Crying In My Coffee Again

     Boy, did I make the mistake of writing in a public place while trying to put this together. Rereading this post from Chris Gethard while listening to Against Me!'s Transgender Dysphoria Blues.  “Two Coffins” hit my brain like a ton of bricks and I was a teary eyed, snot covered mess.  At least I was in a suburban coffee place and could give a fuck about any of the people there.  Suddenly, my corner cleared out and the walking Yelp reviews moved elsewhere.

     Trying to find a way to reconcile the six foot rubber poop monster that is my depression with being the parent of a fifteen year old was stirred up after reading about Chris Gethard's attempts to get right with his previous work now that he is a parent.  Most notably his one man show Career Suicide.

     I try not to conceal too much from my daughter.  Now that she's old enough, I approach our interactions with the same bluntness that I would with long time friends.  In my experience, family history and secrets are poison and can lead to problems down the road.  Being honest, open and available to her can only help her in the long run to be able to wrap her head around things.

     If there were things that my parents were honest with me about, I probably wouldn't be better off but at least I would have the information to do what I wanted with it.  My parents come from the tail end of the generation that never spoke about anything.  The perceived fear of being shunned by the surrounding community carried more weight than dealing with an actual problem.  If no one knows that there's a problem, then there isn't a problem.  The magic of ignorance was a wonderful thing while it lasted.  You just didn't talk about so and so anymore and the problem went away.

     The history of depression runs deep as a canyon on both sides of the family and no one ever said anything about it so the younger generations could be aware of what was possibly going to hit them. We were all left to figure out on our own why we couldn't bring ourselves to get off of our couches to face the outside world.

     One of the main fears that Gethard wrote about is when his son is old enough to stumble upon Career Suicide and how he would explain it to him.  That's the corner I'm trying to turn as I write this but my brain is clamming up as I approach it and I stop typing.  I'm not sure if my kid reads these things.  She is aware that I write them but I have no idea if she gives them more than a glance or what she thinks of them.  I don't even know if the usual dread and what-the-fuckness that I feel on a minute to minute basis comes through in the writing.

     Putting that darkness at her feet is not something that I want to add to her daily list of obstacles.  A fifteen year old girl has enough to deal with growing up.  I have clued her in to the fact that the darkness is there and it's alright if she has those feelings.  But I always stop short when the conversation starts to get too heavily aimed in my direction.  Shedding light on my challenges and struggles with her has always been difficult.  The old family practice of fear and shame come roaring back.  My male fragility kicks in and I become afraid that her opinion of me will change so I end up speaking in generalities.  That might still be helpful to her but it lacks specifics and feels like I'm being less than honest.

     There are times that I feel like the absolute wrong person for her to bring her problems to.  I spend so much time by myself that I easily forget how to interact with other people.  I've never been one that has had a lot of friends so when she has a problem with her's my usual reaction of “Fuck people” could be seen in some circles as less than helpful.

     The message that I try to impart the most to her is to not be afraid to ask for help which is a piece of advice that I have yet to heed myself.  Self medicating with music, coffee and denial is probably not the best route to take when navigating through depression and anxiety.  Alternating between the first four Black Sabbath and Ramones records while guzzling a pot of coffee would never be recommended by a mental health professional.