Notes we leave our future selves

Are you a throw-it-away immediately or thrive-in-disorganized chaos kind of person? Even in a digital world, I work better with 73 tabs open. You can imagine what my office looks like… Books, papers, memorabilia… Everywhere is occupied by something that I have given meaning to. Today I decided to dive in and clean out some papers, and I found things from as long ago as 2006. Even more curious, there was a brochure from ATT when I moved into my first place solo in 2018. It was just a brochure on my new internet and phone account, which was recently severed from being shared with my ex for several years. On the brochure, I had written “It’s ok to have boundaries and to put yourself first.” I proceeded to find a letter I wrote to my younger self, encouraging her to keep going and that I was always here to take care of her. I found birthday old cards from friends who are no longer in my life and business cards from other industries I’d dipped into. Photos of different iterations of life that at the time, seemed would never end. I wonder why I hold on to these things. I realized it was the trauma. If I didn’t have evidence that my life had at one point been this way, then it didn’t ever really happen. Conversely, for the memories I’ve wanted to forget, I’ve done everything I can to erase any shred of physical evidence to prevent it from being triggered. This includes leaving a whole country behind after the loss of my father. When I look through his things, I see a lot of notes and random scribblings, and I realize I’ve inherited this need to document everything. Did he fear forgetting? Or hope that the memory could live on if remembered by others? Like a bizarre dia de los muertos lifestyle. Perhaps we are all just anthropologists trying to understand how we’ve become the way we are. Through it all, I’ve anticipated my darker days and tried to write little notes to myself in the belief that it would present the message to me when my future self needed it. Today, that seems to have worked. But it also reminds me that there is a mountain of things I need to revisit, confront, and eventually decide whether it needs to stay or go.

My MindBloom + Me.

Lamictal is a drug traditionally used to treat epilepsy but also helps manage the mood swings related to bipolar depression. Celexa is an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) used to treat major depressive order. Paxil is an SSRI for treating depression, anxiety, and other mood disorders. Lexapro is yet another SSRI, newer than Celexa and Paxil, used for depression and generalized anxiety disorder. Aripiprazole was prescribed to me for use in tandem with Lexapro – and it was given to me as Abilify. According to Google, this drug is used alone or together with other medicines to treat mental conditions such as bipolar I disorder (manic-depressive illness), major depressive disorder, and schizophrenia. It is also used in children to treat irritability associated with autistic disorder and Tourette syndrome. All of these drugs are purported to provide relief from depression by regulating serotonin, some of them designed with a primary purpose outside of mental health. Medicine is funny that way… Wasn’t Viagra originally created for hypertension? My breakfast for the past decade and a half has been Prozac, birth control, and a dozen other vitamins and supplements. I could probably write a biography solely on my experience with different prescriptions. The epilepsy meds gave me awful hives and swelling. The incorrect dosage for Celexa and Paxil gave me intense “brain zaps.” Lexapro and Abilify, both alone and together, exacerbated my depression and introduced another level of suicidal thoughts. Other weapons against self-destruction provided to me were Xanax, sonata, Klonopin, Ativan, remeron, a blur of meds that resulted in immediate expulsion, bible study, and toxic positivity.

Mental health has always been an important issue for me, as it is the throughline to my existence. Life ebbs and flows for everyone, but for those impacted by depression, the severity of the tides make the lows complete hell. In exchange for some semblance of mood stability via daily fluoxetine, I have lost the ability to orgasm or even just enjoy sex. Or perhaps the depression and PTSD have effectively cannibalized my sexuality along life’s journey. This year, waking up become increasingly difficult. Working remotely, while a blessing to someone like me, emphasized how bad my mental state had become. I barely had the energy or desire to pull the covers from my body and walk to the computer. But for this senior canine companion (whose namesake is the same token used by President Roosevelt for his depression) and his reliance on me for basic survival, I would not be here now, still trying. I had thrown all my energy into work for the past few years, in part as a response to having experienced compounding losses and heartbreaks (deaths, breakups, pandemics, etc). For one week, my brain imploded. I drank a bottle of vodka a day, stayed in the same sweats, and stayed locked in a dark room contemplating goodbye letters. The only thing that got me up and moving for even a moment was the need to feed and walk my dog. But for him, I would be in the ether, learning that even there- confusion still existed. I thought of Elliot Smith stabbing himself as some grand finale, taking agency over a life that was often victim to predation by friends, family, and the music industry. Like, “You’re all taking a piece of me every day, I’m taking this last piece for myself.” I thought of Stevie Smith’s poem ” Not Waving but Drowning” or of everyone in the “27 Club “who wasn’t famous. I remembered reading about how when people jump off buildings, the last thoughts they had were about real solutions to all their problems (how they tracked this, I have no idea). I contemplated taking a gun and just using it, but it seemed way too messy. How could I be so insensitive to leave such a mess behind for my roommate? If I just overdosed and shit myself, maybe I leave a cash envelope on the table for a cleaning service, and that would be more polite. But then there’s the dog… How could I abandon him? If he left me, that would already be certain death. Maybe I die when he does – meaning I wait for him before leaving. But then I always want him to live forever. Irony is life’s favorite comedic device.

During my week off for this very recent mental breakdown, I felt everything at once but like it was an abyss of prickly darkness. I held my sharpest knife against my wrist, then at my neck, and then my heart. If I could just run into a wall or push deep enough, it could be over. I tried to drink myself into oblivion. I dosed myself with everything yet it wasn’t enough. I was angry to be here and resentful that I had to keep trying. I realized if I was still alive then I probably was supposed to live a little longer. But how was I supposed to keep going if I was barely surviving? The first step was increasing therapy and then dog hugs. Adjusting my meds yet again. And understanding who my allies were in this battle with depression, and accepting that my Mother was not a resource at this time. My doctor had recommended Ketamine treatment to me in the past, but it was prohibitively expensive. A friend found a few alternative resources, which is how I found MindBloom. I decided to try their basic plan since it was affordable and flexible, and I had nothing else to lose. My APR was already at 27% and the things I used to blow my money on no longer brought me any sort of escape/reprieve. People scared me, so I never left the house. I no longer enjoyed shopping or dressing up. Basic grooming like having brushed hair and concealer on became a luxury I provided others I had to see on Zoom. It was particularly frustrating to have to perform this act of “getting by” to others.

My first treatment session was very much in theme with the trajectory of my life. A lot of issues experienced could have been prevented with the setting of boundaries and the effective use of communication. While this was a difficult realization, it helped to open up space for more work. I had a moment during treatment where I could smell the food in the kitchen and hear my roommate thunderstepping around the house. I started to feel a pang of anger and annoyance that he couldn’t be more mindful of the one hour I needed for peace and silence. This was a typical internal complaint I had about living with him. That, and he ate all my food and exhibited all the worse signs of sleep apnea. His snore could be heard behind three closed doors. Since I hate confrontation, I rarely voiced my irritation. I generally became passive-aggressive and then ended up overcompensating for my feelings of guilt over passive aggression that I would buy gifts or over-compliment him in areas of life, “Good job being a son to your mom” or something baseless like that. I would then retire to my dark room and muse over the different universes where I spoke up and my word was taken seriously. I also began drafting the monologue for the one-woman show about shitty people I would never produce. I started to get huffy in my brain, then a voice said, “You don’t have to feel this way. It’s ok that you do, but you don’t have to stay here. Feel the other stuff that’s going well and be there instead.” This was the first time I ever realized I had a choice. That I could honor my emotions and trauma, but not have to add them to the weight I already carried. With that, I relaxed into the potential of being ok, even just for the moment. It’s helped me keep going.

From a basic clinical definition, Ketamine is a dissociative anesthetic used medically for induction and maintenance of anesthesia. It is also used as a treatment for depression, a pain management tool, and sometimes as a recreational drug. When used for the treatment of depression, some studies show that “ketamine promotes neural plasticity. Specifically, ketamine appears to promote synaptogenesis in brain regions such as the medial frontal cortex and hippocampus, countering the dendritic atrophy and synapse loss associated with chronic stress and depression. This framework is supported by several studies that demonstrate a single dose of ketamine increases the number of dendritic spines (1) by elevating their formation rate in the frontal cortex (2, 3). ” Basically, it helps your brain grow so you can develop new, healthier habits and ways of thinking.

I had always known Ketamine as the “horse tranquilizer” drug that crushed into orange powder. My old college friends would drive across the border to source it. They would spend the weekend crawling into a “K-hole” and collectively dissociating. I was always eager to be part of their community, to feel so connected to each other by actively disconnecting from everyone else. This was the first time I was trying a drug to “fix my brain” so that I could actually co-exist harmoniously and live a life of substance. In addition to this treatment, I am doing therapy 1-2 times a week, and following a “happiness diet.” This means eating foods that help improve your mood – dark chocolate, quinoa, salmon, brazil nuts, probiotics, etc. If there’s a chance it could reduce the severity of my breakdowns and make my depression easier to manage, I am taking it. Back to ketamine. I feel like even the few sessions I’ve had have helped tweak my brain and awareness. I keep going back to that lesson I learned during that first session, and try to build on it. What are other triggering situations that I can acknowledge and then make a choice on how to react? What’s my limit? I’m halfway through my initial treatment. Let’s see how it goes. Is ketamine my white knight or my white whale?

How To Navigate A World On Fire

“We are not given a short life but we make it short, and we are not Ill-supplied but wasteful of it.”

Seneca

Have you ever connected with older generations, and realized it’s always the same? The human condition seems hellbent on killing the world. Not intentionally, but by wanting to perpetuate a standard of living founded on capitalism. We strive for what they tell us is “success”. In the past, it was a white picket fence and a nuclear family, a television, and a refrigerator. Now we want the latest Apple tech, we want a home in both the real world and Metaverse, and we want to be celebrated across all social platforms like some sort of demi-god D-list celebrity. Well not ALL of us want this, but this seems to be the trending sentiment.

I read “Letters From A Stoic” by Seneca recently, and everything he talked about was 99% still relevant to the human condition today. For context, Seneca was a philosopher who was born in Spain over 2,000 years ago. He was educated in Rome, and then exiled to Corsica. Anyways… What did Seneca have to say? Here are his top 3 lessons, among many others.

Find an anchor:

“You want to live-but do you know how to live? You are scared of dying-and, tell me, is the kind of life you lead really any different from being dead?”

What a great question. “Is the life you lead any different from being dead?” I interpret this to mean that your life should have some sort of purpose. If you don’t have a path founded with some sort of goal you’re just floating around, which isn’t really living. I think most people seem to anchor their life in achieving monetary success – because we align money with power and significance. We are also inundated with content like the Kardashians, who don’t seem to have any goals other than to influence our standards of beauty to the completely unattainable and to maintain their status of wealth. Where are the people who are giving us real food for thought? What we need more of are educators, not influencers. What are you living for and why? Do you have an anchor? I’m still finding mine, but I think for the most part it’s living a peaceful life and making a positive impact in some way. TBD.

Never be a slave to your wealth:

“For men in a state of freedom had thatch for their shelter, while slavery dwells beneath marble and gold.”

I think this statement reinforces the first lesson. If your anchor is wealth, how can you really be alive? It’s like chasing the rabbit at a dog race. The standard of wealth is always going. Moreover, sometimes, we are presented with situations that make us have to choose between wealth and ethics. When this happens, most people seem to choose wealth. For example, look at the oil industry. Look at our Earth on fire. Climate change is here. But many want gas-guzzling vehicles that make loud noises (most of which are men trying to prove their ‘masculinity’) and we want all the things that we’re told make us part of a class of human beings considered within the “wealth” category. We all need money to survive (if you live in the parts of the world that have an economy – there are a few who just live completely off the grid). Perhaps we have a fear of poverty, which makes us run in the other direction. When we’re running so far and so fast, our path blurs and we forget the other parts of life along the way. What’s your relationship to wealth?

Fight your ego:

”You have to persevere and fortify your pertinacity until the will to good becomes a disposition to good.”

Basically, find a goal that you pursue that comes from a real place. It seems like many of us tend to pursue a life that supplements the ego/”justifies” our significance in this world. For example, your goal is wealth and you want the newest car, biggest house, flashiest lifestyle… When you retreat into your mind at night, sans Lunesta, are you truly happy? When you make a decision, is it always to serve your interests? Or are you considering the impact your decisions make on others?

Other stuff….

The only thing I didn’t agree with was that he believed that “animals were not truly happy” since he reasoned they had “no intellect”. I think animals are smart and they teach us how to be present. They’ve lived longer than us and they give us so much. I’ve seen my dog sad and happy – I’ve seen animals display a colorful variety of emotions that require a certain level of intellect to express.

No one is perfect. Life is unfair. We all know this. But can we do more to improve the quality and substance of life for all? Can you breathe through hardships, and not ground yourself in anger should you survive? Extreme emotions are all ego. It’s normal to feel. Let it pass through you, but don’t let it control you. Probably the most difficult way to live, but much better than drowning until we hit the ultimate state of unconsciousness, death.

Dog Adopts Human, Saves Her From A Commitment To Dissociating.

With this dog, I belong. Home is a heart murmur nested in a black lab. It’s in the sniffle of a wet nose and the pitter-patter of 4 legs beside me. I never felt like I had a forever home until I met him. Some people felt like home, but their eventual impermanence in my life always became as devastating as their departure was reliable. Whether its death, or distance, or just too much drink, my connection to other humans has never compared to clairsentience of my canine companion. I often think we don’t deserve dogs, us humans. I sometimes think they’re too good for us, but then I realize they are most likely here to teach us to be better than we thought we could.

Having Theodore has changed my life so much. With depression having been my oldest and most reliable friend growing up, it was nice to discover that another creature could be so in tune with my wavelength. I could be understood without having to say anything, a quality I had always searched for in Man. Perhaps its the fact that dogs don’t have egos- or at least, they don’t appear to. I never have to worry that a dog is going to betray me in any way, and even if it bites or scratches me, I know it was an animal reaction- and not a premeditated assault. If a dog hurts you, it’s never because they intended to. A dog could never give you Stockholm Syndrome, although its possible we may do that to them.

Perhaps the biggest disconnect I feel with the world is in the inefficiency of language. We all use words and say things and assume we’ve communicated, but most of the time its wrong. We live in a society that operates on hype instead of authentic and educated context. We post carefully cropped and edited photos of our daily rituals (like meals or yoga) and attempt to convey that we are somehow relevant or special. We feel validated when that photo receives likes or acknowledgement from strangers all over the world. We go to bed feeling connected, bathed in the ether of blue light.

I use my phone and laptop so much that I have to wear glasses to filter out the blue light emanated by my screens. I read somewhere that Grimes had part of her eye removed in an experiment to block out blue light, which in her opinion, was a big contributor to her seasonal depression. If blue light influences depression, which is really a chronic and debilitating lack of motivation, then isn’t our screen time as a society reinforcing our need for more screen time?

I had behind my phone more than anything. If I don’t have a drink, or a joint, or a xanax available, I have my phone. It saves me from interacting with others, and it makes me feel like my feeling of disconnect with others is ok. I guess in a way my phone is my other companion, who in a way, holds me hostage from a life among others. It prevents me from saying all the things I want to say. It’s a beacon of passive aggression during a conversation destined to go wrong. Google becomes the litigator and the jury to any statement. With all this power and access to information, how are we not smarter about the things in life that matter? How have these ingenious programs and platforms become the resource for inquiries like “John Hamm Penis” or “Pig Saves Alpaca Zoo”? Where are the bigger questions? More importantly, what are the bigger questions?

When I start to think like this, I get anxious. Right now it’s 4am and I am contemplating chugging a beer to pass out. I have Pepper by my side, loyal as ever, waiting for me to come to bed. Will I ever have a human in my life who makes me feel as safe, loved, and inspired to try, as much as dogs do? I don’t know, I hope so. For now, my best friend and my oldest friend are always with me. Inherently they don’t get along. My best friend can’t always be there for my full life journey, but he sure as hell can help make sure dear old depression has time to sit at the bench and let me try to live or try to try. For now, we’re all sitting here together.

Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō

Do you remember Angela Bassett, in the Tina Turner biopic, when she was chanting these words after Ike had done a number on her?

Sometimes, you feel like the world has done a number on you. These words and their meaning are actually quite magical. And you don’t even have to pronounce them correctly. In fact they turn to mush as you repeat them over 108 times… But the intent seems to flourish in your mind’s eye.

I haven’t meditated in a long time. As a child, I used to sit with my father and meditate in silence. Sometimes, when I would imagine myself growing and expanding outside the room, then the city, then the state, and then nation… Until eventually I was just sitting on top of the Universe. I stopped meditating when my dad died several years ago.

This past December has been particularly brutal- emotionally and physically. So much so, it broke me. I was forced to open up to another way to manage life, and all that was left was ethereal. I drove past the Buddhist Center on Franklin Ave, and just pulled over. It was not offering any sessions at the moment, but the attendant allowed me to sit by myself in the meditation room. In there, I breathed and tried to clear my mind. I couldn’t get myself to be there that day, so I left.

Then I remembered Tina. I looked up the mantra and what it actually meant- there are several theories. Ultimately my interpretation of what the theories say is that it means patience through suffering is the alchemy of suffering into peace and joy.

I sat down again, on my living room floor. I said the damn words. I struggled to say them correctly. But as I went through the 108, then another, I felt myself crying yet pushing through.

It was a reminder that the best way to get through hell, is to go through it.

For years I’ve held my breath, and tried to take the easy way out of grieving and pain. In doing so, I found more pain.

When I finally let my heart hurt, it slowly has hurt less and less.

I still haven’t reached that moment of being on top of the universe, but now when I close my eyes to meditate, I see colors. This gives me hope. If I can see colors in the dark, then maybe soon I can see life beyond this pain.

If this hasn’t been your year, try sitting down and just breathing. Try saying the damn words. Say anything you want, but say it with the intention to be free from whatever it is that’s fucking you over. Happy Holidays!

Weird Thoughts, Strange Actions: How To Kill Yourself Completely.

Don’t do it. The knife is so shiny and efficient that it brings you a sense of peace. Pills rattle in their bottles like a baby rattlesnake begging to be tested. I look into my mind’s eye, and see the reflection of myself. Is this who I am?

I’ve read that dreams of dying, or suicidal thoughts are metaphors for awareness of impending change. Death is change. Literal, and figuratively. Whether the end of a relationship or the end of a lease, there is death. Perhaps that is why I find the imagery of bones and skulls so interesting. Not because they mark the end- but they signify the past.

In the past I’ve been many things, most of which I am only becoming aware of now. We get so caught up in pockets of moments that we forget to see where we are and where we have arrived. I’ve been an 8-year-old girl for 3 decades now, and for the first time I’ve decided to be an “adult.”

I used to think I didn’t want children, then I thought I did. Now I’m in that mindset where maybe I will just have a large farm with 20 dogs. It would be like Grey Gardens without the squalor.

Is the desire to change urged by the fear to be? Is the need to change courageous, or a failure to take responsibility of the present?

 

 

Your Spirit Animal Sucks.

When asked what animal you might be, most would like to be told they are “the wolf” or “the eagle” or something symbolic of power and grace. Something that says, “I’m a natural born leader, but I can also be part of a family.”

In reality, most people are cockroaches. Surviving a variety of unglamorous events. Mostly coming out of such events in tact- but without that Hollywood glow.

I’m finally at the age where I’ve stopped kidding myself, and can see that I am more roach than wolf. When something in life threatens my existence, I scuttle away into a dark corner. After a certain amount of time, I peak my head out from this corner and start sniffing around, feeling for what remnant of opportunity for life might have for now.

In the past I would try to emulate the behavior of a preferred spirit animal- like a lion. I would roar at any sort of situation that I feel threatened my pride.

Today, I’m a cockroach. I don’t put up a fight. I just keep going. I’ll just go away, if I don’t like where I’m at. I’ll sneak back in when I feel ready.
Case in point, I was driving to work this morning, and two cyclists decided to extend the bike lane into the center of the street. Had this been me several years ago, I’d have yelled profanities, honked my horn, posted pics on Instagram, given them the finger. This morning I slowed my car down (although the engine revved naturally) and allowed these two women to take the road on their friendly morning bike ride. They took their damn time. Eventually I was able to make my way around them, looking in the rearview mirror to see the other cars stuck behind them. Slowly, I squashed the urge to throw rocks at them and let that thought bubble pop.

Later on that day, the same slew of mediocre things that would severely challenge my mood in the past continued to occur. But I didn’t acknowledge it. I made note of it, but I didn’t react.

And I thought, what stopped me? Why didn’t I react?

It’s a small thing. Annoying things happen everyday. But sometimes, you realize, it takes energy to care. Energy that may better be used on other things

Modern Luxuries.

1. Conversation
2. Deep Thought
3. Unmedicated Sleep
4. Books

Typhoid Mary In Saturn.

This is the sickest I’ve felt since I was a child. The experience of illness that’s brand new- you didn’t know or understand what “not well” was until you began feeling it. As if this viral infection crept upon me only to express itself in projectile vomiting, abdominal pain, and paralyzing fever.

You’d think I was some important explorer in the Amazon who’d just discovered dengue. No, no. Just some girl in Los Angeles who didn’t get her flu shot.

Do you remember the story of Typhoid Mary? The cook who gave gave everyone Typhoid? They discovered that she had the typhoid bacteria living in her gallbladder, and she thus infected everyone she came into contact with and cooked for. She was a serial murdered who just wanted to bake you a pie. She refused to believe she had typhoid, would never let the doctors examine her stool or remove her gallbladder, and had been institutionalized several times for deaths related to her cooking for families and them dying from the disease. Doctors were only able to prove she had caused the epidemic of death post-humously, as they were finally able to give her a proper examination.

I feel as if my return to Saturn in this new year, has been usurped by the spirit of this troublesome Mary. Everything has been turned upside down. Covered in dog hair. Any sort of life has been etherized, and even thoughts are having issues taking flight.

Is this what it feels like to be old? To be ill? Do adults get “real sick”? As children, we get to sleep. We get coddled (ideally). As adults, the world still goes on and you realize “dammit” I have to go to the doctor and take medicine. I can’t just ignore this until if goes away. I have to get well, and then go back to work, and then do my taxes, and then keep going on and on. And that’s the happy ending. Imagine, 100 years ago, this would have likely killed me.

 

Escape?

Your mind in itself is a drug….

Your mind can take you places. You can daydream your whole life away. It can often be easier to think about better situations, than to manifest. There’s no failure in imagination, and perhaps that is why many live in their head. If failure was never a fear or an option, what would you do? What would you try? Where would you be? I am constantly trying to escape the flightiness of my being.