Nightwing

I found a unicorn. A giver of light. Thank you tiktok algorithm. 

I found an empath sister, Elyse Meyers.

Dear Elyse,

I have such respect for you. I am new to this anxiety disorder world. I did not grow up anxious. If anything the opposite. The first one to jump. The first one to travel the world without an itinerary. The first one to say “yes.” So this feeling is very new. 

I recognize that you have grown up like this. I really can’t imagine, but the fact that you have used your stories to help others laugh and know they aren’t alone, I thank you. And now that I’ve watched basically every video you have ever made, I am in such of awe of you.

You make me laugh. You are an amazing comedian.

You make me feel not alone. You are a natural storyteller.

Just like I try to do on this blog, but you are so much braver. I hide behind paper, you let the world see your face. 

Just sharing your name for my followers who may be looking for more people like this who share their stories to understand their own. 

Follow her on TikTok (if you aren’t already) . Trust me on this one.

@elysemeyers

 I mean who wrote this (New Knowns)? 

You do have to give it to her, she has a perspective. I mean this one is my favorite. 

What a hopeful optimism and a zoomed-out perspective on life. She sees beauty. She sees some sort of meaning in the chaos. I marvel at her. Truly. I get why you are friends with me. However, I also can read these and feel so sad for her. I vacillate between envy and embarrassment for her. 

Envious of her bravery and positivity. The writing isn’t terrible either. I don’t think I’ve ever considered myself a poet and don’t recall ever writing a poem since the 6th-grade poetry unit so thats cool. 

But then within seconds, I’m so embarrassed and sad for her. 

I mean does she work for hallmark?  Talk about cognitive reframing.* I mean she can really make lemonade, no lemons for that gal and feels hard to live up to. 

Question: Was that first blog annoying when you read it? I have personally been offended by it. I offended myself. I bet I offended some of you. A perfectly good response to “New Knowns” could be: I get it I don’t have a child with cancer, but Covid fucking blows. No, I’m not re-imagining the future, I’m just trying to survive the present. Fair reaction. 

My reaction is more… get your head out of your ass, hey Ms. Optimism, here are some of the New Knowns for ya. You were right there will be new knowns!

• Roe Vs. Wade is going to be overturned
• Ukraine was invaded (yes…that just happened. No I did not expect that. It was not “to be expected”) 
• You will have these crippling depression cycles and the strongest theory going is they are caused by the month of “June.” I mean…that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but yet every year here you are. 
• You have a cookie addiction, like legit.
• Homelessness in NYC quadropoled over night. 
• School shootings only continue, no longer a “rare moment in time,” but rather a “known”

New knowns. There you go. 

*Cognitive reframing: Reading a lot about that. The Dali Lama is quite a remarkable example of this. I enjoyed the documentary on Joy from Desmond Tutu and the Dali Lama. I have had the honor of meeting Desmond Tutu. May he rest in peace. He is a real hero of mine. 

Woke up feeling okay.

Now normally I would never write this down. This took courage. I am so scared that I’m going to jinx it!

Today I did NOT wake up with the morning missies. My legs worked like normal too. I rolled out of bed and stood up without the chronic stiffness/ pain.  I haven’t cried today or been reduced to a defeat-like sadness. 

This is welcomed, but not expected news. I feel hopeful, but yet don’t want to get my hopes to get too high. 

LOG:

Monday, June 20th- woke up feeling better.

Empath. 

This word intrigues me. 

I’ve now read several definitions of the word “empath” that I would rate from semi-scientific to spiritual acid.  Due to the vast variety of opinions on this word, I cannot use it without some formal declaration of its meaning.  In the absence of any accepted reputable source and its relative “youth” in the world having only entered our vernacular in 1960’s, I feel best to give it my own definition.

Empath.

(n). A person who feels everything.

Use in a sentence: As an empath, I care deeply about everything. I feel for others and never want to hurt. 

Epitimology: It’s first official ues of the word (although its history dates much earlier to the Greeks) was by a Scottish author in 1956 in the book “The Empath.” The story was about paranormal empathetic beings, called empaths. Sadly they were used by the government to exploit workers in the end, maybe that is the future for these people… But in general the term was used to describe a person that had emotional telephay. 

However, this science fiction version of empath is not what I speak of. My definition, does not have people communicating with their minds. They can’t tell that person to turn left without speaking, no I don’t believe that is what defines an empath. It is rather the feeling of other’s emotions rather they like it or not.

Feeling like if it was happening to them. 

This can be a real gift. Empaths get to feel all the emotions in a room. At a celebration, wow, you feel all the love. However, like with everything it is a double edged sword. When an empath witnesses horror, they feel all the pain. They usually are creators from equations to art. 

And for a while in human history, being an empath was a real evolutionary advantage. As many of our greatest thinkers are empaths. Empaths are natural observers giving them the ability to invest, see patterns, etc. Empaths were the fittest, they were useful, successful, and popular. I use fittest in the evolutionary biology and psychology sense of the word. People are drawn to empaths, making them find a mate easier, therefore more likely to pass along their genes to others.

An empath has a natural curiosity, and therefore, usually good learners (unless they have a learning disorder, which is also common in empaths).They like to please as they very much feel your emotions and don’t want to harm them and want to feel the praise back as they can feel that too. Since they feel so deeply, they love even harder. They want to feel that love and work hard to get it.

However, empaths are being challenged in the modern age. With the acceleration of technology allowing empaths to feel and see so much more at a more rapid rate, they are in an emotional turmoil. I would go so far to declare that being an empath is no longer an advantage nor are they fittest in this mordern word. It will be interesting to see if empaths become less over the next hundred years. If this type of human goes extinct as the modern world.

I believe I’m an empath. I also know Im not alone. I’ve met those that follow after me, empath children. I’m an aunt to more than one. 

And I don’t wish this path on them. It can feel isolating feeling so much that others don’t.

Maybe we need an empath support group. 

The “morning missies” 

Definition: 

Morning missies: (n) a description of an ailment in the body that does not develop, but one wakes up with. Symptoms include feelings of dread, tightness in the legs and chest, and sadness, such sadness.

Etymology: Modern English, entered the vernacular in June 2021.

Use in a sentence: Abby has the morning missies.

Log: The first day of Morning Missies, June 19th. 

Morning Missies were present in both other cycles, but only was given an official name in cycle two. I have no recollection as to when they started last cycles as I didn’t write about it. I also have zero trust in my memory about it.

Up until now, I’ve been sad in the morning. But the sadness started lighter, and if anything it only got worse over the day. However, they are back, but if I remember these burn off slowly, only getting better at night. So maybe a good sign. 

Note: Don’t try to calculate average duration ( average time length of a cycle) as each cycle “starts” at a way different part of the cycle. Meaning, it takes a bit before I knew what was happening/ and accurately document it. The first time I had no fucking clue what was happening. Jacob was out of living in the hospital, it was June 2020. I mean there was June 9th, and we were navigating a world with Covid and a child just in remission, BUT I was not living in the hospital nor having to deal with hammers falling from the sky. Nope. Not dealing with any of that. 

Things were good. Steve and I felt like this was going to be our summer. We had arrived, a year late, but we were there, Montauk and we had plans to sail. Nantucket of course was on the list! Steve was just in heaven. Here we all are living at sea with the best sunset views in the world. Look what we did. We are all living together on the boat in Montauk masks and all.

But I remember looking at Montauk and how beautiful it is and being so sad, and that was so strange. I was surrounded by everyone I loved and I was sad. Something like this had never happened prior to that day. Being sad for no reason and in physical pain. 

However, this time, cycle 3, I was freaking on it. Proactive. I knew exactly the feeling and jumped into action. I knew what it was. I Could name it. Had that going for me. 

Summary: Hate the morning missies. But maybe good? Maybe I’m near the end?

If I ever become a comedian I have my opening liner.

How do you know if you’re clinically depressed? You cry through your ketamine treatment. (Cue drums and laugh soundtrack)

Yes. I cried through the whole thing. How is that even possible?!

I mean dude, that is depressing.  Even a pain reliever pumping through your veins can’t make you less sad. 

But wait: I am not calling it yet. It is not harmful. By means no means is it making me sadder. So not ready to call this treatment. There is about a 70% chance considering my profile (age, etc) and symptoms that this will work for me. Those are the best odds I’ve ever been given. Jacob nor Steve had those odds. I’ll take it. 

I just assumed, which I don’t think is a crazy assumption, that for at least the 90 min infusion I would not feel the pain. But nope. I sit there looking at the peach walls. Thinking sad thoughts and crying. 

And for the record!!! I am trying so hard. I really want to feel better AND I’m a damn good student. I like to learn. I will do exactly as you say nurses. I will be your best patient, which I’ve been informed I am. 

The nurses are quite amazed by my willingness to not only give my arm and not move an inch while they put needles into it, but also let them prick me 4x to find a vein, each time really having to dig in there. If anything I apologize. I warn them in advance. This is not a nurse thing this is a me thing. I have the smallest veins in human history. Any time I’ve tried to give blood, or had to give blood, its been an issue.

The up side? Junkie does not seem to ever be in my future. 

The nurses told me to listen to happy music. I listened to happy music, but it made me sad. 

And then I looked at myself in the clinic and said, “what the fuck has happened to me? Look at me? How can I allow this to happen? This is not okay. This is not cool. This is where someone draws the line. I’m literally in a clinic getting drugs pumped into my body. Where did life turn south for me? How can I make sure I’m never here again?”

That made me really sad.

So I pressed the button. Yes, you get a button. 

It was the first time I’ve used it. 

And I know when I’m low because you know exactly what I did next? 

I apologized to those nurses.

I apologized that I’m not doing it right. 

That ketamine doesn’t work for me or that they should know it will take a fucking horse tranquilizer clearly to help me and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry that I am fucking this up too.

I make it clear to them that I will do whatever it is to feel better.

And I am really trying. I told them that I took off this week. I mean not really, but lots of meetings were canceled and it was light week for me. I rambled all of this to the nurse who was so kind.

She told me there is no way to do it wrong and that I am doing everything right. That you can’t fail at this. I listened as the tears ran down my face as there are no words that can make me feel not like a failure. I failed Callie. I failed my children. Look at me…badges laying in a hospital bed. I’ve failed myself. If this isn’t failure, what is?

LOG RECORD:

1. Yes you can cry during ketamine treatment, which would logically seem impossible, but depression is depression
2. Inflammation is terrible, sinuses are affected this round
3. Four infusions and not feeling better
4. Binge eating (thats new)

Either my hiding skills have gotten worse or they are better finders as Cycle 3 has one main difference (or at least I think it does…maybe this is another tale of mine), but my children are very aware.

It was Benno who found me first crying hysterically as I lay balled up on our patio with the explicit goal to be alone. While I didn’t want him to see me like that and tried to pull myself together, the closer he got,  I only got worse. Literally gulping for air as I felt his weight hit the cushion. 

 He just held me.

 No words were exchanged. Not like I was capable of words, but he didn’t ask that of me. He just sat there. It was the kindest gesture I have ever felt. I wanted to tell him that. Tell him how proud I am to be his mom, but I couldn’t and even saying them in my head made the crying worse. Made me feel  like a a shitty mom. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just sat there wrapped around me. 

We did that for a whole 15 minutes. While that may not seem to be a lot of time. I don’t think I’ve had Benno’s full attention in absolute silence  for 15 minutes ever. I would question if any parent has had devoted attention like  that with with the barrage of better distractions from screens to games.

And then Jacob found us.

He, on the other hand, had lots of questions. “What’s wrong?” “Are you okay?” “What’s Going on ?!” He nuzzled his way between the embrace between Benno and me believing at first that benno must be the culprit . 

 He notices my arm. I am wrapped with bandages. These he knows. He knows what that means. “Did you have an IV today or shots?” 

“IV.” This I could answer. “What is wrong” and “am I okay”… were questions I couldn’t. I wouldn’t even know what to say.

But Jacob did not stop. “Why?”

And I just said it. I have post-traumatic stress disorder and every year for some reason it flares up. It makes me really sad and I can’t stop crying. So the doctors are giving me medicine.

Benno just squeezed me, Jacob on the other hand, was just getting started.

He first explained to me the difference between a disease and a disorder. “Cancer is a disease, you have a disorder.” Normally I would marvel at Jacob’s understandings of things that barely I can, but I just couldn’t bear it..I told the boys I needed some space and to go and play. Benno obliged, Jacob followed, but 2 minutes later Jacob was back.

“You can’t be sad for no reason so what are you sad about?” It was clear he was not going to play. He wasn’t going any where. 

“The world just feels mean to me. I don’t understand why there is so much pain and suffering and it doesn’t feel fair.” Looking back on it, this is probably a really unfair thing to say or put on an 8-year-old boy. His mother telling him the world sucks is probably not the most encouraging statement. 

He asked for an example.

So many flooded my head. Gun violence, homelessness, and betrayal, but all felt a bit “R” rated so I told him that I hurt for some of my students. How stupid rules hurt kids. How it is so much easier to hurt than help and that didn’t make sense to me.

It was clear he disagreed. “Mom we can fix this. I’ll help. We can help your students.”

I quickly informed them that we can’t. But that wasn’t enough for Jacob. He clearly was not going to stop.

So I explained the entire thing to him. The issues in higher education that it’s really about money than the students.

Jacob had the solution. I need a build board. I needed a large sign to tell the world about them.

I don’t have access to a build board so this will do

So the rest of this post is me making good on a promise. Jacob told me that if I tell the story of one student the world would care. Alrighty then. I will use pseudonyms. 

—————————

Meet Callie, one of the hundreds of students who I have held space for. One of the hundreds of stories I hear daily…

Callie’s father died when she was 10 and her mother just passed 8 months ago unexpectedly. She is 20 years old. She works in retail. Supports herself and a younger half sister completely and is smart as a whip. She is organized, she asks the right questions and she is educated on education. I do have to give this gen Z generation some props, they are not suckers. They walk into life with eyes of skepism. They do their research. I guess you have to when growing up with a phrase like “fake news.”

She wants to study graphic design. She explains her rationale. I am creative and good with computers and this is a job I can do on top of my existing job until I get more established. 

Prior to her mom’s death she was enrolled at her local state university. While her mom’s death was the tipping point, prior to that she was already trying to drop out as even though she had a 4.0, she saw no value in her classes and after a year had not even had the opportunity to take a graphic design class. She would not have that opportunity to end of her sophomore year, and by then it would be too late to switch majors if she didn’t like it.

As I said, she is no dummy.

In addition, while she had become friends with her roommate, she found campus life shockingly isolating. She felt depressed and found herself between classes scrolling through tiktok by herself on a bench next to another student doing the exact same thing until the next class. She tried to meet 3 times with an academic advisor to see if she could find a way to stack her classes so at least she could work instead of spend time on her social media feed, but she waited weeks for an appointment and once she got a virtual one, she was informed that that wasn’t possible.

She became quite disillusioned with education. She asked for information on how to pause her education quoting financial stress (even though she was going for free), but never got a response. However, the day her mom died, she just packed up her shit and left. She is still on the school’s mailing list. They had no idea that she is not on campus. She even got her grades a “C” and three “Ds” in the mail. Not a question was made on how a straight A student all of a sudden went from C’s to D’s. Just a computer generated report. She is still trying to get someone on the phone to see if those grades can be taken off as she wasn’t there. She is still unsure what it all means regarding her student loans and scholarship. 

She now has an understanding of all of that, but that is only through meeting me talking her through it. 

Callie found MYX on tiktok. She was drawn to the community and travel. She applied. She was accepted and next step is meeting with the education team to curate her education to her unique goals. I was lucky enough to get her. 

 She cried in our meeting. I asked her if I said something that upset her. She was fast to say no and that she was just happy. No one has ever sit down with her talk about her hopes and dreams and explained to her her choices explaining the costs and benefits at the out front. I told  her that the ROI on a degree in graphic design is poor (statistically speaking). Graphic designers get chosen by their portfolio not a piece of paper. I told her about the professional certifications out there by industry leaders like CarArts and how she can get that certification in one term and build her portfolio through real world experience at MYX. In two terms she can be off. 

She did not stop thanking me and was so thankful of just the time. We hear that a lot.

But Callie can’t come. 

Even though it is about 10x cheaper overall than the traditional route and she will walk away in 1/8th the time with the skills credentials to be a graphic designer with a portfolio AND have the benefits of life coaching and a small community that would know if Callie goes missing for months,  MYX is not considered an “accredited education.”

She can’t click a button like last time and get student loans. We don’t qualify. AND she has no parents to underwrite a personal loan.

So Callie can’t come.

She is used to disappointments like this. She is stronger than even me. But I mourn for her and the hundreds of others that fall in her bucket. She is not alone.

For MYX to become accredited, we would have to become just like a traditional university. We would need all of our students to be degree seekers (even if the ROI is terrible!), we would need to have certain numbers of instructional hours, we would need to become the problem instead of the solution.

The fact that Callie can take out 1,000s of government student loans to go to her local community college with a 19% graduation rate, but can’t come to MYX with a 100% graduation rate, community and support, is just another example of the unfair qualities of the world. 

Jacob said by just putting this in writing it will make a difference.

I know he is wrong, but a promise is a promise. 

I’m realizing that the narrative in my head is not quite complete. Nope. That is not even a fair description. It is totally inaccurate.

When reading THIS. It was like I was reading someone else’s story. My eyes rapt with this stranger’s tragedy. Turns out depressive people like tragedies.

Note: I have NOT watched the Hands Maid Tale. Oh, I want to, but thank you blog for that warning.

Reading that post was like learning this story for the first time. Huh? How does that make sense? Didn’t I experience it?! 

I mean I know those things happened, but I don’t remember them like that at all.  I forgot that these events even occurred in the same day. That all of that happened within 18 hours. That Jacob had surgery and a blood transfusion in one day with two separate trips to the hospital. You would think that would be something a mother would remember?! I don’t even remember having to hold him down against his will, the kicking, the screaming. Most of my memories are of Jacob walking himself in, sitting on the table, and asking when the sleepy medicine starts. 

Over the last two years I even told myself a little lullaby. I reminded myself that I never had to do something against Jacob’s will. How lucky am I.  I had seen so many other parents have to. But yet that inner mantra…isn’t quite true.

Oddly, I do recall the man almost dropping a hammer on Jacob’s head. I remember that vividly. I can even see the person’s face. I remember screaming. Pushing them out the door as they screamed at me in Spanish. 

I know this writer is telling the truth.

It seems it’s me who has been making stories of my story.

But why?

I wonder if that is a me thing?

But looking at research it seems to be an us thing. Trauma or not, our memories are highly impressionable and completely inaccurate. Our brains are not recorders, they are analyzers. They don’t play back a movie, but rather play an episode of Siskel and Ebert. You get to watch the movie with a specific lens (good/bad) through a few snippets of the film that may not even be in chronological order.

I’m with you Ebert. Siskel you got this one wrong. Two thumbs down all the way.

So if its all bullshit…what does that mean? If you rest your identity on a tale, is life just that a tale?

Holy shit.

It has been a while since I read my blog.

I am back in it so I can learn from the past PTSD cycles and thank you past self, it’s all very helpful. All the research is right there to reread and all the results of past treatments are there to learn from.

At first, I was just filtering for June posts but then I fell into an internet rabbit hole letting the AI-generated suggestions for other blogs to read dictate the way. This one really rocked me. How did I survive that?! But yet here I am. 

While I feel like shit, I have to acknowledge that it has been MUCH worse. MUCH MUCH worse. Today I did not have to tackle my child for surgery and a blood transfusion. Nor did I have to learn that he is not responding to treatment and still has cancer all over his body after rounds of poison. Yes, it is fair to say that today is a better day than that. Even if I can’t feel it in my body, my mind understands that. 

And I understand that I may have another cycle, that there may be a fourth so I continue to document the newest research to learn from. I feel so fortunate to live in a time when we can name such disorders and have novel treatments that only get better year after year. 

The newest research is less about “software” (chemicals/ anti-depressants) changes, but “hardware” (physical brain/ neurons) changes to combat PTSD. There is ample evidence to show that increasing glutamate production triggers new neural connections. This makes the brain more adaptable and able to create new pathways, giving patients the opportunity to develop more positive thoughts and behaviors. 

The drug that can do this? Ketamine. As in the antithetic used to treat wounds in battle. Crazy but true. It was discovered by accident and the VA leads most of this work. Ketamine works by quickly increasing the activity of the neurotransmitter glutamate in the frontal cortex of the brain, while also allowing new synapses to form in the same area. I’m on day three of these infusions and while I’m not ready yet to give it the stamp of approval for other cancer moms out there, I will say that I am seeing some results. The physical pain has subsided and last night I was able to enjoy my children and Steve. I laughed at a joke even.

I also pumped up the music. I found my cancer playlist and gave that a whirl. It has been helpful to replace negative thoughts with lyrics. 

LOG:

Day 3 of treatment- was able to laugh and a somewhat normal-ish night

Music helpful (Sia- The greatest, The Wild Reeds- Let No Grief)

Blog VERY helpful

Meeting with students also has been helpful. Being a teacher is a selfless act that requires you to be there 100% for another. That has let me out of my own negativity. VERY helpful

Going on four.

Four days.

Day one was really dark. Just the understanding that there will be a day two, three, four, five…was enough to put me in tears for hours. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have minutes to spare! Days? Absolutely not.

It’s odd that even though I know what it is happening, it still feels like the first time. But thankfully, I left breadcrumbs. 

The world is so gloomy right now. I’m not feeling capable or worthy of anything.  I feel you Lady Gaga, the shame and guilt are worse than the pain. The physical pain is only a reminder of how much you suck. How feeling like this lets down everyone around you. Your family, your team, and yourself. 

Disappointed to be here again. And while I know it’s not my “fault,” I am frustrated. I really tried this time. After last cycle I changed my life. I stepped down as CEO to spend more time with my family and focus on mental health. My new role allowed me to work with students and families directly- YEAH! So happy. I even worked out (gasp!). I was doing great. Everything was going great.

Many of my friends have said I was “triggered.” That by being back at the hospital last week triggered me, but I hate that word. I blame millennials and their overuse of “trigger” making it the most annoying word ever so apologies for using this word at all.

And I really don’t think it was the room of waiting that “triggered” it. The timing is a bit suspicious, I hear you, but this has been an incredibly stressful month. A month of true betrayal. If you have seen me recently you may see my hunched over with a dagger in my back. And what pisses me off is that the dagger was not even from a real competitor, an equal. My dagger is from incompetent people. Like stupid people. I allowed stupid to hurt me and others. And it also came from someone who called himself “a friend.”

Due to this dagger, I am back as CEO of my company and I have been operating at 250% to fix the stupidly, which was fixed by competent people like myself and the rest of my team in 2 weeks. Yes two weeks to do the work that a team of “experts” have been (not) doing for months. And fix it we did as let me be clear (especially to you fuckers who caused this issue)  “NO ONE FUCKS WITH MY STUDENTS!” No one. Got that?! No one.

Sorry tangent. The only other feeling besides extreme sadness is anger. So I embrace the anger. That one helps me get out of bed. One day I will write about my anger and name those fuckers behind it, but until the litigation is over…sadly I can’t.

So stress…maybe that did it. 

But if I had to name the moment where I felt a shift. It was leaving the hospital. My body wanted to stay. I wanted to live in the singularity. And when you go from operating at 250% to 0% within an hour, it turns out revving up the engine can be hard. Or in my case, impossible. The engine completely shut down.

I write to record. I write to find patterns.

I’ve read all my posts from previous cycles and I rarely focus on the environmental factors around these flairs. I feel that is an important piece to understand to help prevent them. In the past I believed that June was the culprit (the “anniversary effect”) but that really doesn’t feel right for me anymore. I didn’t even realize it was June. I have been working 24/7. At no point did I say- wow three year ago was the worst day of my life.

And for me the only way to find the light out is to understand its source. EMIT (truth in Hebrew). I do not want to be here again. I WILL NOT BE HERE AGAIN.  No more Junes.

Cycle log:

Began: Sunday, June 12th

Environment: Extreme stress and betrayal and a day in the room of waiting

Treatment: Started Tuesday, June 14th