Tag Archives: mental health

What Little Wisdom There is in This

Yes, she was made with AI Mirror and Picsart AI Photo Editor, but it was still built upon a drawing I did with my arthritic right hand, and yes, that’s why she is a little bit cross-eyed.

I am at the very end of a long life with a complete 31-year teaching career, childhood trauma, three kids when who are now adults, an interest in knowing about the answers to both mysteries and ordinary things, and an imagination so vivid I have to wonder how much of all of that is real. Like Socrates, I don’t really know anything. Everything I have in my head that is even remotely akin to wisdom is based on observation and experiment, wrapped up with Reason, and boiled in a broth of Skepticism. I am well aware that imagination can skew everything if you let it.

Of course, this is a simple pen-and-ink line drawing. I used Picsart to put it on blue “paper” because my printer was down, and I didn’t have any blue paper anyway.

Here’s something I believe to be true based on experience and evidence;

Lucid dreaming is a real thing that some people do. I have done it numerous times. It simply means becoming aware that you are actually dreaming in the course of the dream. You can then take total control of the dream. Most of the dreams I have had like this involve flying without an airplane. I have also had a dream of running naked through the old grade-school building where I went through grades K through 6. Everyone was laughing at me, but I took control and made all my classmates run naked with me, even the girls I never saw naked in real life.

I have also experienced a Close Encounter of the Third Kind although I strongly believe that, even though the aliens were exactly like the ones that Whitley Streiber described in his book, Communion, it was really only a very vivid dream. I have learned about such dreams over time that many of them are the result of childhood trauma, like the trauma of being sexually assaulted by a sadist, which happened to me at the age of ten. Many of these so-called alien abductions, then, are no more than vivid trauma dreams that under hypnosis get recalled as reality. I have also had trauma dreams about tornados caused by the Belmond Tornado of 1969, a night I spent fearing that my parents were dead. These dreams can seem so real that you can feel the wind on your dream face or a campfire warming your bare feet outdoors at night. I am pretty sure that my encounter with gray aliens from Zeta Reticuli was like that. The fear it gave me up and down my spine was the ghost of the fear my assailant gave me when I was ten.

This is an AI-generated image that looks like me because it was created from the data set available in my phone’s picture gallery.

Dreams can also Predict the Future. This I believe due to a large number of strange experiences. My tornado dreams often come right before a major tragedy like one of my car accidents, or my Great Grandma Hinckley’s death. One night in college I dreamt of my childhood friend Bobby falling out of the back of a blue pickup truck. Less than a week later I was told in the family phone call that Robert had actually been hospitalized when he fell out of a truck. And the pickup was allegedly blue. I also dreamed of being in the home of another of my high school friends where a number of his relatives were gathered to mourn the loss of his stepfather. It was a Friday night dream. The following Monday at school I learned all about his stepfather’s Friday night motorcycle accident. Eerily, some of the relatives I saw in that dream were people I only later learned were his relatives.

Of course, you cannot change the outcomes of things by a prediction-based dream. And none of this nonsense may actually be true due to the random nature of real life and the faultiness of my own stupid perceptions in my own stupid head. So, I can’t really know these things. I may have all the conclusions wrong. But the best wisdom I have to offer here is… well, it all MAY BE TRUE.

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Mr. Happy

I know that I am probably the last person you would think of to ask for advice on how to be happy. I am a crotchety old coot, a former middle-school English teacher, a grumpy old-enough-to-be-a-grandpa non-grandpa, an atheist, a nudist, and a conspiracy theorist. You would expect someone like me to be out in his yard in his underwear yelling at pigeons for pooping on his car more than they do his wife’s car. Be that as it may, I am also basically happy.

You know what happy looks like, surely. After Christmas day is over you see two kinds of kids. One kind is miserable and grumbling in his or her room about their Christmas gift that they didn’t get, in spite of the five expensive toys they did get. Yeah, that one’s never going to be happy. Then there’s the other kind, the one happily breaking or playing with the few cheap toys their parents could afford, using more of their own imagination than the imagination the toy companies pay someone to put into their TV or YouTube toy commercials. That one is going to be somebody you can rely on for years to come. That’s the kind of kid I like to think I was. Of course, I’m probably wrong about that too. Being a middle-school teacher gives you plenty of opportunity to learn the lesson that you are actually wrong about everything in life, and like Socrates, you know absolutely nothing for sure about anything.

Years upon years of being a public school teacher, the butt of comedians’ best school-memory jokes, the target of Republican spending cuts for saving enough money to give massive tax cuts to billionaires, and having to be every kind of professional for every kind of kid, no matter how ugly and unlovable they are, teaches you where true happiness comes from.

A. You have to learn to love the job you are trying to do. And…

B. You need to do the job you love with every resource you can squeeze out of your poor, battery-powered soul.

I did that. I did the job all the way from deluded and idealistic days of youth to cynical and caustic old age hanging onto your job by the fingernails until you have to choose between dying in front of the whole classroom of horrified kiddos you have learned to love, or going kicking and screaming into retirement to maybe live a bit longer than you would have if you had stayed at your work station in the idiot-to-income-earner factory for young minds.

Being satisfied with the career you chose and the success or failure you made of it is not the only factor in being happy. Teachers don’t earn much compared to corporate informational presenters who do the same job for a lot more money in front of a lot less hostile audiences far fewer times a day. So, it helps if you can manage to need less stuff in life. After all, stuff costs lots of money. Especially stuff you don’t really need.

That is why being a nudist and not having to worry about how much you spend on clothes helps a lot with your basic level of happiness and peace of mind. Also, lots of vitamin D soaked up through your nude all-togetherness produces happy-hormones in the brain.

Being an avowed pessimist is good for being happier in life as well. After all, the pessimist is always prepared for the worst to happen. And since the worst rarely is what actually happens, the pessimist is never shocked and dismayed and is frequently pleasantly surprised.

And so, here is Mr. Happy’s secret to a long and happy life;

  1. Tell yourself that the job you have to do is the job you love to do often enough that you actually begin to believe it.
  2. Do that job you love as hard and as well as it is possible for you to do.
  3. Love the people you work for and the people you work with, even if you have to pretend really hard until it becomes real to you too.
  4. Be satisfied with the stuff you need, and try to need as little as possible. The man whose paycheck is bigger than his bills is happier than the man whose paycheck only pays for a portion of the interest on his wife’s credit cards.
  5. Wear fewer clothes. You don’t need them in a quickly warming world. And you should love the skin you’re in.
  6. Expect the worst possible outcome from everything in life, and then there is nowhere to go but upwards.

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Filed under artwork, autobiography, happiness, humor, insight, inspiration, Paffooney, philosophy

Deep Dark Depression

I have been very limited for over a week in the amount of time I have to spend on writing and blog posting.  The start of a new novel has been delayed.  My posts have been short… and hopefully also sweet.  I have relied some on re-blogging old posts.  Depression is a demanding illness.  It requires the sacrifice of time, the sacrifice of energy, and even the sacrifice of self.  It can go so far as to demand the sacrifice of a human life.  And it can require you to offer up those things even when you are not the one depressed yourself.  Though I must admit, my health and mood have suffered through hospital visits, business arrangements made without money to spend, only mortifying promises of doing whatever you can.  And then doing those things.  And at the same time I have earned zero dollars from Uber.

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Ghosts from the past, long dead emotions, and ancient regrets all arise from crypts you have been keeping them in to remind you that you are mortal after all and subject to the slings and arrows that flesh is heir to.  And you must become a ghost-buster.  How do you do it?  How do you defeat the phantoms of past deeds and devilments?

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Dr. Pinkenstein and Pinkenstein’s Monster Mickenstein

Of course, Science can help.  You need professional help from a real psychiatrist, especially if you can find a good one.  The doctor we found is one who saved our family from darkness once before.  This time a mood drug called Lexipro and vitamin D supplements helped.  Before it was too much cortisol, the stress chemical, and lack of serotonin that threw things out of balance.  Better life through proper medication is actually a thing.

And a sense of humor doesn’t hurt.  Dr. Pinkenstein was not our psychiatrist.  But if he makes us laugh about things… well, laughter really is good medicine.

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And I have sailed these waters and fought these devils before.  My little boat was easier to navigate this time because I had a map through the labyrinth that I drew for myself before.  Experience and the wisdom to learn from it is seriously a super power.

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Up, up, and away, me!  We have come out of the darkness again, and it is time to get our lives back on track.

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Filed under battling depression, colored pencil, humor, illness, mental health, monsters, Paffooney

The Man is Mad

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Mad can mean angry.

It can also mean crazy.

It is also a magazine.  He should be happy.  He made the cover.

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Mickey made fun of me… sad!  A very sick man!

Do we really understand why the man is mad?

Could it be that too many steaks from Mar-a-Lago have given him permanent heartburn?

Something in his diet is making him have Sith eyes all the time.

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There has to be a reason he tells so many lies,

And breaks wind on Twitter to give us all the gas,

To fuel explosions…

The man really is an… Biblical word for donkey.

It must be sad to be him.

Anger… dyspepsia… battling bubbling bile…

He’s really never happy, not even when he smiles.

He made a thirteen year old girl cry recently, sitting in the back of the car,

Watching ICE cart her father away to detention and eventual deportation.

If that doesn’t make him happy, I really don’t know what will.

He is planning to issue a new travel ban.

It will make life miserable for many Muslims…

Including those coming to this country with visas to get life-saving surgery.

Surely allowing something like that, life-saving surgery,  is not worth making the man mad.

He deserves to have his fun.

After all, he won the most amazing election in history…

Without the help of Russian Putin, pudding, and pie…

On a platform of making sure that poor people don’t get affordable healthcare…

The issue the Republican non-silent majority care the most about in life…

Just ask Ted Cruz.

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Such a lovely man… to be mad all the time.  I only wish he knew that peace of mind and a quiet stomach come from doing good, eating right, and sleeping soundly at night…even during the Twitter hour.  My life is a physical mess because I don’t have affordable healthcare even with Obamacare… something that will only get worse when the mad man gets his way.  But I am not mad.  I have done good with my life.  I eat right.  And I don’t sleep very well, but that is not my conscience bothering me… especially now that I have given up on tweeting with the twit-wits on Twitter.

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Filed under angry rant, feeling sorry for myself, grumpiness, humor, medical issues, politics, strange and wonderful ideas about life

Page-Filler Friday

I have had a monumentally horrible week.  And one of the hardest things about it, is that I cannot tell you about most of it and make fun of it for the sake of healing by humor because, after all, real mental health issues are a very private thing.  So, I am left with a mish-mash of free-associations and brainstorming to fill up a page with random and unthinkable thoughts.  (When I brainstorm, sometimes it is more like a brain-hurricane.)

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Under the general heading of; Things a relatively sane older man who is battling hoarding disorder should probably not do is the new collection I started of Sparkling Disney Princesses.  As you can see above, I unfortunately acquired some of the more recent Disney Princesses in sparkle form within the rules for collecting (not costing more than $20 and not spending more than $50 in any one month).  I even added a rule to slow down the collecting mania.  (No buying sparkle princesses of characters I already have in my Disney Princess collection.)  Tiana, Merida, and Elsa add up to only $30 over the last three months.

This is actually Cowboy Mickey in the middle of the bedroom he shares with about 500 dolls and action figures, 1000 books, and the fairy in the foreground who is real.

This is actually Cowboy Mickey in the middle of the bedroom he shares with about 500 dolls and action figures, 1000 books, and the fairy in the foreground who is real.

The thing about the relentless doll collecting is more the space it fills than the money it burns.  A few years back I completed a five year stint of buying, selling, and trading action figures in which I learned how to make the obsessive-compulsive-disorder part of it turn out to be profitable.  I ran a used-toy and collectible E-Bay store that helped me pay for my mental health issue.  Of course, I did not get ahead, as all the profits are tied up in the dolls, action figures, and stuffed toys that I have kept.  Still, I learned how to do the thing effectively enough to believe I can effectively do that again if I need to, in spite of the fact that E-Bay got wise and raised their fees to make a $5 and $10 business far less profitable.

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I should note that I gave up toy-selling on E-Bay after an irate Barbie collector teed off on me in the comments section over a misidentified 80’s Barbie.  (Heck, how was I to know that the date on her neck was a copyright date only and not an indicator that she was sold in the 1970’s?)  Lady Godiva Barbie on the wingless Pegasus from the Goodwill store is a new project I put on the project table.  There is at least a month’s worth of hair-combing necessary and clearly visible in the picture.  Mane and tail alone will take weeks.

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And I am not yet done with the notion of collecting beautiful sunrises.  The recent rains and cloudiness of Texas wild weather have provided some interesting color and variety to the skyline of the park next to our house.  It all helps to keep my mind off of troubling issues that developed from dental pain and attendance woes.  This has been a very rough week, but the sunrises keep coming, and I look forward to a new day.

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Panic

Centaur1Sometimes the Greek god Pan attacks with darts of fear and suffering.  Sometimes what has happened in the past comes back to bite us in the rear for no other reason than the bulldog of horrible past experiences does not know how to let go once his jaw is clamped tight to the seat of your pants.

Mental illness is not taken seriously enough in American society.  We tend to think that every man, woman, and child ought to always be in control of themselves and never subject to bouts of craziness for which they can not be held responsible.  I joke a lot about being crazy.  I am not normal in any sense of the word.  But my own real mental challenges are no worse than depression caused by diabetes.  I get blue a lot.  But that is nothing compared to what blew up in my face today.  Have you ever seen somebody who is catatonic?  Curled up in a ball and unable sit up and stop shaking?  And what are you supposed to say to that poor sufferer?  What can you do to help?  Especially when they are no longer able to communicate with you, hear what you say, or even look at you.  It is frightening.

And I can’t even tell more than this.  The way we view this kind of problem in our society is a problem in itself.  Depression and irrational fear can destroy the entire day for everyone involved.  And the persons involved are shamed by what has happened.  The solutions to this kind of problem always involve talking about it and discussion.  But our society does not want to talk about these things.  We are all afraid of slipping into the horror of the Oregon shooter, even though that is not even remotely connected to the problem and the things that happened today.  The stigma is crippling.  People don’t tend to face this kind of problem until it happens to them or to somebody they love.

The word panic is derived from the Greek god Pan.  In mythology, Pan was a god of the forest and wild things, especially herd animals.  He was generally a jovial and fun-loving sort, but if you happened on him while he was sleeping, he would awake with a sudden shout, and that shout caused forest animals to stampede.  Thus the Greek word “panikon” meaning sudden fear became the word panic.  Apparently I stumbled on Pan today and suffered the consequences.  I am feeling trampled at present.  Don’t worry, though.  I have survived.  And things that don;t kill us make us stronger.  That is what convinced me that I am really Superman, and have only forgotten that fact because of some unfortunate kryptonite exposure.

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