Josh Hilden's Blog, page 6
December 31, 2020
Fuck 2020
In four hours, the worst year of my life will finally come to an end.
I’m not trying to imply that I’m the only one who had a bad year, but this is my journal, blog, essay, or whatever the hell you want to call it. This year has been a horror show for the world in general and the United States in particular.
Let’s start with the obvious, COVID-19 19 or, as I think of it, the 2020 Plague. Millions of people around the world have died from the virus, while in America, we’re approaching three hundred and fifty thousand citizens dead. We have five percent of the world's population but twenty percent of the world's deaths. We are the richest and most advanced nation in the history of the human race, but we’re dropping like flies.
Why?
Well, that brings us to the second horrible thing about 2020. The current President of the United States, Donald J Trump, and Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnel don’t give a flying fuck if we live or die. From the two most powerful men in America, we’ve been left to die and rot where we fall. From claiming the plague was a Democrat hoax to refusing to lift a finger to help and support the citizens while bending over backward for the Billionaires and Corporations, America is a ship with no one at the helm or the rudder.
The only bright note is that Trump lost the election, but in doing so, he has ripped America in half. That’s a wound we may never recover from. Even now, the Republicans and our so-called President seek to perform a coup and seize an illegal win from the jaws of defeat.
I still fear a civil war in America.
And finally, we come to why 2020 has been the single worst year of my life.
I’ve talked about it in these essays before but just as a refresher. In April of 2020, my son killed himself. I don’t want to get into the horrible details of his life and how I failed as a father. I don’t want to talk about the police coming to my door. And I don’t want to talk about telling my wife our son was dead.
That was the most horrible thing I’ve ever had to do.
I had planned on covering a lot of topics in this year-end essay. I wanted to talk about my daughter getting COVID-19 and recovering. I wanted to talk about my Granddaughter and how she’s kept this family sane. I wanted to talk about my forty-fourth birthday and how flat it was. I wanted to talk about Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas under the shadow of the plague. I wanted to talk about the stories I’d written and published this year.
I wanted to talk about all of those things, but there’s no point.
The only thing that means anything to me this year is that my son is gone, and I’ll never see or hear him again. Stephen is dead, and I will never stop hurting. I will never stop missing him. And I will never stop thinking there was something I could have done to save him if I'd just been a better father.
- Josh (12/31/2020)
I’m not trying to imply that I’m the only one who had a bad year, but this is my journal, blog, essay, or whatever the hell you want to call it. This year has been a horror show for the world in general and the United States in particular.
Let’s start with the obvious, COVID-19 19 or, as I think of it, the 2020 Plague. Millions of people around the world have died from the virus, while in America, we’re approaching three hundred and fifty thousand citizens dead. We have five percent of the world's population but twenty percent of the world's deaths. We are the richest and most advanced nation in the history of the human race, but we’re dropping like flies.
Why?
Well, that brings us to the second horrible thing about 2020. The current President of the United States, Donald J Trump, and Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnel don’t give a flying fuck if we live or die. From the two most powerful men in America, we’ve been left to die and rot where we fall. From claiming the plague was a Democrat hoax to refusing to lift a finger to help and support the citizens while bending over backward for the Billionaires and Corporations, America is a ship with no one at the helm or the rudder.
The only bright note is that Trump lost the election, but in doing so, he has ripped America in half. That’s a wound we may never recover from. Even now, the Republicans and our so-called President seek to perform a coup and seize an illegal win from the jaws of defeat.
I still fear a civil war in America.
And finally, we come to why 2020 has been the single worst year of my life.
I’ve talked about it in these essays before but just as a refresher. In April of 2020, my son killed himself. I don’t want to get into the horrible details of his life and how I failed as a father. I don’t want to talk about the police coming to my door. And I don’t want to talk about telling my wife our son was dead.
That was the most horrible thing I’ve ever had to do.
I had planned on covering a lot of topics in this year-end essay. I wanted to talk about my daughter getting COVID-19 and recovering. I wanted to talk about my Granddaughter and how she’s kept this family sane. I wanted to talk about my forty-fourth birthday and how flat it was. I wanted to talk about Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas under the shadow of the plague. I wanted to talk about the stories I’d written and published this year.
I wanted to talk about all of those things, but there’s no point.
The only thing that means anything to me this year is that my son is gone, and I’ll never see or hear him again. Stephen is dead, and I will never stop hurting. I will never stop missing him. And I will never stop thinking there was something I could have done to save him if I'd just been a better father.
- Josh (12/31/2020)
December 10, 2020
Hoarder
My name is Josh, and I suffer from significant mental illness. My doctor says it’s severe, but I hate that. It makes me feel like an emotional cripple. The fact that she’s right just makes it worse.
But I digress.
During the worst of my depression, really more of a suicidal nervous breakdown, I allowed the house to be destroyed and filled with an illegal amount of animals. To skin the truth to the bone, I was an animal hoarder. I’ve lived in shamer because of that for more than a decade. But you all know I’ve told you this story before.
That said, it bears repeating considering what happened today.
So what happened today, you ask?
I saw something sad today.
I was walking across the grocery store parking lot, and this guy passed me in his car. The car was filled to the roof with trash, just barely leaving him with a place to sit. The smell from the car was indescribable, and the man, he had to be in his 60s, had a yellowed beard and a dead gaze. He didn’t look right or left. He just crept across the lot, oblivious to the world around him.
The tableau was so bizarre it didn’t feel real.
Obviously, he was a hoarder.
When it first came on, I was obsessed with the show Hoarders, but not for healthy reasons. I’d watch every episode of the show and think some version of, “My house may be trashed, but at least it doesn’t look anything like those houses.” I may be a disgusting hoarder, but I wasn’t as bad as those fools.
Of course, we all know or can guess, I was just as bad as those people.
If not worse.
I was simply a selfish piece of shit who almost ruined my family's lives.
I’d like to say I saw the error of my ways, acknowledged my illness, and cleaned that house up. I’d like to say that, but that would be a lie. Back in 2012, when I started writing these missives, I was determined to never knowingly lie to myself or you fearless reader.
Things didn’t change until we lost the house after three years of trying to save it following the financial crash of 2008. Cleaning out to move meant we got rid of all the animals and cleaned out the trash-strewn building. I learned later that when the bank took the house, it was unsalvageable. They bulldozed it and replanted the lot.
It was all told one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.
Now that the long-winded backstory is told let's get back to today.
I’ve always thought that if I encountered a hoarder in the wild, I’d either pity them or look down on them. Like an asshole, I figured if I learned my lesson, they should’ve learned there's. Obviously, these people are weak, whereas I was strong, and the situation they were in was a mess of their own making, and they didn’t deserve more than my pity.
Then I was confronted with a Hoarder. Not on television, not some caricature, and not a theoretical stranger. This man is a flesh and blood human being, and I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t feel pity, I didn’t look down on him, and I didn’t think he was some loser who was getting what he deserved for being weak and selfish.
Instead, all I felt was sad.
The old man looked miserable, like he would kill himself at a moment's notice. Just looking at him, in his trash-filled ar, unwashed, with that dead look in his eyes, reminded me of one person.
He reminded me of me. I saw what I could have become if I hadn’t been shocked into action and sought out professional help.
And that’s it.
So, you may be asking, what’s the moral of all this navel-gazing?
Mental illness is no joke.
- Josh (12/10/2020)
But I digress.
During the worst of my depression, really more of a suicidal nervous breakdown, I allowed the house to be destroyed and filled with an illegal amount of animals. To skin the truth to the bone, I was an animal hoarder. I’ve lived in shamer because of that for more than a decade. But you all know I’ve told you this story before.
That said, it bears repeating considering what happened today.
So what happened today, you ask?
I saw something sad today.
I was walking across the grocery store parking lot, and this guy passed me in his car. The car was filled to the roof with trash, just barely leaving him with a place to sit. The smell from the car was indescribable, and the man, he had to be in his 60s, had a yellowed beard and a dead gaze. He didn’t look right or left. He just crept across the lot, oblivious to the world around him.
The tableau was so bizarre it didn’t feel real.
Obviously, he was a hoarder.
When it first came on, I was obsessed with the show Hoarders, but not for healthy reasons. I’d watch every episode of the show and think some version of, “My house may be trashed, but at least it doesn’t look anything like those houses.” I may be a disgusting hoarder, but I wasn’t as bad as those fools.
Of course, we all know or can guess, I was just as bad as those people.
If not worse.
I was simply a selfish piece of shit who almost ruined my family's lives.
I’d like to say I saw the error of my ways, acknowledged my illness, and cleaned that house up. I’d like to say that, but that would be a lie. Back in 2012, when I started writing these missives, I was determined to never knowingly lie to myself or you fearless reader.
Things didn’t change until we lost the house after three years of trying to save it following the financial crash of 2008. Cleaning out to move meant we got rid of all the animals and cleaned out the trash-strewn building. I learned later that when the bank took the house, it was unsalvageable. They bulldozed it and replanted the lot.
It was all told one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.
Now that the long-winded backstory is told let's get back to today.
I’ve always thought that if I encountered a hoarder in the wild, I’d either pity them or look down on them. Like an asshole, I figured if I learned my lesson, they should’ve learned there's. Obviously, these people are weak, whereas I was strong, and the situation they were in was a mess of their own making, and they didn’t deserve more than my pity.
Then I was confronted with a Hoarder. Not on television, not some caricature, and not a theoretical stranger. This man is a flesh and blood human being, and I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t feel pity, I didn’t look down on him, and I didn’t think he was some loser who was getting what he deserved for being weak and selfish.
Instead, all I felt was sad.
The old man looked miserable, like he would kill himself at a moment's notice. Just looking at him, in his trash-filled ar, unwashed, with that dead look in his eyes, reminded me of one person.
He reminded me of me. I saw what I could have become if I hadn’t been shocked into action and sought out professional help.
And that’s it.
So, you may be asking, what’s the moral of all this navel-gazing?
Mental illness is no joke.
- Josh (12/10/2020)
December 5, 2020
Peace
America is in a dark and dangerous place. We’re in a place we’ve never been in. The closest comparison is when Lincoln defeated Douglas. Of course, the fallout from that election was the American Civil War.
So, let’s get started.
Assuming Trump doesn't stage a coup, Joe Biden will be President at noon on January 20, 2021.
Yay?
I guess so. I mean, Trump did lose. So, we won’t have his fat lying ass in the White House anymore.
But did the Democrats win the 2020 elections?
No.
Does that mean the Republicans won?
No.
I don’t think there are any real winners.
The Democrats lost seats in the House of Representatives, and as of this writing, didn’t take control of the Senate. Losing House seats isn’t too bad because the Democrats still hold the House. Of course, with Nancy Pelosi and her exceedingly conservative clique running the House, there’s very little chance the citizenry's desires will be taken seriously.
Now the Senate is another shit sandwich altogether.
With the Republicans still running the Senate Moscow, Mitch McConnel still sits on the throne. With the evil turtle controlling the Senate, nothing he isn’t in favor of will get passed regardless of what the voters want.
Do you see the vise we’re in?
The government of the United States of America has been under the thumb of Billionaires and Multi-National corporations for the entirety of my life. As each year passed, the people lost the voice and power they were supposed to have. The people pulling strings have done everything they can to convince poor people that the truly poor and the minorities want what they have and are nothing but animals.
So, what happens next?
I have no idea.
At best, we’ll return to the Obama era status quo. At worst, there will be violence, lies, anarchy, and chaos because a lot of people joined a cult in 2016, and they’re ready to burn the country down to get what they want.
To be clear, I’m not saying there aren’t fanatics on the Left. Of course, there are. But they are nowhere near as numerous or dangerous as the MAGAt’s and their allies.
The young me would’ve been all for burning everything down and starting over. Because I was a fucking moron. Like most young people and a lot of people who should know better, actions have consequences.
If there is violence, rather from a martial law declaration, MAGA riots, or an attempt at a Communist Revolution by kids who don’t understand history, the result will be a lot of collateral damage.
I have children.
I have a grandchild.
I ask those of you who are fanatics on one end or the other and have families a simple question.
Do you want a wrecked nation?
Do you want your kids growing up in and living in some form of authoritarian, whether left or right, world?
I don’t.
I want a nation where all education is free.
I want a nation where healthcare is free.
I want a nation of rational discourse.
I want a nation where no one goes homeless or hungry.
I want a nation that doesn’t support terrorists and terrorist enablers.
I want a nation that lives up to the ideals that used to make this country a leader in social progress and freedom.
I want peace.
Josh - (12/05/2020)
So, let’s get started.
Assuming Trump doesn't stage a coup, Joe Biden will be President at noon on January 20, 2021.
Yay?
I guess so. I mean, Trump did lose. So, we won’t have his fat lying ass in the White House anymore.
But did the Democrats win the 2020 elections?
No.
Does that mean the Republicans won?
No.
I don’t think there are any real winners.
The Democrats lost seats in the House of Representatives, and as of this writing, didn’t take control of the Senate. Losing House seats isn’t too bad because the Democrats still hold the House. Of course, with Nancy Pelosi and her exceedingly conservative clique running the House, there’s very little chance the citizenry's desires will be taken seriously.
Now the Senate is another shit sandwich altogether.
With the Republicans still running the Senate Moscow, Mitch McConnel still sits on the throne. With the evil turtle controlling the Senate, nothing he isn’t in favor of will get passed regardless of what the voters want.
Do you see the vise we’re in?
The government of the United States of America has been under the thumb of Billionaires and Multi-National corporations for the entirety of my life. As each year passed, the people lost the voice and power they were supposed to have. The people pulling strings have done everything they can to convince poor people that the truly poor and the minorities want what they have and are nothing but animals.
So, what happens next?
I have no idea.
At best, we’ll return to the Obama era status quo. At worst, there will be violence, lies, anarchy, and chaos because a lot of people joined a cult in 2016, and they’re ready to burn the country down to get what they want.
To be clear, I’m not saying there aren’t fanatics on the Left. Of course, there are. But they are nowhere near as numerous or dangerous as the MAGAt’s and their allies.
The young me would’ve been all for burning everything down and starting over. Because I was a fucking moron. Like most young people and a lot of people who should know better, actions have consequences.
If there is violence, rather from a martial law declaration, MAGA riots, or an attempt at a Communist Revolution by kids who don’t understand history, the result will be a lot of collateral damage.
I have children.
I have a grandchild.
I ask those of you who are fanatics on one end or the other and have families a simple question.
Do you want a wrecked nation?
Do you want your kids growing up in and living in some form of authoritarian, whether left or right, world?
I don’t.
I want a nation where all education is free.
I want a nation where healthcare is free.
I want a nation of rational discourse.
I want a nation where no one goes homeless or hungry.
I want a nation that doesn’t support terrorists and terrorist enablers.
I want a nation that lives up to the ideals that used to make this country a leader in social progress and freedom.
I want peace.
Josh - (12/05/2020)
October 25, 2020
The Helpers
Today is just another day.
I got up, fed and watered the dog and turtle, washed last night's dishes, and put a load of laundry into the washer. After the chores, I made eggs and cheese for breakfast, took my pills, and gave myself my morning injections of insulin. Once my sugar looked good, I went out to the garage and worked on the big sort. I’ve been doing piecemeal since the end of the summer. Hopefully, it’ll be done before the snow falls, but if not, well, I like the snow. It invigorates me.
Later I’ll take a shower and get ready for my eleven-year-old daughter's birthday party. (ok, this isn’t normal, but maybe the abnormality is the cause of this). Then I’ll come home, spend a few hours with my wife, and go to bed. Right before I go to sleep, I’ll think the same thing I think every night. If tomorrow is unbearable, I can always kill myself. There’s always a way out.
The whole time I’ve been very depressed.
So, it’s a day like any other in the life of Josh.
I’ve learned to accept my depression, and I’ve even managed to pick up a few tricks for dealing with it. Notice I didn’t say ways of stopping it. When you suffer from severe clinical depression, there is no stopping it. There’s only coping with it.
I was diagnosed as bipolar in y teens and really started feeling it in my mid-twenties. My doctor says that’s pretty normal, so at least I’m not a freak in regards to how my depression manifested.
You’ve all heard the highlights of my depression before. The three suicide attempts the not leaving my bedroom except to go to work when I didn’t call in for almost four years. The near disintegration of my marriage because I just wouldn’t let her in, and the broken relationship with my dad and his side of the family.
That last one is mostly, as in 85%, on me, but it is what it is.
So yeah, a normal day ended in a not so normal thought.
Do you want to know something that really makes me feel awful?
Something that I have no control over?
It’s how the people who don’t suffer from clinical depression act.
No, I don’t mean the people who say some version of suck it up, or just power through it. The people who think depressed women are whiny bitches who are probably on their period. The people who think depressed men who speak up are whiny pussies and probably faggots to boot. And of course, they think we are all in love with the drama that surrounds that depression
Hell, my own son once called me a drama queen because the idea that I wasn’t in control was asinine. That he himself was most likely undiagnosed, severe bipolar, and borderline schizophrenic That his untreated mental illness had a lot to do with his death just leaves me feeling bereft and borderline suicidal even six months later.
No, don’t worry, I’m not contemplating suicide today. Remember, this is a normal day, and I’ll only think of it when I go to bed tonight to help me sleep.
Those people, the ones who shame and bully people who suffer from depression, are assholes. They are patronizing passive-aggressive abusers of trust and the worst kind of so-called friends and family. They won’t be anything else unless it affects them directly.
No, what I’m speaking of are the people who mean well and try to be sympathetic and not in a patronizing and passive-aggressive way. These people want to believe you. But no matter how hard you try to explain it, these people think they understand just as well as you do, if not better.
These are the people who keep offering “Solutions” without understanding the problem.
I KNOW these people mean well and are just trying to help. I love all of you, and your support means the world to me, but I think you need a broader understanding.
If you are one of these people, please take no offense as I mean none.
So, in the spirit of helping, let me explain how it affects me as best I can.
Please close your eyes and imagine someone you love with all of your heart dies, and the depression that follows that.
Can you do that for me?
Thank you.
Now imagine that feeling clobbering you at random and not so random intervals. Imagine it staying for days, weeks, and even months at a time.
That’s how it is for me.
That’s how it is for A LOT of us.
Thank you for listening.
- Josh (10/25/2020)
I got up, fed and watered the dog and turtle, washed last night's dishes, and put a load of laundry into the washer. After the chores, I made eggs and cheese for breakfast, took my pills, and gave myself my morning injections of insulin. Once my sugar looked good, I went out to the garage and worked on the big sort. I’ve been doing piecemeal since the end of the summer. Hopefully, it’ll be done before the snow falls, but if not, well, I like the snow. It invigorates me.
Later I’ll take a shower and get ready for my eleven-year-old daughter's birthday party. (ok, this isn’t normal, but maybe the abnormality is the cause of this). Then I’ll come home, spend a few hours with my wife, and go to bed. Right before I go to sleep, I’ll think the same thing I think every night. If tomorrow is unbearable, I can always kill myself. There’s always a way out.
The whole time I’ve been very depressed.
So, it’s a day like any other in the life of Josh.
I’ve learned to accept my depression, and I’ve even managed to pick up a few tricks for dealing with it. Notice I didn’t say ways of stopping it. When you suffer from severe clinical depression, there is no stopping it. There’s only coping with it.
I was diagnosed as bipolar in y teens and really started feeling it in my mid-twenties. My doctor says that’s pretty normal, so at least I’m not a freak in regards to how my depression manifested.
You’ve all heard the highlights of my depression before. The three suicide attempts the not leaving my bedroom except to go to work when I didn’t call in for almost four years. The near disintegration of my marriage because I just wouldn’t let her in, and the broken relationship with my dad and his side of the family.
That last one is mostly, as in 85%, on me, but it is what it is.
So yeah, a normal day ended in a not so normal thought.
Do you want to know something that really makes me feel awful?
Something that I have no control over?
It’s how the people who don’t suffer from clinical depression act.
No, I don’t mean the people who say some version of suck it up, or just power through it. The people who think depressed women are whiny bitches who are probably on their period. The people who think depressed men who speak up are whiny pussies and probably faggots to boot. And of course, they think we are all in love with the drama that surrounds that depression
Hell, my own son once called me a drama queen because the idea that I wasn’t in control was asinine. That he himself was most likely undiagnosed, severe bipolar, and borderline schizophrenic That his untreated mental illness had a lot to do with his death just leaves me feeling bereft and borderline suicidal even six months later.
No, don’t worry, I’m not contemplating suicide today. Remember, this is a normal day, and I’ll only think of it when I go to bed tonight to help me sleep.
Those people, the ones who shame and bully people who suffer from depression, are assholes. They are patronizing passive-aggressive abusers of trust and the worst kind of so-called friends and family. They won’t be anything else unless it affects them directly.
No, what I’m speaking of are the people who mean well and try to be sympathetic and not in a patronizing and passive-aggressive way. These people want to believe you. But no matter how hard you try to explain it, these people think they understand just as well as you do, if not better.
These are the people who keep offering “Solutions” without understanding the problem.
I KNOW these people mean well and are just trying to help. I love all of you, and your support means the world to me, but I think you need a broader understanding.
If you are one of these people, please take no offense as I mean none.
So, in the spirit of helping, let me explain how it affects me as best I can.
Please close your eyes and imagine someone you love with all of your heart dies, and the depression that follows that.
Can you do that for me?
Thank you.
Now imagine that feeling clobbering you at random and not so random intervals. Imagine it staying for days, weeks, and even months at a time.
That’s how it is for me.
That’s how it is for A LOT of us.
Thank you for listening.
- Josh (10/25/2020)
October 9, 2020
The Greatness of Amerca
How about we address something that’s been sticking in my craw like the popcorn kernel from last week? The damn thing just sits there lodged in the soft tissues of your gums and hurting like a mother fucker. This subject is one almost everyone else has already tackled, but I’m in a cantankerous mood, so I’m diving in headfirst and damn the rocks below.
Sound like fun?
Good, and don’t worry, this will be a short one.
It never fails. At least half a dozen times a day, I see some variation of the following posts on social media. It’s almost always, like 98% of the time, attached to something posted by a Trumper or some type of MAGAt screaming about making America great again.
“I remember the days when people showed each other respect.”
“I remember when we saluted the flag and stood at attention.”
“I remember the days when we said the pledge every morning.”
“I remember the days when we respected the police and the military.”
“I remember the days when parents sided with teachers and not the students.”
“I remember the days when we treated one another as Americans, not as enemies.”
I could add many, many more examples, but we’ll just work with these ones.
I have to ask the obvious question. When exactly was this mythical time that all of these “Wonderful” things happened?
And are you, the nebulous poster of such drivel, implying that when all of these things were supposedly common that the country was a better place?
I am admittedly not the oldest person walking down the street. I’m forty-four years old, and my earliest coherent memories are of the Iranian revolutionaries taking the American embassy in Tehran. But I am extremely well-read, and I was a history major before I left college due to a lack of cash. So, with that being said, I’m going to roll the dice and state that this mythical time never existed.
NEVER.
Yes, some of these things have been a reality for a segment of the population at various points in American history. Forced patriotism has always been a hallmark of the American experience. So with that in mind, I’m going to do a quick rundown, decade by decade, and see if these totem-like statements fit and if they made America great.
Let’s start with the 1940s. The forties were the time of the “Greatest Generation” or the generation that defeated the Japanese and the Nazis. Those were great things, but it was also a time of extreme racism, sexism, and homophobia. Also, let’s not forget the multitude of war crimes committed by the American’s in the name of victory. Yes, we can debate the details of that one, but it’s a verifiable truth.
Was America great then?
Let’s jump to the 1950s. These were the years many MAGATs see as the golden age of America. It was a time when the white man was king. It was a time when woman and minorities know their place, or else they’d face the consequences. Finally, and more importantly, to me, it was an age where LGBTQ people stayed hidden under the fear that they’d be committed to an institution, imprisoned, or killed outright.
Was America great then?
Now jump into the vibrant 1960s. In the sixties, all of the old problems of sexism, racism, and homophobia still reigned. We were fighting an immoral war in Southeast Asia that would result in over a million dead. There were race riots and endless protests. The government grew more draconian and secretive as time passed. One of the greatest Presidents in history, John Kennedy, was murdered. The details of the investigation of his murder are still classified. Finally, the Civils Rights Acts are passed, sparking new violence from the right and ensuring the old Slave States would be bastions of racism until the current day.
Was America great then?
Stepping into the 1970s, the decade I was born, we get some changes. Finally, a woman can have a credit card and bank account without the permission and signature of their husband or father. With the passage of the Civil Rights Acts in the wake of the murder of President Kennedy, things get slightly better for black Americans. America’s meddling in the affairs of other nations results in Iran being taken over by religious zealots and a hostage crisis that lasted over a year. The cherry on the top of the 1970s was the Supreme Court Buckley vs. Valeo decision, which legalized tacit bribery of politicians.
Was America great then?
Hopping, now, into the 1980s. Things did get better, marginally, for non-white, non-male, non-straight Americans in the 1980s. But in return, we received the Reagen tax cuts that devastated the economy and would continue to do so until current times. We also were gifted with AIDS, which, since it was initially most a gay male problem, was ignored by most and seen as a righteous judgment on the deviant lifestyle by many. By the time AIDS was taken seriously, millions of Americans were already infected and or dead.
Was America great then?
We slip now into the 1990s. The 90s started with an unnecessary war and a permanent American presence in the middle east. They said it was about freedom, but we all knew it was about oil. Things inched along for non-white, non-male, non-straight Americans, but things were still shit. I can attest personally to this as a young bisexual man in the Midwest. If I’d have come out, it would’ve been a nightmare. The capper of the decade was the loosening of the few Wallstreet and banking regulations left in the country. We’d pay for that later.
Was America great then?
Do I even need to say what comes next?
Now we crash into the 2000s. September 11th, 2001, changed America in a fundamental way. When the towers came down, the America I knew growing up died, and it was replaced by a dark mirror reflection. After that day, the longest war in American history started, and it hasn’t ended. Americans gleefully gave up freedoms in the name of security. The government committed war crimes literally from the Imperial Japanese playbook and the Peoples Republic of China. Mass surveillance of Americans without warrants is commonplace, and the courts give it a rubber stamp.
On the social front, Muslims and Arabs, or anyone mistook as Muslim or Arab, were regularly assaulted. LGBTQ people were used as a scare tactic allowing the GOP to win the 2004 presidential election. Women and minorities were doing slightly better, but systemic sexism and racism still held firm among the people in power.
We thought it couldn’t get worse. We were wrong.
In 2008 the entire economy of the United States collapsed. What was later known as the great recession was caused by the selfish greed and lies of the bankers and Wallstreet executives. They created the mess, and in the end, they weren’t prosecuted, and they, in many cases, were bailed out by the government using our money. America slid into oligarchy after that.
Was America great then?
And finally, we limp into the 2010s. In 2008 America elected the first black man as president. For a moment, it looked like the country was turning around. It looked like things were going to change. We had hope again. That hope died when the Republicans flat out said they would block anything the president wanted to accomplish. What we ended up with was a weak sauce healthcare reform and one stalling action after another. The war continued on many fronts unabated.
The economy grew for the billionaires and shrank for the poor, working, and dying middle classes. Wages had been stagnant since the 1970s, and it was only getting worse. The costs of rent, tuition, healthcare, and hundreds of other services were through the roof. To put it simply, Americans can’t afford to live in America anymore.
Religious, sexual, and racial intolerance surged in the United States, and the beginning of a possible Christian theocracy took root.
Was America great then?
In 2016 for reasons that make no sense to me, the United States of America elected Donald J. Trump as President. The lying, sexist, racist, grifting, traitorous cretin of a man has brought nothing but fear, hate, and division to our country. I won’t insult you by listing the things this person has done and said but suffice it to say he’s all but destroyed us as a people. Even now, I fear we are on the brink of some version of civil war. But his people keep shouting MAGA at the top of their lungs while breaking the bedrock of the land.
America has done great things and showed flashes of equality and truth but when exactly were we great?
Sound like fun?
Good, and don’t worry, this will be a short one.
It never fails. At least half a dozen times a day, I see some variation of the following posts on social media. It’s almost always, like 98% of the time, attached to something posted by a Trumper or some type of MAGAt screaming about making America great again.
“I remember the days when people showed each other respect.”
“I remember when we saluted the flag and stood at attention.”
“I remember the days when we said the pledge every morning.”
“I remember the days when we respected the police and the military.”
“I remember the days when parents sided with teachers and not the students.”
“I remember the days when we treated one another as Americans, not as enemies.”
I could add many, many more examples, but we’ll just work with these ones.
I have to ask the obvious question. When exactly was this mythical time that all of these “Wonderful” things happened?
And are you, the nebulous poster of such drivel, implying that when all of these things were supposedly common that the country was a better place?
I am admittedly not the oldest person walking down the street. I’m forty-four years old, and my earliest coherent memories are of the Iranian revolutionaries taking the American embassy in Tehran. But I am extremely well-read, and I was a history major before I left college due to a lack of cash. So, with that being said, I’m going to roll the dice and state that this mythical time never existed.
NEVER.
Yes, some of these things have been a reality for a segment of the population at various points in American history. Forced patriotism has always been a hallmark of the American experience. So with that in mind, I’m going to do a quick rundown, decade by decade, and see if these totem-like statements fit and if they made America great.
Let’s start with the 1940s. The forties were the time of the “Greatest Generation” or the generation that defeated the Japanese and the Nazis. Those were great things, but it was also a time of extreme racism, sexism, and homophobia. Also, let’s not forget the multitude of war crimes committed by the American’s in the name of victory. Yes, we can debate the details of that one, but it’s a verifiable truth.
Was America great then?
Let’s jump to the 1950s. These were the years many MAGATs see as the golden age of America. It was a time when the white man was king. It was a time when woman and minorities know their place, or else they’d face the consequences. Finally, and more importantly, to me, it was an age where LGBTQ people stayed hidden under the fear that they’d be committed to an institution, imprisoned, or killed outright.
Was America great then?
Now jump into the vibrant 1960s. In the sixties, all of the old problems of sexism, racism, and homophobia still reigned. We were fighting an immoral war in Southeast Asia that would result in over a million dead. There were race riots and endless protests. The government grew more draconian and secretive as time passed. One of the greatest Presidents in history, John Kennedy, was murdered. The details of the investigation of his murder are still classified. Finally, the Civils Rights Acts are passed, sparking new violence from the right and ensuring the old Slave States would be bastions of racism until the current day.
Was America great then?
Stepping into the 1970s, the decade I was born, we get some changes. Finally, a woman can have a credit card and bank account without the permission and signature of their husband or father. With the passage of the Civil Rights Acts in the wake of the murder of President Kennedy, things get slightly better for black Americans. America’s meddling in the affairs of other nations results in Iran being taken over by religious zealots and a hostage crisis that lasted over a year. The cherry on the top of the 1970s was the Supreme Court Buckley vs. Valeo decision, which legalized tacit bribery of politicians.
Was America great then?
Hopping, now, into the 1980s. Things did get better, marginally, for non-white, non-male, non-straight Americans in the 1980s. But in return, we received the Reagen tax cuts that devastated the economy and would continue to do so until current times. We also were gifted with AIDS, which, since it was initially most a gay male problem, was ignored by most and seen as a righteous judgment on the deviant lifestyle by many. By the time AIDS was taken seriously, millions of Americans were already infected and or dead.
Was America great then?
We slip now into the 1990s. The 90s started with an unnecessary war and a permanent American presence in the middle east. They said it was about freedom, but we all knew it was about oil. Things inched along for non-white, non-male, non-straight Americans, but things were still shit. I can attest personally to this as a young bisexual man in the Midwest. If I’d have come out, it would’ve been a nightmare. The capper of the decade was the loosening of the few Wallstreet and banking regulations left in the country. We’d pay for that later.
Was America great then?
Do I even need to say what comes next?
Now we crash into the 2000s. September 11th, 2001, changed America in a fundamental way. When the towers came down, the America I knew growing up died, and it was replaced by a dark mirror reflection. After that day, the longest war in American history started, and it hasn’t ended. Americans gleefully gave up freedoms in the name of security. The government committed war crimes literally from the Imperial Japanese playbook and the Peoples Republic of China. Mass surveillance of Americans without warrants is commonplace, and the courts give it a rubber stamp.
On the social front, Muslims and Arabs, or anyone mistook as Muslim or Arab, were regularly assaulted. LGBTQ people were used as a scare tactic allowing the GOP to win the 2004 presidential election. Women and minorities were doing slightly better, but systemic sexism and racism still held firm among the people in power.
We thought it couldn’t get worse. We were wrong.
In 2008 the entire economy of the United States collapsed. What was later known as the great recession was caused by the selfish greed and lies of the bankers and Wallstreet executives. They created the mess, and in the end, they weren’t prosecuted, and they, in many cases, were bailed out by the government using our money. America slid into oligarchy after that.
Was America great then?
And finally, we limp into the 2010s. In 2008 America elected the first black man as president. For a moment, it looked like the country was turning around. It looked like things were going to change. We had hope again. That hope died when the Republicans flat out said they would block anything the president wanted to accomplish. What we ended up with was a weak sauce healthcare reform and one stalling action after another. The war continued on many fronts unabated.
The economy grew for the billionaires and shrank for the poor, working, and dying middle classes. Wages had been stagnant since the 1970s, and it was only getting worse. The costs of rent, tuition, healthcare, and hundreds of other services were through the roof. To put it simply, Americans can’t afford to live in America anymore.
Religious, sexual, and racial intolerance surged in the United States, and the beginning of a possible Christian theocracy took root.
Was America great then?
In 2016 for reasons that make no sense to me, the United States of America elected Donald J. Trump as President. The lying, sexist, racist, grifting, traitorous cretin of a man has brought nothing but fear, hate, and division to our country. I won’t insult you by listing the things this person has done and said but suffice it to say he’s all but destroyed us as a people. Even now, I fear we are on the brink of some version of civil war. But his people keep shouting MAGA at the top of their lungs while breaking the bedrock of the land.
America has done great things and showed flashes of equality and truth but when exactly were we great?
October 3, 2020
There’s a storm coming.
When (I’m talking in the years before Saint Reagan cut taxes for the rich and fucked all of us little people here), the ultra-wealthy and mega-corporations were taxed at a much higher rate (the economy worked better. Regular workers earned a living wage, healthcare was much more affordable, education was more affordable, and people hated the government less. Thus, the working and exploding middle classes were flush with money, they then pumped back into the economy, which increased demand and, by extension, increased profits, and wages. It was a win-win for everyone.
Then, in 1976, the Supreme Court tacitly legalized political bribery via the Buckley v. Valeo decision (the platform upon which we were gifted Citizens United). Not long after, Ronald Reagan rammed his vile tax cuts through. Now the top 1% make hundreds of billions in profits during a pandemic shutdown while we scrape by or are competed plowed under losing homes, cars, freedoms, and dignity.
What followed was more than two decades of wealth redistribution from the bottom to the top. But we were told we were happy so what we were feeling had to be a lie.
The anger of the working class and shrinking middle class simmered.
In 2008 the economy collapsed. It was the worst collapse since the Stock Market crash of 1929 that kicked off the Great Depression.
Many of us lost everything we had in the wake of the financial implosion that was the Great Recession. Personally, we ended up losing our house as a result of the post-meltdown insanity. It would be ten years before we could even consider purchasing a home again.
Following the collapse, America elected Barrack Obama as the first non-white President in American history. My feelings about the President are mixed. I think he was a good man who did the best he could with the hand that he was dealt with. The Republicans loudly and publicly proclaimed they would do everything they could to make him a one-term president. They failed, but they did do a lot of damage.
I’m willing, for clarity, to set aside my problems with how President Obama conducted his portion of the never-ending war on terror. The extrajudicial killing of American citizens seems to have been forgotten by most.
I am also going to set aside how much I detest his connections to Wallstreet and the pharmaceutical industry. The drug companies were some of his biggest donors, and because of that, his administration was soft on them.
But there is one thing I have an issue with. One thing I will never be able to look past when it comes to the Obama legacy. President Obama’s treatment of Wallstreet and the Bankers who caused the collapse was sickening then and even worse in retrospect.
He famously said we can’t look backward and that we must look forward instead. Therefore, other than a few token resolutions, nothing ever happened to the bastards who caused the collapse that devastated mine, and so many others, families.
Fast forward to the Trump administration.
Without question, the most administration in American history headed by the worst President to ever occupy the seat of power.
In the short time he’s had dominion over the government, Trump and his cronies have stripped almost all the remaining financial protections and regulations. They’ve passed gargantuan tax cuts for the ultra-rich and the multinational corporations. They pumped more and more of our money into the coffers of the rich while we scrambled for the scraps.
We thought this was the worst.
But we were wrong.
The Pandemic crashed our shores, and the world changed.
Millions out of work. Thousands of small businesses shuttered forever. Unemployment benefits are used up. Rents and mortgages unpaid, resulting in record evictions. Other than a one-time payment of twelve hundred dollars and a few months of enhanced unemployment, the American people have been left to fend for themselves in an increasingly feral environment.
What about the rich, you ask?
Why the nation’s billionaires have added half a trillion to their personal fortunes since the COVID pandemic shut America down. The corporations have been given Trillions in taxpayer dollars through a series of low to no-interest loans, grants, and money pumped directly into the stock market to give the appearance of prosperity.
All done with our money.
We don’t live in a Capitalist Society.
We don’t live in a Socialist Society.
We don’t live in a Democracy.
We live in a Hyper-Capitalist Dystopia.
We live an Oligarchy.
- Josh (10/03/2020)
Then, in 1976, the Supreme Court tacitly legalized political bribery via the Buckley v. Valeo decision (the platform upon which we were gifted Citizens United). Not long after, Ronald Reagan rammed his vile tax cuts through. Now the top 1% make hundreds of billions in profits during a pandemic shutdown while we scrape by or are competed plowed under losing homes, cars, freedoms, and dignity.
What followed was more than two decades of wealth redistribution from the bottom to the top. But we were told we were happy so what we were feeling had to be a lie.
The anger of the working class and shrinking middle class simmered.
In 2008 the economy collapsed. It was the worst collapse since the Stock Market crash of 1929 that kicked off the Great Depression.
Many of us lost everything we had in the wake of the financial implosion that was the Great Recession. Personally, we ended up losing our house as a result of the post-meltdown insanity. It would be ten years before we could even consider purchasing a home again.
Following the collapse, America elected Barrack Obama as the first non-white President in American history. My feelings about the President are mixed. I think he was a good man who did the best he could with the hand that he was dealt with. The Republicans loudly and publicly proclaimed they would do everything they could to make him a one-term president. They failed, but they did do a lot of damage.
I’m willing, for clarity, to set aside my problems with how President Obama conducted his portion of the never-ending war on terror. The extrajudicial killing of American citizens seems to have been forgotten by most.
I am also going to set aside how much I detest his connections to Wallstreet and the pharmaceutical industry. The drug companies were some of his biggest donors, and because of that, his administration was soft on them.
But there is one thing I have an issue with. One thing I will never be able to look past when it comes to the Obama legacy. President Obama’s treatment of Wallstreet and the Bankers who caused the collapse was sickening then and even worse in retrospect.
He famously said we can’t look backward and that we must look forward instead. Therefore, other than a few token resolutions, nothing ever happened to the bastards who caused the collapse that devastated mine, and so many others, families.
Fast forward to the Trump administration.
Without question, the most administration in American history headed by the worst President to ever occupy the seat of power.
In the short time he’s had dominion over the government, Trump and his cronies have stripped almost all the remaining financial protections and regulations. They’ve passed gargantuan tax cuts for the ultra-rich and the multinational corporations. They pumped more and more of our money into the coffers of the rich while we scrambled for the scraps.
We thought this was the worst.
But we were wrong.
The Pandemic crashed our shores, and the world changed.
Millions out of work. Thousands of small businesses shuttered forever. Unemployment benefits are used up. Rents and mortgages unpaid, resulting in record evictions. Other than a one-time payment of twelve hundred dollars and a few months of enhanced unemployment, the American people have been left to fend for themselves in an increasingly feral environment.
What about the rich, you ask?
Why the nation’s billionaires have added half a trillion to their personal fortunes since the COVID pandemic shut America down. The corporations have been given Trillions in taxpayer dollars through a series of low to no-interest loans, grants, and money pumped directly into the stock market to give the appearance of prosperity.
All done with our money.
We don’t live in a Capitalist Society.
We don’t live in a Socialist Society.
We don’t live in a Democracy.
We live in a Hyper-Capitalist Dystopia.
We live an Oligarchy.
- Josh (10/03/2020)
September 21, 2020
And Bad Mistakes, I've Made A Few.
When I was in the third grade, my mom took my middle brother and me to the county fair. While we were there, we went into one of the mazes made of clear plexiglass that you had to feel your way through. One of my friends from school was there, and we raced into the maze.
My four-year-old little brother followed. He always followed me everywhere. He tried to keep up with us, but his legs were too small. The fun ended when he smashed into one of the walls. His nose bled a little, and he cried but other than that, he was fine. My mom tore me a new asshole about how I was the big brother, and I had to look out for my little brother.
I still feel extreme guilt about that.
I’ve told the story before about how my brother almost drowned in a kiddie pool, and I stood watching in shock before. So, I won’t tell it again. But rest assured, I carry that guilt with me as well.
When I was in my twenties, I used to wish I was some kind of sociopath. A person, if you were, who felt little or no emotions. It was a wish that went hand in hand with my dabbling in Libertarianism and an Ayn Rand view of the world. Yeah, I was a pretentious and selfish asshole.
But aren't most white boys when they're younger?
What I am trying to say, in my own disjointed and clumsy way, is I'm a man racked with guilt and regret.
Over the years, I've done my pitiful best to push the feelings of shame that comes with that reality down. But I've pretty much failed on all fronts. The journey, as the serenity prayer says, 'to accept the things I cannot change' has been a long one with a lot of setbacks and redo's.
My doctors tell me the feelings of extreme guilt go hand in hand with being bipolar. I believe them, they're both good doctors (I got lucky with my doctors), but they're reassurances haven't done much to make me feel better.
There are dozens, literally, of stories I could relate to the subject of my fucked up conscious. But I’m going to boil it down to the three worst, they one’s that made me want to kill myself over the years.
A fair warning before I start telling my tales. These stories leave me looking like a horrible husband, a horrible father, and a horrible person.
Ready?
Here we go.
I destroyed the first home we owned. Yes, the house was too expensive, and yes, it was a lemon we were misled on. But in the end I ruined it.
How?
Cats people, motherfucking cats.
How did it happen? We had one cat when we moved into the house. Then we rescued two dogs. Then we took in a cat, and that was when the mating started. We had no money to fix them, and I refused to get rid of them. As the house filled with fourteen cats at its worse, shit and piss were everywhere. It wasn’t their fault. They were just acting like cats.
It was my fault and mine alone.
I ruined the house via something I loved.
Another consequence of animal hoarding, because I can now admit I was an animal hoarder, was the smell. Everything in the house smelled, and we received several calls from the schools that the kids smelled.
Even now, I want to punish myself for turning my kids into “The Smelly Kids” and probably ruining their school life.
When we moved and left the house abandoned, after the financial collapse, we tried to find homes and shelters for them. We couldn’t because we couldn’t afford no-kill shelters. In the end, We let them all go into the wild. My cats and my poor loyal dogs left to themselves.
I hate myself to my very core for that decision.
I’m a shitbag.
But let's move on to the next source of suicidal guilt.
Next is my kids and wife.
In the years following the onset of serious depression, I turned away from the people who loved me the most. I ignored my wife, I ignored my children, and I hid from the world. I lost so many years with my children and did so much damage to our relationships that I’m convinced they will never forgive me.
I don’t deserve any forgiveness.
I deserve nothing but scorn.
I don’t understand why they still love me.
I’m a no better parent than the men and women in my family I can’t stand.
Finally, there’s my greatest regret. If I believed in hell, I’d deserve to go there for this one.
In 2017 I told my middle son Stephen that I never wanted to speak with him again. He’d made our lives miserable for as long as I’d known him, and in the previous two years, he’d nearly destroyed our household with his drug use and corresponding violence.
I’d like to say I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t want to talk to him again but tell the truth and shame the devil, I did.
Part of me hated him.
Over the next three years, as he drifted in and out of sobriety, he attempted to speak to me. I told him unless he stayed one hundred percent sober for a year, I wanted nothing to do with him.
Then he killed himself.
There is nothing that can hold a candle to how much I hate myself. I never spoke with my son in more than a few sharp sentences in three years. Now I will never talk to him again. I will never see him again. I will never be able to tell him I’m sorry.
I’ll never be able to tell him I love him again.
I failed my boy, and I will always hate myself.
I’m a man racked with guilt and regret.
I don’t know how much longer I can bear the weight.
- Josh (09/21/2020)
My four-year-old little brother followed. He always followed me everywhere. He tried to keep up with us, but his legs were too small. The fun ended when he smashed into one of the walls. His nose bled a little, and he cried but other than that, he was fine. My mom tore me a new asshole about how I was the big brother, and I had to look out for my little brother.
I still feel extreme guilt about that.
I’ve told the story before about how my brother almost drowned in a kiddie pool, and I stood watching in shock before. So, I won’t tell it again. But rest assured, I carry that guilt with me as well.
When I was in my twenties, I used to wish I was some kind of sociopath. A person, if you were, who felt little or no emotions. It was a wish that went hand in hand with my dabbling in Libertarianism and an Ayn Rand view of the world. Yeah, I was a pretentious and selfish asshole.
But aren't most white boys when they're younger?
What I am trying to say, in my own disjointed and clumsy way, is I'm a man racked with guilt and regret.
Over the years, I've done my pitiful best to push the feelings of shame that comes with that reality down. But I've pretty much failed on all fronts. The journey, as the serenity prayer says, 'to accept the things I cannot change' has been a long one with a lot of setbacks and redo's.
My doctors tell me the feelings of extreme guilt go hand in hand with being bipolar. I believe them, they're both good doctors (I got lucky with my doctors), but they're reassurances haven't done much to make me feel better.
There are dozens, literally, of stories I could relate to the subject of my fucked up conscious. But I’m going to boil it down to the three worst, they one’s that made me want to kill myself over the years.
A fair warning before I start telling my tales. These stories leave me looking like a horrible husband, a horrible father, and a horrible person.
Ready?
Here we go.
I destroyed the first home we owned. Yes, the house was too expensive, and yes, it was a lemon we were misled on. But in the end I ruined it.
How?
Cats people, motherfucking cats.
How did it happen? We had one cat when we moved into the house. Then we rescued two dogs. Then we took in a cat, and that was when the mating started. We had no money to fix them, and I refused to get rid of them. As the house filled with fourteen cats at its worse, shit and piss were everywhere. It wasn’t their fault. They were just acting like cats.
It was my fault and mine alone.
I ruined the house via something I loved.
Another consequence of animal hoarding, because I can now admit I was an animal hoarder, was the smell. Everything in the house smelled, and we received several calls from the schools that the kids smelled.
Even now, I want to punish myself for turning my kids into “The Smelly Kids” and probably ruining their school life.
When we moved and left the house abandoned, after the financial collapse, we tried to find homes and shelters for them. We couldn’t because we couldn’t afford no-kill shelters. In the end, We let them all go into the wild. My cats and my poor loyal dogs left to themselves.
I hate myself to my very core for that decision.
I’m a shitbag.
But let's move on to the next source of suicidal guilt.
Next is my kids and wife.
In the years following the onset of serious depression, I turned away from the people who loved me the most. I ignored my wife, I ignored my children, and I hid from the world. I lost so many years with my children and did so much damage to our relationships that I’m convinced they will never forgive me.
I don’t deserve any forgiveness.
I deserve nothing but scorn.
I don’t understand why they still love me.
I’m a no better parent than the men and women in my family I can’t stand.
Finally, there’s my greatest regret. If I believed in hell, I’d deserve to go there for this one.
In 2017 I told my middle son Stephen that I never wanted to speak with him again. He’d made our lives miserable for as long as I’d known him, and in the previous two years, he’d nearly destroyed our household with his drug use and corresponding violence.
I’d like to say I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t want to talk to him again but tell the truth and shame the devil, I did.
Part of me hated him.
Over the next three years, as he drifted in and out of sobriety, he attempted to speak to me. I told him unless he stayed one hundred percent sober for a year, I wanted nothing to do with him.
Then he killed himself.
There is nothing that can hold a candle to how much I hate myself. I never spoke with my son in more than a few sharp sentences in three years. Now I will never talk to him again. I will never see him again. I will never be able to tell him I’m sorry.
I’ll never be able to tell him I love him again.
I failed my boy, and I will always hate myself.
I’m a man racked with guilt and regret.
I don’t know how much longer I can bear the weight.
- Josh (09/21/2020)
June 28, 2020
NEW MOOD, WHO DIS?
I'm sick.
I'm really sick
I'm really, really, sick.
I live with severe mental illness.
I am continually fighting Bi-Polar disorder, Manic Depression, PTSD, an eating disorder, and mild to moderate Agoraphobia. Add the physical problems (diabetes, nerve damage, poor vision, morbid obesity, and neuropathy) to the mental difficulties then boil it down to a sound bite.
What do you get?
I'm really fucked up.
In the last year and a half, I’ve been fired for the first time, quit four jobs, spiraled into the worst depression I’ve had since 2011, gone into quarantine mode for months, and lost my son to suicide.
And I’m still here.
Now I know what you might be saying.
“Josh, we’ve already heard all of this. We feel bad for you, and you have our support, but enough is enough, buddy.”
If you feel this way, I don’t blame you. It sure does seem like I spend a lot of time whining about my mental and physical state. I swear to all of you I’m not fishing for sympathy or a mental pickup. Over the years, I’ve discovered that writing out and sharing my problems (my problems and not others unless absolutely necessary) is the only way to deal with my issues in a meaningful way.
But hold up, this is a hopeful essay.
I know, I’m scared too.
Three weeks ago, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor. It’d been a year since I’d seen her (I’m supposed to be in every 90 days. I needed to see her for the following reasons, Medication check, blood work, EKG (more on that later), my dreadful sleep routine (2 hours on four hours off on the best of nights), and my eating.
My eating is just horrid.
After a hug, because of my son, we went into what I’ve been going through. In the end, she added a medication called Trazodone to my enormous cocktail of drugs. The Trazodone is to help more with my depression and to help me sleep regularly.
Once the routine things were out of the way, it was time for the EKG.
Have you ever had one?
I’ve had more than I can count due to hospital visits. It’s a humiliating process for me. Shirt off in front of a stranger in a nipple, hardening cold room. Gluey sensors stuck to my blubber. The entire time terrified, they are going to find something. They didn't, but that was only a first step.
On July 10th, I go in for a real stress test.
So, here’s what I’ve been, not hiding just haven’t been talking about, I’ve been having chest pains for the last month. I’ve always had palpitations, at least for the previous five years, but never really flat out pain. At first, I dismissed it as gas. When that didn’t add up, I thought I pulled a muscle. My fear is compounded by the fact that my dad had an Angiogram when he was my age, and since then, he’s had heart problems and a minor stroke.
In the end, it was my fear for my heart that made me make the appointment.
The EKG showed nothing, and my doctor wasn't surprised. She said if I didn’t have an active problem, it wouldn’t detect anything. Thus, I have an appointment for the stress test in two weeks.
I know so far this has been a bleakness, but now I will reward you with good news.
I haven’t felt this good in a year and a half.
At first, I feared it was a psychosomatic reaction to the medication. But I’ve been on Trazodone for two weeks today, and I can’t believe the difference it’s made. I’m not saying I’m cured, but I feel, well, I guess I feel normal.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been this way, and to be entirely truthful, I want to cry. I’m scared I don’t appreciate it enough, and when it inevitably goes away, I will be worse than ever. I’m terrified this reality will disappear like all of the others before it. Those lost islands of normalcy floating in the storm-tossed ocean of my mind.
But right now, right this minute, I don’t feel crazy anymore.
I feel normal.
.
- Josh (06/022/2020)
I'm really sick
I'm really, really, sick.
I live with severe mental illness.
I am continually fighting Bi-Polar disorder, Manic Depression, PTSD, an eating disorder, and mild to moderate Agoraphobia. Add the physical problems (diabetes, nerve damage, poor vision, morbid obesity, and neuropathy) to the mental difficulties then boil it down to a sound bite.
What do you get?
I'm really fucked up.
In the last year and a half, I’ve been fired for the first time, quit four jobs, spiraled into the worst depression I’ve had since 2011, gone into quarantine mode for months, and lost my son to suicide.
And I’m still here.
Now I know what you might be saying.
“Josh, we’ve already heard all of this. We feel bad for you, and you have our support, but enough is enough, buddy.”
If you feel this way, I don’t blame you. It sure does seem like I spend a lot of time whining about my mental and physical state. I swear to all of you I’m not fishing for sympathy or a mental pickup. Over the years, I’ve discovered that writing out and sharing my problems (my problems and not others unless absolutely necessary) is the only way to deal with my issues in a meaningful way.
But hold up, this is a hopeful essay.
I know, I’m scared too.
Three weeks ago, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor. It’d been a year since I’d seen her (I’m supposed to be in every 90 days. I needed to see her for the following reasons, Medication check, blood work, EKG (more on that later), my dreadful sleep routine (2 hours on four hours off on the best of nights), and my eating.
My eating is just horrid.
After a hug, because of my son, we went into what I’ve been going through. In the end, she added a medication called Trazodone to my enormous cocktail of drugs. The Trazodone is to help more with my depression and to help me sleep regularly.
Once the routine things were out of the way, it was time for the EKG.
Have you ever had one?
I’ve had more than I can count due to hospital visits. It’s a humiliating process for me. Shirt off in front of a stranger in a nipple, hardening cold room. Gluey sensors stuck to my blubber. The entire time terrified, they are going to find something. They didn't, but that was only a first step.
On July 10th, I go in for a real stress test.
So, here’s what I’ve been, not hiding just haven’t been talking about, I’ve been having chest pains for the last month. I’ve always had palpitations, at least for the previous five years, but never really flat out pain. At first, I dismissed it as gas. When that didn’t add up, I thought I pulled a muscle. My fear is compounded by the fact that my dad had an Angiogram when he was my age, and since then, he’s had heart problems and a minor stroke.
In the end, it was my fear for my heart that made me make the appointment.
The EKG showed nothing, and my doctor wasn't surprised. She said if I didn’t have an active problem, it wouldn’t detect anything. Thus, I have an appointment for the stress test in two weeks.
I know so far this has been a bleakness, but now I will reward you with good news.
I haven’t felt this good in a year and a half.
At first, I feared it was a psychosomatic reaction to the medication. But I’ve been on Trazodone for two weeks today, and I can’t believe the difference it’s made. I’m not saying I’m cured, but I feel, well, I guess I feel normal.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been this way, and to be entirely truthful, I want to cry. I’m scared I don’t appreciate it enough, and when it inevitably goes away, I will be worse than ever. I’m terrified this reality will disappear like all of the others before it. Those lost islands of normalcy floating in the storm-tossed ocean of my mind.
But right now, right this minute, I don’t feel crazy anymore.
I feel normal.
.
- Josh (06/022/2020)
June 26, 2020
PRIDE & SECESSION
Things have been really crazy this year. From the 21st Century demon, we’ve name Rona, to the murder of George Floyd and the resulting outcry. No one could’ve predicted a year ago where we are now.
Amidst the chaos and anger, we’ve almost forgotten it’s pride month.
What is pride?
According to Websters Dictionary (the online version), pride is defined as such:
A feeling of deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.
Or
Confidence and self-respect as expressed by members of a group, typically one that has been socially marginalized, based on their shared identity, culture, and experience.
Let’s look at two different points of pride, shall we?
LGBTQ Pride might not mean much to the majority of Americans, but to some of us, it’s essential. When I was a kid, I knew I was bisexual even though I didn’t have a word for it. I knew that I was interested in men and women as early as age seven.
When I learned the term gay, via a lot of homophobic slurs and jokes, I felt ashamed of who I was.
Not what I am because I will never be defined by a single trait.
Like everyone else, I am the sum total of my parts.
Pride month was something I NEVER celebrated as a teenager. The idea of being referred to as the Faggot in the family out loud as opposed to the whispered gossip my family is known for was mortifying. Back then, I cared. These days I give zero fucks what any of them think about me.
My coming out was odd.
First, I came out to my therapist when I was 14.
Next, I came out to my Junior Year German teacher. We were very close, and one day she noticed how depressed I was. We had a long talk after school, and in the end, I think she was the first person to encourage me to be who I am and not who others wanted me to be.
After that, I came out to my Aunt and Uncle, my dad, one of my best friends, and my mom. I’m not sure who started the “Did you know Josh is queer?” chain-letter in the family, but I have my suspicions.
I came out to my wife in 2004.
After that, I stayed in the closet for 8 years.
In 2012, after a nervous breakdown, I came out entirely on the internet. The action caused long term damage to a lot of familial relationships, but n the end, I don’t regret it. That coming out was the first step on the road to healing myself. Since then, I traveled quite a way down that road, but the end is still in front of me.
It’s the same end we’re all heading toward.
I’ve taken flack for being LGBTQ, but I push on.
Pride commemorates the Stonewall riots of 1969.
Beginning in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, and lasting until July 3, the Stonewall riots are the defining moment of the LGBTQ communities fight for equality under the law. It was not just one but a series of spontaneous and violent demonstrations by members of the LGBTQ community, they were in response to a police raid at the Stonewall Inn in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of New York City.
Before Stonewall being Queer in the United States was more often than not illegal. That doesn’t even take into consideration all of the fundamental American rights the Queer community was denied.
After Stonewall, an avalanche descended on the nation.
Opened in 1992, the Gay Liberation Monument is part of the Stonewall National Monument installation. The four statues of Queer Americans, two standing men, and two seated women. They represent the men and women who have fought so hard and too long to secure our equality in a nation that hated us.
I am proud to stand on their shoulders.
I am proud of the strives we’ve made.
I am proud of who I am.
At least I’m proud of almost all of who I am.
I considered myself a born and bred Michigander. And for the most part, that’s true. But tell the truth and shame the devil I’m only a second-generation Midwesterner.
My mom’s entire family is from the south, North Carolina, and Arkansas, respectively.
I have to put it on front street that there’s a lot of my Southern heritage I’m proud of. The food, try and take away my biscuits and gravy, and I’ll cut you, along with the tradition of camping, hunting, and fishing, probably top the list.
But there are other things.
The music, hey, I like country music. The folk tales, my fear of the mosquitos big enough to pick me up and take me to the swamp, still scare me. And the Southern farm life, especially in the mountains of Appalachia where my maternal grandfather is from.
Most of all, I love the Southern hospitality.
But there’s always a flip side to the culture coin.
So, yes, there are things I don’t like.
Things I’m actively ashamed of.
Such as:
Slavery
Jim Crow
Treason
Insurrection
Terrorism
Racism
I could go on, but you get the point (I hope).
Even though I grew up in the north, many members of my mom’s family acted like they still lived in the south, even when they never did in the first place. Confederate flags, the Army of Northern Virginia flag, not the Stars and Bars, was everywhere in my family.
I grew up learning about the lazy, untrustworthy, and mentally deficient African American. About how you couldn’t get an honest day’s work out of them. About how all they ate was watermelon and fried chicken, about the desire of all black men to defile white women. And, the one that will always stick with me, they took the Ronald Reagan bullshit lie of the black “Welfare Queens” and ran it into the ground.
If it wasn’t for my mom, who’s one of the most liberal people I’ve ever known, I might have ended up like them.
Fast forward to now.
The death of George Floyd has reignited the arguments over symbols of the Confederacy. From the flags to the statues, America is almost as outraged by these as it is by the deaths of innocent African Americans at the hands of the police.
To me, it’s not even close, people are more important than symbols.
But the symbols are a disgrace.
What was the Confederacy?
According to History.com:
The Confederate States of America was a collection of 11 states that seceded from the United States in 1860 following the election of President Abraham Lincoln. Led by Jefferson Davis and existing from 1861 to 1865, the Confederacy struggled for legitimacy. It was never recognized as a sovereign nation.
Why did the Southern States secede from America?
Slavery.
That’s the long and short of it. And don’t give me that state’s rights bullshit. It was all about the right to keep and own slaves. The original South Carolina declaration of secession said so, the Vice President of the Confederacy said so, and even the constitution of the Confederacy made sure to enshrine slavery.
Slavery was the cause.
Full stop.
First, let’s address the Army of Northern Virginia Battle Flag (I’m just going to call it “the flag”) and its place in America. After the war, the flag remained a footnote until it was adopted as a symbol in opposition to the post-WW2 civil rights movement. Like a wildfire, the flag spread across the country as a so-called symbol of southern pride, rebellion, and freedom, even amongst people who had no southern blood whatsoever.
So, what is the flag really?
The flag is a racist symbol on par with the Swastika.
I have no desire to see it outlawed on private property, I am a robust first amendment supporter, but it never should have been allowed on public grounds. In the last few months, the Marines and Air Force banned it (the Army did that in the 1990s).
But what about those monuments?
Most monuments to the Confederacy, like the flag, only came into being during the civil rights movement. I dare any of you to show how they weren’t intended to intimidate and stoke fear amongst blacks in the south.
I’ll wait.
You can’t, can you?
Because of the actions of scared southerners (mostly), reminders of the Confederacy are spread across the country. But most of them are in the south. Right now, more than 1500 monuments to the Confederacy stand as a blight on the skin of America. The most egregious, to me, is the giant images of General Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Jefferson Davis stain the beauty of Stone Mountain in Georgia.
These symbols stand on public ground maintained with federal, state, and local funds.
They serve no purpose and need to be removed.
Are you afraid of “History being erased” or some such Bullshit?
There are no statues or monuments to Hitler and the Nazis in Germany. Have they been forgotten?
Take the damn things down and put the most relevant of them in museums with the PROPER context. Store the rest, or destroy them.
As to that mountain… sandblast that motherfucker.
This pride month. I am proud of how far America has come towards equality. But there’s still a long road ahead of us and reality is we’ll still be walking it when our time comes to handoff to the younger generations.
But it’s a road worth walking for however long it takes.
I am proud to be LGBTQ.
The other?
Not so much.
- Josh (06/26/2020)
Amidst the chaos and anger, we’ve almost forgotten it’s pride month.
What is pride?
According to Websters Dictionary (the online version), pride is defined as such:
A feeling of deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.
Or
Confidence and self-respect as expressed by members of a group, typically one that has been socially marginalized, based on their shared identity, culture, and experience.
Let’s look at two different points of pride, shall we?
LGBTQ Pride might not mean much to the majority of Americans, but to some of us, it’s essential. When I was a kid, I knew I was bisexual even though I didn’t have a word for it. I knew that I was interested in men and women as early as age seven.
When I learned the term gay, via a lot of homophobic slurs and jokes, I felt ashamed of who I was.
Not what I am because I will never be defined by a single trait.
Like everyone else, I am the sum total of my parts.
Pride month was something I NEVER celebrated as a teenager. The idea of being referred to as the Faggot in the family out loud as opposed to the whispered gossip my family is known for was mortifying. Back then, I cared. These days I give zero fucks what any of them think about me.
My coming out was odd.
First, I came out to my therapist when I was 14.
Next, I came out to my Junior Year German teacher. We were very close, and one day she noticed how depressed I was. We had a long talk after school, and in the end, I think she was the first person to encourage me to be who I am and not who others wanted me to be.
After that, I came out to my Aunt and Uncle, my dad, one of my best friends, and my mom. I’m not sure who started the “Did you know Josh is queer?” chain-letter in the family, but I have my suspicions.
I came out to my wife in 2004.
After that, I stayed in the closet for 8 years.
In 2012, after a nervous breakdown, I came out entirely on the internet. The action caused long term damage to a lot of familial relationships, but n the end, I don’t regret it. That coming out was the first step on the road to healing myself. Since then, I traveled quite a way down that road, but the end is still in front of me.
It’s the same end we’re all heading toward.
I’ve taken flack for being LGBTQ, but I push on.
Pride commemorates the Stonewall riots of 1969.
Beginning in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, and lasting until July 3, the Stonewall riots are the defining moment of the LGBTQ communities fight for equality under the law. It was not just one but a series of spontaneous and violent demonstrations by members of the LGBTQ community, they were in response to a police raid at the Stonewall Inn in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of New York City.
Before Stonewall being Queer in the United States was more often than not illegal. That doesn’t even take into consideration all of the fundamental American rights the Queer community was denied.
After Stonewall, an avalanche descended on the nation.
Opened in 1992, the Gay Liberation Monument is part of the Stonewall National Monument installation. The four statues of Queer Americans, two standing men, and two seated women. They represent the men and women who have fought so hard and too long to secure our equality in a nation that hated us.
I am proud to stand on their shoulders.
I am proud of the strives we’ve made.
I am proud of who I am.
At least I’m proud of almost all of who I am.
I considered myself a born and bred Michigander. And for the most part, that’s true. But tell the truth and shame the devil I’m only a second-generation Midwesterner.
My mom’s entire family is from the south, North Carolina, and Arkansas, respectively.
I have to put it on front street that there’s a lot of my Southern heritage I’m proud of. The food, try and take away my biscuits and gravy, and I’ll cut you, along with the tradition of camping, hunting, and fishing, probably top the list.
But there are other things.
The music, hey, I like country music. The folk tales, my fear of the mosquitos big enough to pick me up and take me to the swamp, still scare me. And the Southern farm life, especially in the mountains of Appalachia where my maternal grandfather is from.
Most of all, I love the Southern hospitality.
But there’s always a flip side to the culture coin.
So, yes, there are things I don’t like.
Things I’m actively ashamed of.
Such as:
Slavery
Jim Crow
Treason
Insurrection
Terrorism
Racism
I could go on, but you get the point (I hope).
Even though I grew up in the north, many members of my mom’s family acted like they still lived in the south, even when they never did in the first place. Confederate flags, the Army of Northern Virginia flag, not the Stars and Bars, was everywhere in my family.
I grew up learning about the lazy, untrustworthy, and mentally deficient African American. About how you couldn’t get an honest day’s work out of them. About how all they ate was watermelon and fried chicken, about the desire of all black men to defile white women. And, the one that will always stick with me, they took the Ronald Reagan bullshit lie of the black “Welfare Queens” and ran it into the ground.
If it wasn’t for my mom, who’s one of the most liberal people I’ve ever known, I might have ended up like them.
Fast forward to now.
The death of George Floyd has reignited the arguments over symbols of the Confederacy. From the flags to the statues, America is almost as outraged by these as it is by the deaths of innocent African Americans at the hands of the police.
To me, it’s not even close, people are more important than symbols.
But the symbols are a disgrace.
What was the Confederacy?
According to History.com:
The Confederate States of America was a collection of 11 states that seceded from the United States in 1860 following the election of President Abraham Lincoln. Led by Jefferson Davis and existing from 1861 to 1865, the Confederacy struggled for legitimacy. It was never recognized as a sovereign nation.
Why did the Southern States secede from America?
Slavery.
That’s the long and short of it. And don’t give me that state’s rights bullshit. It was all about the right to keep and own slaves. The original South Carolina declaration of secession said so, the Vice President of the Confederacy said so, and even the constitution of the Confederacy made sure to enshrine slavery.
Slavery was the cause.
Full stop.
First, let’s address the Army of Northern Virginia Battle Flag (I’m just going to call it “the flag”) and its place in America. After the war, the flag remained a footnote until it was adopted as a symbol in opposition to the post-WW2 civil rights movement. Like a wildfire, the flag spread across the country as a so-called symbol of southern pride, rebellion, and freedom, even amongst people who had no southern blood whatsoever.
So, what is the flag really?
The flag is a racist symbol on par with the Swastika.
I have no desire to see it outlawed on private property, I am a robust first amendment supporter, but it never should have been allowed on public grounds. In the last few months, the Marines and Air Force banned it (the Army did that in the 1990s).
But what about those monuments?
Most monuments to the Confederacy, like the flag, only came into being during the civil rights movement. I dare any of you to show how they weren’t intended to intimidate and stoke fear amongst blacks in the south.
I’ll wait.
You can’t, can you?
Because of the actions of scared southerners (mostly), reminders of the Confederacy are spread across the country. But most of them are in the south. Right now, more than 1500 monuments to the Confederacy stand as a blight on the skin of America. The most egregious, to me, is the giant images of General Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Jefferson Davis stain the beauty of Stone Mountain in Georgia.
These symbols stand on public ground maintained with federal, state, and local funds.
They serve no purpose and need to be removed.
Are you afraid of “History being erased” or some such Bullshit?
There are no statues or monuments to Hitler and the Nazis in Germany. Have they been forgotten?
Take the damn things down and put the most relevant of them in museums with the PROPER context. Store the rest, or destroy them.
As to that mountain… sandblast that motherfucker.
This pride month. I am proud of how far America has come towards equality. But there’s still a long road ahead of us and reality is we’ll still be walking it when our time comes to handoff to the younger generations.
But it’s a road worth walking for however long it takes.
I am proud to be LGBTQ.
The other?
Not so much.
- Josh (06/26/2020)
June 21, 2020
Happy Fathers Day Minus One
Today is Father's Day.
Usually, that would be great. Ever since becoming a father in 1996, I've loved the holiday. When they were children, I loved all of the handmade cards, the horrible breakfasts, and the little presents.
As my children have grown older, I've loved the inevitable call, the dinners and lunches, the cakes and pies, the little presents, the movie nights, and just getting to spend time with my increasingly more adult children.
Every minute with them has been a gift.
Today is the first father's day in over 10 years that I'm a father of fewer kids than more.
The boy is gone, and he's never coming back. Yes, I know he's still my kid, but he's no longer here, and before anyone says something like, "He’s looking down on you from heaven,” please remember I’m an atheist. I respect your beliefs (as long as you do no harm), so please accord me the same level of respect.
My kids are amazing, and I love them with all of my heart. I sometimes envision what my life would’ve been like without them, and I recoil at the image. They are the only truly good thing I’ve done with my life, and when I exit stage left from this reality, I’ll be proud of what I’ve left behind.
Joshua, Stephen*, Beth, Chrissy, Alex, and Katie brighten my life. They’ve made me reevaluate who I am and try to be a better man. I don’t always succeed, but because of them, I keep trying.
For them, I won’t give up.
Stephen always called me on Father's Day. Even when we weren’t talking, and that as a lot the older he got, he always called me. He also, always, considered me his dad. Except for one time when he was trying to impress a friend when he was 14, he never said, “You’re not my father” or any other variation of that hurtful phrase.
This year there will be no call.
I’ve had two months to deal with the shock of his loss. I think I’ve done a good job, but the wound is still raw. I’ve taken back some, if not most, of my daily routine. I get up with an alarm at a reasonable hour. I take a shower and brush my teeth (I shave when I get too itchy). I feed the turtle and clean his filter every other day. I’ve been sleeping a bit more regularly thanks to a mild prescription. My eating is… eh.
And I put on a shirt. You might think that’s funny unless you really know me.
But all of this is just a shoddy pealing bandage. What’s underneath isn’t much better than two months ago. Oh, it’s a little better. But, yeah, not much.
Still, I'm sad.
Still, I feel that hole in my heart.
Still, I see the empty chair.
Still, I miss my son.
In the end, I’m still his father, and he’s still gone forever.
- Josh (06/21/2020)
Usually, that would be great. Ever since becoming a father in 1996, I've loved the holiday. When they were children, I loved all of the handmade cards, the horrible breakfasts, and the little presents.
As my children have grown older, I've loved the inevitable call, the dinners and lunches, the cakes and pies, the little presents, the movie nights, and just getting to spend time with my increasingly more adult children.
Every minute with them has been a gift.
Today is the first father's day in over 10 years that I'm a father of fewer kids than more.
The boy is gone, and he's never coming back. Yes, I know he's still my kid, but he's no longer here, and before anyone says something like, "He’s looking down on you from heaven,” please remember I’m an atheist. I respect your beliefs (as long as you do no harm), so please accord me the same level of respect.
My kids are amazing, and I love them with all of my heart. I sometimes envision what my life would’ve been like without them, and I recoil at the image. They are the only truly good thing I’ve done with my life, and when I exit stage left from this reality, I’ll be proud of what I’ve left behind.
Joshua, Stephen*, Beth, Chrissy, Alex, and Katie brighten my life. They’ve made me reevaluate who I am and try to be a better man. I don’t always succeed, but because of them, I keep trying.
For them, I won’t give up.
Stephen always called me on Father's Day. Even when we weren’t talking, and that as a lot the older he got, he always called me. He also, always, considered me his dad. Except for one time when he was trying to impress a friend when he was 14, he never said, “You’re not my father” or any other variation of that hurtful phrase.
This year there will be no call.
I’ve had two months to deal with the shock of his loss. I think I’ve done a good job, but the wound is still raw. I’ve taken back some, if not most, of my daily routine. I get up with an alarm at a reasonable hour. I take a shower and brush my teeth (I shave when I get too itchy). I feed the turtle and clean his filter every other day. I’ve been sleeping a bit more regularly thanks to a mild prescription. My eating is… eh.
And I put on a shirt. You might think that’s funny unless you really know me.
But all of this is just a shoddy pealing bandage. What’s underneath isn’t much better than two months ago. Oh, it’s a little better. But, yeah, not much.
Still, I'm sad.
Still, I feel that hole in my heart.
Still, I see the empty chair.
Still, I miss my son.
In the end, I’m still his father, and he’s still gone forever.
- Josh (06/21/2020)
