Disastrous mental reaction to returning home from Nebraska

[BourbonMac]

I've had a very difficult year. Some people may have followed along with my post history and know about some of it. I relied a lot on going to Nebraska in the summer but my oldest brother getting married got in the way, so I went in late September and left Sunday, stopped in Iowa before leaving to visit my uncle.

It's always been pretty tough coming back home. But this time... good fucking lord. I don't know if I've ever had such an extreme reaction. I hate my house, where I live. It wasn't exactly an eventful time aside from a cousin getting married and lots of drama, but that's my family, and they're all out in Nebraska.

I stay at an older aunt and uncle's house, both 76/77, one in remission from liver cancer, the other with type 2 diabetes and a nerve condition (he says gabapentin is a miracle drug for this). Anyway... this house was the source of some of my best childhood memories ever. The neighborhood in general, really.

They have this wonderful little bichon pup that adores me because they're older and can't play with him or walk as long with him. He's my favorite dog ever. I miss everyone, but somehow I almost miss the dog more. Being loved by such a nice little animal. His excitement when I'd bring out the leash... it just made me feel so nice, no matter if I was upset about tinnitus which I thought was going to spoil my trip, but I really didn't care about it at all while out there. The past few days it basically vanished, even when I got high, it didn't spike, but once I was about home that stopped, it's back now. I'm hoping it's a sign this is improving, can't really say.

Anyway, my relationship with my aunt and uncle has been a bit lacking in some ways. Before leaving, I laid a lot down to my uncle about my mental health and such, how I feel I have great potential as a writer (I've written a lot of poetry that I'm naturally self-critical of, but some of it is very good despite being "throwaway.") I could write a book if I wanted, but it's difficult to commit when you have C-PTSD, ADHD and in general are a total mess.

While out there my creative fuels were on fire. I just feel like some light goes on in my brain, that light has gone out. When I got home I freaked the fuck out, punched a hole in my wall, slit my forearms, cried my head off, thought about suicide. Just, not good. This is what I'd been going through just before going on that trip, and I should have been prepared to feel really, really depressed when I got home. I'm very glad I laid things out to my uncle who is one of the few adults who ever took interest in me growing up, it was extremely difficult. I got a good amount out days before leaving, but the whole laying out suicidal tendencies and thoughts was important for me

A good part of me is subdued around people due to heavy abuse I took from my dad growing up, so familial relationships have been strained by this I suppose. Trust issues, really. My dad was present for half the trip which naturally left me unable to really speak to anyone, but I made sure my uncle knew how big a piece of shit my dad was. I mean, he already knew to an extent, because he witnessed him treating my brother and I terribly as kids once at a pool when our shoes were stolen from a locker at a water park. We were 9 and 10, the adults paid for everything, so it was their responsibility to get us locks. We didn't even go to a school with lockers so we didn't really know anything about them. He publicly humiliated us in front of a bunch of people by screaming his head off at how irresponsible it was to not lock our stuff up. Despite having no money to buy one, again, it was the adults responsibility. So he forced us to walk on 100 degree pavement in the heat of August, blistering the shit out of our feet. "Yeah, bet that fucking hurts doesn't it!" Parents all around looking in horror at this giant monster piece of shit that I would kill in a minute if it was legal for a day, and I feel bad killing bugs.

I kind of went off on a tangent there. But I did learn years later my uncle had wanted to punch my dad out that moment. But being older, and like a foot shorter (my dad is 6"5), he probably thought it might not work out well. So it was good I laid things out to him, but most of it was just before leaving, so I have this feeling of emptiness, in a way... it's hard to explain. I guess I wanted to talk about more of it sooner. My aunt is not as understanding about mental health problems, she's one of those prefers to ignore anything bad. Just cheer up, kind of mindset, but I still love her. She got this idea that because I wasn't talking with her much that I hated her, but I cleared up over the phone earlier this is not the case. My uncle I'd at least told last year that a lot of it had to do with my dad, and I did like him, just it was difficult to communicate, and even that was extremely difficult. This year was a continuation of that talk, in a way.

At this point I'm not even sure what I just wrote. I'm just so overwhelmed. I just want to be there, it feels more home to me than this piece of shit I call a home. They live in a great neighborhood and a nice roomy house that again, has held so many warm memories to me as a kid. My dad didn't start coming along until I was 11, but even then I'd often be playing with my little cousins in the basement, out of his company. This time around some army buddies came around and brought him to Arizona where some other army buddies live. So it was good to have like, the last 6 days of this roughly 2 week vacation without him around. The fact he was around at all just sucked. I just hope my aunt and uncle stay healthy because I want to go out again next summer. I just really wish I could stay for more than 2 weeks for a change, but they do get overwhelmed by company after a certain point. I remember we had to leave one, just one day early back in 2007 and I was depressed for about 6 months over it.

It's safe to say I really have to move out there at some point, even though I love THC and it's quite illegal out there, minus delta 8, and a lot of the delta 8 vape shops actually do have delta 9, which I found out from some cousins who all got it from a specific store. But I'd easily give it up just to live there for awhile, just to be able to visit them like any of my other cousins or relatives. I miss the puppy so much, I should also get a dog one day, but he's the most special and unusual little guy I've ever known, just amazingly playful and interactive, curious, almost cat-like in some ways.

That is, if I manage to live until next summer. The last few days before leaving, my tinnitus that I re-developed after it went away post sinus surgery in late May (got really bad in late August through mid-September), suddenly all but vanished. It gets a lot worse when I get high but the last day there, I vaped way more than usual because I was so stressed, and I woke up with no spike, then the rest of the day was quiet. I got high at my uncle's that night and again, no spike, or a minimal spike. I kept vaping more and more and more to see if it could get really bad and it didn't. I woke up in the morning with quiet ears. It fluctuated a lot yesterday, however. Laying down in general tends to make it spike, sometimes it doesn't. I haven't figured out a solution, but unfortunately it has made me very, very depressed because it's a maddening horrible sound, and my best medicine for it could possibly be making it worse. I really have no clue (had made a thread called the Universe hates me about this).

But then, for suddenly vaping a ton two nights in a row not causing issues, I'm puzzled. THC couldn't have been the cause but exacerbates whatever is wrong. My GP wants me to take an antiviral meant for herpes that can apparently treat other viruses if it's something viral (highly doubtful) and my ENT wants me to try Prednisone (my GP refused to prescribe it as he thought it'd be useless). So yeah... kind of in a fucked up place in my mind. THC keeps me alive, it's magic, the way it washes away my stress and anxiety. It's difficult to even go a day without it because it's how I wind down at the end of every day. Getting high, having some tea, listening to music and jamming my guitar.

 

[Jerry Atrick]

Sounds like you had some good visits with your uncle, albeit maybe not enough. I'm sorry you had a breakdown when you returned from Nebraska

I can tell from this post that you are indeed a good writer. Just a passing thought... Since your uncle is aging, have you thought about writing something in his honor? Maybe spending some time with him next year interviewing him to write a biography of his life? It doesn't even have to be a complete biography, maybe a character based on him that appears in one of your books. I've written songs for each of my grandparents, my mom, my dad, my brother, and my nieces and nephew. It was my way of selflessly finding something unique enough about each of them to memorialize them in a way.

I'm sure it would mean a lot to your uncle and other family members as well as being therapeutic for you.

Hope you can find something to help with the tinnitus.

 

[BourbonMac]

It's something to consider. I recall writing a piece on my academic advisor in college. Up to that point in my life I'd never really been treated well by any adult. I'd transferred to a different university and took a writing class with him. He seemed a bit odd, detached, often mumbling and going off on tangents unrelated to the subject, so he wasn't particularly well rated. On the last day we had some sort of "interview" we'd sit down and talk with him regarding the course, what we'd learned from it and so on. I don't recall it being too profound in the moment, but he said some encouraging things and I gathered that he was an otherwise very similar person to me.

By that evening, I was suddenly struck when I realized some of what he told me had set in such as to begin writing a journal, something I've been slacking on since 2019 (getting a little high sort of sunk this in). He'd basically single handedly changed my mind about quitting college and I decided I was going to finish. I remember the last day, turning in my final paper to him, we talked for a little while. Well, mostly him, when you're 70, have ADHD and otherwise feel likely isolated (I could tell, and other students generally weren't too impressed by his... quirks). But that was alright with me, I'm a good listener. Except I also have ADHD so a lot of it just went out the other ear, but not the important things.

Since this was weeks after that "interview," it took some work but I'd wanted to thank him for his encouragement and making me want to come back. This alone was extremely difficult for me. I almost can't even figure out why at this point. I mean, I know I'd endured great abuse from my father so I suppose there was always a type of fear from adult males who might suddenly react in a similar fashion. I was very happy with myself after I'd done this, and it kickstarted a period of creativity and looking for work. I was unemployed at the time since I had trouble balancing school and work, but I got a summer job washing dishes at some little restaurant.

However, I was still at odds and very frustrated because I felt I had a lot of talent that was being underused and was not appreciated or seen by anyone else. A great deal of my writing hasn't been, which mostly has been poetry or music, often in fragments. That summer I did have a very creative kick, writing a lot of poetry most of which I have but unfortunately some I lost. I recall that fall trying to install a university version of McAffee and literally as it was installing I watched as every file on my desktop was removed. I still to this day have no idea what happened, and system restore didn't fix it. The IT department refused to accept that this was a possible outcome. I mean, just zap, I watched every file disappear into oblivion. Either way, that summer is when problems really started to appear and worsen for me. I began developing thoughts of suicide aggressively, probably even worse than I've been as of lately because at that point I hadn't shed a tear in years and was often trying to, but it was hard. I'd sucked up all that "toughen up, men don't cry" bullshit and eventually I lost the ability, but I had regained it later that fall...

Between 2016-2018 I wrote very frequently in the journal (unfortunately losing my summer entries from 2016), and it's often very sad to look back to because I was struggling to accept the trust of anyone. A lot of this changed when I'd come to him for critiques about my writing around fall 2016. That summer I'd begun to become very suicidal, signs of wear and tear and denial about mental illness, mostly taught to me by any adults surrounding me, led me to think I could defeat all of my problems alone. I learned how to be a therapist to myself, which is valuable but you can't hold that up forever, and it did lose its effectiveness after awhile. It was on 10/17/16 that I decided, enough was enough. This following paragraph might cue you in to how I was feeling at the time.

"My physical is in an hour. And I'm going to be up front about this: I'm losing it. As if I've said that a million times by now, but... I am. Life is just an endless cycle of issues. I'm going to talk to my practitioner about this and see what he thinks. Maybe medication would help, but it's not needed. I need to stop locking myself up, and just talk, speak my mind, tell people who I am. And I've started to, but I never say enough. Even if I think I have, so what am I chasing? Recognition, or purely the satisfaction of having done so?"

Then later, on not being able to cry: "Man, I could use a cry. If only I hadn't shed all my tears in childhood and saved a few for when I became a man. A broken down, suffering man." I was 22, almost 23 at this point and sounding like I'd advanced in age so much, it's kind of shocking, looking back. I hadn't cried at that point in 4 years, mostly just drinking myself into a stupor when I was depressed, but even if I felt good. I guess that's very much a product of those years, you drink when you're sad, you drink when you're happy.

It's worth noting that I was put on Accutane around this time because I had pretty bad cystic acne that wasn't responding to other treatments, and Accutane is well documented to speed up or worsen development of depression and is linked to many suicides. Ultimately I don't think anti-depressants helped then or have ever helped me. It's all a matter of getting myself into better circumstances and therapy would be better for this. I've just had trouble finding a good one though I did see a counselor at the college from November 2016 to the time I graduated. He was perfect, no one I've encountered has lived up to him. He could be challenging and press you on certain issues, play with your head sort of, and at times I didn't like it but in retrospect would realize that he was being clever, trying to get a specific emotional response out of me and succeeding.

So around that fall, I began talking to my advisor, and the counselor (though more focus on the advisor) about some of the things stressing me out beyond school, sort of gradually, because I was very afraid. Even this person who'd proved themselves to be very kind, it was like I feared some form of abuse. We began to develop a bond around this time, which grew stronger after I was hit by a car in December. I remember calling him about it, and he made sure all my professors knew about the accident and to extend my final projects/exams for a month and some change. Midway through recovery I'd received a card in the mail from him which I thought was a kind gesture. When I saw him in January he gave me a huge hug out of nowhere and expressed how glad he was that I was alright, which really shocked me. I hadn't realized that I may've had any impact on him just with my presence, but it's telling in a way because it shows he too was quite isolated, and I could often tell when I'd see him walking around campus with a saddened look on his face.

We loved to talk music and given he was in college in the late 60s had been exposed to great stuff. But it was also a very stressful period for him with all of the violence going on in the country. Only the music carries the legacy of an imagined era that never turned out to be what anyone wanted it to be. When years prior I was very ignorant about events of the 60s, I kind of wished I'd lived around then, but some stories from him, and just generally reading about what was all going on in that period, absolutely not. I couldn't imagine being on a heavy LSD dose with the looming threat of being drafted over my head.

2017 I made great strides and I continued to come talk with him about once a week. And the sad thing is that it was always so difficult to get myself to, well after I knew I could trust him. It was like my feet were made of concrete, as if I'd somehow walk into some episode of abuse. That's how you know your dad really fucked you up. This was arguably my most suicidal year, I thought about it very, very frequently. I remember going to the Boston Marathon that year and every building I looked at I had thoughts of jumping off. The anti-depressants weren't helping me, I'd started on Prozac, and then moved to Effexor, which is the most known to cause suicide or worsen depression. Prozacs half-life is 72 hours, Effexors is only 6. I took Effexor for one month and missed just a single dose and I felt that my whole body was being electrocuted, I was nauseous, having panic attacks and crying. One dose. I then decided fuck this and cold turkeyed it and it was the most uncomfortable week in my life, especially as I'd started going to the gym with a friend of mine. I'd soon meet kratom which, while I'm unfortunately still hooked on, I wouldn't be alive had it not arrived at that precise moment in May of 2017.

Just weeks before this, I'd had a good talk with my advisor, who noted I seemed like a much different person than the year before, and he wasn't wrong. I made sure to double up on what we'd spoken about the year before, how I felt he had a great impact on me and deserved to know, almost like he was a surrogate grandfather. That was very difficult to say but he appreciated it greatly. Getting hit by the car changed the trajectory of things for me a lot, I almost immediately cut down my alcohol use, especially by the time I met kratom, I stopped it completely except for rare occasions. But kratom turned on me after awhile when I was taking more than I should've been, I know now that there's no point in taking high amounts without ruining your tolerance or causing a state of dysphoria. Still, it continued to save me in moments of feeling very suicidal.

By the fall 2017 semester, now with kratom, I was beginning to shake off anxieties and develop as a person greatly. Looking back I don't know that I really needed it, and probably just convinced myself I did. I mean it certainly did help me at first but it overstayed its welcome. I got into doing radio that semester and fell in love with it. A year before this, months before this, I'd have thought the idea as impossible. My advisor had done some radio stuff in the past and mentioned maybe I ought to join the club, he'd been the organizer of the whole club in the early 90s and I'm not sure up to what point. I mostly played psychedelic stuff from the late 60s/early 70s some of which probably hadn't had any airtime in 50 years if ever, so older faculty members seemed to enjoy it the most. I'd often frame the songs around whatever subjects I was talking about.

We became better friends, but even with all these tremendous strides I was still falling to thoughts of suicide. Eventually I'd told him about this, because I was at a point where it was really ravaging my mind. I was making all these huge progressions in self-growth and yet I felt empty and like any happiness was on a timer, that it would run out, and that's generally how it worked. He wasn't even in town that day but he came to the campus just to come talk with me. I didn't expect he'd have told the counselor who I'd seen that say and I told him I was doing alright, only to be met with: "So why was Professor X calling about you feeling suicidal?" and that was the end of that. I should've known he would've referred it to the counselor. E

ither way, that day we got even closer, and he told me how he had some suicidal, depressive periods in his 20s as well as strong depression for a lot of his adult life. I think I helped him some in that regard, because as I got to know him better, suddenly he seemed more clear headed than the person who'd taught me in a course my first semester. I learned not soon after this that he'd be retiring soon, and leaving to move to Georgia where his wife taught (and made a lot more money). I think he just liked doing what he did, but I heard there were some hang-ups with their marriage at times and having to go to couples therapy or something.

I'll never forget when he left because, I'd run out of kratom. Up to that point I bought all the "no withdrawals" nonsense. I was already very sad he was leaving, in fact, basically on par with how I felt writing this original thread. But adding on the SEVERE withdrawal I experienced, I was a crying uncontrollable mess. I felt cold, like I'd never be happy again, my entire body was restless. Some people might not get withdrawal from kratom much but I was taking pretty big amounts of it for 4-5 months by that point. I would imagine doing heroin for 2 months would've likely had the same type of feeling, except maybe take longer to get over. By the 3rd day I was feeling back to normal again.

Either way, at the height of my withdrawal, with no sleep, I still came to say my farewell, which is kind of traumatic looking back. I mean, those withdrawals were hellish. But I'd dump all my kratom in the toilet if I could go back to Nebraska for a month. I know I'd feel like shit, but withdrawal for me now tends to be not as bad as it was there, likely because I take smaller doses and was often using a bunch of potentiators like turmeric, black pepper, grapefruit juice.

He did pop back up in April & May which I was thrilled about, and he got to see me graduate. He didn't officially retire until Spring of 2019, so the last time I saw him was that May. That time, it wasn't so hard, and in general 2019 was probably the least depressed or suicidal I've been in the last 6, even in spite of my house flooding while I'd gone to Nebraska in February for my grandma's funeral. It was the first time I'd been out since the summer of 2012. I did actually react terribly when told we'd have to leave 3 days early due to a snowstorm, but it changed paths and then I was told we'd be staying a few more days. I actually got suicidal over this very badly, I mean, I hadn't been there in forever, and my grandmother died. We weren't extremely close but we were close.

Damn I've been typing for awhile, huh... I guess to wrap back around to the beginning, talking with my uncle about these issues was sort of like a replay of me beginning to open up about things not being quite well in my life to my advisor. Even the counselor, at first. I remember the first visit I talked quite a bit but the second, I just sat there, unable to say anything, often awkwardly smiling for a reason I couldn't understand. He said nothing either, calling back to those sort of "mind games" he'd play with me where he'd say or do something to get a specific response out of me. In this case, I think it was simply "if you aren't going to talk, I won't either" and is kind of funny looking back. I was a motor mouth the first visit, and could barely talk at all the second. Though I'd been to a halloween party the night before the first (saw him on November 1st) so there's a chance that the whole atmosphere and hangover made me less anxious. I used to find this, actually, that while hungover I'd feel freed from anxiety or depression. There's actually a subreddit dedicated to this called "hangover effect" where people deliberately try to take stacks of supplements to emulate that feeling. After awhile this stopped being the case for me, and hangovers would cause terrible anxiety.

So to bring these issues up with my uncle was indeed very difficult and felt exactly as it did with those two individuals. Maybe it was slightly easier but it was obviously not easy. A lot of spaces in-between words, hesitation, especially when I talked about suicidal thoughts. But it was something I had to get out because he's also very friendly and I knew he would be willing to listen. All he ever wanted was to hear me talk growing up and I just laid it down that a lot of it had to do with trauma induced by my dad, which he felt terribly about because he always knew I was a good kid. My aunt is a little less understanding of these issues. She ended up thinking I hated her or something, but I cleared up after we got home that I didn't. She just wants to see me happy and having a good time but if my dad is present that's not going to happen, he's a vacuum of my soul and personality. It's very complex and hard to conceptualize into a way that makes any sense. It's just a result of how he was.

If I can manage to not go completely crazy before next summer, I will think about talking about his life. I know about some things but nothing about his youth. As for the tinnitus, it's still liking to tease me. This morning I woke up and it was quiet, it hasn't been terribly loud today but after I took a nap it spiked something fierce for about an hour. Same thing happened yesterday. I'm at least seeing signs that it may gradually go away but I'm not so sure. THC still spikes it but if I were to get high right now it would be nowhere near after my nap, and I woke up to quieter ears this morning anyway, so I still cannot tell if it's the cause or not. I didn't have any for a few days and my mornings were still horrible spikes. Then the last 2 days before leaving I consume much more than normal and got no spikes, it just doesn't make sense. I know getting high has made my ears ring before in the past. Actually when I logged into an old PC of mine, one of my last google searches from February 2020 was "weed makes my ears ring" so it obviously was happening, but nowhere near the level of ringing I've dealt with in the past 2 months (left ear never made any ring until precisely 2 months ago). Often it's louder than my right.

I recently got a prescription for Ritalin which I'd been on before but sort of shoved to the side. It definitely perks me up, and certainly works as a nasal decongestant better than Sudafed, because the amount of crap that I got out doing a neilmed flush earlier was suspect that all cannot be well in my sinuses. My GP wants me to try an antiviral, my ENT wants me to try more Prednisone, but I have to be careful... that stuff causes major, major mood swings for me, but it's just a small taper pack. My ENT otherwise said Ritalin should help tinnitus because Sudafed can but I don't know if he's right on that, he also called it "methamphetamine" which it obviously is not lol...

 

[Jerry Atrick]

Interesting, I can relate to some of that. I had a really good professor when I was in undergrad. He was old and gray way back then and he's alive and kicking 20 years later. We still chat on facebook. I used to drop by his office hours and we would just shoot the shit. He would loan me books out of his personal collection. Mostly philosophy, fiction, and even poetry.... all genres outside of the subjects in which he taught.

Toward the end there I was having a real tough time with some psychosis and mania and I attempted suicide. After waking up and taking myself to the hospital they pretty much insisted I call my family, who drove up from three states away to get me and take me back home. While they were there, my brother offered to meet up with my professor to return a stack of books he had loaned me. After telling my prof what happened, he confided in my brother that he also attempted suicide in his 20s. In some strange way, it increased my respect of him that much more because he came out the other side and became a very accomplished professor in a career that lasted probably 40 or more years before finally retiring.

I noticed you mentioned that, at least previously, much of your work was in fragments or incomplete. I don't know if this is still the case but I used to do this with songwriting where I'd have a flood of ideas and a bunch of unfinished chord progressions or collections of lyrics with no home. Eventually I got to the point where I made a commitment to take the ball to the end zone with each individual composition before starting a new one. It really helped me complete a decent sized body of work. It honestly made things easier because sitting on a bunch of half-written pieces can seem daunting and I felt like I would never get anywhere. YMMV

Another thing I did a while back was invest in a 1 TB external hard drive that connects via USB. I periodically back up my files so if my computer does crash, I won't lose much.

Anyways, hang in there. I'm certain your best and most productive days are still to come.