It Gets Better, but we have to Be better..

Some years ago, I checked myself into a local facility for outpatient mental health treatment. Following that, I spent some time undergoing extremely intensive trauma therapy and other mental health procedures. I was relatively open about that entire experience with my family, but was way too ashamed to make much mention of it to my friends, co-workers, employer, recovery community, etc. Even then, despite my own difficulty navigating some of the shame I felt, I wanted nothing more than to help normalize treatment, especially for those struggling with PTSD and other trauma from childhood sexual abuse. I also wanted to help some of my friends and loved ones who were struggling from combat PTSD after returning from the horrors of war. 

Years later, I am glad we've begun to reach a point where people normalize opening up about their childhood sexual trauma and are encouraged to get help for it. It is a better world when we are compassionate. I'm so thrilled to see that veterans getting treatment for PTSD is acceptable and encouraged. We see it in war movies, it's talked about at the Super Bowl, and generally most people will just nod sympathetically and talk about how brave it is to get help in almost any situation. I wish I had that kind of support system when I was deconstructing and getting help, but I am just glad it is in place for most folks now.

Don't get me wrong, there's still plenty of stigma attached to it, but not nearly as much as there used to be. That being said, scrolling the internet or having conversations with people around the topic of mental health shows me that there is still plenty of work to do. We *must* destigmatize *all* mental illness in a similar fashion. 

Amanda Bynes didn't choose to have a mental illness anymore than I did. My struggles aren't magically more heroic or noble than hers. I cannot imagine my seeking and receiving treatment being reported by major news outlets across the country and thousands weighing in on it with shitty, cruel, comedic takes. If you mock her or laugh at her, just understand that you're laughing at and mocking every single person who has ever had to deal with the life-changing symptoms of mental illness. From a combat vet in your family to a friend who has suffered horrific childhood sexual abuse, to any and all in between.

The fact that we still view someone's mental health crisis as a spectacle, as some kind of  circus for our personal amusement, is evidence of a very deep cultural rot that continues to permeate the ongoing dialogue about mental health in this country. The cancerous core of that rot is our outright refusal to view other human beings as other actual, living, breathing human beings. Walk a mile in the shoes of the afflicted, and see if a few hits of dopamine as you endlessly scroll social media is worth it. Be better. 

And if you're struggling, don't listen to the voices in your head or the voices of the cruel and cynical degenerates. You matter, you are worthy of love and you Can Heal. I promise.

I Came In From The Wilderness, A Creature Void Of Form..

Grief. It's a series of shuddersome stitches that hold your torso together. Most often, they are slipshod and clumsy; starting just under your chin and winding their way south down to the top of your pelvis. These markers are not easily camouflaged. You see them naked in the mirror every morning, feel them when the first hint of a heavy storm is approaching and, in my case, whenever you hear Side One of "Blood On The Tracks." 

It Works If You Work It

The floors of these sordid basement rooms made your hands feel sticky, even if they never even came close to touching them. It was a bad dream of a place; where grandiose proclamations, half-assed promises and assorted shame coagulated in a thin film across the tile, which was always poorly mopped, and inevitably crusting in the corners. I stared down into the last remaining inch of my tepid black coffee. I could see my distorted reflection, though thoughts of my own glaring imperfections would have to wait until it was my turn to speak. Tonight, my objective was simple - avoid eye contact with two people in the room: the enthusiastic old-timer who was chairing the meeting, and the tattooed, tumultuous, fuck-you stare of a bad news brunette. 

How Might We Say Yes?

I wonder how different our relationships, commitments and aspirations would look if they were sought and nurtured without any promise of social, economic or eternal reward.

If all things were equal, how might be say yes? How might we say no? If you removed the optic glow - the opinion of your chosen tribe, the safety of what's expected - what would you care to do with the love that is in you? Or the love that approaches you? 

But, I suppose the question might be largely irrelevant because, among other considerations, it seems to most that things are unfair, out of balance, misaligned; that things are somehow scarce.

Still, I believe it's a worthwhile angle to ponder: If we all had what we needed, if we didn't fear loneliness or rejection or discomfort and if we could lose our fear of disappointing others, what would we embrace in quiet commitment? And who or what would we quietly let go of - without shame or blame?

I just wonder. Do you? 

Dew Drop #1

Make your own world, or be crushed by the worlds made by others. 

Croz Has Left The Building..

David Crosby was one of the most beautiful, brilliant, cantankerous, soulful and bracingly honest characters in American musical history. But more than that, he was a first class songwriter, a powerful cultural voice and, hands down, the greatest harmony singer I've ever heard. 

Croz was also fearlessly authentic and wholly unique, in a world that does not always like or reward such brazen sincerity. From The Byrds to CSNY to his incredible solo catalog, we were gifted with 59 years of his music. I can't imagine a world without him.  He is one of the Fathers of the country I live in. A true North Star. The void he leaves is tremendous. 

How lucky do I feel, how blessed am I, that I incarnated in a world where David Crosby played and sang? I'm beyond grateful. 

One of the things I truly admired about Croz was the way he rose from the ashes; like a portly, mustachioed phoenix (or songbird). He lost so many years to illness and self-destruction, only to spend the last decade of his life on a creative hot streak, making as much music as he could, releasing five beautiful records as the clock was running out. And when I say beautiful, you can rest assured that this is a colossal understatement.

He will remain a fixture on my record shelf and an inspiration for the rest of my life. 

"Don't waste the time. Time is the final currency, man. Not money, not power—it's time." - David Crosby 

Thank you, Mr. Crosby. Rest Easy. Well Done, Sir. You leave with a standing ovation.

Here, Take This Before Bed.. Part Fourteen

Goodnight, my friends.

Here's some good stuff for you to think about before bed in these times of tumult and uncertainty:

The sound of a trumpet with exquisite tone echoing through an alleyway. A massive flock of birds that suddenly darkens the sky. The smell on onions sizzling on the grill. A little kid on her parent's shoulder in the park. Raindrops falling into your hand. Realizing the deepest and most beautiful parts of yourself never left you.