anxiety, Sleep


Sometimes my dreams cause a surge in my anxiety levels. When this happens, I wake up in a panic. Then I realize that I don’t know what I am panicking about so I start having a panic attack.

These are days that I rarely make it through without help. Sometimes it aligns with my days off so I can just have a mimosa or two. Nobody judges you for alcohol in the late morning if it’s mimosas.

Other days it doesn’t line up to my days off. These are the hard ones. I can’t exactly pop the bubbly at work. My antidepressants don’t take the edge off. I just run amok like a chicken with its head cutoff until I can get home and curl up in bed with a book.

I need to find something that takes away that edge that isn’t alcohol. My mind is too busy and too loud to meditate effectively.



I’m starting to see cracks in my armor. When this pandemic started, I was more than happy to stay home. For months I have been going to work and staying home with very little contact with others.

Recently I have noticed that it’s getting harder to leave the house. It’s harder to plan outings again. I spent years breaking out of this type of confinement. Now it seems I’m heading back.

I’m also drinking more. I’m watching the levels of my bottles go down quickly. I’m drinking during the week when I work from home the next day.

My armor is cracking and I’m not sure what to do. I can’t go back to being that person that barely functions. I don’t want to go back to daily anxiety or panic attacks. I don’t want to go back to having a plan in place for a quick escape, knowing my brain will forcing me to flee.

I need to start pushing myself again. It’s rough, but I need it. I need to force myself to go outside and wander. I need to go to a store. I need to fix my armor before it fails me completely.

depression, emotions


I’m a city guy, but sometimes I wish I could settle down in a small town like Star’s Hallow or Middleton. A place where things run slowly and you know your neighbors. But, I’m gay. It’s not that easy.

People like me need to live in big cities. I’m accepted here. I don’t have to know anyone or get along with anyone. I can just be. I can fit in while not concerning myself about others.

Living in a small town means fitting in. It means having everyone know you and like you. Not everyone likes me. Hell, my friends don’t like me some days. But yet, it still get this warm feeling in my heart when I watch Gilmore Girls or Good Witch. That small town life makes me yearn.

depression, Motivation


With anxiety and depression, my brain is usually focusing on a few dozen issues at any given time. This takes brain power away from my conscious mind, which is why I often forget words, names, or even faces.

Imagine having a computer with 3 browsers running and each browser has 10 to 15 windows open. No matter how fast your computer is, that amount of activity is going to slow things down. Now imagine that your computer is 10 years old. Your computer is begging you to slow down and read a book.

I often feel like an idiot when I forget words or names. It happens most often in group settings. That makes it so much more fun. Over the years I have worked to become more outgoing and personable, yet it’s hard to tell stories and jokes when your brain forgets basic words or names.

With an additional note, if you don’t think people with depression should drink alcohol, you should stop reading here. 🙂


Seriously, if you are going to judge, stop reading.


With alcohol, the forgetfulness gets worse. After 2 to 3 drinks my memory gets worse and my recollection of the night is spotty at best. It seems that the one way to get my brain to calm down and stop yelling also makes my brain stop and hammer time. Potayto. Potahto I guess. At least the latter lets me have fun.