It's November. Right now. Kinda wild, really, because I'm lying in bed at 4 in the morning with the bedroom windows wide open. It's 16 C out! Not complaining.
I have cause for celebration on a personal front, in that it's been slightly over 3 months since my last anxiety attack. It's freaky that I've gone this long without any real trouble, and before that, it was since February. This has been a banner year for my mental health issues.
That's not to say that everything is totally smooth sailing. I still let thoughts creep into my head a lot, about the usual things. "Do I matter? Does 'x' friend still care? What have I done wrong? Why am I retired, really? Am I an impediment to the lives of those around me, or an asset? Am I good for anything at all?" So hey, why not answer those to myself right now.
Do I matter -- everyone matters. We all make up this fabric around us called Life. Remove just one of us from it, and the world changes. Some people call it the Butterfly Effect. And it's valid. Just tonight, for whatever reason, the thought of an old friend from school in grade 7 (my first year in grade 7, no less) whose name was Jamal Islam, approached me in Mr. Chiasson's class, our homeroom, where he put his hand on my shoulder and asked me, "hey Mike! Buddy, you okay?" My father had died a week and a half ago. The sincerity in his eyes was evident. I was moved by the gesture enough that it staked an eternal memory in my psyche, and for that moment, I felt like I did matter during a time when I questioned everything. I didn't know Jamal all that well, but never had a problem with him. He was one of those incredibly gifted kids intellectually, and to feel concern from someone clearly beyond the spectrum of my own cranial capabilities was reassuring. It kind of helped shape the kind of person I am today, whether I was conscious of it or not. That gift, that small gesture, is passed on through me to others, whom I have to believe had the same kind of profound effect on their lives. Knowing this, and reminding myself of it even now, reinforces my belief that I do matter. That Everyone Matters. And even the smallest kind gesture has a chance to create a ripple effect that can help change the world for the better.
Does 'x' friend care - I don't know. There are many who have dropped off of my radar over the years. For various reasons. I don't believe I have enemies. I feel like everyone who's been a friend is always a friend, and if there's been a parting of ways, reconciliation is just waiting to happen, if needed. I hate confrontation, though, and when someone picks a fight or argument with me, I have to ask myself if it's a debate, or an argument. To me, a debate doesn't need a winner. It's just an airing out of one side of a story; and really it can just be a discussion. An argument, on the other hand, is almost always hostile to varying degrees, where one tries to intimidate the other. And I hate arguments. I allow myself to get drawn into them one too many times, and I always regret it. It's polarising, and creates division. Arguments have cost me friends over the years. And by that, I mean mostly by their choice. Like I say, if you're a friend of mine, I will always be yours. If you choose not to be a friend to me, that's your decision also. There are exceptions, of course, in extenuating circumstances. But when I stop to question if a friend cares, I try not to let it impact the fact that I always will.
What have I done wrong - God, I'm always doing things wrong. This is a thing with people like me with really high anxiety. I'm always asking myself if I could have done something better. Always second guessing myself. I could have done more, or whatever. I think the grace in questioning myself about these things is that I continually want to improve as a person. No one should stop trying to improve themselves, just never at the expense of someone else. For the benefit of others, though, that's true grace, to me. But I still often punish myself for doing things wrong. At work, that's how it was a lot, with every job I've had, but especially in the last 10-12 years. I still have dreams now about screwing up on the job. About language I may have used, things I've done, whatever. I'm trying to learn to control it, but it's a big job every day to do so. I look back through the years and often recollect some terrible things I've done and just have a hard time forgiving myself. As hard as this is to a person with mental illness like me, I prefer to think of that as a tool to help improve myself as I go forward. It can be hard at times. And when it gets too hard, that's when I have anxiety attacks. They began to get frequent at work toward the end of my last job. Looking at it all from a third person perspective, I can visualise that it's not as big of a deal as I initially make it out to be. But again, that's the damning thing of mental illness - I can't always convince myself of my innocence.
And so, Why am I retired really? This is a question that dogs me every day. I'm perfectly able-bodied. In fact, I got a check up recently where the doctor told me my health was exemplary. I exercise a lot, don't eat terribly at all, hardly drink; I think the only snafu with my health is my sleeping pattern, which I just can't seem to get on track. But not having to work makes that a lot more manageable than if I was working. For various reasons, I lack the ability to learn things as quickly as most others would, but there are areas where I can pick things up perhaps quicker than others. It's just that, in those areas I excel at, they're pointless in the workforce. I often say I'm a fountain of useless information. I'd love to be great at math instead of being able to pick out plot points in a complicated movie, for example. So maybe I should be a movie or music critic? Right. That's what the world needs. Another thing I'm learning as I age is that folks aren't necessarily looking for an opinion that's contrary to theirs. Being retired, if I indeed am on disability, has its drawbacks. Socialising with others takes a nose-dive when you're removed from the workforce. Most people have jobs where they're co-operating with others to get things done, which in turn creates friendships and various beneficial mutual arrangements. The problem with me is, I have such a high standard of my own performance that when I don't live up to it, I withdraw and punish myself for it. So, here I am. Maybe I really shouldn't be so hard on myself.
Am I an impediment to those around me, or an asset - I think I'm an asset to my wife, most of the time. I tell her the unabashed truth about something when she needs to know it, and offer to help improve it. I prefer to encourage than discourage. Especially the older I get, I find the gentler I get. I don't know if that's supposed to be an age thing or not, but I remember when I was younger how a lot of older people are just more chill than the young upstarts. I see it in my siblings. The larger the families are, the more squabbles there seems to be, but as they get older, I guess we all see how pointless and meaningless our differences are. We can learn to bring ourselves together through our differences rather than spread ourselves apart, because it can be a learning process. And learning keeps us young, right? We stop learning, and that's when we really start to get old. So, when I'm around people nowadays, I try to add something positive to the air, like Jamal did when my Dad died. I've learned that although you should forgive but not necessarily forget, even more importantly, you should never forget the good things that people have done for you; how they made you feel, so you can pass that same blessing onto others. Something I'm working on is having the confidence to realise that this is just what I'm doing when I compliment someone, or console them when times are tough. That's being an asset.
Am I good at anything at all - my problem there is, maybe I am good at some things, but I need confirmation from others to believe it. I love giving compliments and reassurance to others, but ... this is tough: I feel like I resist commendation for my own generosity. If I am generous in any way, that is. I used to think I was an okay drummer, for example, back in my younger years. Then I got a lot of negative criticism that make me essentially give up playing for years. I can't imagine telling anyone they're not good at what they do, so when I hear it, it kind of breaks my heart. The last person I worked for made me feel unwelcome and expendable, and after over ten years on the job, I got no thanks or goodbye at all - in fact, it felt like 'good riddance'. I may not have done my job perfect, but I gave it my all. And to have that effort discarded and ignored devastated me. In fact, I can't seem to get over it. I know for a fact lies have been told about me, because my wife caught my last boss in one. Thus, my confidence is decimated. I really don't feel like I'm good at anything, just okay at this and that. But essentially not good.
One of the things that I've been 'okay' at recently, though, is fundraising for the Movember event that takes place every year, where guys grow a mustache and/or perform some fitness challenge to raise money for prostate cancer research and treatment, as well as men's mental health awareness. I managed to reach my goal of $500 in the first week of the month-long or so challenge, with the spectacular help of my generous donors, who I really feel the need to represent proudly. Prostate cancer is pervasive in men my age, but there's also a history to it, in that my brother Roy is a prostate cancer survivor. It was the sole reason that I decided to do it. And also, there's a family friend, also a Mike, who's a survivor. Just this past week, as well, the husband of a dear friend of mine, Kelly, found out he has a recurrence of the disease that made me put the whole effort in a new perspective. It's made the effort to represent this cause all that more meaningful. And perhaps selfishly, the fact that it benefits men's mental health is also a driving force. Not just for me, but for friends of mine, whom I won't mention because of the stigma that surrounds the whole subject. But I do this for them, too. It might sound cheesy or something, but these people, these causes, all make me want to do well with this thing. I guess I should also mention that when I was debating with myself whether or not to do it, I kind of panicked. What if no one donated? What if folks thought I was just doing this for myself? Will I look selfish? Would anyone believe me if I said I really cared about this? What if I just do this all wrong? My heartbeat quickened at all these 'what-ifs'. I decided maybe this isn't for me after all. For a day. Then I ultimately got out of my comfort zone and decided to jump in with both feet. I'm glad I did, as now I see it means something to some people. But, I don't see me doing it every year or anything. I really don't like getting around with my hand out looking for money, even if it's not for me directly. Just typing that line right there makes me feel uncomfortable.
And I don't want accolades for it, either. It really is a meaningful cause to me, and all those affected. To anyone who has donated, I sincerely love you for it. No matter the amount, you pledged and you're making a difference. I also appreciate those who support me who can't donate. I know how it can be.
And with that, I'll sign off for the time being.
Thank you so much for taking your precious time to read my ramblings.
