freezing to death in a war-torn country. The world is a sadist and certainly has no shortage of creative ideas for how to torture her inhabitants. To be fair, we torture her back and ensure equal agony on all sides.

It is perplexing how, given life is already so difficult with its illnesses and the mortal fate that we all share, we still manage to make everything so awful. It isn’t that hard to live a good life and doesn’t require a great deal of anything outside of healthy food, fresh air, safety and health, warmth, friends and family, and a roof over our heads. As a society we’re in such a race to innovate and make things better but what is better? If we rush to innovate to make things better and we’re creating technologies that optimize all of our work so that we no longer have jobs, and at the same time end up in a situation for one easily spread virus can take down our society literally overnight, are we actually making any progress forward?

This pandemic isn’t even that bad. Not to make light of the suffering of those who are made extremely ill by the virus, or the horrors dying alone gasping for breath. But it looks as though through all the deaths and after effects of surviving moderate and severe cases of the illness, we still as a society will exist, pretty much as we had prior to our 2020 plague. We’ll mourn the loss of loved ones, and in a worst case scenario that my pessimistic mind says will likely play out, 75% of us will experience the illness, and all of us will know someone who died from it. We’ll mourn collectively, we’ll scream out our tears, we’ll say our thanks to the healthcare workers on the frontline some who too gave their lives in this battle, unprepared and ill equipped. Then, one day, sooner or later, it will all be back to normal. And it will be up to us to not forget and to invest in battling such pandemics because they will return, likely in our lifetimes. If not a pandemic, then surely climate change, class warfare, and other challenges we face will take us down without much better planning and just a tinge of social architecting.

What if we took all of our collective intelligence and put this towards saving ourselves? There is only so much saving we can do. Wars will still be fought. Children will still freeze because sociopaths rule the world and, in many cases, hide behind religion and other myths which fuel the madness that makes it ok for death of the innocent to ever be ok.

Those partying on the beaches of Florida or the streets of Bourbon fail to see that they are shelling our nation right now, but the behavior of our masses is less horrific to me than how we as an advanced society have allowed ourselves to get here. To the point where nurses are begging for protective gear to be donated. Where people coughing and feverish cannot get a test to see if they have been exposed to the virus because protocols still ask if they’ve been to a foreign country with the illness when the illness is right here in our own backyards. And front yards. Where hospital administrators are telling our healthcare workers to reuse masks and where we do not have enough ventilators to save those who will need to be saved in a pandemic situation which has been modeled out and understood for years yet ignored by our government in inaction that can be defined as nothing short of criminal.

We will get through this. And, as the history books tell us, even the longest wars fought eventually come to an end. With our lives of maybe 100 years, if we’re lucky, time tells us stories differently than they are written. But there is no reason for any of this suffering. These self-inflicted wounds and slices that cut through the heart of the bare minimum things we need to just live our lives. Our dystopia is of our own making. As continue down this path I see the smoke billowing across our future, the dust settling on another failure of using all the brainpower and computing power we have to get ahead of the otherwise inevitable destruction that will toss all humanity so deep into a gaping pit with walls slippery and unclimbable, Mother Nature leaving us there, laughing at our once and many times avertible annihilation.

This is our dystopia.

Mental Health

When the quiet comes.

February 23, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

When you’re you but you aren’t you, your mind racing and all the world alive with possibility and excitement and shouldn’t but should, you feel whole yet like a thousand pieces of you flipped inside out and upside down and stuck themselves back together to be whoever it is you are in that moment, electrified. Days, weeks, months later you look back at it and wonder who that was.

When the quiet comes it’s as if you’ve been running, running, running and then all the sudden everything is still–still–still. There is no more motor running, your boat is just there splashing about, barely staying afloat, ignorant of how it already is filling with water, preparing to sink deep into the dark blue of the depressed sea.

When the quiet comes, you wonder who you are if who you were wasn’t her and who you feel like today may be no more her than who you were then or who you will be tomorrow. It’s not as if you are multiple people, you’re you but you’re not you you are you on fire and you unable to move and you basically functioning and you embarrassed by all the things you said when you were you but you weren’t you.

When the quiet comes, you express your gratitude for not crash breaking the fragile state of stability that you’ve grown to love and need and take for granted. You wish you could take back so many things but you can’t and so you decide it’s best to move on and try to pretend you were never that, then. You invest in your health and trying to get into a routine and trying to socialize and be yourself but not too much of yourself that you scare off the people you’d like to get to know.

When the quiet comes, it is satisfying to throw out the trash that has been piling up and go for long walks under hazy blue skies and lie in grass and let sunlight sink into your skin. To be the mother that you are and the wife that you’ve been and the employee that you want to be. You can think straight for once in so long and try to pull all the pieces back together that fell apart in their hopeless exhaustion and manic mood melodies up and down and up and up and up and down again you went, but now, the quiet is here, for now, and so you embrace it, you cautiously cradle the calm.

Mental Health

Restraint.

January 13, 2020by Life With InterestLeave a Comment

Inside our skulls we are wired for pleasure. Robotically we seek out these highs which do their best to ensure both our survival and the survival of our species.

But, what if we can actively retrain our minds to no longer seek pleasure?

This is a central theme to my 2020 and my immediate consolidation of all of my resolutions—pleasure, in its simplest form (all and any comparable to ingesting refined sugar) is hereby and as of 1/1/20 banned from my existence. Dopamine and serotonin will no longer control me. I will have as much free will as a human can have, and that starts by releasing oneself from the chemical desire for a momentary high of any sort.

Some who I have shared this idea with have said this seems unhealthy (everything in moderation my dear) but as I’ve learned with intermittent fasting and a strict 1400 calorie diet with 1-2 high calorie days a week followed by a restricted 500 calorie day, I have the ability to retrain my mind (and quickly) to no longer seek the quick and empty pleasure of a morning muffin or secretly eating a dozen candy bars because they simply exist.

In removing simple pleasure, all that refined sugar, from my existence, I can retrain myself to experience pleasure from subtlety and perhaps heal my addiction to it and replace it with something far more productive and positive.

For example, when you stop eating refined sugar, the natural sweetness of vegetables is much more noticeable on the tongue. We need to eat but we do not need ice cream or chocolate bars or muffins to survive. And, by removing quick highs from our palate, we can eventually taste so much more.

I am applying this to my entire life this year. Yes, it is a drastic shift, but it is much needed. This will help me stabilize this year, simplify and repattern my values. Pleasure is a vice and one worth experiencing but not necessary to repeat or desire. It sounds very Buddhist of me, I guess, but I’m not here to be one with the world. I’m here to teach my mind and the chemicals therein that they do not own my actions. They’ve had 36 years to prove themselves worthy of this power and have only led me into the darkness. In taking away that power, I am here, ready to lead myself into the light.

Mental Health

It would be nice.

January 9, 2020by Life With Interest2 Comments

There are people in this world who do not feel like they are walking on a fragile tightrope everyday, always on the verge of disintegrating beneath their slippery feet. It would be nice to know what that’s like.

It is difficult to be simultaneously grateful for all the wonderful everything that is my life and terrified of losing it all–knowing how easy it is to fall. I can’t imagine feeling confident enough to live life without worrying every single day–to be able to commit to something like a mortgage and not be one failure away from losing everything.

Maybe there’s a life out there where I don’ have to live in a constant state of panic. Maybe it’s the life I live today with a much more positive outlook and repatterning the way I think. There has to be a better way. Mentally, I’m sick, and physically, well, I’m certainly not healthy. I’m committed to fixing all of this in 2020 and yet here I am, eight days into it, and unsure how, and falling back into making the same mistakes. It’s not only embarrassing, it’s frustrating to feel so out of control when all I want is to be in control.

It’s that death spiral I know so well. Down, down I go, accepting my fate without it being necessary. Being sucked into a whirlpool of catastrophe that isn’t even there and kicking harder than anyone would ever know just to stay afloat. The tragic thing is that I fail to, at a bare minimum, be a likable person. The few people who give me a chance give up on me eventually and again I’m alone to pick myself up from the bottom of the ocean, drifting in the dark, my flesh scraping against the forgotten sand.

It all needs to stop. It needs to start being sustainable and routine and productive and stable. It can’t be a life trying to stay afloat in a whirlpool and swirling and swirling and swirling until I’m so dizzy I can’t think straight and my actions are the result of confusion and fear and a deep self hatred that stems from the earliest days I can remember, when I learned that I’d never be good enough. That I was broken and annoying and needed to stop being so sensitive and hyper and sad and scared.

How much have I really changed these last 36 years on this earth? Not much. But maybe I can change over the next 36. I have to keep the hope alive that I can. It seems like it should be possible with the right tools and tricks. The appropriate guidance and people who understand that I don’t mean what I say or do sometimes and I regret it immediately and I’m working every day on being a little bit better until I’m acceptable. I have to believe that somehow I can get there.