Speaking At Dad 2.0 Challenges My Defenses

Posted on February 13, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Pity

The word careened through my flabbergasted brain because it was the only one that made sense.

Pity

I remained at the podium staring into a fog of bodies united in a standing ovation, a cacophony of applause stinging my ears.

My defenses screeched and shook. Pity. It had to be pity.

I recalled someone telling me before I read from my blog to focus on him if I got lost or scared. Now I couldn’t remember who told me that and it didn’t matter anyway because I couldn’t see any faces.

At some point the room quieted, the audience took their seats and I left the stage. My body trembled. Slowly tears began to fall. Someone asked me if I needed help, if I needed to leave the room for a bit. I nodded and was led down a hall framed by companies sponsoring Dad 2.0 and into a room. Jason Greene, Kevin McKeever and Chris Read were with me speaking words of praise and comfort, but by the time my sister-in-law arrived and gave me an enormous hug, the tears were no longer silent. I cried loudly. I sobbed in shame and fear and anxiety and relief. Jason and Kevin kept telling me how proud they were. Chris told me the story of his own reading the previous year, how he was so wrecked afterwards that he had to return to his room to recuperate. Either Jason or Kevin or maybe both told me I was the star of Dad 2.0 2014, that I would be thing most remembered about the conference.

No one pitied me, they said. Rather the room coalesced in genuine awe at my bravery and my raw, powerful words. My mind screamed at them to SHUT UP!!!!!! JUST SHUT UP!!!!! My mouth kept returning to the pity thing, the disbelief thing, the distrust thing. It’s not real. It can’t be real.

Chris (I think it was Chris) told me to get ready to hear a ton of compliments, but even so I had no idea what I was in for. There was no way for me to prepare because this would be an experience so foreign to me that my usual coping mechanisms of self-deprecation, sarcasm and deflection (something the great Whit Honea told me he shared with me) could never work. As person after person after person (men and women both) congratulated and praised me, called me brilliant, courageous, a hero, I felt like I was stuck inside a hornet’s nest getting repeatedly stung from every direction because the fact is I, and my lifelong, irrational, negative defenses had NEVER received such validation; I didn’t know how to deal with it. I called Elaine and left some unintelligible message. I called one of my best friends who finally helped me calm down. All the while my sister-in-law and brother-in-law stuck close by.

People who I knew only via the web, people like Carter Gaddis, Aaron Gouveia, John Kinnear, Oren Miller told me to just relax and accept it, but how could I yield to something I didn’t trust? Each time someone came up to me, I stammered a thank you. Often I stared in confusion which I can only hope didn’t make them think I was insane. Lance Somerfield, co-founder of the NYC Dads Group, and a man I so, so wanted to please, told me how proud he was, told me I was a special part of this community of dads.

When I asked a question at a panel titled “Parenting it Forward: Compensating for Our Own Flawed Fathers” given by Charlie Capen, Ryan Hamilton, Eduardo Vega and moderated by Caleb Gardner, the first words spoken to me were about my reading and then room burst into applause. WHAT THE HELL????

When I went out to dinner with some of the guys, I learned that another table was talking about me and my reading. Again…WHAT THE HELL????

And as my defenses kept scrambling to regain finger- and footholds, a fellow dad (I’m not sure if he wants me to name him), came up and said he was so nervous about talking to me, but he wanted to because he felt like I “got it” more than anyone else at the conference; how he’d planned to leave until he heard me speak; how he too suffered from mental illness and it concerned him in his role as a father; how if I was brave enough to get on that stage, he should be strong enough to talk to me. We spoke for a long while acknowledging our similarities. We hugged. I teared up. I felt I had touched someone who truly understood.

As the conference continued, I somehow was able to compartmentalize the terror and unworthiness I felt and began to feel a camaraderie I’d never before experienced. Despite my anxiety, I felt a little at peace. I felt like I belonged. And that’s something else I didn’t know what to do with because I’d always believed myself to be the outcast.

I refused to look at Facebook for 5 days because I couldn’t bear any discussion about me. I’ve slowly gotten back into it, but I feel like I’m drowning. I feel like I’m obligated to “like” every single thing, to read and comment on every single blog written by my new friends because I owe them lest they abandon me. In the near two weeks since I gave my reading, I’ve been inundated with friend requests, instant messages, e-mails, blogs written about me, quotes about me, tweets about me (I joined Twitter right before the conference and have no clue what I’m doing). And I’m having so much trouble. My therapist, Elaine, my parents, my sister, my friends, my family, all told me how proud they are, how I deserve every little bit of praise I’m receiving. Fellow dad bloggers have written that I don’t owe anybody anything except to keep being myself, but that can’t be true, can it? Because my frigging defenses keep screaming that I deserve none of this! Nothing makes any sense anymore! And yet, in a haze I bought a ticket for Dad 2.0 2015 because I so want to see everyone and feel that esprit de corps.

And two days ago, one day after my 40th birthday, it was my voice screaming those phrases as I had the worst panic attack I’ve had in years. It began in front of Sienna and my mother-in-law (who speaks very little English). The trembling, the tears. The facial twitching. The stuttering. I texted my mom who came running. I used a translator to explain to my mother-in-law I was having a panic attack. I held on until my mom arrived. She took me to the bedroom where I fell into hysterics, repeating how I didn’t understand anything and didn’t deserve all of this ridiculous recognition and how I could never ever ever live up to this. I thrashed and cried and moaned through a session with my therapist, begging for Elaine to come home, my therapist telling me this is where I go, that my defenses are now fragile because of the influx of validation, they’re struggling to keep hold while a new me is fighting to be born. My mom stroked my head. My therapist told her to give me a diazepam to help calm me down and I fell into a bitter sleep with the words, “Help help help” leaving my lips.

I don’t remember when I woke up, but I was shaky. So shaky. Sienna was still awake, but it scared me to go near her because I didn’t want HER to be frightened of me. My mom stayed and took care of my daughter. I returned to the bedroom. When Elaine came home she held me tight. She explained that I finally got what I craved (approval, affirmation, acceptance), but because I was emotionally stunted, I didn’t know how to traverse these new, wild waters. She said that half of me wants it all to go away, but the other half is thrilled, a huge dichotomy, like I’m now playing the role of Two-Face in the Batman comics, but I’m only villainous to myself. She said that when I had my most recent nervous breakdown, it was like an angry 6 year old took over and right now I’m an adolescent looking at this new tribe in black and white: popularity or abandonment. And thus the desperate, nonsensical belief that if I don’t “like,” read, and comment on everything, they’ll all go away. I also needed to learn how to manage my time, to stop looking at things like a mountain and instead concentrate on one thing a day (Kevin McKeever had written me the same advice). I still don’t know how to do that, but I felt warm in my wife’s arms. Loved. I listened.

And yet I woke up jittery and Sienna throwing tantrums, being a normal toddler, made things worse. My mom had to take her for the day and then for the night. I needed time to recover from this last panic attack, one of the worst in my history. I needed to sleep. A lot. I needed to veg. I needed to THINK and think clearly. I woke up today knowing I was going to write, feeling the little sparks emanating from my fingertips. Is this blog too long? Is it exactly what I wanted to say? Does it matter? I’m trying not to let the latter question stop me.

All I know is that I found my people and I’m putting myself out there. I’m going to do everything I can to trust them and to hell with my defenses. It’s going to be a slow process as I try to accept all of these accolades and let them grow within me until they eventually destroy (or at least overtake) the defenses I’ve built up over 40 years. I won’t be able to respond to people immediately. I won’t be able to keep up with every conversation or read every blog and tweet, especially since my daughter comes first. But I’m part of a community now. An important, loving, caring community. I’ve never had that before, so bear with me.

I humbly thank everyone who came up to me, wrote to me, tweeted about me, friended me, wrote about me, believed in and continues to believe in me. I especially thank Doug French and John Pacini for inviting me and allowing my sister- and brother-in-law to be there in New Orleans (I had no idea I’d need them as much as I did) and I thank my sister- and brother-in-law for being so kind and loving and supportive. Thank you to my friends and family for your encouraging e-mails. Thank my parents for giving me this time to heal and for being so proud. Thank you to my therapist for all your help (don’t worry, your job’s far from over). Thank you to Elaine for your love, compassion, words, hugs, kisses and for giving birth to our incredible daughter, Sienna.

But most of all, thank you to myself for going to Dad 2.0, for getting up on that stage and bearing my heart and soul in front of 200+ people, and for beginning what could become one of the most significant journeys of my life.

I still have more to write about my Dad 2.0 experience, but I can’t say when it will happen. It’s enough for now that I got this out.

Regardless, I can’t wait to see my people again at Dad 2.0 2015!

Time To Fight My Fears Of Success And Failure

Posted on January 20, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

“I can’t…I can’t…do this.”

“Look at me!” Elaine grasped my arms, her eyes trying to magnetize my own so I’d stop staring everywhere but at her. “You can do it. You can. Stop saying you can’t. You can. Say you can.”

“I ca…ca…can’t.” Chest locked in a vice. Left side of my face twitched wildly.

“You can. Don’t say you can’t. Not in front of her.” Her grip tightened. I looked down and saw my daughter, my beautiful little girl. Her eyes a mix of confusion and concern with maybe a dash of fear. I took a deep a breath.

“I can….I can…I can…I can…I can…”

“Ok. I got this,” Elaine said. “Hug me and then go to the bedroom. We’re a team. You take care of me. I take care of you. You have nothing to prove.”

We hug. I set off for the bedroom, my mind imprisoning me once again. I try to read – ironically Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom. No attention span. Sleep. I need to sleep. I sleep for 4 hours.

How did I get here? Just 20 minutes before we were at Sienna’s music class and having a good time. But it was her last class and I had to sign her up for a new one which cost $470. That’s a lot of money. I have to pay off a few thousand dollars of credit card debt in the next month. Our finances are weak and it’s my fault. It’s my fault. But I’m getting birthday money in a few weeks. In a few weeks I’m turning 40. 40! How? How can that be? And I’m going to see my grandmother for the first time since she learned about me speaking at Dad 2.0. I’m not sure how much she understood of what my mom told her, but apparently she’s thrilled for me. She keeps reading my Sienna and the Moon blog and crying. She said it’s a huge honor. That’s not what I expected. I expected something along the lines of maybe he’ll actually do something with his life. Within 20 minutes I went from quality family time to being gripped by the cold hands of anxiety thanks to an insane thought process coupled with physical manifestation of emotion…again.

“I’m so glad they chose you to speak!”

“You’re an incredible writer!”

“I’m really proud of you and how far you’ve come with your blog.”

“The star of our NYC delegation will be Lorne Jaffe, who has been selected as one of five ‘spotlight’ speakers. Lorne will read one of the many frank, touching posts from his blog.”

I can’t take the validation even though I’ve craved it my entire life. WHY CAN”T I ACCEPT IT?? I don’t understand! The compliments enter my ears only to be instantaneously attacked by black thoughts and accusations as if they were extremely malevolent viruses.

“You don’t deserve this!” “You’re not worthy of it! “You still won’t amount to anything!”

I had a piece I’d written years ago just accepted by The Good Men Project (GMP). They even asked me to be a regular contributor. I felt a moment’s elation following by relentless skepticism and vehement negativity. I’m not being published in print so it doesn’t count. I didn’t receive any money so it’s meaningless. The site must accept everything. The site probably asks everyone to be a regular contributor. It couldn’t possibly be that what I’d written is actually good. I had to post in the Dad Bloggers group to ask if GMP accepts everything and was assured that they don’t. That was almost a week ago. I frantically check my e-mail awaiting a report that my piece is live. Will it ever happen? Did they forget about me? Does it even matter?

In 10 days I’ll be on a plane to New Orleans. In 11 days I’ll be at a podium reading from my blog in front of more than 300 people.

I am petrified.

What happens if I falter? What happens if I succeed? How can I top it…ever? I don’t have the artistic talent that so many other bloggers seem to possess; ones who write and illustrate brilliant and creative children’s books; ones who draw remarkable cartoons emanating the joy in even the most mundane aspects of being a stay-at-home dad; ones who post 3-4 times a week; ones who come up with scintillating titles that immediately make you want to read their words; ones who blog like poets and apply fantastic quotes to their lives.

And hence the comparison game continues. Why can’t I just accept myself for who I am? Why can’t I stop hating myself?

It’s all happening so fast, squeezing me so hard I can’t breathe. New Orleans approaches like a tidal wave. Compliments I can’t comprehend fill my ears, but my mind bars them from taking root and growing.

What happens when I get back from Dad 2.0? What happens when it’s all over?

I’m terrified this is the pinnacle of my life, of my achievements. It’ll be like a deflating balloon, an unfed fire. I’ll never be able to top it. I’ll never be able to sustain it.

This is what’s been going through my mind the last few days, this almost tangible fear of success and failure. This is all so weird! (A term my therapist claims I use whenever something is good and drags me out of my mental hell of comfortable pessimism).

Am I doing this for everyone else or am I doing it for me? I feel like I’m doing it for everyone else, but that’s just my old screwed-up brain talking. This is about me growing as a person and a father. This is about me facing and tackling my fears. This is about me standing at a podium, reading from my blog, imagining I’m a hero to Sienna. This is about me learning to accept accolades because I deserve them. This is about me having the guts to send what is an emotionally raw piece to GMP whether they accept it or not, whether they pay me or not. This is about me trusting Elaine when she sees I’m having trouble instead of me trying to prove that I can handle everything. This is about me letting my mom know (as I did today) that I was struggling and didn’t want Sienna to see me like this…could she please take her for a bit? This is about me pouring my heart and soul into this blog and helping others stricken with depression and anxiety.

It’s time to realize that my speaking at Dad 2.0 will not be the zenith of my life or achievements. It’s a milestone. It’s an honor. Nothing less, possibly more.

The real pinnacles (because there are many) of my life and achievements migrate each and every day when I see Elaine and Sienna; when Elaine tells me she loves me; when Sienna speaks new words; when I’m stunned again and again by Elaine’s beauty; when Sienna kisses my nose; when Sienna sees Elaine and I embracing, happily yells, “HUG!” and vaults herself into our arms until we’re wrapped together as a family.

My fears of failure and success will not dissipate like overnight mist. They might be with me my entire life. But it’s time I fight. It’s time I yell and scream as loud as they do. It’s time I realize I have lots of people in my corner and it’s time I accept that I deserve them.

I never again want to stand trembling, stuttering and look down at my daughter and see a mix of confusion and concern with a dash of fear. I want her to see a person ready to stand up for himself TO himself.

I want Sienna to be proud to have me as a father.

Most importantly, I want to be proud of myself.

O The Places My Mind Goes – Part 2

Posted on December 22, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

The first part of this blog entry sapped most of my energy, but it was worth it. I received a ton of encouragement from friends, family and fellow dad bloggers urging me to remember that I’m not alone in feeling depressed, anxious and overwhelmed, nor am I the only one whose brain can go from stressing over writing a blog to suicidal thoughts in a matter of seconds. I greatly appreciate all the kind words written about my last post. It reminded me that I started this blog about raising my daughter while battling depression/anxiety for the reasons many of you proclaimed – to comfort those with similar issues, to show they’re not solitary entities. I’ll do my best with this second part. I hope it’s up to par.

Sometime after 5 am I fell into a restless sleep, the type of fitful doze where you hover between wakefulness and dreaming. My alarm went off at 8 (I’m lucky in that Sienna is so quiet in the morning that I honestly have no idea when she wakes up). I hit the snooze button a few times because I wasn’t ready to deal with the day – having to put on a brave face while playing with and teaching a rambunctious toddler; fighting over meals; trying to write a blog about what I’d gone through the previous night. One thing I did know – there was no way I was stepping outside my apartment door. When I did finally get out of bed around 8:30, I struggled down the hall to the kitchen, lower body leaden, head filled with helium, stomach churning, an invisible anvil squashing my chest. Shell-shocked, I moved like something out of The Walking Dead. Suicide? Do I still hate myself that much?

I gave Sienna breakfast, but had nothing myself. The meal was nearly silent on my part unlike most days when I sing her favorites whether it be “C is for Cookie” or the theme from “The Golden Girls” (no idea why, but she loves it). After breakfast I set Sienna down in her playpen so I could shower and do the dishes just as I do every morning. I got the shakes in the shower but recovered. We spent the morning playing with cars and stuffed animals, me watching the clock, begging for the seconds, minutes, hours to pass so I could put her down for a nap and perhaps conk out myself.

I peeked at FB a bit, but couldn’t deal with the pressure. At one point I wrote this: “Very depressed. Doing my best trying to hold it together for Sienna. My brain went to horrible, self-loathing places last night. Some things I haven’t thought about in a long time. Scary. Have purposely stayed off FB but feel guilty for not checking and ‘liking’ things people post or reading other dad bloggers’ words (which is really what set this off to begin with because I couldn’t write myself and became anxious). UGH!” I then shut the computer.

I was supposed to have a phone session with my therapist, but I couldn’t talk. I knew that between Sienna’s running around and my inability to form complete sentences, it would be a waste of time. I texted my therapist and asked if we could postpone saying I’d gone to terrible places the night before and had had an anxiety attack. She urged me to talk, but I apologized relentlessly and claimed i just wanted to sleep. Here are the texts that followed:

Therapist: No need to apologize – breathe and remember you feel like this right now – it won’t last. Just a feeling, it doesn’t define you. Reread some of your blogs (I didn’t follow her advice – the “feeling” was too powerful)

Me: Having trouble writing again. Last night thought of suicide and it scared me. Realized I can’t ever do that now because of Sienna. I have no idea why I thought of that. Looking at people’s houses and knowing I’ll never be able to give that to Sienna. Brain went all over the place. I’m so tired

Therapist: Never say never. You never know what you can accomplish when u get out of your way – and if you ask Sienna which she would prefer – a father who showers her with love and affirmation though he’s not a millionaire or an emotionally abusive millionaire father who would she choose

Me: I know, but still not good enough (my warped view of success impeded rationality as it so often does).

Therapist: That’s your self-hatred and mental issues. It’s not and never will be Sienna’s truth. Would you rather have had a loving father and less material stuff. Stop listening to your illness. It lies and is a huge waste of time and life

Me: I just need to sleep (my illness continued to rule me)

My mom texted me to say she’d read my FB post and asked if I needed help. I mentioned I’d appreciate it if she’d give Sienna dinner – just the thought of putting together a meal and getting her to eat was too much for me to bear. My mom agreed to come over even though she had a cold leaving me to imagine Sienna getting sick as my punishment for being so pathetic.

I don’t remember much of the afternoon. I’m sure I followed Sienna around whenever she grabbed my hand and commanded me to sit so she could show me something or we could play. I struggled to smile. I kissed and hugged her when I could gather the strength to do so. I couldn’t wait to put her to bed.

Was I asleep when my mom rang the bell at 5:30? Was Sienna still in her crib talking to herself in the dark? I can’t recollect. I sat on the couch staring into space while my mom fed my daughter eggplant rollatini. She brought me a salad which I eventually ate, the first food I’d had all day. My mom tried to get me to talk, but I couldn’t. I mumbled. I spoke in short sentences. I didn’t mention suicide despite the flashing neon sign in my mind.

After dinner my mom stayed with us. I went to change the cat litter and it was like a perfect storm. We have one of those cat litter boxes that you roll over to get the clumps out, but it picked this time, THIS TIME, to fall apart leading to urine-infused litter spilling all over the kitchen floor. IMMEDIATE hyperventilating. Facial tic going like crazy. Sienna kept coming into the kitchen and I stuttered, “Sie-Sie-Sienna ou-ou-out!” I cleaned up the mess on the verge of both tears and my second panic attack in less than 15 hours. My mom hugged me when I finished cleaning. Did I hug her back? I don’t think so. I think I was like a rag doll.

Back to the couch. Sienna picked up ribbons and Mardi Gras-type beads and wanted me to spin and shake them. She climbed on my lap. Minky, the intuitive black, long-haired puffball, curled up next to me and purred. I kissed Sienna’s head while petting Minky, his purr rumbling against my thigh. I still had that 100-yard stare, but my mom observed something else and later wrote in an email:

“After you threw away the cat litter and barely made it back to the couch, your beautiful, wonderful daughter took one look at you and with all the love in her heart climbed in to your lap and cuddled with you. And while fighting through your embarrassment of having her see you this way (yes, I saw that too) she held firm and would not let her daddy go. Tell the world how you both looked at each other and ever so slowly she was able to calm you down (with a little help from a purring Minky) until the softness showed in your face and you were able to begin to play with her. She only had her daddy in her eyes and I watched as the two of you played with the ribbons over and over again and pure glee showed in Sienna’s face and smiles came in to your face. It was a beautiful moment between father and daughter. She was there for you all the way and while you were not free of all the anxiety and panic she helped you hold it together. And because of her you fight on. You were given the powerful gift of pure, unadulterated love yesterday while you were most vulnerable. That is what it is all about. How amazing that a 21 month old has such a gift. That is the perk of being able to share these moments with her. That is something the world and all the stay at home dads need to know.”

I wish I remember things in this manner. I remember Sienna in my lap. I remember Minky. I remember playing with ribbons. I don’t remember my face softening or my brain unlocking or an ease coming over me. All I have are my mom’s words and that is why I included them here as a reminder. She’s right. The unequivocal father-daughter bond must have been there allowing me to keep fighting despite my extreme fears and vulnerability. And though the events my mom witnessed are foggy in my mind as is my collapsing into Elaine’s arms when she got home and my nightmarish confession about my suicidal thoughts, I CLEARLY remember the following morning when I had my phone therapy session and Sienna, a toddler bursting with energy, sat on my lap for 20+ minutes as my tears dripped in her hair and Minky, intuitive Minky, curled up next to me and purred.

Days have passed and I feel much better. I don’t know when exactly I crossed the line into feeling better, but I do know the words of encouragement from fellow dad bloggers after I posted part 1, the emails and phone calls from friends and family, and the unburdening in therapy (I think I spent most of the time crying and repeating my usual “I don’t understand” and “I’m trying so hard” and “When will it stop?” refrains as my therapist pointed out how much I’d accomplished over the past few years – I have difficulty remembering), did help.

I don’t know when I’m going to suffer another panic attack. With depression you’re never out of the woods. There are so many triggers and dangerous thoughts that zip through my brain each and every second that anything can set me off at any time. Some suggested this most recent attack could be seasonal, and I think that played a role. I do tend to get depressed the closer it gets to New Year’s and my birthday in February; it doesn’t help that my next birthday will be my 40th making the insane, absurd expectations and definitions I’ve created for myself regarding “success” (job, money) glare even more – pessimism abounds as another year comes and goes without me gaining that house, elite job status, book deal, million dollar retirement fund. But I do know that I have people that care about me (I still struggle to understand why – I wish I could just accept it) and I have blogs, my own words, to read and reread as proof that I’m gradually moving down the right path. I know I’m going to face blog anxiety again. I can’t avoid it. But I also know there are fellow dad bloggers out there who support me even though we’ve never met. David Stanley, a member of the group, told me Dad Bloggers was a safe place. I hope he’s right.

Most of all I have my little family – an incredible wife, a brilliant, funny, beautiful little girl who gives me “the powerful gift of pure, unadulterated love” and our two cats, one of which always knows when I’m hurting. And as my mom so aptly wrote: that’s what it’s all about.

My Sienna

O The Places My Mind Goes – Part 1

Posted on December 19, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

I need to write this in two parts. The night before and the following day. I can’t do both at once. Too difficult.

Two nights ago I awake from a nightmare sometime after 3 am. No idea what it was about, but it doesn’t matter. I’d been anxious all day about my blog. I hadn’t blogged in more than a week. Slew of ideas, but couldn’t write anything. At the top of my list was writing about how I conquered anxiety for a day by taking Sienna out to the Long Island Children’s Museum, but I too anxious to write it. Ironic.

Anyway, it’s 3-something am. First thought is about the blog. Check FB just because I was awake. Scroll through my feed and find links posted in Dad Bloggers. Chest begins hurting. I’m not good enough. These guys are so much better than me. They keep pumping out words, heartfelt, poetic words. I’ll never be a real writer.

I see pics of decorated houses. I’ll never own a home. Sienna will never have a backyard in which to play, to build snowmen like in the pics I’m looking at. I’ll never own a barbecue. I’m a failure. I was supposed to be something! I was supposed to have a prestigious job and money! I was supposed to be a success! Friends from grade school have houses! Friends from grade school are rich! You’re going to be 40 in a couple of months and you’ve done NOTHING job-wise!

Note: I’m yelling at myself to SHUT UP! THIS IS WHERE YOU GO! YOU HAVE AN AMAZING WIFE AND DAUGHTER! YOU’RE BETTER OFF THAN SO MANY OTHERS!

Note: Rationality is out the window because my chest feels like cement.

Sudden thought shoots out of the darkness and scares the hell out of me: I can’t kill myself because of Elaine and Sienna. I can’t do that to them.

Note: It’s literally been seconds since I went from blog anxiety to suicide.

I’m shaking. Wake Elaine up. Wake her up and tell her what’s going on. Ask her to hold you, calm you. I can’t. She needs to sleep so she can work tomorrow.

Note: She’s gonna smack me when she reads this

Instead I post this on FB: “Fighting to prevent a full-blown panic attack. Feeling severely depressed. Chest feels like it’s being crushed. Don’t understand it…fell asleep feeling a little better and then woke up at 3-something only to fall apart.”

Note: Facebook has a give and take relationship with me. I’ve found a lot of support on Facebook, especially during my first months with Sienna, many times from people I hadn’t seen in decades. At the same time the pictures and posts can make me feel weak, depressed, envious and stupid. Sometimes I consider quitting FB, but I keep trying to be rational about it. It doesn’t always work.

Why hasn’t anyone responded to my post? It’s been seconds and no one’s written! Where the hell did the suicide thought come from?

Note: I’ve been suicidal a number of times throughout my life, but I’ve never had a plan (outside of downing a bottle of sleeping pills) or written a note. I never had the courage to go through with it (and yes, though it’s a selfish act, it does take bravery to actually do it, imo). At best I’d imagine I was like Huck Finn, watching his own funeral. At worst I imagined holding the bottle of pills. I hadn’t thought about offing myself since long before Elaine got pregnant. Probably three years. The shocking thought of suicide terrified me and plunged me deep into the darkness.

I drop my phone. I’m shaking, I cling to Elaine hoping she’ll wake up, but I still can’t allow myself to actually awaken her. She needs her sleep. I’m hyperventilating. Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!

I get out of bed and dizzily walk down the hall. Go into Sienna’s room and watch her. No. I’ll wake her up. Can’t do that. Find Minky. I need Minky.

“Minky,” I whisper, voice hitching. “Minky.”

I find the puffball in the closet. I grab and hold him so tightly he squeaks. Take him back to the bedroom. Concentrate on his purring. I take Minky to the bedroom. I carefully place him on the bed and get under the covers. He climbs onto my aching chest. His purr is like a chainsaw. He noses my face. Licks my hand. I gently stroke him, feeling the softness of his fur. I scratch him behind his ears. Over and over I pet him.

FAILURE! How can you think of suicide?? How could you do that to your family? SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!

I’m depressed. I’m shivering. I pet Minky for more than an hour and use all my power to concentrate on what’s right in front of me. It’s past 5 am. I want to see if anyone’s responded to my status update. I don’t check. Just pet Minky. Elaine’s still asleep. Finally I join her.

Tumbling From the Moon and Getting Back Up

Posted on November 14, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

It took less than one day. Less than one day for my depression/anxiety to once again rear its ugly head. Less than one day after I’d blogged about the wonderful jolt I’d felt when Sienna pointed and yelled out, “MOON!!!” I’d spoken with my therapist about the experience and the blog, how it was probably the first time I’d really felt life through my daughter’s eyes, and about how I, for once, actually thought I’d written something well. I’d talked about how I thought it was time for me to really do something with this blog, gain a bigger audience. I mentioned the Dad 2.0 Summit, a large gathering of dad bloggers and dads and sponsors. I thought maybe I should go. She agreed.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I left the bedroom and began researching going to New Orleans for the summit. Between the ticket, flight, hotel, etc., it was going to cost a fortune. Should I still do it? I watched a video taken from last year’s gathering and saw hundreds of confident people, a few of which I know, and I began to panic. The burst of wonder I’d written about morphed into icy fear. My mind swirled. I wasn’t good enough for this. These bloggers are so much better, so much more competent. They’re invited to interview celebrities, review films and test out new products. My blog’s puny by comparison. I barely get any comments. I had to do something. My hands shook as I posted my blog in a Dad Bloggers group on Facebook, terrified I wouldn’t be accepted.

I had to change tactics. Think of something else. I know. Coupons. We need to save money. I used to be a coupon fiend, so good that one of my former coworkers told me I should make a business out of it. That’s when I stopped cold. Once the possibility of making it a business came into play, I could no longer do it. Now I had to get back into it. I researched coupon sites while and was overwhelmed. Then I started thinking about the holidays and finding gifts for people. My chest hurt. My brain hurt. Nasty thoughts bombarded me. I suck as a blogger. I’m weak. Can’t do the coupon thing anymore. I’m a failure. At around a quarter to two in the morning, I posted on Facebook about the Dads Summit and feeling panicky. Then I got the hell away from the computer, went back to the bedroom, and tossed and turned for hours before falling into a fitful sleep.

Elaine was off the next day. The plumber was due to come fix our shower. I woke up feeling horrible. Nervous. Scared. Two hours later it was a full-on panic attack complete with chest pains, dizziness, stuttering, crying. Elaine ordered me to the bedroom, but I fought her; I couldn’t leave her alone to take care of Sienna while the plumber was there. I looked at the responses to my FB post from the previous night. Positive responses that I twisted into negative thoughts. I’d lost all control of my mind. I was falling apart in front of Sienna. I finally submitted to my Elaine’s order and went to the bedroom. I apologized, but she refused it saying we’re a team, that it was my turn to lose it (she’d lost it a few days before because of job-related things). I chastised myself for failing her, for being a failure in general. Eventually I fell asleep. I slept for almost six hours.

I still could barely function after awakening. I sat on the couch like a stone wanting only to curl up under a blanket. Elaine took care of everything, feeding Sienna, playing with her, cleaning up her messes. She comforted me, told me she loved me, that we’re in this together, that in no way had I failed her. The words didn’t stick. I’m not sure how long it was before bedtime when I took a melatonin and slept peacefully.

I awoke the next morning feeling better. Elaine was working so I was once more alone with Sienna, though the plumber had to return to fix a few things. I realized I wasn’t ready to go to the Dads Summit. Not this year. I reread the comments on my FB post and one really stood out:

“1- You haven’t been blogging for long. Continue finding your voice for now and set a date to take off. 2- Set goals. Last year I sat down and came up with a business plan for my blog. The plan was for my eyes only, but I had a plan in place. The plan took new shapes along the way, but I felt good that I had a plan. 3 – Being a dad blogger is great, but taking a break now and then is fine. 4- You’ve got good stuff, but sometimes it takes a while for others to catch on to it.”

This both encouraged and scared me. I’m terrible at planning. I can barely make a grocery list, but the person was right in that I hadn’t been blogging long. I’ll probably need to talk to my friend who posted the comment about planning and I’ll most likely need Elaine’s help, but it’s something that needs to be done. Baby steps. My therapist always says I need to take baby steps because I usually jump straight to the end and judge myself harshly that I’m not there yet and so many others are.

So my first step is to write this blog and get all of this out there to show people how quickly depression/anxiety can attack. Having depression and/or anxiety disorders is not fun. It’s not a joke. They’re insidious diseases that you have to battle at all times. It’s like walking a tightrope without a net. There’s lots of wobbling and if you fall off there’s nothing to catch you. Those of us with depression/anxiety need to surround ourselves with people who love and understand us at all times (even if we can’t figure out why they do). I’m lucky that I have Elaine and my parents; a few friends to turn to; my sister; my therapist. As difficult as it is, I need to stop comparing myself to others and I need to take baby steps even if I need guidance in doing so.

Baby steps all the way to the moon.