And warning: there is a spoiler forthcoming!

If you’re new here, perhaps you should rewind my blog and head back to my first therapy post: Broke, Miserable, and Alone (The Road to Here).

For the rest of you (or perhaps just for Arthur, my therapist, the only person who’s read my blog so far, and hello Arthur, if you’re reading), here is my update. . . .

My best friend forgave me!

She was the one I lashed out on during my breakdown, mentioned in my first therapy post.

My friend, Phoenix, realized I was just “going through something” and needed to put me on pause for a while.

Understandable.

I thanked her for not giving up on me.

“I was never going to give up on you,” Phoenix said. “I just knew you needed some space and time to work on yourself, and it sounds like that’s what you did.”

In an email, I’d told her about my progress in therapy and apologized to her (again).

She forgave me this time, and we’re friends again.

And I’m happy right now, for the first time in a while.

Phoenix was a main character in Love Songs and Suicide, my debut memoir. If you want to learn more about our backstory (she’s an amazing character and person), you can check out the book on Amazon.

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post Phoenix Reborn – Therapy Blog #15 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

At Lovesong.blog, I planned to write about various topics, including mental health, travel, and love/relationships. Since I’m a storyteller at heart and a musician, the blog would also feature stories and songs.

My end goal?

To help screwed up people, as I said, and to promote my book—Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy.

Following my session with Dr. Gillis, during which I told her I was “used to being miserable,” I spent the next two weeks developing content for this website. I wrote my first twelve blog posts during that time, all reflecting back on my previous sessions in therapy. I wrote two long-form articles as well, covering mindfulness and dialectical behavior therapy, respectively.

I wanted the blog to have a unique aesthetic.

So I did some research and read up on the AI image-generation tool Midjourney. I subsequently signed up for Midjourney, and in less than two weeks, I created over 2,000 images using that tool.

I was totally addicted and loved the product. It opened up a world that had previously been inaccessible to me: the arts.

As I continued down the Midjourney rabbit hole, I neglected my responsibilities at my day job, slept far fewer hours than normal but still felt energized, and experienced other symptoms of mental illness, including agitation and anxiety.

Cut to my next therapy session . . .

“What is happening to me?” I asked Dr. Gillis, my therapist, after telling her about my new blog and insanely productive yet anxiety-ridden past two weeks. “I guess it must be hypomania, right?” I said, referring to the mild form of mania that people with bipolar disorder experience.

“I don’t think you’re bipolar,” Dr. Gilis said. “Hyperfocus is a symptom of ADHD. It sounds like that’s what you’ve been dealing with.”

“Hyperfocus can lead to a decreased need for sleep, anxiety, agitation, and so on?”

“One hundred percent. And I can relate. On more than one occasion, I’ve found myself wide awake at 8 o’clock in the morning, feverishly working on whatever obsession was foremost on my mind.” Like me, Dr. Gillis suffers from ADHD, a fact I alluded to but didn’t state explicitly in a previous post.

“That’s fascinating,” I said. “I’m a little disappointed in a way. Hypomania is kind of a sexy term, and I always figured I was bipolar.”

“I don’t think so. It’s possible I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you’re not bipolar.”

There’s a chapter in my book called “The Bipolar Express” (and I may need to change the title of that chapter…).

Honestly, I wasn’t fully convinced I had ADHD until this session with Dr. Gillis. But after hearing her reiterate her diagnosis and highlight her own experiences with ADHD—with hyperfocus, specifically—I knew she was right.

And knowledge is power. Going forward, knowing that I have ADHD will help me develop strategies to harness my creativity without losing my grip on reality, manage distractions, and establish healthy routines that optimize my productivity.

It’s going to be a process.

But I’m going to learn how to live with ADHD, and I’m relieved to finally have a fundamental understanding of how my mind works (and why it doesn’t always work properly).

So, yeah, this blog is a byproduct of mental illness—but not bipolar disorder. And I’m proud of what I’ve done with this blog so far, and that is all for today.

Next: Therapy Journal 15 – “Phoenix Reborn”

Previous: Therapy Journal 13 – “Used to Being Miserable”

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post This Blog is a Byproduct of Mental Illness – Therapy Journal #14 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

Dr. Gillis laughed. “I don’t know,” she replied. “What do you think it means?”

“I think the dream was a manifestation of a fear. I’m worried that maybe one day I’ll get so desperate and lonely, I might decide to make a dramatic lifestyle modification. I mean, I wouldn’t, but I guess you never know. He was a larger gentleman. The date ended with a kiss. I did not enjoy the kiss.”

Dr. Gillis laughed again. 

“What’s your analysis?” I asked. “You psychiatrists are big into dreams, aren’t you?”

“No, maybe if this were 1940 and I were a Freudian psychiatrist–”

“You’re not big on Freud?”

“Not really, no.”

“Interesting. Carl Jung?”

“I do like Carl Jung.”

“I quoted Carl Jung in my book. He once said, ‘People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul.”

“That’s a good quote.” 

Dr. Gillis has shown little interest in reading my book thus far, which is fine, as she is primarily my medication manager. Accordingly, our conversation shifted gears to a new topic: antidepressants.

“I’m used to being miserable,” I told her. “I feel as though I can handle the depression.”

“That sounds delightful,” Dr. Gillis replied sarcastically. 

“It’s not optimal, but the buspirone helps a lot,” I said, referencing the anxiety medication she’d prescribed to me a few weeks earlier. “Because as we concluded in a previous session, anxiety is the primary driver of my mental health struggles. When the anxiety is under control, or even partially under control, my depression symptoms automatically become more manageable.”

Dr. Gillis expressed her relief that the buspirone had been working for me, then encouraged me to try a different formulation of Wellbutrin–Wellbutrin SL, or sustained release.

I’d had an embarrassing side effect while using Wellbutrin XL, the most commonly prescribed variation of the medication. And I wasn’t willing to try another antidepressant that might cause weight gain (and pretty much every other antidepressant, aside from Wellbutrin, can potentially cause weight gain). 

“I’ll give it a try,” I told Dr. Gillis. “I’m pretty sure I’ll have the side effect again.”

“It’s very possible, but you can always stop it again if you do.”

“Right.”

“We’ll follow up in two weeks.”

“Sounds good. I appreciate your help.”

Next: Therapy Journal 14 – “This Blog Is a Byproduct of Mental Illness”

Previous: Therapy Journal 12 – “What My New Therapist Said About My Book (Yes, He Read It!)” 

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post Used to Being Miserable – Therapy Journal #13 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

That was Arthur’s initial review of my writing style. Of course Arthur was referencing the brilliant but prickly drunken writer (and tremendous asshole who will probably be cancelled any day now) Charles Bukowski, famous for the books Ham on Rye, Post Office, and others.

“That an extreme compliment,” I said to Arthur. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed the book.”

“I’m glad. That was above and beyond for you to do that. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“So if you don’t mind my asking, what’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I wanna go there, unless you want me to. There’s definitely depression, anxiety, a social phobia, maybe a little bipolar disorder, but you know all that.”

“Yeah, I do know all that.”

“It’s a little strange for to me to be speaking with you now after spending so much time reading your book.”

“I bet. It’s not a short book either.”

“It was interesting reading about your experiences at the hospital.” In one section of the memoir, I chronicle my once-in-a-lifetime stint as a security guard at a rural hospital. “I got the sense you were well liked there.”

“I was. The people there were kind to me, overall.”

“And I know you’re this neurotic writer and very sarcastic, and you don’t necessarily care for people all that much, but I didn’t detect any meanness from you.”

“No, I don’t think I have that in me. I mean, I was very nasty with people during that breakdown we discussed last time, but that’s not my natural tendency.”

“Right, I recall you discussing the breakdown. Well, I guess my challenge with you now is to just figure out what you want. If you want a wife, or a better job, or more friends, we can work on any or all those things.”

“Broke, miserable, and alone. That’s the refrain, Arthur. My goals are modest. If you could help me become a little less broke, miserable, and alone, that’d be amazing. And honestly, if you could just help me address one of those three problems, I’d be ecstatic.”

“Alright, I’ve made a note here and we’ll be sure to address those big three big issues in future sessions. Now tell me about your plans with the book.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll have the stomach to pitch or promote the thing. It’s just so personal. And selling a book on a broad level is just almost impossible.”

“You’re probably right. I don’t mean to be negative, but I imagine the odds are stacked against you.”

“Insurmountably so, most likely. But that’s okay.”

The end of our session was approaching. I thanked Arthur again for reading the book and, of course, for listening to me complain.

Next: Therapy Journal 13 – “Used to Being Miserable”

Previous: Therapy Journal 12 – “What My New Therapist Said About My Book (Yes, He Read It!)

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post What My New Therapist Said About My Book (Yes, He Read It!) – Therapy Blog #12 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

But I’m trying to be honest in these therapy blogs and express my innermost thoughts and fears, no matter how incriminating those thoughts and fears may be.

So here’s my confession…

I will admit to you, my dear reader and friend, that I’m a little prejudiced.

You read that correctly.

Indeed, in this most progressive and LGBTQ-friendly year of our lord, I’ll admit that I am slightly prejudiced against . . . male therapists.

Sorry, that was a lame joke.

And now I’ll tell you a little about my new psychologist, Arthur, who happens to have both an X and a Y chromosome.

After saying goodbye to Shannon, my previous therapist, I spent a lot of time researching potential replacements for her on my online therapy app (name omitted). Arthur’s resume, boasting a Harvard degree and numerous specialties, immediately piqued my interest.

He was a little older, which was fine, and obviously a guy. While not a deal-breaker, if all other things had been equal, I would’ve gone with a female therapist instead of Arthur because I feel more comfortable discussing my emotions, feelings, and phobias with women than men.

I suppose my preference for female therapists is related to social norms. Men are still expected, on some level, to hide their emotions and face adversity with fortitude and a sense of stoicism. Accordingly, the prospect speaking about healing and my past traumas and other sensitive matters with a man sounded awkward and unappealing to me.

And, indeed, the beginning of my first session with Arthur was a little awkward.

After he introduced himself, Arthur immediately asked, “So, how can I help you?”

That was the same first question my first psychiatrist, whom I fired for personal reasons, asked me. “I’m not quite sure how to respond to that,” I said to Arthur. “’How can I help you’ is what the cashier asks you at Burger King.”

“I get that,” Arthur said, laughing. “It’s just something I like to ask people when they begin therapy, so I can get to know them better and determine how I can best serve them as a therapist.”

The question made sense with that additional context.

After I described my fundamental problems—being broke, miserable, and alone—to Arthur, I told him about Love Songs and Suicide, my debut memoir, and the series of unfortunate events that followed its publication. Then Arthur surprised me. He beamed up the book on Amazon and asked, “Would you mind if I read this?”

“No, that’d be great actually,” I replied. “There’s really no way you could effectively or efficiently analyze me without reading it. Happy to compensate you in some way. Not sure exactly how we’d go about that though.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

Within the first 20 minutes of our session, I could tell Arthur understood me on a fundamental level in a way that Shannon, my previous therapist, never did.

“I knew some guys like you in Boston,” Arthur told me. “Poets and writers who were always struggling, yet they were these brilliant and lovely people. Then at a certain point, their talent started to feel like a curse to them because it never really got them anywhere.”

“Yeah, I think you know my type, Doc.”

“And the idea of working at an office for the next 30 years probably sounds like death to you.”

“Scary how accurate that is too.”

“Yeah, I’ve met many frustrated artists like you over the years. What do you do for work now?”

“I extinguish dumpster fire essays for undergrads.”

Arthur laughed. “Okay, so you’re an editor then?”

“An editor, tutor, fire fighter, something like that.”

“And do you enjoy the job?”

“No, I hate it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I think I’d probably hate most jobs.”

“What did you before—before you started editing the essays?”

“I’ve primarily been a writer and editor since I graduated from college. But I’ve always gravitated toward low-pay, low-responsibility jobs, just because I have trouble dealing with other human beings and like being left alone.”

“Right, most jobs that offer reasonable wages require some social interaction.”

“Exactly.”

“You ever read any Bukowski?” Arthur was referring to Charles Bukowski, the notoriously prickly and acerbic author, famous for works like Ham on Rye and Factotum.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Like most misanthropic writers, I’m a fan of Bukowski.”

“You have a similar story. He always worked these menial, horrible jobs he hated but continued writing on the side.”

“Tremendous asshole, Bukowski, and a drunk, but brilliant. We’re similar in many regards actually. He had the worst acne in Los Angeles County as a teenager, which he discussed in Ham on Rye, and I had the worst case of acne in King County—that’s in Washington. I’m not prolific like he was though. I think he wrote Ham on Rye in two weeks.”

“Yeah, he was probably a little bipolar.”

“Or a lot. I think I’m a little bipolar, but I’m not a massive drunk or asshole like Bukowski was, at least I don’t think I am.”

“How often do you drink alcohol?”

“Every day, but in moderation . . . usually.”

“Okay. And what do you drink?”

“Vodka primarily.”

“Oh no. If you’d have said scotch or beer or something, that wouldn’t concern me as much. But vodka—that’s bad.”

“It’s not like I’m getting shitfaced or anything like that. A couple drinks per night. I buy vodka because it’s cheap and drink it with tonic.”

“Still, that’s not good. Have you thought about maybe going to an AA meeting?”

“No. I had a come-to-Jesus moment regarding alcohol that I discuss in my book and don’t believe I’m an alcoholic.”

“Fair enough.”

Arthur asked me thirty or so more questions during the session, but I never felt as though he was interrogating me. He was fluent in the language of sarcasm and a fan of comedians like Marc Maron and Larry David, one of my personal heroes. Whether Arthur followed through on his offer to read my book or not, I was happy to have him on board as my therapist.

Next: Therapy Journal 12 – “What My New Therapist Said About My Book (Yes, He Read It!)”

Previous: Therapy Journal 10 – “Saying Goodbye to Shannon”

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post My New Therapist Gets Me and Is Amazing, But… (Therapy Blog #11) appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

And that may have been a mistake on my part.

But from the very beginning, I didn’t feel as though Shannon and I were compatible from a patient-therapist perspective.

She was cheerful and optimistic, which didn’t jibe with my more brooding and sarcastic personality, making it challenging for us to build a therapeutic rapport.

And to quote the last girl I went out with via Tinder, who initially accepted then later rejected my second-date request, it just “wasn’t a good fit.”

After watching my aunt die in California, I was in a very contemplative and agitated state. My depression had gone from moderate and manageable to severe and overwhelming. I’d cancelled my previous two sessions with Shannon, and during what turned out to be our final session, I basically spent the entire time complaining about my job, people in general, and nothing and everything all at once, to borrow a line from Green Day song.

As usual Shannon didn’t say very much. I wanted to vent, so that was fine.

She’d assigned me a writing assignment a month or so earlier. I completed that assignment, albeit hastily, and I think she was waiting for me to mention it in our session.

I never did.

Honestly, I was disappointed that Shannon showed no interest in reading my book. That was a writing assignment to end all writing assignments from a therapeutic standpoint. As I’ve said before, I sifted through 25 years’ worth of trauma and damage in isolation while acting as my own shrink.

And then, knowing I’d spent a year and half torturing myself to complete my memoir, Shannon goes and asks me to write a letter to my 16-year-old self (because my mom died when I was 16).

It was a perfectly reasonable assignment. But I’d already been there and done that. I mean, not exactly, but close enough.

She wasn’t going to read my book.

And there’s no way someone could effectively or efficiently analyze me without reading Love Songs and Suicide, my debut memoir.

I knew it was a big ask, but nevertheless I thought it was time to move on and find a therapist who might be willing to read the book. And more importantly, I hoped to connect with an experienced mental health professional whom I might be a little more compatible with on a personal level.

Someone who spoke the language of sarcasm, preferably.

Three Takeaways from Shannon

Shannon provided me with a safe space to explore my thoughts and feelings, and in doing so, I gained valuable insights. Here are a few lessons I learned during my therapy sessions with her.

1. I’m too self-deprecating – She commented on this frequently, and while self-deprecation is an essential component of my sense of humor, I know I need to dial it back, especially when I’m in the presence of others, on dates, etc.
2. Mindfulness works – In therapy Shannon presented me with several helpful mindfulness exercises, and I’ve made a point to be more mindful in my day-to-day life as a result of her guidance.
3. I need to watch how I talk to and about myself – “Broke, miserable, and alone” was a refrain during my sessions with Shannon. I assigned those labels to myself, and they came to define me in a way. Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard famously said, “Once you label me, you negate me.” Shannon encouraged me to stop assigning harmful labels to myself and to treat myself with a little more, if not compassion, at least tolerance.

Final Thoughts

I need to at least send Shannon a thank-you note. She deserves that. Not sure how to go about that, but I’ll get to it eventually. Since I only met with her over the course of a few months, and because she was my online therapist, I didn’t feel obligated to part ways with her formally in a session.

But on second thought, maybe I did owe her that courtesy. I’m not sure. We ended our last session five minutes early, and I promptly began searching for a new therapist.

Next: Therapy Journal 11 – “My New Therapist Gets Me and Is Amazing, But…”

Previous: Therapy Journal 9 – “Two Cancelled Sessions (and the Sad Reason Why)”

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post Saying Goodbye to Shannon – Therapy Blog #10 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

Or at least, that she was probably going to die.

Back in 2019, my aunt Rebecca, a non-smoker, was diagnosed with stage-four lung cancer.

The cancer had spread (again)—this time to her brain, and she’d underwent surgery a few days earlier.

Then she had a stroke.

My father and I promptly booked flights to Los Angeles to see Rebecca, knowing it would probably be our last visit with her.

She was in and out of consciousness by the time we arrived in LA and receiving hospice care at home.

When my dad and I sat beside her bed, she reached out, grabbed both of our hands and said, “I love you.”

Her voice was faint but resolute.

Later, as I sat alone with Rebecca and held her hand, I told her about my book and that she had a role in the book. She couldn’t really speak, but I think she heard me. I’ll always regret not telling her about the book sooner. I so badly wanted to but just couldn’t figure out how.

My aunt Rebecca was always one of my biggest fans and advocates. It was heartbreaking to watch her die.

I may write more about this experience later, but I’m still processing my aunt’s death and not ready to discuss it in detail just yet.

In chapter 33 of my book, I paid tribute to my aunt Rebecca and her husband, Michael. You can read that tribute, if you’re interested (excerpt forthcoming).

First, here’s a little context about the chapter and the events that preceded it.

• I was on a cross-country RV trip with my dad and two dogs, Dresden and Pugsley.
• My aunt had just been diagnosed with stage-four cancer a month earlier
• We’d changed our travel plans in order to see her.

And that should be all the context you need.

Chapter 33

SoCal Christmas

On our way to Los Angeles, my father and I stopped by the Santa Barbara Cemetery. We hadn’t visited my grandmother’s grave since her burial. She laid beside her husband, my grandfather, Robert Ross Horton I. It was strange seeing my name on a grave. I thought about both of them for a few minutes, looking down at their headstones. Then we exited off memory lane and merged onto Highway 101, with Dresden in the backseat and Pugsley on my lap.

Rebecca and her husband Michael have lived in the same house, on the westside of Los Angeles, for over twenty-five years. They remodeled it in the late 2000s, adding a full second story to the floor plan. I always liked visiting them as a kid. They were just genuinely kind, positive, and fun people.

Unlike most of my relatives and me, Rebecca’s never really had any discernible flaws. She’s an outstanding mother, friend, wife, and citizen. After my grandmother’s stroke, Rebecca was her primary advocate. She traveled back and forth between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara to see my grandmother on a weekly basis.

I’d be lying if I said Rebecca and I have been super close over the years. But that’s on me, not her. I just haven’t been happy for most of my life. And when you’re unhappy, it compromises your ability to maintain healthy relationships.

Rebecca is an accomplished child psychologist. Her husband Michael works as a criminal attorney. I’ve never met a couple that complemented each other more beautifully than those two. They laugh often, cherish their time together, never fight (except when they’re navigating the nightmarishly congested Los Angeles highway system), and support each other.

I observed many dysfunctional relationships growing up. Rebecca and Michael were my beacon of hope, who set the standard for what was possible in a committed partnership. My paternal grandparents had a loving marriage too, but it was a 1950s-style marriage, meaning my grandma did 99 percent of the housework and the two of them weren’t necessarily “partners.”

Rebecca and Michael have two kids, Brandon and Maggie, who are both in their twenties.

Our SoCal Christmas got off to an inauspicious start. In the living room, my cousin Brandon abruptly approached and then greeted Dresden. Dresden doesn’t like it when people approach him. You have to wait for him to greet (and inspect) you. He barked threateningly and charged at my cousin, just as a warning. Brandon collapsed onto the nearby couch.

“Sorry,” I said to Brandon. “He’s on a bunch of medications and a little ornery as a result.”

“It’s okay,” Brandon said. I put Dresden out in the truck.

My aunt Tracie arrived about ten minutes later, accompanied by her daughter Kelly and girlfriend, Ruth. Tracie and I didn’t speak for about five years, starting in 2011. A dispute over a turkey pot at Thanksgiving led to our estrangement (that’s a story I have to save for another book).

Tracie’s changed a lot over the last decade, and I’ve enjoyed my last few visits with her. She mellowed in her fifties when she became a lesbian (and that was a wise lifestyle modification on her part). Tracie’s a psychiatrist by trade and perhaps the smartest person in our family.

Her daughter Kelly was applying to medical schools at the time; she was later accepted to the University of North Carolina’s med school. Kelly’s also a lesbian. So in the near future, we’ll have two lesbian doctors in the Horton family.

We hadn’t had a family Christmas with so many attendees in twenty years. The conversations began slowly, as nobody wanted to play a domineering role. Rebecca spoke briefly about her treatments. She wasn’t on chemo (yet). Her oncologist had prescribed an experimental medication that had reduced the size of her tumors. Rebecca didn’t feel like discussing her health extensively, so we moved along to the next topic.

Everyone expressed their concerns for my uncle Michael, who had suffered a heart attack in the spring of 2019. He was only in his early sixties, rarely drank, exercised regularly, and led a healthy lifestyle. My father and I surmised that all the years of stress from his criminal law practice caused, or at least partially caused, his heart attack.

“I’m doing just fine,” Michael insisted. “Rebecca’s the one we’re all worried about now.” He sat on the wood floor near their lit fireplace, leaning up against the wall. As a trial lawyer, Michael developed a strong and engaging speaking voice. On this night, he spoke in a monotone, and it looked as if he’d lost ten to fifteen pounds since the last time I’d seen him (he was always thin, too).

Over the next hour, my dad and I unveiled our travel and future plans. Each of my cousins, Tracie, and her girlfriend all reviewed their latest career and life updates. Rebecca and Michael said they wanted to sell their house eventually and move out of the Los Angeles area.

“The homelessness is just out of control,” Michael said. That comment surprised me. My aunt and uncle have impeccable liberal credentials and were major contributors to both Obama campaigns.

“Where do you think you guys want to move?” I asked.

Rebecca leapt at the question. “Michael and his next wife will probably move to Arizona,” she said.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Michael said. After her stage-four cancer diagnosis, my aunt developed a dark and slightly morbid sense of humor.

She looked great, at least five and perhaps closer to ten years younger than her age (sixty-one). Rebecca sounded good too. But she coughed intermittently in a coarse and unsettling way.

And as I reflect on our 2019 family Christmas today, what I remember most about it is my uncle—the helpless and dejected expressions on his face. Every time Rebecca coughed, Michael seemed to feel the pain as much as or more than she did. If it had been an option, I’m certain Michael would’ve wanted Rebecca’s doctors to place her cancer into his body. I’d never witnessed that level of empathy or devotion from a person.

During our meal in the kitchen, Rebecca noted how quickly fortunes can change among families. “We had many good and conflict-free years,” she said. “We always felt like we were overdue for some great hardship.”

“This was a little more than we expected,” my uncle added.

“Sorry it’s been such a brutal year,” my dad said.

After dinner my aunt Tracie and her companions drove back to their house in Thousand Oaks. The rest of us moved into the TV room and watched Knives Out, a murder-mystery film that I found boring but tolerable. We later reconvened for a nightcap before retiring to our respective sleeping quarters.

The next morning my father, Rebecca, and I had coffee together outside on the patio. Rebecca focused on the two of us throughout the casual chat, asking more questions about our trip and personal lives. She reminded me of her mother, my grandmother, who worried more about other people than herself in the wake of her cancer diagnosis.

When my cousin Brandon came downstairs for breakfast, after we’d moved into the kitchen, Dresden charged at him (again).

Brandon fell backwards again, hoping to avoid a dog bite or mauling. In addition to being mildly racist and anti-children, Dresden’s sexist and doesn’t care for men either (and I can’t say I blame him). I restrained and verbally scolded Dresden, then put him back out in the truck.

My dad and I stayed at Rebecca and Michael’s house until about noon.

As we gathered our belongings in the living room and prepared to leave, Michael said, “We want to see lots of pictures.”

“Will do,” I told him. I reached out to shake his hand.

“No, not this time,” Michael said, opening his arms for a hug.

When my father and Rebecca said their goodbyes, they were both emotional.

“I’m thinking about you all the time,” my dad said, with tears in his eyes.

“We’ll be in touch,” Rebecca assured him.

Although she was optimistic about her prognosis, Rebecca’s cancer was aggressive, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever see us again. My dad and I were both glad we got to visit Rebecca but felt horrible for her, Michael, and their family.

Next: Therapy Journal 10 – “Saying Goodbye to Shannon”

Previous: Therapy Journal 8 – “Five Breakthrough Moments”

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post Two Cancelled Sessions (and the Sad Reason Why) – Therapy Journal #9 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

“I do take pride in my grammar!” Claire responded.

We’d been going back and forth for a few days on the app. After conservations about my book, her “empire-building” business selling athletic wear, and our favorite weekend activities, I asked Claire on a date. I knew she enjoyed beach bars and lived about a half hour away from me, in St. Augustine, FL, the nation’s oldest city. “Pick your favorite beach bar,” I told her. “And the drinks are on me.”

“Sounds good!” Claire said, and we agreed to meet at the Salty Dog in St. Augustine that Friday night.

I texted her upon my arrival. She’d already eaten dinner at the bar/restaurant with her parents. I met her mom briefly, who was a tiny and well-dressed lady in her 80s.

“Your mom is very cute,” I said to Claire, once we took our seats.

Claire laughed and agreed.

She was in her early 40s and actually looked better in person than she did in her profile pictures, which impressed me because many singles on the dating apps transform like a werewolf under the light of the full moon when you see them in real life—and that’s one reason I felt comfortable having the lady from Bangladesh touch up my profile pictures.

Even though I’m usually pretty oblivious when it comes to fashion (I once wore a ten-dollar T-shirt to a funeral), I couldn’t help but notice Claire’s ensemble, which featured designer jeans and a modest white top. With a slim and toned body, her sun-kissed neck and wrists were decorated with a dazzling array of pricey jewels,

It was a cool evening by Florida standards, with a temperature around 60 degrees.

There were only two seats available at the outdoor portion of the bar, one of which was positioned in front of a massive and grotesque cement pillar.

I sat in front of the pillar, with no view of the bar or ocean or anything, really. Just the pillar. I kind of felt like I was in prison, a place I’ve never been (such an accomplishment…).

When the bartender finally noticed me, I ordered a pale ale of some kind. I had to shout my order to her because she was practically deaf. Claire ordered a second glass of wine sometime later.

Inside, at the bar’s main stage, a scruffy gentleman in ratty clothing with a tobacco-tinged voice played a solo show with his weathered acoustic guitar in the background.

Claire and I talked about work, life, recreation, and then talked about work some more.

It wasn’t exactly a riveting conversation, but it was enjoyable at times and not awkward.

We had several laughs about my seat, with its view of the massive pillar, and then we discussed music for a while.

“I’ve actually been talking with some people about starting a band,” I told her. I’d placed a Craigslist ad a few weeks earlier seeking bandmates.

“That’s interesting,” Claire said. “What type of music would you play?”

“I tend to prefer rock music, but I’ve also written country and pop and folk songs. Probably a mix of everything.”

“I love country music. I used to hate it, but now it’s all I listen to.”

“I like some country—mostly the older stuff. Are you from around here?”

“No, I’m from New York?”

“The city or elsewhere?”

“Long Island.”

“Long Island as in the Hamptons, out of curiosity?

Claire nodded. There are few more privileged places in the world than the Hamptons, home to celebrities like Jay Z and Beyonce, Jerry Seinfeld, Alec Baldwin, Gwyneth Paltrow, and many others.

At one point during our first round, I recall seeing Claire gaze disapprovingly at my black tennis shoes, which was understandable in a way (I hadn’t upgraded my wardrobe yet and wasn’t sufficiently dressed for the occasion).

A couple then sat down beside us at the bar. Claire spent the next three to four minutes chatting with the woman about jewelry and fashion. Meanwhile, I sipped on my pale ale and stared at the massive pillar in front of me…

When Claire shifted back toward me, she promptly asked, “Do you want to get out of here? I’m thinking we should go downtown. There will be more stuff happening there.”

“Sure, that sounds good to me,” I said, lying. I was expecting our date would be a basic meet and greet, but if Claire wanted to spend more time with me, I was happy to oblige her, even though I knew that we probably wouldn’t spend more than one evening together.

It would be an experiment in exposure therapy for me.

Claire not surprisingly engaged with more people as we exited the bar, spending at least five minutes with some random old dude whom she claimed was a friend.

I sat in the waiting area, which was crowded by now, and pretended to use my phone for important tasks.

Her parents—retirees, obviously—had given her a lift to the restaurant, so I’d be escorting Claire into town.

In the car I had something I wanted to show her.

“You said you were into country music. Do you wanna hear a country song I wrote?”

“What? Why aren’t we driving?” Claire asked, buckling her seatbelt.

“I just thought you might like to hear a song. My phone is old and quiet, so you won’t be able to hear it well if we’re driving or at a noisy bar.”

“Maybe later. I wanna see if make it in town in time to hear music.”

“Okay,” I said, putting my phone away while thinking, I just offered to play music for you…original music.

It was a bustling Friday night in downtown St. Augustine, the city of lights. After offering me parallel parking advice, Claire had several more of what one of my personal heroes, Larry David, would call “stop and chats.” A stop and chat is a small-talk session with an acquaintance or stranger.

Larry despises “stop and chats.” So do I.

“You’re maybe the most extroverted person I’ve ever met,” I said to Claire.

“I am really extroverted,” she agreed. “I can’t help it.”

At that moment I knew, for certain, that we were not compatible. As an extreme introvert and a “highly sensitive person,” social interactions drain me like nothing else, and there was no way I could match Claire’s energy level or tolerate her constant need to be surrounded by strangers for more than a few hours at a time.

But I had time to waste on this night, and I knew the end result of my exposure therapy experiment with Claire would be useful to me in the future, both for reference and for my own personal development.

Over the next few hours, we barhopped, engaged in more “stop and chats,” listened to mediocre cover bands, talked a little with each other, talked a lot with people in our surrounding areas, participated in a singalong, and became progressively less interested in each other.

On our way to bar number three, Claire contemplated buying a hat for the evening (one evening, specifically) because she was cold.

We entered a gift shop.

“I’ll literally only wear this once,” Claire said, as she tried on a purple beanie with a button on top. “Should I buy it”?

“That’s up to you,” I responded.

And I actually enjoyed stopping at that little gift stop with Claire—my favorite stop of the night by far. I presented several of the most tacky items I could find to her, including a pair of sunglasses with neon green rims and an oversized, brightly patterned scarf that looked like it was made from the leftovers of a 70s couch, and suggested she purchase them.

And I made her laugh once or twice.

Basically everything I did with Claire on this date—the conversations with strangers, the singing in public, the bar hopping, and all the rest—was outside of my two-inch-wide comfort zone. And that’s why this evening of exposure therapy was beneficial to me.

The more often we step outside of our comfort zones, the more we can transcend our self-imposed limitations and discover new strengths within ourselves.

The next day, I texted Claire and told her I enjoyed the quiet moments of our date—the gift shop, in particular—and sent her a link to my song. She never listened to it, ha (I can track view counts via YouTube). But she thanked me and said she had a good time. There would be no second date.

Despite being a country music fan, Claire didn’t want to hear my song, “Cuttin’ the Backwoods Down.” But it’s featured below if you feel like checking it out.

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post My Date with an Extrovert from the Hamptons – An Evening of Exposure Therapy appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

There was still a lot of dead space during our meetings.

And that dead space made me uncomfortable.

I would typically talk for the first 10 to 15 minutes, then she’d ask me a few questions. Or not…

Then I’d just keep talking.

She seldom interjected with anecdotes about people she knew or former patients that might have been relevant or useful to me. And I knew absolutely nothing about her, her background, or her beliefs.

Actually, that’s a lie. I looked her up online and found her professional profile, which stated that she offered Christian counseling to people of faith.

If I’d have seen that profile prior to our first session, I would have swiped left on Shannon as a therapist—not because I have anything against religious people, but because, well, I’d prefer to have a therapist who believes in the separation of church and therapy.

But I’d been making progress with Shannon’s help, and I was committed to improving myself, personally and professionally. Shannon seemed engaged and professional and very…nice. I wasn’t going to hold her religious background/philosophies against her.

And she asked enough thoughtful questions to keep our sessions from stalling out completely (most of the time). In fact, Shannon’s relative silence during our weekly meetings led to my first important discovery in therapy.

Breakthrough 1 – “You Need to Talk”

That was a quote from Shannon toward the end of our second session. I’d just recounted a story about a character in my book, Love Songs and Suicide, and told her about the friend I’d lost in the aftermath of my breakdown, which I discussed in my first therapy post.

Shannon was absolutely right.

I really had no one I felt comfortable sharing my innermost feelings and thoughts with.

And although she was quiet and not the type of person I would’ve been likely to befriend or associate with in the real world, Shannon seemed to care about me in her own way, and I think she wanted to see me get better.

It was helpful to explore my past, feelings, and beliefs in therapy, with Sharron serving as my quiet but compassionate guide/sounding board. By the end of our sessions, just through talking, I often gained helpful insights on my own psyche and determined what tasks I needed to prioritize that week. With an assist from Shannon, I had another breakthrough moment during my third therapy session.

Breakthrough 2 — Stop focusing so Much on Diagnoses

Early on in therapy, I spent a lot of time fixating on my potential malfunctions.

I knew I had depression and social anxiety disorder.

But there were other malfunctions, and I felt as though I was missing some critical component in my mental health profile.

Was I bipolar?

Probably, at least mildly.

I had a chapter called “The Bipolar Express” in my book, after all.

Did I have borderline personality disorder?

Ultimately, I concluded that Dr. Samuelson, my fired shrink, was correct in her analysis that I did not suffer from BPD.

But was there some other disorder I was missing…

And maybe that disorder wasn’t so important.

Rather than focusing on what was wrong with me, I needed to focus more on improving myself.

Breakthrough 3 — Stop Labeling Thyself

The Danish philosopher (and first existentialist) Soren Kierkegaard once said, “Once you label me, you negate me.”

Broke, miserable, and alone was a refrain I uttered frequently during my first handful of meetings with Shannon.

I’d assigned those horrible labels to myself and believed they defined me in a way. As a result, I lost my sense of self-control and ability to determine my own fate.

Although I was indeed broke, miserable, and alone, I had to stop fixating on these three words and view them as temporary conditions rather than essential components of my identity.

Breakthrough 4 — Anxiety Comes Before Depression

Depression had always been a bigger issue for me on a day-to-day basis than anxiety.

But my psychiatrist, Dr. Gillis, was correct when she said anxiety was the driving force behind my mental health struggles.

And knowledge is power. With that information, and with Dr. Gillis’s help, I could more effectively manage both my depression and anxiety. Dr. Gillis and I agreed that from a medication standpoint, we should focus more on the anxiety than the depression.

I had the two antianxiety treatments available to me—buspirone and hydroxyzine—and my anxiety symptoms had improved since beginning therapy.

Breakthrough 5 — I Need to Expand My Two-Inch-Wide Comfort Zone

Okay, for over 20 years, I’ve known on some level that I needed to expand my minuscule comfort zone.

But when Shannon challenged me to start conversations with two strangers and I practically had a panic attack, I realized my social anxiety had a controlling and devastating effect on nearly every aspect of my life.

To manage the condition, I needed to intentionally place myself in uncomfortable situations—and often.

The good news is, basically everything makes me uncomfortable. I despise talking with strangers, interacting with people on social media, chatting up women on dating apps, phone calls, asking for help, and on and on and on. But moving forward, I had to regularly expose myself to uncomfortable situations and discussions if I wanted to grow as a person and eventually have a wife or a chef (as was a goal I stated in my book).

Wellbutrin Was a No-Go and Closing Thoughts

Unfortunately, I had an embarrassing side effect with the Wellbutrin and had to stop using the medication. I don’t feel like discussing that side effect here. Maybe later.

The therapy has been beneficial for me so far, and I’m grateful to both Shannon and Dr. Gillis for their insights and support.

Of course, I think I deserve a little credit too. I’m ready and willing to change (I know I need to change, in fact) and I think that’s probably the main reason I’ve enjoyed some successes during this early stage of therapy. Hopefully I can continue to grow and make progress over the coming weeks and months, with help from my dedicated team of mental health professionals.

Next: Therapy Journal 9 – “Two Cancelled Sessions (and the Sad Reason Why)

Previous: Therapy Journal 7 – “All About Dating”

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post Five Breakthrough Moments – Therapy Journal #8 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.

I’d just told her that I was about to enter the dating scene again after an extended hiatus.

“Soon,” I told her. “I’m having some lady in Bangladesh fix up my profile pictures as we speak.”

“Oh yeah?” Shannon, my therapist, asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, just some light alterations. Remove a little bit of scarring in the pictures, and I have these damn forehead lines I’d like to have, not removed, but diminished.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, to have the pictures altered?”

“It’s just a touch-up job, nothing too dramatic.”

For the next fifteen minutes, until the end of our session, Shannon and I discussed my very limited dating history, goals with the relaunch, and body image issues, among other issues (I have a lot of issues).

New Profile, New Day

Over the previous few weeks, I’d been working on my profile and was pleased with the write-up I’d drafted overall. Here it is…

Robert

38

Straight Man

Last year I wrote my first book.

And went into seclusion for a while. 

So I’m rusty…

Something casual would probably be best, for now. 

I’m 5’11” and kind but not nice.

The grateful type

And I write songs. 

Happy to play one for ya.

Review from a Friend

“Smart, funny, easy to talk to, and not ugly, with pretty eyes and a voice like a detective from the 1940s.”

Two Truths and a Lie

So far, my six-foot-tall lesbian friend is the only person who’s read my book. I once puked on the actress Sigourney Weaver’s mother. I’ve seen Brokeback Mountain three times. 

My Aim with the Profile

I know I’m not for everyone (and not even for most people). And with my profile, I wanted to make sure I attracted the right type of women. In other words, I was only interested in dating someone who was a little different with a slightly off sense of humor. My approach was effective.

After the relaunch, I chatted with approximately ten women within the first two weeks (far more people than I’d ever chatted with on a dating app in such a short amount of time).

Some of them were quite nice and attractive. I had some phone conversations as well and went on one date (to be discussed later).

Granted, most of the women “in my league” on the apps (Tinder and Bumble, in this case) seemed to be a little older, a little . . . bigger, or both. Not that there’s anything wrong with being older or bigger.

The dating apps are, as everyone knows, absurd and completely geared toward women. There are like four dudes for every one woman on Tinder, for example.

So the ladies get to take their pick among dudes with six-packs and six-figure jobs. For us guys—most of us anyway—we have to kind of take what we can get…

Why My Prospects Improved

I found the whole thing a little baffling. Why was I generating more interest at age 38 on these apps than I had when I was younger and better looking? In a discussion with Shannon, I reflected on the potential reasons for my newfound demand on the dating scene.

“I think it’s because so many people in my age group look like shit,” I said. “I look about the same now as I did 10 years ago. And once a lot of guys hit middle age, they promptly lose their hair and gain dad bods. Not that there’s anything wrong with bald guys who have dad bods. Many of those guys are married and dads, after all, so they can let themselves go and it doesn’t matter. I mean, it should matter, but you know what I mean.”

Exposure Therapy via Dating Apps – Closing Thoughts

With the end of our session approaching, I wrapped up my monologue on dating and dad bods and aging, then thanked Shannon for her time and for listening to me complain, as always. I had two dates scheduled for the upcoming weekend, and I was hopeful at least one of them might yield a favorable outcome. And you can probably guess what that means…

Just kidding.

I’m a slow charmer and not good looking or cool enough for most women to consider as a potential hook-up option. The courting process is typically long and arduous for me. I have to earn it, always, and sometimes I hate my life as a result. Good thing I’m in therapy, right?

Next: Therapy Journal 8 – “Five Breakthrough Moments”

Previous: Therapy Journal 6 – “Exposure Therapy and a Panic Attack”

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”

R. Ross Horton II

R. Ross Horton is a writer, editor, and musician based in Palm Coast, FL. Last year he published his first book, Love Songs and Suicide: A Travel Memoir, Romance, and Tragic Musical Comedy. At Lovesong.blog, Ross strives to help people find harmony in a chaotic world. Visit this website’s about page to learn more.

lovesong.blog

The post All About Dating – Therapy Blog #7 appeared first on Lovesong.Blog - Harmonize Your Life.