On Disappointment

Recently, I was hoping to land a sweet teaching gig. The position was as a long-term English sub in the same school that my partner and many of our friends work in. I would be a full-fledged high school teacher (for the most part). It was a fantastic opportunity and I was about as excited about it as a person could be. There was one tiny hitch: if someone with an official teaching license applied for the post, I would be out of the running. But I remained hopeful. That is, until yesterday, when I found out that two people with licenses applied for the job that was no longer mine.

It was a crushing bit of news. I had attempted to temper my excitement over the two weeks that the school was required to have the job posted. But the fantasy got the better of me and in my mind, I was already being called Mr. B by my adoring students. When I got the email from the principal of the school letting me know I was out of contention, I was in the checkout line of Menard’s, a big box hardware store. At first, I felt dizzy, like I’d been hit in the head. My mind raced and I nearly left the store without some crucial items. I forwarded the email to my partner to let her know and once I got in the car, I texted her and my mom the bad news.

I went into a dark place. I’ll be honest about it. I’ve struggled with mental health for decades. Depression has always been my bugaboo. Since I was a teenager (and maybe even younger) I’ve had suicidal thoughts and tendencies. I was even committed to a mental hospital, twice, in my early 20s. But it wasn’t until the past few years that I really began to get a grip on my mind. I’ve worked with a therapist, Sheila, once a week for roughly 3 years. I also started taking a low dose of Lexapro every morning. It’s made a big difference.

The disappointment that followed finding out I did not get the job sent me to a familiar place. It was not a room I’d visited in years but I knew it well. The voice in my head that hates me spoke up. “You’re a loser. You fail at everything. You let down everyone you know. You’re garbage. You and everyone you know would be better off if you just DIED.” I’ve had this entity with me for as long as I can remember. And in the past, I would just agree with him. He’s right. I am a loser. I am a failure. Just die already.

Through my work with Sheila, however, I don’t agree with him anymore. I don’t fight it either. Being in conflict with one’s self just creates more turmoil. Instead, I acknowledge the voice and look beyond it to the scared, frightened little child that the voice belongs to. I offer him comfort, forgiveness, and support. You don’t hit a crying child to get them to stop. You nurture and hug him. And that’s what I do to that voice. See, underneath it all, the self-loathing, the sadness, the unstable thoughts, is a child who could never forgive himself for the things he did that were embarrassing, humiliating, and shameful. Those negative feelings manifested themselves into a hatred that I aimed squarely at myself. And so whenever something that feels like those feelings, he speaks up to confirm the worst about me.

In the past, I would struggle and fight against this. I would stuff it down, deep inside my mind. Or I would fully embrace the anger and negativity. It’s addicting, hating yourself. It’s a paradox but it feels so good to hate on every aspect of your being. It’s fulfilling, in a weird way. It’s comforting. By accepting what the voice said to me I was no longer in conflict with myself. There was a peaceful surrender, like slipping into a warm tub of bathwater. In the long run, however, that only made things worse. It became easier and easier to just agree. But if I don’t surrender or fight, how am I supposed to win this inner battle?

The flaw in my thinking was that there was a battle being fought at all. There wasn’t. Instead, what was going on was that I was triggering a negative stream of emotions to alleviate the discomfort I felt about myself. In an attempt to feel control over the situation, I chose to constantly shoot myself with a big ol’ self-hate ray gun. But love, self-love, is the cure. Instead of raging against that voice in my head or succumbing to it, I needed to love the source of it — that little child who never let things go.

And before we get into it too much, this is not a literal voice I hear. I am crazy but not THAT crazy. It’s more a stream of thoughts that I interpret as a voice. Some of the thoughts are hateful statements like “you suck”. Some of them are flashes of suicidal moments. I don’t seek them out, certainly not anymore, but they come from some dark crevasse in my mind. The scared, unloved child sends them to me as a way to get what he is craving.

Yesterday when I was driving home, full of conflict and disappointment, that voice piped up louder than I can remember it being in years. It seemed to be alternating between thoughts and images. You suck, then a brief flash of a gun aimed at my chest, trigger pulled. You’re a failure, then a razor’s edge slipping through the flesh of my arm. You’ll never amount to ANYTHING but disappointment, then a noose wrapped gently around my throat.

It came at me hard. Why? Because I had dared to dream, to hope, that I would get this job. But not only that, I believed I was worthy of this job, and when I failed to get it — through no fault of my own — it sent two clear messages: never hope for anything because you are not worthy; and this is how it has always been and will always be.

Notice all the extremes in that line of thinking? Never, always. Those are absolutes. Of course, things have not always been like this. I’ve not failed at everything. Not even close. Of course, I am still worthy. But it is easy, at least for someone with my mind and condition, to let yourself slip into absolutes. There’s comfort in surety. And yesterday I needed some comfort.

Before I started with Sheila and really began to understand and unravel where these thoughts came from, I would have sought out the black and white thinking that led me to make so many hurtful decisions in the past. Fantasizing about suicide is really just another way of feeling in control. Sure, life sucks, but I can stop it. You can’t fire me because I quit! That kind of a mentality. But there is another way to handle it: with love.

Over the past few years, I’ve developed a kind of emergency mental health kit. It varies depending on the circumstances but there are consistent themes that bind it all together. First, I allow the dark and hateful thoughts to flow through my mind. I imagine they are like a river and I am merely a stone. This is something I learned from meditation. I sit in the river and look upstream. I see where they are coming from, even though I already know. The hurt, shamed child is sending them to me because he craves love. So I love him. I take him in my metaphorical arms and squeeze him. I tell him that he is worthy, that I love him, and that it’s OK. This is not the end of the world. Merely a bump in the road.

The thoughts slow after that. They don’t go away completely but they ease up enough that I can begin to think rationally again. Once I gain control of my feelings I can start to sort it out. Since part of what I am feeling is a loss of control, I find things to feel control over. In yesterday’s example, I thought about what I could do to still accomplish what I wanted: to teach. I assured myself that I am in the process of getting my short-term sub license which will allow me to do the same thing I would have, only with less responsibility (and pay [sad face]) but more flexibility. It’s OK to be bummed about this great opportunity passing by. But it is not worth losing my life or mind over.

And since I was also suffering from a self-inflicted wound of feeling less-than-worthiness, I take on tasks that both give me a feeling of control and accomplishment. I did some yard work. I fixed a few things around the house. I spruced up my resume and checked in on how my license application was proceeding. I started outlining the post you’re reading right now. Most importantly, I constantly reinforced the idea that I was loved. By my friends, my family, and especially my incredibly supportive partner Lexi. As soon as she got home she announced that I could pick whatever I wanted for dinner and she’d make it happen. She gave me a big hug too, no small feat since she’s short and has tiny T-Rex arms.

You might have noticed that this post is littered with Motown classics. There’s a reason behind that. I LOVE Motown. One of my favorite things ever is the made-for-TV Temptations movie. Back when I had cable, if it was on, no matter what part, I would stop and watch it. There is so much soul and emotion in that music. And part of my emergency mental health kit is to listen to Motown. It reminds me of my mom, driving in the car with her while Oldies 103 played on the radio. It reminds me of her love and the origin of my being. It’s a good feeling. It also makes me think of my dad and his words of advice from years before when I tried to end my life. “It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem”. I’ve never forgotten that and it helps to reflect on that when I am spiraling.

This is getting a little long (me? Long-winded? Pshhhh) so I’ll start to wrap it up. I am far from perfect with mental health stuff and I hope none of this came off as being preachy or high and mighty. I struggle with it every single day. And I probably will for the rest of my life. A misnomer people have about therapy and mental health is that you reach a place where you are “cured” or “fixed”. If you’re hoping for that day to come, you’ll be waiting a long time. There is nothing to fix because, to quote Storm from the second (?) X-Men movie, “there ain’t nothing wrong with you”. My brain and mental illness will be with me forever. Sometimes it’ll be treated and healthier, other times not so much. Accepting that is important to me because it reminds me that this isn’t a fight or conflict. It’s just life. And man is it better to be alive than dead.

I love listening to Motown because so many of the songs are about love. Some are about losing love, some are about unrequited love, and some are just about being madly, insanely in love with someone. When I listen to them, I try not to think about my current love life or exes. I think about myself. For a long time, I did not love myself. It wanes from time to time but mostly I try to be in love with my being, my body, and that little child inside me. It reminds me of a few lines from Ariana Grande’s song “thank u, next”:

Spend more time with my friends
I ain't worried 'bout nothin'
Plus, I met someone else
We're havin' better discussions
I know they say I move on too fast
But this one gon' last
'Cause her name is Ari
And I'm so good with that

She taught me love
She taught me patience
She handles pain
That shit’s amazing
I've loved and I've lost
But that's not what I see
'Cause look what I've found
Ain't no need for searching
And for that, I say: thank you, next

Nice, right? I have begun to love myself. And I am so good with that.