Dear Paranoid Conspiracy Theorists, Please Be Aware that Everything Isn’t Always About You.

I need to vent about an upsetting encounter I recently had with a quick-tempered, potentially violent, ultra-paranoid, gun owner. And, believe me, he did his best to make all of those things abundantly clear.

It was a hot Friday afternoon and I was accompanying my son, a PhD grad student, while he worked on a long-term research project using a drone to document algae growth in our rivers. We were in a State Park – one of his six different study locations (Special Use Permit in hand).

After the drone finished making its preset run above the river and we began putting it away, a black SUV skidded to a stop, blocking us in. I was hoping the older couple who disembarked were coming to ask to see the drone. 

Nope.

They came in hot – accusing us of flying the drone outside their bedroom window. After I realized they weren’t joking, we tried to calm the situation by telling them about the research. My son patiently told them who he was, who he was working for and why he was there. He then showed him the flight path – all river, no bedrooms. In answer he was told, loudly and repeatedly, that he was full of $#!%. The bedroom window was mentioned several more times.

The angry accuser then told us he shot at the drone with his rifle the last time it was there, but missed. (The drone flies very high above the river to include the riverbank in the hyperspectral image for other research projects.) 

Later in the “conversation”, this man learned that other students had also been working with this drone, to which he said – no problem, I have plenty of ammo.

When we realized there was no reasoning with this guy, we apologized profusely and acknowledged that privacy is paramount, etc, etc. to get him to back off.

After the fact, I learned that this couple has lived in our state for less than 2 years but somehow felt it was their right to threaten an old(ish) lady and her son, both of whom are state natives, who were just trying to do some research. The river research had been taking place in that location well before his house was even built. Yet he thought he had the right to shoot down a very expensive, state-owned, scientific drone (illegal) because he convinced himself it was hovering outside his bedroom window.

It makes me sad, and more than a little angry, to think people have to deal with the threat of gun violence from ultra-paranoid conspiracy theorists who think everything is about them. 

It’s unsettling, to say the least.

And, yes, people asked why we didn’t call the Sheriff. I think we were completely taken aback and didn’t want to escalate the situation. 

PS At the last site, we encountered 3 sets of smart, curious people who asked great questions and thanked my son for doing this research.

Things have a way of balancing out.

Epilogue: The river health research is presently on hold for safety reasons.

Come on, Medical Profession

The shovel was soundless the millisecond before it connected with my skull. Even after it crashed onto my head, there was a moment of eerie silence, no doubt caused by my complete disorientation. I stumbled toward my front door as the shovel wielder apologized with tears in her eyes, dropped the shovel and ran home. I never blamed her for the injury, we had been trying to break the ice in the yard so we could build an igloo. The heavy shovel just got out of control and landed, blade-side, squarely on my head instead of on the ice it had been intended for.

Back in the day our family doctor had his practice in his house. His wife sat in the front room, also known as the reception area, and, in the back room, the doctor had an exam table and long counter cluttered with jars filled with swabs and cotton balls. He was the ultimate medical authority. We never questioned his advice. That fateful day, he stitched me up and sent us on our way.

All these years later and I still wonder if I should have been treated for a concussion. I also wonder why medicine hasn’t advanced further.

My son has type 1 diabetes and depends on insulin to stay alive. The greedy pharmaceutical companies are more than happy to gouge people for this lifesaving drug, even though, in 1921, the discoverers of insulin (Drs. Best and Banting) sold the patent for $1 to ensure that all who needed it could get it cheaply. The blood-thirsty pharmaceutical companies neglect to tell people that. Greed is an awful thing.

I’ve seen many doctors through the years for anxiety, depression, tinnitus, and thyroid disease. I’ve been overwhelming met with vague attempts to placate me. The overriding theme is – you’re getting old. Shit happens.

So, my son fights day to day to stay healthy. And I struggle on with my issues. And we hope that medicine will make big advances and, hopefully, put greed and ageism aside.

I’m not holding my breath. It would kill me well before they could diagnose and treat it. After all, I am pretty old.

Well, This is Embarrassing

I started writing this blog long ago during an especially tormented, stressful time in my life. I vented and extrapolated and conjectured and suffered and spewed words. These words meant nothing special to the world at large, but they meant something to me.

Then I ran out of words. Not long after that, I forgot I had a blog. Completely forgot.

Until today.

I opened my email account this morning and inside was a notification that somebody had just followed my blog. I stared at the notification for a few seconds, then I remembered. It all came back to me. I was somehow able to open my WordPress account and there it was, just where I’d left it.

I still suffer from anxiety. I still ruminate. I still beat myself up over inane, pointless things. In other words, I’m still a mess. But I guess I didn’t want to subject cyberspace to it any more.

Thank you to my handful of followers. You’re very kind to take the time to read my meandering, narcissistic rantings.

I’ll try to come up with an upbeat, positive message for my next blog post.

If I remember I have a blog, that is.

I

Depressed about Depression

Back in the day, I would listen to a friend or coworker talk about feeling depressed and I’d nod my head in sympathy and mumble a platitude or two, but I really had no idea what they meant. Maybe it meant they were sad. I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t give it a lot of thought.

I realize now that I was selfish and uncaring. Busy with my own life.

Flash forward a few years to the day I finally understood it.

At first, I didn’t make the connection. I was in a long-term battle with fatigue, brain fog, feelings of quilt, overwhelming anxiety, impulsiveness, and lack of interest. I just thought I was tired or going through a rough patch. I told myself I just needed to buck up and soldier on. I was raised with the belief that unless you were dead, you went to school or work or to an appointment. So, I never took the time to figure out what was happening to my life as it crumbled around me.

I was eventually diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, but that was only one part of the problem. I remember writing into a Hashimoto’s Support Facebook page that asked people to tell their stories of life with the disease. I wrote about my very worrisome issues with my memory and how awful I felt for forgetting names, etc. The moderator commented, “Oh, wow. That sounds awful. I can’t imagine.” Not what I wanted to hear. I felt completely alone. After a good cry, I realized that maybe I needed to delve deeper into what was happening to me.

I thought the crying jags, the lag of motivation, the insomnia, the anxiety attacks (and the horrible brain fog that often followed) were all due to Hashimoto’s and that my thyroid meds were just not working. I cycled through just about every thyroid pill I could find. Nothing changed. I cut gluten. I cut dairy. I cut caffeine. Nothing changed.

Then I started digging even deeper. I was so hung up on Hashimoto’s that I wasn’t considering the effects my overwhelming anxiety was having on my body and mind. So I did some more research and found Valerian root for sleeping, L-Theanine for anxiety, various memory boosters for brain fog. I bought a posture corrector to fix my slumping posture, brought on by years of wanting to fold into myself instead of facing the world. I decided to take it easier on myself. I quit beating myself up for saying or doing stupid things. I wrote myself a note saying, “RESET” and put it on my mirror. That’s a reminder that if I have a bad day, I shouldn’t carry it over into the next.

It’s a daily battle. I can feel the monster lurking in the dark recesses of my mind. It’s looking for a chance to take over my thoughts, to convince me I’m a detriment. I push it back with all I’ve got, but I worry that it won’t ever give up. It bides its time. I don’t want it in my head, but sometimes I wonder if I’m addicted to it somehow.

Our bodies and minds are complicated, intertwined systems. If one thing goes wrong, it can affect other things, and on and on. But we are our own best advocates. And asking for help can be a brave and smart thing to do – and by that, I don’t mean Facebook self-help pages. Sigh.

Keep up the battle, fellow warriors.

Reason

We’re all born on a knife-edge mountain ridge. In the beginning we stay alive because someone makes it so. After that, we have to crawl out on our own. We wobble and teeter, but somehow stay on the sharp, narrow path.

Sometimes we come perilously close to falling into an abyss. There are two of them. One on each side of our steep trail. We have no way of knowing what’s at the bottom of either one. We just know we shouldn’t want to go there. So we painstakingly teeter along.

Then one day we say to ourselves, “Why don’t I just quit this harrowing struggle and jump?” A little voice says, “Not today.” So we continue to inch along the sharp edge, sure we’re headed for happiness, fulfillment, worthwhile contributions, something to make it all worthwhile. It’s just ahead.

Then it hits us. There isn’t a reason. There isn’t a means to an end. We’re all just staying in line, slowly and obediently traversing the narrow ridge. So we stop, carve out a little flat spot and plunk ourselves down.

Maybe the best thing we can do is enjoy the view and whisper encouragement to those still on the trail.

How Hashimoto’s Disease Stole My Life

I don’t know when it started. I’ve always been tired, searching, easily disheartened.

I think puberty, pregnancies, and anxiety exacerbated my problems.

The Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis diagnosis didn’t come until I was in my early 50s. I’d already lost opportunities, drive, and lots and lots of memory cells.

Being around people became unbearable. I couldn’t remember their names, what they did, why I knew them, or even how to make pleasant conversation. If I didn’t immediately insult them, I usually got around to it. It was painful – for everyone.

Depression was inevitable. I decided it was warranted so I didn’t try to do anything about it. I thought I deserved it. I didn’t like me. Still don’t, really.

I ended up quitting my jobs, one after the other. I couldn’t count on my memory enough to convince myself that I was dependable in these jobs. That became especially true when I worked as a substitute teacher. I couldn’t keep the kids’ names or schedules straight. I woke up one morning and realized I might leave a kid behind on a field trip or put them on the wrong bus or dismiss them early when it wasn’t early-out. There were so many ways I could mess up. I just wasn’t safe so I quit, again.

I couldn’t think of a single job I could do without a dependable memory, so I retired early and took up painting and writing. I suck at those too, but at least everyone is safe.

I’ve tried almost every supplement created for thyroid health. And I’ve been through almost every thyroid hormone available. I’ve tried countless varieties of desiccated. Now I’m trying synthetic. Nothing makes a difference.

My apologies. I don’t mean to sound so pathetic and disheartening. Who knows, maybe it’s not my thyroid at all.

Maybe I have Alzheimer’s. Sigh.

The Benefits of Whining

Nobody likes a whiner. There’s some truth in that, and I was the last one who would argue against it – my family’s motto was Suffer in Silence. We should’ve embroidered that saying on pillowcases and had it embossed across the tops of our doorways, that’s how seriously we took it.

I dislocated my knee when I was 14 and afterward, instead of whining, I went to bed. The next morning my knee was the size of a soccer ball. When we finally went to see the doctor, he was not pleased. My knee is a mess to this day.

So I’ve finally come to realize there are a lot of good arguments against Suffering in Silence. If you have a problem, ache, pain, complaint, observation, injustice to right, or are just feeling puny, let someone know. Scream it from the rooftops, if you must.

And here’s why.

I’ve always been lazy. At least, that’s what I told myself. I would wake up tired. Heck, the act of waking up was itself an exhausting battle. My mom got so frustrated with trying to awaken me that her solution was to throw on the lights and yell my name at the top of her lungs. It was a great way for both of us to start our days. Not.

I didn’t know I was suffering from fatigue until I wasn’t. I really thought I was just plain lazy. I missed out on countless opportunities because I wanted to go home to take a nap or go to bed early.

I took shortcuts with homework or projects just to get them over with. I’d turn down work assignments that involved overtime, because I just couldn’t make it through it.

I didn’t want to go to a doctor or dentist because of the work involved in making an appointment and getting myself to their office, what with driving and parking and walking. The thought alone was overwhelming.

I’d eat frozen dinners because I was too lazy to cook. It was just who I was. I thought there was nothing to be done about it.

Then one day, not long after being diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Disease and starting on thyroid hormone replacement pills, I felt like weeding my disaster of a flower bed. I spent a couple of hours happily digging in the dirt.

Later that same day I felt like doing the dishes. I’ve always put them off until morning because I needed the temporary motivation that a caffeine burst gave me. But that day I actually felt like doing them right after we ate. Oh, and before doing the dishes, I had prepared a healthy meal.

Eating healthy, I’ve learned firsthand, helps compound your energy levels. Then, before I knew it, I had the energy to start exercising regularly. Before long, I started sleeping better. Waking up wasn’t nearly the struggle it had always been.

I also noticed that, slowly but surely, my anxiety levels were dropping. Things that would cruelly torment and torture me suddenly didn’t seem that dire. I could actually laugh some of them away. I started wondering why they’d bothered me so horribly in the first place.

What was going on? What happened to my life-long laziness? Was this how “normal” people felt?

Don’t get me wrong, I still have occasional relapses of fatigue and anxiety, but instead of letting them defeat me, I double down on eating healthy and exercising. A good night’s sleep does wonders as well.

No matter what comes next, I know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I know I can have happy, energetic days again. And best of all, I know I’m not lazy.

I only regret that I didn’t whine, yell, and complain about my constant fatigue. I could have whined to the right person and been told to get my thyroid checked. I could have felt better a long time ago.

So get out there and whine! Do it for yourself. It could change your life.

I Was Actually Joyous

Nights are the hardest. You’re trapped alone with your thoughts in gloomy darkness. I sometimes think my mind gets a perverse kick out of making me relive my most deplorable moments as I lay there helplessly in bed. And when I’m tired and anxious, these thoughts gnaw away at my soul. I can feel the anguish build. Eventually, I fall into a restless sleep and wake up exhausted. Nights are the hardest.

I cracked a tooth the day before going on a week-long vacation. I was popping pain pills all day and found a generic painkiller with a sleep additive for the nights. For the first time in a long time I was sleeping soundly and sleeping the whole night through. It could have been the quiet farmhouse we were staying in, but I tend to think it was the sleep additive.

I woke up on the 5th day, toothache and all, and I felt fabulous. I was actually joyous. I couldn’t wait to go explore. Nothing bothered me. My demons were blocked out. The negative part of my mind tried to regain a foothold, but to no avail. I was actually joyous.

Is sleep the answer? Is it that simple? Or did my toothache refocus my thoughts. Or did getting away from my usual surroundings reset my thought patterns?

I don’t know. But I did learn that anxiety can be diminished. Even if it’s temporary, I’ll take it. The reprieve was fabulous. The knowledge that I can feel better under the right circumstances is freeing and fills me with hope.

I got a root canal and I’m not taking the chemical sleep aid anymore, but I am becoming more aware of my sleep patterns. I have discovered Valerian root, L-Theanine, and other natural supplements that can calm my nerves and hopefully help me sleep like I did in the farmhouse.

I’ll keep you posted.

Sweet dreams.

A Question of Selfishness

I realized I was going down a dark hole after I spent days obsessing over a stupid question I had blurted out at an inopportune moment. I was sure I had brought shame upon myself and my family. I was certain I’d ruined lives and changed the course of history. While lost in this bizarre mental oblivion, I suddenly remembered that the next day was a loved one’s birthday. Gulp.

At some point in my life I had convinced myself that I must serve a penance for doing or saying stupid things. I needed to berate myself, even knowing I was steeping my brain in the cortisol this punishment releases. I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy food, entertainment, sleep, virtually anything, until I had sufficiently beaten myself up. I thought this self-flagellation would somehow “fix” things.

I can only speculate that this act of martyring myself was supposed to prove I possess a loving, caring nature. But, in reality, it is just plain selfish. Not to mention, bad for my hippocampus.

While I waste precious time fretting, the people I care about are left hanging and abandoned. Their birthdays forgotten. I’m not doing them any good by obsessing over my mistakes. Mistakes, I might add, that most people didn’t even notice. Nobody disowned me. Nobody marked their calendars with a frowny-face. No one demanded I lose sleep over it. It was all me.

I managed to salvage the birthday, and this near-miss ended up giving me a gift. I finally realized I needed to get out of my head. It was time to think about others. To really think about others.

Let it go. Live in the moment. Breathe. I used to think those were lame platitudes that promote selfishness. Now I realize they are actually words to live by.

Now excuse me while I plan the next birthday party.

A Question of Selfishness

I realized I was going down a dark hole after I spent days obsessing over a stupid question I had blurted out at an inopportune moment. I was sure I had brought shame to myself and my family. I was certain I’d ruined lives and changed the course of history. While lost in this bizarre mental oblivion, I suddenly realized that the next day was a loved one’s birthday. Gulp.

At some point in life, I convinced myself that I must serve a penance for doing or saying stupid things. I must berate myself, even as I steep my brain in the cortisol this punishment releases. I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy food, entertainment, sleep, virtually anything, until I had sufficiently beaten myself up. I thought this self-flagellation would somehow “fix” things.

I can only guess that this act of martyring myself was supposed to prove I possess a loving, caring nature. But, in reality, it is just plain selfish. Not to mention, bad for my hippocampus.

While I waste precious time fretting, the people I care about are left hanging and abandoned. I’m not doing them any good by obsessing over my mistakes. Mistakes, I might add, that most people didn’t even notice. Nobody marked their calendars. No one demanded I lose sleep over it. It was all me.

I managed to salvage the birthday, and this near miss ended up giving me a gift. I finally realized I needed to get out of my head. It was time to think about others. To really think about others.

Let it go. Live in the moment. Breathe. I used to think those were lame platitudes that promote selfishness. Now I realize they are actually words to live by.

Now excuse me while I plan the next birthday party.