Positivity All Up In This Bitch

The wiser of us say that if you want something really badly, then present your wish to the universe.

"Put it out there," they'll say, "and the universe will provide it for you in time."

Upon first hearing this, my mind defaults to a skeptic's position, generating questions that never get satisfactory answers, even from the most vocal proponents of this 'universe wish granting service' they always seem so high on:

- "Put it out there" entails what, exactly? Saying an audible prayer of sorts? Writing it down, folding the paper into an airplane and launching it off a mountaintop? Scribbling my wish in lipstick across my bathroom mirror then chanting sacred words at it four times daily?

- What happens after I do this, mechanistically? Is there a god or tribunal which reviews my wish and deems it worthy or not of being answered?

- What happens to wishes of ill intention? If I were a madman and wished to burn the Earth, why should this wish be denied me? Who or what makes these judgments?

Etc...

Upon second hearing this, or maybe third or fourth, I stop asking so many questions and instead I grow curious about *why* such huge volumes of people ascribe to this when it's so obvious that it's steeped in faith unsupported in any way by hard evidence.

No one anywhere can prove this. There was a book written some years ago called The Secret which sort of attempted to prove it but let's be honest: this entire subject is way too amoebic and fluffy to fit into a compartment fit for studies, testing and produced data.

It's. Just. Wishful. Thinking. 

That's it. 

No numbers, no calculations, no statistics or trends, and - importantly - no guarantees. 

Proffering your wishes unto the universe promises nothing in return. You're not going to have any *real* degree of confidence that what you 'put out there' will come to you.

...or are you?

My thinking on this is changing now that I have reached a point in my life where I have exhausted every alternative at finding purpose and honest rhythm in my existence. Short of being in an existential crisis, I'm leaving nothing off the table. 

I have spent a lot of time in the past week experimenting with what I'll call a derivation of "The Secret". I would like to herein share how my opinion has changed.

My attempt at 'trying' this way of thinking (hoping, living) involves a very simple concept. Sure, it's ultra cliche' and worn out with every other self-help pamphlet you might find in a therapists waiting room. But here it is, anyway:

Positivity.

Here's what I have been trying; it's a very straightforward mantra - "Put positivity out there, make it your wish. Do this enough, and it will come back to you."

For very many years I have lived anathema to this business of living positively. Without getting into too many details, my brain has for decades been wired to be afraid, skeptical, anxious, reactive and - here's the kicker - negative. 

Who knows the myriad of factors that contributed to this. Thankfully, they're irrelevant to this post.

What does matter is that there is a *choice* involved here. Choosing to think differently about things. About every thing. All things. Because by definition, the universe is "all things", and if I'm going to put positivity out into the universe, then that necessarily has to mean putting positivity into all things. 

I put this into effect about 5 days ago and have been living it since.

Here is what I have noticed:

- I look strangers in the eye more often. 

- I smile more often. 

- I carry myself slightly taller, perhaps prouder. 

- I expect positive outcomes in the smallest of things (not spilling the gas from the nozzle when filling up, etc.)

- Conversations with people are easier, less forced. 

- I respond to negativity with its opposite, which is a massive departure from old habits. 

A good example of the last point is this: just yesterday I was driving out of a parking lot when I inadvertently took up a small part of the opposing lane of traffic. This was a very simple and honest mistake, however the driver of the oncoming pickup truck didn't think so. My window was down and as was his, and I heard him utter, "Asshole," while looking directly at me. 

Now. 

A few weeks ago I would have thrown my car into park, exited my vehicle and demanded that the gentleman and I resolve our obvious conflict right then and there. Because I simple cannot stand to allow another man insult me so outrageously and without defense of myself, right?

That is not what happened. 

Rather, I drew upon the return that the universe was owing me after my first few days of putting positivity out there - I smiled. 

That's right, I smiled. 

A grumpy dude in a truck looked me dead in the eye, called me an asshole and I smiled. 

I didn't even have to think twice about it; that's the odd thing. After having been thinking and acting positively for what was no more than 72 hours or so, I found that smiling back to an insult was almost instinctive. 

It felt truly bizarre. Never in my life have I reacted that way to such blatant disrespect. 

But it happened. And I am sure that because it happened, I was spared a long and painful internal dialogue, consisting at least of the following:

"How dare he. That douchebag. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."
"I hope that this guy has good dental insurance because he's about to lose some teeth."

"Doesn't he understand that I made an honest, small mistake in judgement? Why can't he SEE that? I must make him see this or my honor will be forever diminished."

"No one calls me an asshole without some kind of retort. I am less of a man if I don't do anything about this."

...but none of these lines of thinking even entered my mind.

I had trained my brain to be positive about ALL THINGS. That includes being called an asshole in a parking lot. 

As it turns out, there is merit to putting positivity out into the universe. Whether or not all of my problems are solved because of this is yet to be seen, but if I'm only going to judge from the changes I've seen in these past few days, then I'd say there's good reason to continue this trend. 

Today is still Monday. 

There are still bills to be paid, struggles to endure and challenges to overcome. 

But in every small thing I do, with it will go a measure of positivity. 

And, I'm banking, this will make all the difference. 

Being dumped via text message.

A woman who I have grown very close to over the past few months has decided to break up with me.

She has arrived at this decision somewhat hastily - and has informed me of it via text message. This happened about 20 minutes ago.

Now...on the one hand I understand the want for someone to insulate themselves from confrontation and potential difficulty by not doing something like this in person, particularly when the dumpee is someone that was formally termed 'boyfriend'.

It's easy, right? Just create a new text, type out the bad news, and hit 'send'. Then, if you want, you can just turn your phone off and be spared of any backlash.

But this really fucking hurts. It really hurts bad.

And, I'm trying to just *let* it hurt. I have learned thus far in life that avoiding emotional pain and not confronting it is a very bad idea. It may save you from near-term agony, but in the long run these feelings will exact their revenge, often times with added intensity as time has a way of compounding unprocessed pain. 

As I think through these past few months and the bliss I felt while dating Sarah, I can't single out one time when there was ever a cross word or even something remotely resembling an argument. We got along great...we enjoyed similar things, had a shared love for music and all seemed right in the world. 

But now it's over. And I'm left feeling like it's my fault...after all, her main citation for doing this not feeling a 'spark' anymore, due to our relationship being put on hold for sometimes days at a time while I sorted through some of my own problems. 

This isn't the first time I have suffered the painful blow of rejection on account of my depression. This wretched, wicked disease has robbed me of so very much...so very, very much. 

Eh. Why am I typing this, even? 

No one reads my blog...this is a tiny, cobwebbed corner of the internet frequented by exactly one person, the author of rantings and musings that will likely just drift into complete obscurity as the years roll on. 

Well, I guess I'm typing it because *I* need to. Sarah doesn't seem to have any problem whatsoever in breaking ties with me and moving on to whatever/whoever is next. I will let her. I have to let her. There's no 'winning' her back, and I'm not even sure I want to try, if this is all that it takes for her to leave me.

I will do only what I know how to do. Experience this pain, let it run its course, and then regroup and try again to find love.

I loved you, Sarah. I really did. It's a shame we couldn't build on that. 

Goodbye. 

The Curse of "T".

Just for a moment, imagine having a tea kettle going off next to both of your ears. 

Perhaps not *right* next to your ears, but maybe about 15 feet away from each of them.  

Now, pair that sound with a softer but certainly identifiable sound of a morse code transmitter. You know the sound I mean...dit dit da dit...dit...da da da...dit...etc. 

For me, this unique little pairing of noises has become my every waking moment. It is there when I first awake and it is there (especially) when I lay my head down to sleep at night. The 'tea kettle' tone comes in at a scorching 16,000 Hz, which is pretty close to the highest sound frequency capable of being heard by a person in my age range. 

From this there is no escape. There is no solace and there is no peace and quiet. Ever.

If you think this sort of thing has the potential to drive someone to insanity, you'd be absolutely correct. This affliction is called Tinnitus, a French word for "ringing in the ears". Although really, the sounds I 'hear' seem to be emanating not from my ears, but from inside of my head, in the top right quadrant, actually. I began noticing these sounds about 6 months or so ago, during a particularly stressful time of my life (job loss). Since then the intensity has only grown and my quality of life as a result has only decreased.

Now, I don't care how long I stay inside or if I even ever see any other human being throughout the course of the day. 

The condition this has put me in is akin to where I imagine Brian Wilson was, mentally, during his darkest days. 

It would probably be ok if this issue was the only health-related struggle I had to endure but sadly, it's not. I also suffer from chronic bulging disc pain in my back and neck, as well as hip bursitis and a shoulder impingement. All of these are permanent, untreatable and chronic afflictions.This all so far sounds like the ranting of an old man, doesn't it?

But I'm 34. Not young, I know...but certainly not old.  

There isn't a whole lot to be found on research related to this disease, aside from some studies on the effectiveness of "masking" (producing sounds that cover the 'T') and something called Tinnitus Retraining Therapy, or TRT. The latter is an often years-long process of training the brain to not react negatively to the recognition of the noises coming from within it. The costs of TRT are in the tens of thousands of dollars and positive results are never guaranteed. The success rate across the board sits in the 50-55% range, within 5 years of the end of TRT sessions. 

Apparently there are some interesting clinical trails going on in Europe right now, that have to do with sending ultrasonic waves into the inner ear in order to incite healing of the tiny hairs that line the cochlea (it is damage to these hairs that is believed to be the cause of most Tinnitus symptoms). Even if these trials show promise, it's estimated this kind of therapy might be available in 15-20 years, optimistically. 

And, speaking of optimism, mine has just about dried up. It isn't enough that I have to deal with the aforementioned health issues (combined conveniently with depression, now) in sequence or at different times in my life. No.

The fates deem it necessary for me to fight through all of this every day all in unison and without reprieve. This, all while maintaining some semblance of a positive attitude in my day-to-day professional life. Because no employer wants someone on their payroll who can't at least pretend to be in a good mood on most days. 

The world now has a very certain hue of grey and a sort of dark magenta...almost blood colored. Deoxygenated blood colored. 

It's when you really begin to suffer on more than one level and for a long enough time that everything around you simply...dies. It just dies. The sun, the grass, the ripples along the surface of the lake outside my home...it all just dies. Resigning to the rest of life knowing I am heretoforth condemned to anguish has removed any hope I may have had for a relationship, happiness or - and I would lovingly accept this option - simple contentedness.

I can't even meditate. I can't experience a mere 60 seconds of peace...I mentioned earlier in this post the very real possibility of insanity resulting from all of this. I have to say that I feel it coming on.

I now have a much deeper understanding of true mental breakdown of the novel-worth variety.

This is the kind of madness that makes a man inhuman. It's what happens to people before their entire lives and the people they love fall apart and crash to the ground in shocking chaos. There is never, ever *true* understanding of this kind of suffering by others unless they themselves endure it, which I could and would never opt for even if the choice was presented to me. 

This madness I feel creeping like an invasive mold eating at the core of an otherwise thriving plant...this is the eventuality I now must face, or...well...there is another option. 

There is one last place I can look for relief because from what I have gathered in this 34-year journey so far, it's all that is left.

Psychotherapy. 

Seeing as I've explored just about every last option to alleviate what ails me (from chiropractic to surgery, from nootropic supplementation to exercise and from anti-depressants to detoxification and back again), this really is the final frontier. 

However familiar I might be with psychotherapy (I saw a therapist for a spell some years ago), it's what I'm deeming my last resort. I am going to try with as strong of a heart as I have in my chest to use the help of a trained therapist to try and find a way through this cacophony. 

It was very hard to pick up that phone, call and make the appointment, but it's set.

I do not have anywhere else to turn, and I hope to whatever deity may exist that I am able to craft a way to continue living this life. 

I don't know how that will happen. 

I need magic woven with miracles when this world offers neither. 

It can't ever be said that I did not try.

Wish me luck. 

The Insidiousness of Tinnitus

I'm 34 next month. 

For the past...oh let's call it...20 years or so I have been subjecting myself to pretty intense volumes of sound. It started when I was in military school: To escape the awful life I was living I would plant my head directly in front of the amplifier to which I had an electric guitar connected, and then I would just dose my face with obnoxiously loud power chords. 

This was my release. It was my way of decompressing, and at that age (15 or so) I thought it was fucking badass! Truth be told, it *was* fucking badass. It felt incredible. It was a huge rush that acted as a sort of reset button for my emotional condition. 

After high school/military school, I went on to college. This is when earbud headphones became my absolute best friend. I worked out a *lot* in college, and I don't think I ever entered the gym without my headphones in, blasting music into my ears at near-to-full volume. 

This particular habit was, I believe, an escape mechanism for not having to be social with other gym goers. I didn't (and still don't) like to be social when I work out. I am there for one thing - making myself better than I was the day before. I don't want to talk to anyone and I sure as hell don't want to listen to the grunting and hissing resounding throughout the weight area.

And then there was the mountain bike. I rode a mountain bike religiously throughout college, and as you might expect, I always did so with headphones in. Always the earbud style headphones, and always at near-to-full volume.

I needed to have a SOUNDTRACK to my life, you know? I needed to feel accompanied by the power of heavy metal and hip-hop at all possible times. In between classes, between meals, before bed, etc., etc.. It only stopped when I absolutely had to have a conversation with someone, listen to a lecture or if I had to sleep. 

After college I got into the corporate world and started doing sales work. Sure, the biking time was less, but the gym time wasn't. Oh, and in between sales calls, in my car, what do you think was going on? That's right - insanely loud music. Everywhere I went. I invested in super high fidelity speakers and expensive amplifiers to ensure that my eardrums were being sufficiently pelted with the maximum possible amount of decibels. 

I was also a fan of concerts. Loud ones. I had to be up front, as close to the speaker cabinets as possible. If my ears weren't ringing after a concert, I obviously didn't have a good enough time. 

This went on for years. Finally, about when I turned 30, I stopped doing the concert thing because it was just not as empowering as it used to be. I didn't really get off on moshing and getting loud and sweaty with a bunch of other twenty-somethings. Plus I wasn't as angry anymore. I still had an ongoing love affair with my headphones, however.

At about the same time, I started playing guitar on the street. Just for fun. I would pick an alley or some other place with good acoustics, set up my small amplifier and just play music for hours. Sometimes without stopping. Always without caring about how loud it really was. This is something I have done consistently, every single weekend for the past 4-5 years.

Let's skip forward to about 3 months ago. I'm sitting around, playing PC games, when I distinctly notice that I can actually *hear* the high-pitched whining of the machinery in my computer. Crazy! My hearing is like, so good, right? I can hear even the highest pitch sounds. I'm so gifted.

Right.

I turned off the computer. The sound remained. 

I didn't think much of it. Maybe there was some other equipment in my condo that was making a high-pitched whine. Perhaps the AC unit. Furnace? Other electronics?

I forgot all about it until the next week when I was falling asleep one evening, I found that I could actually hear what sounded like morse code coming into my ears. This was in addition to the omnipresent high-pitched computer type of whine. It was incredibly faint, but definitely there.

It was at about this time that I started to panic a little bit. My father had told me about his own Tinnitus and, nearing 70 years old himself, I viewed it as just a part of him getting on in age. Since my slow realization that I have Tinnitus, the problem has only worsened. It is now to the point where the ringing in my head (mind you, it's in my HEAD, not my ears. This is sometimes called 'global' Tinnitus.) is 24/7 and quite extreme.

It is exacerbated by loud eruptions of sound, like dropping a cake pan or slamming a door. Sometimes I can't fall asleep at all and I end up having to turn on some sort of white noise generator just to ease into sleep. This affliction has slowly become a certainly maddening aspect of my every waking moment. 

There is now no escape save for...ironically...music. Listening to music takes my minds focus away from the Tinnitus and allows me to forget about it for a time. But it is in fact only for a time, because as soon as external sound leaves my earshot, the Tinnitus is right there to remind me of my foolish decisions as a younger man.

I really don't know how bad this is going to get or how I'm going to manage to live the rest of my life with it. From the research I have done, it appears that once you have hearing damage like this, the problem never gets better. You can only learn to live with it through things like habituation and ear training exercises that help you to disassociate the sound.

What makes this particularly difficult for me is that I like to spend a lot of my time alone. Oftentimes I prefer silence to sound and meditation to activity. Now, things like silence and meditation are too much to ask for. Neither can exist anymore in their true forms, because the Tinnitus is always there. And, some times it's far worse than others. 

The second factor making this especially difficult is that I am predisposed to anxiety and depression. I have been this way all my life, and it doesn't take much to send me into a depressive episode. Knowing that I have an incurable hearing disability now has already prompted very intense and very dark feelings about my life and my future. It's very dire.

I have always used this blog as a way to communicate my feelings and to be creative for an unknown audience of whomever happens to stumble upon my tiny corner of the internet. Now, I am using this blog as a journal. I'm not writing this post to anyone in particular...I'm simply expressing my situation for the sheer purpose of expression itself. 

I'm not trying to sell Tinnitus relief pills. I'm not appealing for medical advice. I'm certainly not trying to monetize what I write and I'm definitely not interested in crowdsourcing donations for therapy. I just want there to be some record of my struggles with life after I'm gone, so that people may look back at all this and gain some understanding as to where my head was when I was alive. 

And where is my head right now? Well...let's just say my head is...

...ringing.