The Damages of Fear

May is national mental health month awareness month. Excellent, right? Always a good idea to shine a spotlight on a difficult subject, maybe perform a quick self-assessment as we head into summer. To see how we feel about how we feel, yes? 

Realistically speaking, I've got to devote a lot more than thirty days a year to my mental health. If not, the unchecked emotional toppings can pile themselves thicker than a Logger pizza at Northlake Tavern (Had to give one last prop to Seattle's best pizza. Rest in peace, my delicious friend.). 

It's a subject that makes the news on a daily basis, usually in a tragic light. Regardless of our opinions about gun laws, few are disputing that these horrific acts are being committed by mentally unwell people. Seems to me like a logical precondition. 

But where do we discern between a congenital mental disorder and a normal brain that's been so saturated with fear that it alters itself? According to Mary D. Moller, associate professor at Pacific Lutheran University School of Nursing, the potential effects of chronic fear on emotional health include dissociation from self, inability to have loving feelings, earned helplessness, phobic anxiety, mood swings, obsessive-compulsive thoughts.

Sounds exhausting. The thing is, based on the support we've seen for a tiny-pawed huckster who stokes their worst fears, 74 million people were that elevated in 2020. And even more if you count the millions of rigged votes. 

Can you imagine how you'd feel on the daily if you acknowledged the existence of a globalist cabal so powerful that it controls our government, our media and our healthcare system, meanwhile eating babies simply because they taste good with chocolate milk?

Not good, I'll tell you. One of my FB friends is a former co-worker who I'll call June. I never knew June super well, but she was nice, had a good sense of humor and was solid at her job. We'd become FB friends in the platform's early days. Eventually she moved on from the company, married and had a kid. I started noticing the anti-vax posts first, nestled between family photos and memes. Then came the videos—pseudo newscasts with dubious experts and unproven claims. Finally came exchanges like this, complete with coded messages:

June: Washington state is an udder nightmare at the moment. It's just getting worse and worse. I wish it were different.

June's Friend: I am mot s proponent of public schools period. If children feel need to wear their (furry) suit to school every day there is likely a dysfunctional issue within the home or school community that the child is trying to escape or the child does not feel safe at school.

June's Other Friend: So glad you got out of Washington. God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah for their wickedness, He can do it again in other evil places.

June: In my opinion, I don't think all this stuff belongs in school. Reading, writing, music, math, history, social studies, art and teaching kids to think for themselves. But we both know public schools are not teaching that. They have deviated far off path. They're more about social engineering the poor kiddos.

Also imho, I believe that all these changes to this demographic of children comes from the increased jab schedule. There are bits of ab0 rted feta1 d n A that has known (ancer,<irus +animal, reptile fragments etc. These jabs are basically eug€ eni( programs and our kids are the s(1ence projects. When these foreign fragments of d n A glom onto human receptor sights it alters the senses and existence of the affected person. Poor kids never even got a voice. Zero consent for them. It's a sad sick world and I've grown weary of the blinders a good part of the world has towards these products. People are literally brain wA shed by big ph ArmA. I had a friend poo poo home 0 pathics because they weren't safety tested but has a 0ncol0gist husband who left his job because the forced protocols don't work. Still the blinders?

I pray Jesus is coming!

Okay, a little to unpack there. First of all, is it a good idea to pray that JC is coming? Doesn't a bunch of terrible shit have to happen when he materializes over Mount Rainier? I can't remember how it's supposed to go, but I'm pretty sure it's not one hundred percent Mr. Pibb and Red Vines.

Secondly, I don't know what schools these people have visited, but I've spent the last six months volunteering at my wife's elementary school, and I have seen kids meow and say they're cats and bark and say they're dogs and not make any noises and say they're unicorns. That's a problem why? They're freaking kids! Did you have everything figured out when your were eight? 

Lastly, calling Washington an udder nightmare is cowist.

My intention here is not to "out" June. This could definitely lead to an un-friending, but I mean her no ill will. I understand feeling helpless in a fucked up world. Awful things happen and we're all doing our best to cope. I just wish that the fear openly expressed by her and so many others was grounded in reality.

Dealing with those emotional velociraptors.

How's your anxiety level these days? Off the chart? On the chart but off the grid? On the grid but off the chain? On the chain but off the hook?

Lord knows there's a smorgasbord of triggers out there right now. It's like the instant we wake up, we take our place in the buffet line of dreadful delights. We slide our tray down the rails, accepting warm plates heaped with gun violence, war, climate catastrophe, inflation and more varieties of COVID-19 than there were soft serve toppings at Roy's Chuckwagon. 

And for good measure, who's down at the end of the buffet line carving the roast beast under the heat lamp, but this dude:

The mysterious creature above was photographed just outside a zoo in Amarillo, Texas. I swear to God, these days if it's not hitchhiking clowns, it's a damn chupacabra in search of a hookup.

I've always been an anxious person. Like I've swallowed a stiff, unwashed hankie that never digests, my anxiety lives wadded up inside my chest and stomach. Its crusty, gym sock-sized wad seems to swell and shrink with unpredictable regularity both day and night. 

I've employed various strategies in an effort to tamp down my anxiety—things like self-medicating with a six-pack of Bodhizafa and box of Double Stuff Pop Tarts, Now With Real Pork! shortly before bedtime. Typically, this approach is effective until around three in the morning, when I wake up in a self-loathing hot flash with a throbbing headache and the aftertaste of Satan's dingleberries in my mouth. 

As it is with depression, mindfulness can be a very helpful tool in combating anxiety. By challenging our thoughts rather than swallowing them, it's possible to step over the rabbit hole instead of plummeting into it.

I mentioned that morning is my most anxious time. Here's an example of an average day's waking thoughts:

1) Shit, I need to address that work thing, that thing where that guy's asking for that thing that's not really a thing, but I have to convince him it's not a thing, and that's the thing. 

2) The world is burning up (except for Yellowstone, site of Noah's Ark II).

3) Democracy is doomed because Orange Ass Face is going to run again and win.

4) My kids are out there somewhere, completely defenseless and unprotected (by me). Because of this, something terrible could, and probably will, happen.

5) COVID is mutating again, and it's coming back with wings, hooves, teeth and a spinal column.

6) My arches are cramping and there's not quite enough milk left for the proper Grape Nuts to milk ratio. 

Therefore, I'm screwed and nothing's ever going to be okay—ever, ever again.

So yeah, that's my typical morning medley of horrors. But here's the good news: it doesn't have to take an answer ending in "_anax" to put out this fire. In fact, it can be as simple as devoting just an additional smidge of thought to each worry and formulating a reasonable, factual response.

1) Yes, I do have to figure out that thing, but I will, the same way I have been for the past 30 years. In fact, chances are that I won't even remember the thing a couple of days from now.

2) It's true, and it's frightening. But I can only do what's in my control, like recycling, composting and taking my styrofoam to the forest rather than burning it.

3) This is also a terrifying thought, and one that isn't going away. But worrying about it and/or demonizing the "other side" won't change a thing. As convoluted as their thinking may seem, it's based in fear the same way mine is.

4) Step off, old man. The kids are fine. 

5) Perhaps, but at least it'll be more challenging for it to enter my nasal lining. Plus, I'll be able to use a baseball bat against it instead of a mask.

6) I'll stretch out my arches and heat up last night's spaghetti. Mmm...last night's spaghetti.

See? Not hard at all, and it normally keeps those issues from lingering like a banana peel in a tube top. For most of us, anxiety isn't something we can eliminate from our lives, but like the dinosaurs of Jurassic World, maybe we can learn to co-exist with those emotional velociraptors.

Two Mental Health Tips to Help You Through the Covidemic

Hi! Don't be shy—come on in! 

Welcome back to Disaster Burger! Yeah, sorry about that, door's a little sticky.

Belly up to the counter! Okay, that's a little too close, huggy boy? Take a couple baby steps back and adjust that sporty gaiter you've got going on. Yep, you're gonna want to tuck the old schnoz in there, too. Oh, hey, here's a little rhyme to help you remember: 

My mask is like undies, 

That go on my snout. 

I'll look like a flasher, 

If something sticks out.

Cool, thanks for hiding the hambone. there. Anyway, let me tell you about our new specials; the menu's expanded quite a bit since the last time you came in. 

First of all, we've got a Western Wildfire Smoke Burger—It's a half-pound of extra-porous ground chuck meat. We left a tubful of it out on the sidewalk last week for an hour or so, giving it a nice gravelly crunch that exfoliates the uvula when swallowed. Served with filthy fries or grits with grainy, green gravy.

There's the Vaccine-by-Novemburger—Our slogan for this masterpiece is, you might get a little hot and plaguey, but he promised it would be readily maybe. Whatever that means, it comes with Mitch McNuggets, specially sourced from chinless chickens.

We've got the Double Deck DeVoswich, made only by people off the street with zero cooking experience. Served with Ben Carsunchips (I know, that one's a reach).

And finally, there's the Supreme Court Burger—Actually, you know what? Forget this one. Why order something that's missing its best ingredient? 

Okay, enough of the parodies, even though humor does tend to serve as one of my go-to coping mechanisms. 

The reality is, there's no making light of the most turbulent era I can remember, this indefinitely prolonged moment of suffering and uncertainty. While the pandemic and social unrest alone have caused tectonic societal shifts, so much other stuff is piling on top of it—the upcoming election, the real, undeniable consequences of climate change—okay, just say it with me: "This suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks!" 

It just does. And it's not going away, not tomorrow, not next week or even next month. 

How many mornings have I awoken 17 to 23 minutes prior to my alarm going off and begun ticking off one reason after another as to why I shouldn't get up that day? More than a few. Hell, that's why they call it a laptop, right? My employers wouldn't have lent me one had they not expected the computer to perform its intended duty all propped up in my bed.

I've mentioned before that I'm prone to depression, that it's as big an ingredient of my genetic recipe as high arches and meatless Irish lips. Fortunately, thanks to a generous dose of counseling, I've come to understand that wallowing the day away in a dark room is worse than fruitless, it's harmful. 

Self-talk is crucial, and it can determine the course of a day. Let's say that, in the midst of one of my early-morning mental roundtables, I decide to take an approach of gratitude, to examine the big picture and my place of relative comfort in relation to those who've come before me.

I could think no further than my own grandfather, who immigrated from Ireland as a young man. He quickly found work but lost a leg in a wagon accident. Even so, he and met and married my grandma, uprooting them both to set up a homestead in a remote area of North Dakota (actually, isn't the whole state kind of remote?). They went on to have seven children, enduring the deaths of two. He labored tirelessly on their arid strip of land, supplementing his hardscrabble farm bounty by working as a janitor in the tiny town where they'd settled.

How inspirational can one guy's story be, right? Shouldn't my inner self be saying, "Wow, I've never dealt with a single one of those challenges, let alone all of them. I'm going to get my ass out of bed, go for a bike ride and rejoice in my overabundance of good fortune"? 

Yes, absolutely I should. Unfortunately, my inner roundtable host (let's call him Merv) is more likely to proclaim, "Oh, no, you're not going anywhere, Sparky. Instead, you're going to lie in bed for another couple of hours and flog yourself for being a mollycoddled cheese curd of a man who couldn't hold your grandfather's goat milk bucket. Now go get yourself some Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey and come back to bed." 

Appreciating one's station in life should exclude self-degradation and shaming, which is why I'm currently in the process of interviewing new roundtable hosts. 

Another area of self-care I'm employing is to curtail my participation in social media. How healthy can it really be to linger on Facebook for half an hour just to stalk an argument between two politically polarized "friends." I can still taste the lemony vitriol coursing through my gullet with each tone-deaf comment spewed by the fascist, then regaling in the righteous, yet predictable, talking points rattled off by his commie adversary. 

Things usually get personal in no time, with the leftie exploiting the rightie's spelling and grammar errors. Stating that he'd seized the their-there-they're gauntlet by third grade, the pinko continues to lambast the nazi's habit of capitalizing every third word. Inevitably, the never-masker feels his back against the wall and responds with offensive slurs uttered in judgment of the socialist's sexual orientation or undiagnosed mental disability. 

Social media still has its place for me now, but it's on a lighter footing; posts to this blog will still run through my Facebook group. I love the brilliant photos of Instagram and pithy snippets of Twitter. But ruminating all day on some anti-vaxxer meme that I stumbled across is not good for me. These sites are minefields of toxic, non-productive debates, and while the participants might switch up, the fight never ends. And because of that, I'll be happily, healthily walking away from that lifestyle.

Oh, by the way, before you go, I need to remind you to come by Disaster Burger in six weeks, right around the first week of November. We're hoping to add a new special called the Trump Loses in a Fucking Landslide Burger. 

Stay safe.