Relive & Rewire

My name is Tyler Franklin, I’m 32 years old, married, divorced, married again, currently a stay at home dad to my son, and live with anxiety and depression… great to meet you. The honest to god truth, I can’t believe I have lived the life I’ve lived. Sometimes I step back, and shake my head at the choices I’ve made that I now have to live with. Some good choices, some terrible, and some that are still t.b.d. The past decade has been a series of dramatic swings of highs, lows, and eventually rock bottom. Beautiful moments now memories as gorgeous as the pink sky before the sun disappears. While other moments have challenged the values I’ve tried to bring to pass.

Finally at this new chapter of my life I have fully invested into what I am going to refer to as a “rewire of my brain”. I have completely committed to weekly therapy sessions, as well as medication to combat my anxiety, and depression. My wife truly saved my life. She intervened at the moment I was at; I can only hope my absolute lowest before anything radical occurred. Rational thinking waved goodbye, and I had a loved one step in. For this I will forever be grateful, she gave me a second chance at not only life, but genuine happiness. Let me be frank for a moment, I am not a writer. I do, however, enjoy occasionally writing to clear my head. What I would like to do is tell my personal story as sincere as I can in hopes of maybe helping someone out there in some way. A story that involves an unhealthy dose of childhood trauma, a dash of rash decision making, and a teaspoon of personal failures… alright let’s throw some happy stuff in this pot of chili that is my life. Hope you enjoy!

It’s funny when I look back on my childhood that most of what I recall are the terrible events or moments that occurred. I wouldn’t say I had a terrible childhood, so why in the hell can’t I remember more of the pleasant moments that happened. I brought this topic up at a recent therapy session because it was eating away at me, as well as making me feel guilty. Feelings of guilt because I know my childhood wasn’t all trauma. So why can’t my brain negate those areas of sadness, and be able to relive happier moments? The answer is clear as day, your brain is storing this nugget of misery, so you don’t repeat it! Ohh… That makes sense, but wait a minute, that means I’m going to have to confront those hard times and dig up emotions I buried years ago...DAMN’T! Welcome to therapy ladies and gents.

The reason I wanted to lead with this issue is because guilt is such a heavy load that I carry daily. No, my childhood wasn’t all sunshine and puppy dogs licking ice cream from my cone, but there were events that occurred that now as an adult I have to seriously address with the help of professionals. For years I thought I could figure it out and move the hell on with my life. Well, I couldn’t, and now I’m cleaning up what appears to be a jar of spaghetti sauce that shattered on the floor. A horrifying mess, but with the help of medicine, therapy, and paper towels all can be made right again.

If I had to sum up my early years of life in one word I would choose uncertainty. I asked myself that question as I am writing this, and took a very long pause to answer. I chose uncertainty because that is what I lived with until I was about 17 or 18 years old. Many nights I would be waiting to see if my dad was going to come home before midnight or stay at the bar. I was uncertain if my parents were going to stay married, or if I was somehow the culprit of mom and dad's deteriorating relationship. All of this was absolutely confusing to me growing up, and the only logical person to blame was myself.

Being an only child in my house did feel lonely, especially with my father's drinking, my mother's worrying, and our family weathering a storm of unspoken personal demons. In our family we don’t talk much about feelings, or emotions. Our love is shown through jabs at one another, being quick thinking is a must at family gatherings. A hug would be nearly unheard of in my family, and tears… someone is 100% deceased. Finding out that we were a socially awkward family by visiting various friends' family parties was eye opening. Let me also note, I love my family. Sure, we don’t slobber on each other, but our love is demonstrated with actions, not emotions.

Let’s jump ahead quickly to current day, we’ll get back to the early years momentarily. My life as I know it today is being there for my son. My wife, son, and I recently moved back to our home state of Illinois after living in Florida for three years. My better half is a schoolteacher, and my son is currently pooping in his diaper… he’s nearly 2 years old, seriously he’s great. I have had roughly 900 jobs, ok that figure might be a little high, but I’ve had a lot. Some jobs I liked, some hated, and some I probably should have held onto. My point being I have never found something I have been enthralled in, nor had a job where I thought I made the slightest impact. It’s a good feeling when a task is finally completed, that was done with your vision, hands, mind, and personality. Completing a job, no matter what it might be that has your heart, and soul dedicated to the work gives someone a sense of true purpose. This is something that I get to do for roughly 10 hours a day now while staying home with my boy. Nothing in my life has come close to being this satisfying. Writing this is up there too.

There are many bridges we cross, experiences we have, and people that come into our lives that mold us into our current state. Personally speaking my current state is roped off with a sign that reads FRAGILE. I remain a work in progress, but isn’t that all of what life is, progress? Some weeks, months, or years you transform in some ways for better or worse. Life moves so fast, fleeting really, and it must be impossible to remain the same person as we drive further into our own lives.

As a kid I was filled with self-doubt. I was not instilled with the belief that the skies are the limit, you can do whatever you put your mind to, go get em’ tiger! No, it was more along the lines of lets keep expectations in check, and you have to be extra smart to do so and so. If I got excited about something I was basically kind of mocked, and said that’s not realistic. Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then is what I was left to wonder. Obviously I’m to dumb to do anything of which I’m interested in. Confidence was not encouraged in my childhood, shame and fear were a bigger part. Being embarrassed came easily for me in many social situations. Luckily, I was the type of kid that got along with most everyone, but my self-esteem was getting worse by the year. With high school, and college approaching on the horizon, I became increasingly anxious. Hoo boy… this should be fun.

Alright, how’re we doing, you still with me? Should we break for water, tea, ginger ale, crackers? Am I presenting my life thus far in a logical timeline, or am I speaking gibberish? Ok, if you're ready and willing to push forward I am as well. Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead.

By the time I was 18 years old home life was starting to stabilize. My dad successfully stopped drinking for good. Dad has been sober for about 13 years, and I couldn’t be prouder of him for it. We have a pretty good relationship currently, and that is marked as a win in my book. My senior year in high school was when I started drinking regularly. I wouldn’t say my drinking was ever an addiction, but there were times I used alcohol to stop unwanted thoughts and feelings.

Now at the age of 30 I have finally taken serious steps towards a healing process. Healing from old childhood wounds that I’ve yet to make sense of. Healing from insecurities of worthlessness, and never living up to what my parents wanted. Healing from personal failures that haunt me to this day. Essentially learning how to be happy, what a foreign concept. Happy, me… I can be happy? Who am I to be happy, how does that even work? Guys, this is what we're dealing with, a total rewire of my monkey brain. Learning to be happy with myself, and not worry about living up to anyone else’s expectations is going to be hard to do. After all, I've spent the better part of my life going against my gut and doing what I thought others would want me to do.

When I was a kid there were periods of a stable home life. I would walk home from school around 3, mom was there starting to get dinner ready, and dad’s big yellow and red work truck would soon back into the driveway… All was right with the world. The very next day pretty much the same thing, except the clock would get to 4, 5, 5:30, oh boy this isn’t looking good, 6, and by 7 it was made clear dad isn’t coming home tonight. This night may consist of an angry confrontation between my parents at 12-1 in the morning, maybe just him passing out somewhere, backing the truck into our minivan, or possibly backing the truck into my basketball post… Yes all of this, and plenty more really happened. You see, my dad was never violent, but he was more unpredictable when he’d been drinking, which was pretty darn frightening as a kid. I never knew what to expect, but I would almost always wait up to see if he made it home. Then, when I seen the taillights of his truck in the driveway, a sort of panic would sweep through me. Please just let him go to bed, I hope mom doesn’t start a fight now. Oh no, what if he comes into my room, shit he’s in the hallway, c’mon walk past my room. This is what I could go through for days, or weeks at a time. This was just life for so many years, but I never would get comfortable with it.

When I was 15 years old, I asked my mom to divorce my dad. I questioned her reasoning for keeping us in a toxic relationship for so long, that is how I viewed it. She told me how good of a person he is, and that his drinking doesn’t define his true character. She was right, my dad is a terrific person who I now love and respect deeply. This sounds terrible, but I can’t help to think if my mom made the right decision. I kind of feel sick thinking about it, but I often wonder how life would have been if divorce was the route my parents chose. Is that even healthy to think about now, does this make me a terrible person to hypothetically write my father off? Would my personal self-worth be any different today if things had gone another way?

Blaming others for my personal shortcomings gives me a hot wave of sweaty nausea, the kind that forces you to lie on the cool tile floor until it passes. Whenever I describe a situation or traumatic moment in my life, I am quick to defend, and reason with the actions that occurred. Oh my dad was struggling with alcoholism, and he had a brutal childhood, so that is why he didn’t come home. This is a real struggle for me in therapy sessions, the reasoning portion for traumatic events that have occurred in my life. Does the reason why something horrible happened to you really matter? It happened, stop making excuses for the opposite party, and find a way to heal the wounds that it left behind. Just because someone has done something hurtful to me shouldn’t make them my enemy . It makes me feel terrible reliving events that my father involved not only me, but my mother and family. The reason I feel so bad is because I know he’s a good person who I love very much, and I don’t want anyone, myself included, to think negatively of him. Forgiveness will take a great effort, but acceptance will command an epiphany that I have yet to find.

Accepting who I am, what a difficult notion to examine, and grasp. I can say with confidence that today as I write this that I am not fully happy with who I am, therefore not accepting of myself. Being alright with the stuff I’m not alright with, isn’t alright, alright… What I’m trying to say is that if I don’t knock something out of the park I get disappointed with myself. My high expectations of myself often cause me to shut down altogether. Sticking with the challenge until the end will hopefully build self-esteem, confidence, and will make me a stronger individual. I want to look at the guy in the mirror and fully trust him, but for the time being I’ll keep an eye on myself.

Making decisions can be a daunting task, and for me I have a bit of a reputation for making misguided or hasty choices. My heart usually will be in the right place when deciding which choice to make, with the hopes of admiration from those closest to me. Or I will make a choice that I am sure will inevitably blow up in my face, resulting in further destruction of my hairline. Sometimes I become overwhelmed with whatever is going on, make a choice that I know will fail, and stew in my own depression for being such a loser. I’ve repeated this absolute treat of a toxic cycle more times than I care to admit. As I take the time to scrutinize myself, I have come to the conclusion, I forgot how to win.

Believing in myself, that is what makes me a winner again. Waking up in the morning and having faith in myself that I can do anything I set my mind too. Staying focused and committed to my family is priority one for me at this time. I absolutely love staying home with my boy, it lifts me out of an enormous crater I’ve been trying to crawl out of for years. Chalk up another win, maybe things really are looking up!

Thinking about old times is somewhat of a hobby of mine. I have one friend in particular that I have known since kindergarten. We only see each other about every four to six months. When we reunite, the routine is the same: ask about family, drink tequila, and tell the same stories that we’ve been repeating for a decade… it’s the fucking best. Reminiscing about good times had, when there was less responsibility, and the only worry was a well-deserved hangover in the morning. But there’s a bit of a romantic quality to these moments in life that must be kept alive by talking about them with friends, or loved ones. Memories are the bridge between my heart, and mind. I can travel with hurt or love from past experiences forever on a track that connects passion, and reason.

With similar respect to the good times comes the bad times, that I tend to relive with myself, and mom. I relive moments of awful nights which still hurts deeply. My mom went through these moments with me, so I guess that’s why I really only talk to her about it. I guess I could bring up nights that my dad was an asshole with him but that doesn’t sound like a great time. My mom will also bring up the past with me, probably for the same reason as I do with her. Talking about the ugly circumstances we went through is something that will forever connect us. Those events were shared with my mom, dad, and myself. Talking about it is difficult, and I haven’t figured out why I insist on a continuation of “the shitty events discussion” that happened so long ago.

My romantic history with women could be described as free falling from a cliff, as I try to grab a hold of anything I can, to save me. I was looking for someone that could commiserate experiences, and finally find a serenity that would put me at ease. At 19 years old I would find a serenity that would encapsulate my life for one person. It was young love, but true love, nonetheless. The relationship would last a little more than a year until unexpectedly she would end things. The breakup was through a phone call, (ouch) I’m certain she knew how much this news would sting me, and I don’t doubt it was a painful time for her as well. Honestly as a young man this was a seismic event that would impact me for years to follow.

The breakup would send me into a tailspin of depression that I wasn’t emotionally equipped to recover from. At this time, I was in college full time, and worked evening security on a property that was desolate during my shift. I was isolated with nothing more than my depression keeping me company. I don’t want this to come off as placing blame toward this young lady for my emotional state. At this time, she was a breathtaking person (I’m sure still is), but I do want to acknowledge the feelings of abandonment, confusion, and distrust this would embed into my psyche. Being left in such a haste created large insecurities with myself that would hamper my personal values.

This time in my life would of course be a learning experience that nearly all of us have to go through. Learning how to process the feelings that accompany heartbreak is a character builder for sure. Unfortunately, I did not have the experience, nor the tools to take on a job of this scale. A few months went by and I entered another relationship, but this would be drastically different from the previous. I spilled most of my self-worth that I was carrying, and a wolf would come prey at my most vulnerable.

The wolf was a young lady that took full advantage of my low self-worth. I was put down, made a fool of, manipulated, and basically accepted my role in this life as a punching bag. The details of what occurred are predictable, and boring, but the anger that it would leave is worth an honorable mention. A tipping point would come after a little over a year of getting emotionally battered by what felt like Mike Tyson blows to my gut, I scraped together what little face I had left, and deleted her from my life. Why was being alone a worse option than staying in a wreckful relationship?

Before things finally ended, I was in a state of emotional chaos. I still wasn’t over my previous relationship, and now my self-esteem was taking even more of a beating. I saw my life as completely out of my hands, never good enough for anyone, and felt hopeless. This is when I started having suicidal ideology creep into my life. I would essentially have the what if conversation with myself. What if I wasn’t here, what if things ended suddenly. One day I went a step further with these notions. I took a belt, put it around my neck as it was wrapped through a metal stud post that supported a shelf in my closet, and gently bent my knees to discover if it would hold my weight. The same day I did this test in my bathroom to discover whether my weight would bear the metal frame surrounding the tub. There was no intent on harming myself, but it without question crossed the border into troubling behavior. Looking back on this now I think by testing the limits of this unsound behavior gave me some sense of control that I felt I needed. I remember feeling pretty shaken up with the entire experience shortly after and was not any closer to being in control of myself then I was before.

Moving forward I would still be in a dicey state of emotions. A new level of anxiety was maturing, and I would have sporadic panic attacks. I remember going to the local quick care because I spent all day feeling out of breath. My resting heart rate was 150 beats per minute causing the clinic to run some tests on my heart. When the doctor came into the room to deliver the results he nonchalantly said, “panic attack”. As in no biggie, take this Xanax and you’ll be good as new. There was no actual game plan to figure out why this young man was having uncontrollable anxiety episodes. Sent on my way with a prescription for Xanax that was apparently the cure to what ailed me, I was essentially given a band aide for a festering wound. This was also the first time I was prescribed any type of medication other than maybe an antibiotic. Now I can’t help but think about how many prescriptions for Xanax this doctor has given to patients, or how many patients were left feeling as defective, and ill-advised as I was.

I would soon seek the guidance of a general practitioner for my anxiety. I remember being told that what I was going through was common and being put on a daily dose of Xanax. The effects of the pills made me feel tired, sluggish, and clouded my cognition. This started a period of feeling very misunderstood and becoming leery of seeking the help of doctors. I would come up with a sort of method to get through periods of anxiety and depression. I would acknowledge its presence, approach these days with lower expectations, and tell myself that this is only temporary. Now, I have to say I think having the awareness as I did on these days or weeks was pretty good for a 20 year old kid. Having said that, all this was doing was wrapping duct tape around a leaky pipe. The root of my problems weren’t being addressed, and all of this procrastinating would force more pressure on a dam that is ready to burst.

Connection in this life is what I pursue more than anything. Sharing emotional experiences makes me feel like I’m not alone, and that I have someone who truly cares about me. Having someone in my life who I can fully rely on is a giant security blanket that comforts me. Living on my own has reignited feelings of abandonment, an issue that I have not yet addressed until now. Relieving these moments makes me so disappointed with myself. I hate that I didn’t have the courage to stand up for myself, and I really hate that I sound like a weeping victim, yuck.

Moving forward from the time spent being a doormat, my rounded edges became sharpened. A shift occurred in my perception of relationships, and I would not be left to rust ever again. I refused to allow myself to feel the pain of being bullied or abandoned. From that moment forward my persona was not that of someone seeking a loving relationship, but that of an addict looking to score by any means necessary. I still needed the bond of another to distract me from the mess of personal issues stored inside of me. I would now play the part of those who I perceived to have previously burned me in prior relationships.

This time in my life (20 years old) I consider it to be a pivotal period for me. There was a bit of a fork in the road, and choices would have to be made that would define what kind of person I am. Reflecting on this time now is jarring at the total lack of direction, and enthusiasm in my life. I’m 20 years old, probably the perfect moment in life to pursue any dream one has, and I was just drifting along with no fire in my belly. I was skirting by in junior college ready to graduate, but then what? At that time, I had no desire whatsoever to be in college, I enrolled because I didn’t know what else I would do. There were several fields I was interested in, but my lack of confidence and whether I would receive my parents blessing would steer me towards a more conventional path… or so we thought.

Several years, and several different jobs would pass by about as fast as ice cream melts at Disney World. I feel like I’ve been doting over the unpleasantness during this time in my life; don’t get me wrong there were absolutely positive impacts made of great significance. I’ve been blessed with a handful of friends that are caring, loving, supportive, and at times have felt like true guardian angels. Lifelong friends were introduced, road trips were taken, adventures had, and an unsavory lifestyle lived to laugh at for eternity.

Soon after my lackluster college experience I would settle into a full-time position for a major manufacturing corporation. I was young, making a decent buck, working with older guys that enjoyed showing me the ropes, and I have to say I was pretty darn content. I worked from three in the afternoon until eleven at night, which was ideal being a young guy with virtually no true responsibilities. This particular evening returning home from work was my 22nd birthday. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, flipped on the tv, and checked in on a dating app I started to use. There was a message returned from who would eventually become my wife. Life is something else.

The year is 2012, I’m 23 years old, and I have been accepted to the Louisville Kentucky police department. When I received a phone call from the police academy telling me I made it, I was ecstatic. I called my dad and told him the news, he said congratulations, and that he was proud of me. Proud, of ME! To this day I don’t even know how to process those words, emotions, accomplishment, none of it. Once I started the police academy I quickly dropped out. I was not ready for the tenacious mentality that is needed to complete academy or be a police officer. The best of intentions was to better a community I love, but I faced the facts and returned home. To this day it is hard for me to think about this personal failure without getting physically upset.

When I graduated high school, I had no direction or particular interest in any field. College was encouraged so I decided to pursue law enforcement. My father’s brother who I admire tremendously is a police officer. I had accompanied him on a few ride alongs' while he was on duty, and marveled at how he interacted with everyone he came into contact with. My uncle was somebody I wanted to, and still in most aspects would like to resemble. Following suit and pursuing a career in law enforcement gave me direction which was great, however this direction led me up a hill that I was not fit to climb.

Upon returning home to Illinois from Kentucky I was defeated, deflated, depressed, and both mentally and physically drained. After working tirelessly towards a noble career as a policeman I folded and returned home with nothing. The God's honest truth, my family and fiancé at the time were nothing but supportive. However, all of the support I was receiving couldn’t mend the colossal disappointment I had with myself. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without being sick to my stomach. All I could see staring back at me was a failure who had embarrassed himself, and his family. Now where do I go next, and what do I do with my future?

Over the course of the next few years, I would have several decent paying jobs. Positions in manufacturing, a utility company, and security for a casino. All of which would pay the bills, but there remained an emptiness inside of me. Money has never driven me in the direction of a particular career. I wanted to become a cop because I wanted to make a positive impact on the community, not for the $38,000 a year for risking my life daily. I will spend the rest of my twenties wandering in the dark searching for the torch needed to guide me to contentment.

What I’m going to get into next is hard to discuss, but that’s kind of the point of writing this. I married my best friend after dating for five years. My ex-wife, and I moved into an apartment together after just three months of dating. In the five years of dating there was never a moment of doubt that we were meant for each other. It was an amazing five years, of which I don’t regret a single second of. What follows is heartbreaking and leaves me an emotional wreck.

A few months before the wedding a shift started to occur. A change in direction of what was regular emotions, and loving affection from my then fiancé to me. Given the circumstances of my search for a suitable career path, and the strain of planning a wedding, I was blaming stress for this sudden change in our dynamic. A relationship that was once a calm, gentle stream was now barreling towards the edge of a waterfall.

The wedding day arrived, and it was a lovely day jam packed with lovely people. As the weeks, and months passed by from the big day she grew more distant, more reserved, less interested in communication. This went from a relationship where we could read each other's minds, to total disarray. I went from giving her some space, to asking what was wrong, pleading for her to open up, to asking for space for myself, until finally resentment set in. Things would never be the same.

December 24th, 2015, Christmas Eve, a day that I will never forget. I am at my wife's family's Christmas party having a nice time. Over the years I grew close to her family, I really enjoyed their company, and think they’re the highest quality of people you can find. The evening started out great with drinks, stories, food, games, but then something changed. My then wife had too much to drink and created an argument from scratch. Her family was as confused as I was, this relationship was unraveling before my eyes. Every ounce of love I had for her left me in that instant, like turning off a light switch… except the bulb had burned out.

Now let’s do something I have a hard time doing and explain how I am feeling with my marriage crumbling. Any sense of security I had in my life had evaporated entirely. I would lose control of my temper quickly, I would cry randomly, and felt insecure about anything I engaged in. A blankness engulfed me, dark thoughts pooled in my head, and I became a person who I didn’t recognize. This sickness would paralyze me, leaving me alone to stew in a pot of depression. I thought I was the only one going through the same pain as my wife and I were at this time, I was wrong.

The ending of my marriage was not only heartbreaking for my wife and I, but for my parents. My mother in particular was taken aback and stricken with hurt so stabbing I could feel her pain. I hurt my mother, shattered her heart, her only son devastated her, things just keep getting better, RIGHT?

You know what I do when I see someone close to me cry? I say please don’t cry. For me, someone crying is like a fire burning out of control while I try my best to stomp it out. I am a square peg of sentiment as a person, and well-rounded displays of organic emotions don’t fit into my slot. I’m not comfortable aiding my own emotions, let alone someone openly displaying there’s. How very vulnerable it is to cry in front of another person, I feel naked just thinking about it. Crying is stripping down to your frame, and brazenly telling anyone in eyesight, I am exposing my emotions to you. How in the world am I supposed to deal with that? Do I offer advice, do we brainstorm about possible solutions, would you like me to call my father!? I’ll literally do anything, just please stop, your healthy outlet of human emotions is forcing me to confront painful feelings, how rude of you! Pro tip: deflecting with snarky comments works wonders for warding off those intrusive emotional thrill seekers, but this is the type of behavior I’m trying to break.

Letting go of any fear of exposure to my vulnerabilities, and openly expressing my pain, love, joy or sorrow sounds profoundly liberating. The drudgery in doing so will take a great effort on my end. Nothing in this life is accomplished without effort. From start to finish effort must be given to thrust forward towards the self-improvement we seek. It’s time to “embrace the suck”, and fully engage with the past once and for all. Challenge not only the past, but present day emotions, and actions that don’t represent the person you want to be. Start pulling on the stem of behaviors that are unwelcomed, disliked, or unsightly to you. Maybe if we pull long enough the root will dislodge, and a gorgeous new disposition may flower in its place. Challenging my feelings, discussing what’s on my mind, and imparting to those surrounding me will be the suck that I will now embrace.

There were a few people that undoubtedly supported me through the annulment of my marriage. First was my friend Kenny, who has become as close to a brother that I will ever have in this life. He was the first person who I confided in when my marriage was coming to an end. There were many questions asked, discussions had, options talked about, but most importantly a friend that would listen. Kenny is a person that will not blow smoke up your ass. An honest opinion will be given if requested, and not everything said to me was assuring, but it was honest. What was assured is that I have a terrific friend.

The next person that would keep me afloat during this ordeal was a co-worker named Laura. My moments with Laura at work were brief, but always entertaining. A friendship grew, and she would always let me talk her ear off when I needed to vent. Much like my “brother” Kenny, she would also give her two cents, and it was not always what I wanted to hear, but sincere as well. Laura was categorically the most cheerful individual that has ever walked into my life. I’m not exactly what you would describe as a summer breeze, polite enough, but I’m not bursting with bliss. She was the burst of positive energy I so desperately needed that helped me shoulder the weight of sadness I was carrying.

Moving back in with my parents was a kick in the gut. This was a time when my parents, and I were still trying to process all of the change that was rapidly taking place. My life at this point and will continue to be in a cycle of regrouping. Having to start from scratch, square one, reshuffle the deck, however you want to put it, I was hitting the reset button on my life in a big way. The court paperwork was filed, and a trial date set for the dissolution of my marriage. During this period of time I would either be inconsolable from the pain of my marriage drawing to an end (legally anyways), or I would rely on my new and old friends to distract me from the agony burning a hole inside me. You see, I knew my marriage was over, but I refused to face the giant emotional undertaking that accompanies the loss of my wife, and best friend. It’s not until now, as I’m writing this, that I have properly started to look at the gritty, frightening, and flat-out sadness this ending was, and still is. At that time I got to a point where I refused to work through what I saw as an “emotional burden”, and decided (erroneously) to not confront the pain, but embrace carefree behavior.

Living with my parents became no longer an option. They weren’t kicking me out, but the tension brewing was about to reach a boiling point. I then make the “absolute rash decision” to rent an apartment with Laura, my new friend from the casino (work). She was also looking to rent a place, and the lines between us were starting to cross beyond the friend zone marker. To put it bluntly, Laura made me happy during a time I shouldn’t have been. During this time Laura, and I spent nearly every waking hour together. We worked together, lived together, went on road trips together, and oddly enough our relationship was near perfect. I literally sent my emotions on vacation, haphazardly moved in with someone I didn’t really know, and by some fucking miracle it didn’t ignite into a mushroom cloud. Universe, the next round is on me.

By this time my life was a flurry of dramatic changes occurring at breakneck speed, and it was only going to get faster. My divorce finalized in the late spring, and I wanted to get far away from everything that reminded me of what had taken place. I wanted to escape from the emotions that I have continually been dodging and leave this mess behind. Less than two months after the divorce, Laura and I moved to south Florida. So just to recap, in a time period of about 14 months I was married, divorced, left my job, and moved several times which also included moving cross country… No obvious signs of mental illness here.

The decision to move to Florida was an easy one, for me anyways, to make at the time. Laura interviewed for a teaching position via Skype while we were still in Illinois. Later that same day the school extended an offer which she accepted. The very next day we both put in our two weeks' notice at our jobs, and a couple of days after that we were bound for Florida. I absolutely adored the idea of moving 1,100 miles away from the dark swirling clouds of sorrow that damaged my loved ones' tranquility. Disturbing the people I love with concern, and disappointment was more than I could bear. I would ban myself from my home, travel deeper into the unknown, accompanied with the only person that could bring solace to my heart.

Moving to Florida was like moving to a different country in some respects. It’s a slower way of living, and it took Laura and I a while to catch on to the culture change, as well as many of the political differences between our new red state. She would settle into her teaching career, and after a brief stint working at a prison, I ended up being a full-time substitute teacher at the same high school as Laura. I also enrolled in school again, so it was a busy time that would distract me from the mess I left in Illinois. During lulls from active weeks is usually when the unsettled issues would creep back into my day to day thoughts. The down times would allow my brain to run a muck with reliving the failure of my marriage, hurting loved ones by my impulsive behavior, the countless jobs I have left, and this would leave me ripe with depression.

Living with depression and anxiety wasn’t a new avenue for me. I knew the drill when a fresh wave of depression would crash into my personal shore. What I have done for years would acknowledge its existence and ride it out for the duration of its stay. Sometimes I would try to combat the despair I was feeling through exercise, writing, or listening to music, but there are some days this burden would get the better of me. There would be days that I could hardly get out of bed, wanting nothing more than total solitariness so I could overindulge in food or alcohol by myself. I would often refer to this wicked darkness as a beast in poems I would write. The beast would manipulate my mind into thinking there was no hope. It would suck all of the gumption, enjoyment, and hope from my body until I was left empty.

Being left without hope was and is by far the most trying loss during bouts of depression. What else does one have with the absence of self-reassurance, that things will get better. Once hope is gone, a slippery slope process of deterioration will soon be triggered. From my perspective being hopeless is about as dangerous as skiing away from an avalanche. I can ski pretty fast but sooner or later the avalanche will catch up to me, and I’ll soon be buried with depression.

My beast of a depression is nothing more than a con artist trying to sell me on a false reality. This slimy bastard will pesture you until you buy into the garbage he is trying to unload. Why don’t you just give up, all you do is fail, nobody believes in you, stop embarrassing yourself, everyone hates you… this is the technique my “lovely” salesman uses to close the deal. The strategy is to consistently overwhelm me with false claims, berate me until I become exhausted from self-hateful thoughts, and to wholly accept my fate of being an atrocious person. I kind of admire his due diligence, but his assertiveness is becoming pushy, and nobody likes a pushy salesman.

After living in Florida for six months I became very close with Laura. Each Other's company was a constant as we explored what south Florida had to offer. We would have long conversations about the past, present, and the always unpredictable future. Laura would begin to cautiously inquire about marriage, to which I was upfront about, never again. For me marriage turned my life upside down, and I was adamantly against it. I wanted to make that clear, not because I didn’t believe in spending the rest of my life with someone (especially Laura) but of my blunt fear of it. It would turn out that I had a very understanding partner.

Soon after the marriage discussion I would be asked about having children. Saying no to marriage consequently led Laura to believe I also didn’t want kids, not true. I explained that I would love to have kids, and the thought of having a positive family unit sounded great. In my eyes marriage doesn’t eliminate future plans of family. At this time, I was in school full time, my classroom was held in my living room which was convenient… online classes. I could be a stay-at-home dad while I finish school, and we could manage financially if we tighten the belt a bit. Within about five weeks of deciding this is the path we were taking Laura was pregnant. I can’t help but think of a quote from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

At this point it may behoove us to stop, and look around, to peer inside of the emotional state of the man behind this story, me. So, I was just told the biggest news of my existence, I’m going to be a father, huh… well I’m anxious but there’s nothing new there. I’m also extremely excited, overjoyed, overwhelmed, and petrified. Thoughts of failure were starting to seep into my subconscious, and there were moments when I thought I was in over my head. I was worried about going home and telling both of our parents the news, and how they would react to the decision of having a baby without being married. Life was going to take yet another forceful change of direction, at least this time I had nine months to prepare, practically an eternity in my world.

The following nine months would of course have its share of challenges. Situations would crop up that would test the longevity of my patience, the thickness of my skin, and making our best judgement calls on the fly. These pop quiz's life was dishing out was turning into a buffet of obstacles, but who doesn’t love a buffet!? Lots of people.

The first snag would come when we traveled to Illinois to tell our parents the news of the pregnancy. Laura received a phone call assuring us that all blood tests look good, and the baby is terrific. An hour later another call from the same Dr. office, but this time we were advised one test returned positive for the Zika virus. It was an oversight on the medical office, and they should have informed us with the previous call. You can only imagine being taken to a stratosphere of relief, to a sinkhole of trepidation. The office wouldn’t offer much insight into the outcome of the test, other than not to worry (how assuring). The Center of Disease Control in Atlanta would have to confirm the result, which will take five weeks. Try not to worry.

After I did some research, I learned that more than half of the Zika test results are false positives, and fortunately for us we were included in that. The greatest worry during the pregnancy was waiting for the Dr. office to call with good news. Who wouldn’t want their child to be free and clear of any developmental complications? “We” were four months deep into the pregnancy, and we just cleared a major medical scare.

Remember when I said I would never get married again? Well, I got married again. Laura never brought up the marriage conversation again after I rebuffed the notion that someday I would be ready to dive back into the deep waters of marriage. To be candid on my decision to give marriage a second try, I didn’t like the idea that my son’s family unit would be “different” because mom and dad are together, but not married. This peculiar lifestyle in my point of view would negate my yearning for a balanced, calm, and secure home life. I will also state for what I perceive as the obvious, I unquestionably love Laura. I would follow her to the edge of the world and back again. Once I let myself seriously consider the idea of marriage the decision came easy.

Our next dilemma would come from mother nature in the form of a hurricane, the largest hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic to be more specific. This came at a time where Laura was now eight months into her pregnancy, and there were mandatory evacuations orders given to our little town. We were forced to flee north to Atlanta, Georgia. A usually eleven-hour drive ended up being nearly double that. If you ever wanted to peek into an apocalyptic behavior of society in panic this was your chance. Nearly seven million people escaped Irma’s path, and we became part of one of the largest evacuation efforts in U.S. history. Although this would be a stressful journey given the uncertainty of what the storm would do to our town, the near full term of Laura’s pregnancy, and the chaotic driving conditions we managed to have a really enjoyable unplanned “baby moon”.

Waiting for my wife to have our baby was a lot like waiting to go to the dentist. I was growing restless for the big day, but I just wanted it over with already. At this point the thought of starting a new routine, and lifestyle as a full-time father and student were weighing heavily on me. The time that one spends in limbo before entering what awaits them is a true purgatory. Personally, I tend to depict most things far worse than what they truly are. The periods of lag before I meet face to face with what challenges me leaves my brain time to mastermind every worse case scenario. How often does the worst case scenario happen? Literally never, I’ve yet to see it. Yet somehow I remain vigilant of the Mac truck that’s surely heading for me at every intersection I cross. Tension, anxiety, and depression will be served alongside the main course… my son.

The moment has arrived, and my wife will go into labor on a Thursday evening. I will forever remember the day of the week because we got to watch the Bears and Packers play on Thursday Night Football. Owen would be born the following afternoon, healthy as could be, and nothing else would matter. The relief I would hold was only a flicker of light from a roaring fall bonfire. More than anything I would feel my purpose in this world as I held my son for the first time. I was under the impression that life was about to get more complicated, but instead clarity was born. All of the noise and chatter the world generates would hush. My son would help muzzle most of the foolishness that would consume my day, and instead shift my spotlight onto him. What a clever little creature this boy is.

Having a purpose in this world is as necessary as having the sun to grow the crops we harvest. The sun helps the plants grow, and having a daily objective further cultivates our mind, body, and spirit. Without direction I was set adrift, left to wander a desert with no aspirations to find my way home. Yes, I now have a life that reaches beyond the scope of the many underwhelming, and apathetic titles I have previously held. I am cognizant that many of us won’t ever get to pursue our unique passions that make life worth living. But what if your passion discovers you first?

My new role in fatherhood would feel very natural, which is something to note. Much of what I have tackled in my life has felt inadequate. Doubt has cast a shadow over me, making it difficult to generate confidence about much of anything. Being a father has changed that, because I kick ass at being a dad. During this time, I was feeling pretty good about my schooling as well. I actually enjoyed challenging myself to do my absolute best, which helped me achieve a 4.0 GPA (definitely a first for this guy). A few months into my portrayal as a loving husband, devoted father, and diligent student would leave me feeling mildly optimistic about my self perception. Surely there’s always room for improvement.

It was several months after the birth of my son when I decided to pursue consultation related to my overall mental wellbeing. At this time, I wouldn’t be in a dark den of depression, rather it was in an attempt to transform a lifestyle of general unhappiness with myself. Living in the meager area as we did left no options for mental health care. I would eventually find a therapist using goodtherapy.org to seek help while on a budget, and driving about 75 minutes away. The therapist I found made me feel very welcomed, as well as comfortable while processing my train of thoughts on various matters. Every time I left her office I found a more positive perspective on life along with being educated on some specific areas of how our brain works. I took a plunge into therapy which became a spiritual cleanse that made me feel more at peace with myself. These sessions unfortunately didn’t continue for very long. Communication would become a bit of a problem, and we simply fell out of contact. I was upset at the time after she inquired how I was doing through email, and after giving a thoughtful response I wouldn’t hear back. I don’t hold any anger today about it, I too could have made an extra effort to reach out. If anything this experience would expose me to the healing benefits of therapy.

My son would be six months old when we would move to the west coast of Florida. Laura was starting to teach at a new school, I would start attending my core classes toward occupational therapy, and if that’s not enough we would move in with my parents. My dad, newly retired, found a home he liked, and decided to rent it for a year for all of us. This would help greatly having papaw (grandpa) be able to watch our son while we were gone during the day. My mom would travel back and forth from Illinois due to her working and being present for the home they were trying to sell. Big move for my family, and parents, but this was predominantly a very positive union coming together.

Although I enjoyed my classes I lacked the confidence needed to follow through with the completion of the program. Anatomy and physiology would prove to be my biggest challenge. A class that was designed to be completed in a month was an enormous challenge. I was determined to not only pass but excel at this course. However, when it came to the tests given, I would often become muddled with information I’ve spent many hours studying. My professor who I still admire pulled me aside one day after class. She told me that she was surprised at my low test score because she was certain I comprehended the material. She would read me questions from the test, and one after the other, I would answer correctly. The next question she asked me if I have ever been tested for dyslexia. In fact I haven’t, but that would explain my frustrations with school throughout the years. I did pass the class with a C, but this would be my last class at the University.

Going back to college was overall a great experience of which I don’t regret. I drastically raised my GPA, and discovered a more positive outlook on education. I would lack the confidence in myself to complete the program because I felt self-conscious about being able to put pen to paper when it came time for testing. Now where will my journey take me next?

After a brief period of working for my local county in Florida, a decision was made between my wife and I to move back to our home state of Illinois. How bout’ that, another big change, are you starting to see a pattern yet? The plan was I would drive back to Illinois first to start a new job, and my wife would finish the last few weeks of the school year and make the journey back with my son. We would move in with my in-laws until we settled into a home of our own. Those few weeks alone (in-laws happen to be on vacation) would fester into an underlying severe depression of the likes I’ve never experienced.

Reuniting with my wife and son flooded me with emotions. It was only a few weeks apart, but not being able to hold them was truly wearing on me. Once they returned to our temporary home life was still tense. My wife was seeking a new school to teach at. I was learning a new job, as well as trying to manage cohabitating with her parents who are very much set in a routine. Adding a rambunctious toddler into a 72-year olds' routine is tricky to say the least. Sleeping arrangements were difficult as well, where I resided in the basement and my wife and son in a small spare bedroom above me. I felt alone, again. My future was uncertain, again. I had to adapt to a new routine, again. This was the moment in my life I would meet face to face my breaking point.

Monday June 3rd, 2019, this is the day that will change the course of the rest of my life. Each day before the 3rd was getting worse and worse. The housing situation was disruptive, my job once again was unfulfilling, and the future was completely uncertain. What I was going through was likely not out of the ordinary of what many people experience, but the constant feelings of despair, worthlessness, and complete loss of hope that evolved were more than I could shoulder.

The evening of June 2nd was quiet torture, as intrusive thoughts of suicide became deafening, and heavy drinking lasted uncahraistically until the early morning. As time passed by, all I would think about was that now would be the perfect moment to finally end this eternal battle. In a text message exchange with my wife I told her she was strong enough to do anything. The messages were vague, but I believe I was trying to tell her goodbye as I was stewing in a frenzy of total depression.

The sun would rise, and I would still be alive, now I was really pissed. I’m not supposed to be here, and now I have to start my day as nothing happened. I throw on my clothes in a haste and storm off to work feeling like a total fuck up. The work day started like it normally would, other than the fact I didn’t want to be alive. As I was working I was greeted by a police officer with a friendly question, “are you Tyler”? Having spent time in school, and virtually my entire adult life surrounded by police officers I figured we knew each other. I responded enthusiastically with a “YEAH”! Well instead of shaking hands, I was told to turn around so I could be searched for weapons… Well this was a first.

As it turns out my wife was understandably panicked by my irrational as well as out of character behavior leading her to call 911. I was met by law enforcement while I was working and was informed, I would be transported by ambulance to the hospital for an evaluation. It was explained to me that I didn’t have a choice in the matter, not that I was in a state of mind to make sound choices anyways. I would be admitted in the hospital for 3 days for evaluation, and treatment for major depression. Before this I’ve never spent more than an hour in a hospital.

During my stay in the hospital, I was placed in a psychiatric ward which was terrifying when I discovered that's where I would be admitted. The area I was placed was nothing like I imagined it would be. Most of the people admitted in this unit were very similar to me, and some seemed to be very different. Some were depressed, anxious, faced drug and alcohol addiction, but all of us were working towards the same goal, self-acceptance. Spending a lifetime thinking you are not good enough will take more than three days to undo, but it was a great start.

My days in the hospital were largely spent in group therapy sessions. I remember having to make a new goal for myself every day. Every day my goal was to seek therapy and return home to my wife and son. In these sessions we were encouraged to open up about ourselves which included the struggles we were facing, life choices made, abusive relationships, and ultimately whatever demons that each of us were living with. Some of the stories that I would hear were exceptionally difficult to wrap my head around, especially those of physical abuse. I’m not a particularly outgoing person, my answers were direct, and to the point. I have depression, and anxiety... Next.

The first morning waking up in the hospital I was really out of sorts. So much was going through my head. How in the hell did I let myself fall this far, what will happen to me, what will people think of me, but most importantly how do I get out of here!? That first morning I woke up around 4:30 AM which is about the time I normally get up. At around 5:15 AM an older gentleman woke up who reminded me of my dad. He said hello to me and told me a little about himself. I later listened to him talk about his alcoholism in group therapy, and how his adult kids want nothing to do with him. This brought back old feelings that I once held against my father. Feelings that I have refused to reconcile with, or exhume the hurt I’ve attempted to bury so many years ago.

Over the course of my three days spent in the hospital I was able to talk to this man and listen to what he was struggling with. He was very positive, happy, and encouraging to everyone around him. You know the type of person whose presence makes you feel better, that was him. This man who had a mountain of personal struggles and shortcomings was able to make me feel welcomed and cared for in my darkest hours. Six months after I was released from the hospital I read in the local police news he’d been arrested. A “career criminal” if you will, comforted me at my most vulnerable. Where do I even begin dissecting the layers of metaphors that this man bestowed upon me. Don’t judge a book by its cover… this wouldn’t begin to scratch the surface.

I wasn’t completely sure of the lessons I was supposed to take with me upon being released from the hospital. When the time came to finally leave, I was a bit out of sorts. However, I do know I was given a referral to a therapist that has given me new hope with every session I spend with him. Walking out of these sessions with a fresh perspective, additional tools to combat anxiety, unloading this burden of sadness, and leaving with instilled hope for my future.

Having a spot to meditate, relax, think or not think has helped me a great deal. I’d like to invite you for a quick tour of my safe place. The sky is blue, trees are dark, and the changing color leaves begin to fall. This is the view from my safe place today. Adjacent to my left, while lying in my bed is a big window with long sheer blinds that touch the bottom of the window sill. At dusk the sun filters through the blinds to coat the walls with an amber glow. Looking out this window allows me to step outside my racing mind to be still in the moment. There is nothing wrong with the sky, nothing anxious about the trees, and certainly nothing depressing about the autumn leaves. These moments are invaluable to me, as it helps me to restore, and recharge my eternal batteries. I take this time to clear out the apps running in the background of my brain, to dump the garbage I carry inside me from the day, and to remember as well as rejoice about how lucky I truly am.

Nothing lasts forever, whether it be good or bad. It’s easy to get caught up in what's wrong, and easy to forget all of the good that life has to offer. Focus on the good, focus on what you can control, focus on the people in life that love you. To live is to hurt, and to hurt is to live. In my 31 years of existence, I’ve witnessed what my emotional state of mind can accomplish, and withstand. Hard times can be a test of will that can push you to outer bounds you never knew existed.

To be continued.