Depression: It’ll Be Back

Posted on July 16, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Depression is like the terminator, but not the slow and steady Arnold Schwarzenegger version. It’s more like the Robert Patrick design from Terminator 2: Judgment Day, that liquid metal that regroups if blown apart, twists and morphs into various forms in its quest to take you down, and is exceptionally fast, determined, and dangerous. You could be cruising along for weeks thinking that your meds are working (and they are) and then suddenly it’s on you like hot lead, crushing you with sadness. And sometimes you don’t know how it found you or how to take charge and battle it until someone points out the trigger or it’s revealed in therapy. That’s what happened to me over the weekend. I’d had a number of good weeks and then depression was back in all its horrible glory leaving me feeling as if stuffed into a sarcophagus of sadness.

Still from Terminator 2: Judgment Day

But why?

Let’s flip back the calendar.

Months ago my college friends and I decided to get together in Boulder, Colorado to celebrate our 40th birthdays. Excited at first, I soon became agitated and nervous, unsteady and unsure. I began having panic attacks because without warning I WAS the college me, not the 40-year-old me, the boy who felt ditched for alcohol, whose desires felt secondary to his friends’ need to party all the time. I didn’t drink in college. I was too afraid, terrified that by losing control my since-corrected gynecomastia (male breast enlargement) would be exposed. And yet I wound up in a group of heavy drinkers I met Freshman year. It wasn’t all bad, but because I was depressed and frightened I was unable to seek out others who shared my likes: movie nights, baseball, etc. My friends are good guys but acted like college kids since, well, they WERE college kids. They were selfish, sometimes cruelly so, in regards to considering my feelings, and I felt I gave a hell of a lot more than I received. They all apologized over the years and I think it was genuine. I no longer blame them but apparently the kid in me still does. He remains mistrustful, fearful of getting hurt and worried I’d get drowned out like in school and eventually those feelings burst from my chest in anxious breaths and caused my fingers to tremble. Would my friends listen to my wishes to see the natural wonder of Boulder every once in awhile in lieu of getting wasted? Almost all of them are 40 now, but would they, now that they were together in a big group again for the first time in who knows how many years, want to relive their college years? The rational side of my brain said no, that we’d go to a Colorado Rockies game (which I’d requested to do when we first talked about Boulder), that we’d drive around and explore the picturesque town in addition to the expected drinking, that my voice would be heard, but the hurt college kid in me disagreed.I couldn’t commit to the vacation knowing that should I go, I’d (whether wanting to or not) “test” their sincerity. That wouldn’t be fair to them, nor would the fact that they’d have to be on edge around me in case I had a panic attack. So I pulled out of the Colorado adventure.

The reunion happened this past weekend. And that, Elaine pointed out, was the trigger that allowed my terminator to find me.

And so that pulverizing depression as I subconsciously second guessed myself. as I lay in bed completely unable to care for Sienna. According to Elaine, now that I’d “found my tribe” in the dad blogger community and been fully accepted for who and what I am (though I’m still shaky on that), that weekend was like breaking up with the old me and thus I was in some sort of mourning. I think that’s partly true. I think it hurt me that I feel more accepted by the dad blogger community now then I ever did in college, but I also think I was berating myself for not being fair to my college friends, for not trusting them.

Trust is such a tricky thing when you suffer from depression and have been stung as many times as I have over the years. You so want to give it, but you’re scared to. You want to believe, but your irrational mind won’t let you. You want and need almost tangible confirmation, but that’s impossible to get. Your damaged brain won’t let you take that leap of of faith.

Should I have taken a leap of faith with my college friends? Did I blow a chance to have an amazing time with people I haven’t seen in years, friends that might have mellowed from their partying days?

The fog of depression is starting to lift. I look at Sienna and Elaine and know they’re here for me, that they’re the most important things in my life. I also went to a dads’ night out courtesy of the NYC Dads Group and Baby Bjorn at a swanky hotel for the MLB All-Star game and cheered Derek Jeter on during his final appearance. I talked baseball and laughed and received hugs from friends knowing I was going through a rough time, that I was once more suffering depression. I received tons of messages on FB from dad bloggers across the world giving me virtual hugs. And I’m so thankful for that.

But at the same time I wish I’d had the courage to go to Boulder and place my trust in my college friends and I feel haunted knowing I might never again have the opportunity to find out.

Now back to battling my personal terminator.

30 members of the NYC Dads Group (including myself and many of my friends) gathered to watch the 2014 MLB All-Star Game

Preventing A Depression Spiral By Taking My Daughter To The Movies

Posted on March 6, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

I hate and fear my birthday. Yes it’s just a day like any other, but it’s one that so clearly marks the passage of time, one that depression sufferers such as myself tend to use to focus more than ever on the “failures” of the past and of time “running out” than on the now. Normally I feel sad on my birthday, distraught that I don’t have the money, the elite job title, the house, and I obsess over my life’s crossroads. What if I accepted the cool girl’s party invitation in junior high school instead of chickening out? What if I’d taken that film publicity job I’d been offered following my junior year internship instead of imagining my parents’ wrath at not completing college (I learned years later that the secretary during my time there became a vice president)? A few blogs ago I wrote about how I especially dreaded my birthday this year because it would be my 40th and how since Elaine would be at work late into the night, I felt intensely apprehensive that I’d spiral into such narcissistic despair that I wouldn’t be able to be there for Sienna, but I never wrote about the day itself and how I met that challenge.

On the morning of my 40th birthday I decided to take my 22-month-old daughter, Sienna, to the movies. I wasn’t sure if 22 months was too young for a child to go to movie theater, but I didn’t care because I knew if I didn’t get out of the apartment, I’d dwell until misery swallowed me. There was, of course, only one movie for us to see (cue Miss Idina Menzel):

Elaine’s not a big Disney fan, so I saw Frozen alone when it first opened, but since that day Sienna and I have probably watched the ”Let It Go” clip on YouTube about a quadrillion times, so I thought seeing it on the big screen would blow her mind; plus it was the sing-a-long version so I knew if my daughter yelled at the screen or ran around I’d at least be surrounded by similarly frazzled parents with their rambunctious children. In hindsight this was also a massive undertaking since I’m anxious any time I take Sienna outside, always imagining people talking about and judging me for being a stay-at-home dad, but on my birthday, a clear, crisp February morning, I bundled her up, strapped her into her car seat and told her it was adventure time.

As we entered the multiplex Sienna looked around and took in everything, particularly the luminosity of the theater lobby, big white bulbs overhead, red blinking lights announcing theater times. “Lights!” she repeated on a loop. “Lights!”

“LEGO Movie?” a fiftyish man with a bushy red mustache asked when we reached the counter.

“Nope. Frozen,” I said. “Taking my daughter to her first movie.”

“Good choice.” He smiled and gestured towards Sienna who wore her most serious expression. “And in that case we have something special in store for this little cutie. Just head over to the concession stand and let me know she’s a first-timer.”

I did so and after many congratulations, we received a free children’s popcorn. We walked down the hallway and passed a huge cardboard advertisement for Muppets Most Wanted and Sienna quickly ran up and touched Animal’s face. She LOVES Animal, especially his solo during the Muppets’ rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I had to sneak in a quick shot.

The theater was packed and by “packed” I mean crammed with empty seats. Seems 10:25 AM on a Monday is a perfect time to take your kids to the movies, especially if a film’s been out seemingly forever. I chose an aisle seat behind a wheelchair area giving us plenty of legroom in case Sienna needed to run around. I had no idea what to expect from her. Would the movie’s volume scare her? Would she sit for more than 10 minutes? As I said: adventure time.

I placed her in a seat and made sure I could access everything: popcorn, water, Cheerios, diaper bag, Elmo doll (wish she’d lose that thing! Not an Elmo fan!). Then I had to snap a pic because she looked so darn small and cute and befuddled!

The lights dimmed and we sat through ads and previews (“GREEN!” Sienna yelled happily whenever a preview card appeared) and then it was magic time.

First a clever, Oscar-nominated Mickey Mouse short in which Mickey, Minnie and the gang break through the screen and into a CGI, 3D world. “MICKEY MOUSE! MICKEY MOUSE!” Sienna announced, pointing at the screen. I told her it was indeed Mickey and ran my fingers through her hair. Then it was time for the main feature.

I don’t know how she did it, but Sienna sat through nearly the entire movie as if she were a film critic (or maybe she’s just like her mom who gets distracted and sucked in by any type of moving image, including commercials—she could be talking to you while walking into a room, but upon noticing the flickering TV, she’s an instant zombie and you actually have to snap your fingers to get her attention. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating…you don’t always have to snap your fingers). Getting back to Sienna, she stood up once and nearly fell through the space between the seat back and cushion, but then she resettled on my lap. She got a little antsy near the end of the film and ran around for maybe 15 minutes, but most of the time she looked like this:

We sang along to “Want To Build A Snowman?” and she pointed out all sorts of things like “SNOW!” and “HORSE!” and “WOLF!” to which she gave an accompanying, ”A-wooooooo! Wooooo-woooo–wooo!”

And when those opening, almost hypnotic notes of “Let It Go” began she jumped up and squealed, singing along as best as she could and mimicking Queen Elsa’s movements, arms thrust in the air in triumph. I sat there not thinking about my birthday, turning 40 or the past or future, but concentrating only on my daughter, on our special time together.

When the film ended we stayed through the second rendition of “Let It Go” and headed back into the lobby. I thanked everyone for being so kind and then decided I needed to get Sienna a plush Olaf to mark the occasion of her first movie. We drove to 4 stores, but no one had anything Frozen-related leaving me highly disappointed, but Sienna none the wiser. I think I wanted that Olaf doll more for me than for her. I think I wanted it to salute my taking action against my anxiety and depression on a day where they’re often incapacitating. At least I have the pictures and memories.

While seeing the movie with my daughter was incredible, I’d like to say that I was able to completely avoid my usual birthday doldrums, but I can’t. By the time my mother took Sienna and I out to dinner, I felt deflated and downcast. When Elaine came home after I’d put Sienna down for the night, my chest was tight and I felt sad and alone and near tears. She asked me if I’d seen all the hundred+ birthday wishes from people on Facebook, but I hadn’t checked because I knew I’d concentrate more on who DIDN’T wish me a happy birthday than on who DID; just another evil aspect of depression.

But then I recounted the morning: the empty theater; Sienna checking out the ad for the new Muppet flick; our daughter getting that first taste of movie popcorn and, like a pro, grabbing fistfuls without taking her eyes of the screen; Sienna standing on my lap, our arms raised, our voices nearly drowning out Queen Elsa’s. I broke into a grin thinking of how proud I was of Sienna and how happy I am to be a dad and how although I couldn’t completely shut out my demons, I stunted them by taking my daughter to her first movie, and how for a good portion of my 40th birthday I was able to just let it go.

Turning the Frightening 4-0

Posted on February 9, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Despite feeling like I’m about 7 years old and still wanting to believe someone can protect me from whatever cruelties exist in the world, I’m turning 40 tomorrow. I planned to blog about how mortified I am about this; how I distinctly remember my father turning 40 and thinking, “Wow, he’s old!”; how deeply depressed I get even when my birthday doesn’t begin with a 4 and end with an 0; how I especially fear February 10, 2014 so much because Elaine won’t arrive home until 9 pm leaving me trying to fight the usual birthday darkness and hold myself together in front of Sienna all day long. But instead, while tossing and turning in bed last night, I decided to go the positive route and list 30 things (because 40 is supposedly the new 30) I never thought I’d experience had you asked me when I graduated college in 1996. So here goes:

1) I’m still alive – I’ve had so many suicidal thoughts that despite never acting on them I suspected one day I might

2) I lost my virginity

3) I didn’t just get married, but I wed the most beautiful, caring (I could go on and on without running out of favorable adjectives) person on the planet

Elaine on our wedding day

4) I survived dozens of panic attacks and 2 nervous breakdowns the latter of which (in 2010) I’m still recovering from

5) On what was one of the most meaningful, near-paralyzing days of my life post-breakdown, I somehow stopped a full-on panic attack right before my wife’s c-section because she was shaking from the fears of being sliced open and becoming a mother which led me to…

6) Becoming a father to a fascinating and gorgeous little girl (who was delivered by Santa Claus) and realizing the majesty of parent

7) I found a therapist I eventually came to believe cares about me

8) I reconciled with and developed new relationships with both my father and sister

9) I have the same best friends I’ve had since the ages of 8 (when I met one) and 12 (when I met the other)

My best friends, Sienna and I this in November 2013

10) I had surgery to correct gynecomastia (male breast enlargement) which I suffered from between the ages of 11 and 29 and published a piece about it; I also had laser to remove my back hair leading me to…

11) Take off my shirt in public for the first time since I was 10

12) I received a masters in Media Ecology from NYU

13) A professional actor performed a monologue I wrote

14) Despite extreme anxiety and several public meltdowns, I joined the NYC Dads Group where Lance Somerfield, Matt Schnieder, Jason Greene, Kevin McKeever, Larry Interrante, Danny Giardino and Christoper Persley among others would all cheer me on

15) I started blogging about raising my daughter while battling depression and anxiety

16) I zip-lined through the jungles of Costa Rica

17) I not only saw the Yankees win a World Series, but I witnessed one of the greatest dynasties of all time (1996-2001) and attended a WS game

18) The 2008 MLB All-Star Game Program contained an article featuring me and my disillusionment with how the Yankees have forgotten how to build a team

19) My best friend since I was 8 and I had made a pact when we were 12 or so that when our favorite ballplayers (me: Dave Winfield; he: Ozzie Smith) were inducted into the Hall of Fame, we’d head up to Cooperstown for the ceremonies. They were elected in consecutive years and our childhood promise came to fruition

20) I paraglided in Alaska

Yep, that’s me

21) I discovered a bar in Scotland somehow named after me (though they refused to give me anything on the house even when I showed my passport)

22) During my Contiki trip through Scotland, England and Wales, I actually had 3 girls interested in me (I’d never had ANY girls interested in me before), wound up in a short-lived long-distance relationship with an exquisite woman from California and made numerous Aussie friends which led to…

23) Me traveling to the place I most wanted to visit in the world where I spent New Year’s Eve watching fireworks shoot out of the Harbor Bridge

My friend Derek and I in front of the famed Sydney Opera House

24) Two friends and I put on an impromptu puppet show on the Charles Bridge in Prague, Czech Republic and even received some money from tourists

25) I traveled all over Europe, Central America, the Caribbean and North America

26) The former head of the Chinese Mafia (now reformed and a friend of my father’s who worked on his cases) helped me move from Queens to Jersey City

27) Despite my trepidation, I joined a movie club and met some wonderful friends

28) Doug French, co-founder of Dad 2.0, invited me to read one of my blogs (titled “Do I Really Like What I Like“) at the 2014 summit in New Orleans at which I received not just a shocking standing ovation, but so many accolades that I’m still trying to process it

Speaking at Dad 2.0 in New Orleans

29) In the words of fellow dad blogger, Carter Gattis, I think I’ve found my tribe

30) I wrote this blog

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 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.