After a week of intense anxiety and panic attacks unlike anything I’ve experienced before I recently made three posts on Facebook about it. Here are all three posts:

3 September

I had my first and only full-on panic attack a year and a half ago. Since then I’ve learned to sense them coming on and I go into deep breathing and sensory exercises. I have my emotional support geranium that I rub in my hands and smell. Going outside and getting air and a breeze is really good. Taking a shower or washing my hands is also really nice.

Yesterday I had a doctor’s appointment to get anti-anxiety medicine for the first time. While waiting in the waiting room I was observing this cute well-behaved 3yo boy who was watching a video on a smart phone and smiling to himself quietly. As I watched him seemingly out of nowhere a super intense wave of fear came over me trapping me in a tunnel vision with serious feelings of panic. I went to my breath and it passed over and in 30 seconds I felt back to normal.

Later when I was home I was watching the incredible musical Sweet Charity for the first time. I noticed I was suddenly feeling fearful again. It wasn’t as intense. I did some breathing exercises, I visited my plant, I talked to a helpful housemate, I went outside for a walk, and it was pretty rough. I kept thinking “I need to keep doing things to keep myself from having a panic attack!” My anxiety was very high. After 2 hours it was over and I was back in my room feeling completely back to normal. In hindsight I can see that I was actually having a panic attack the whole time and it just looked different than the first one. I kept fearing that “one was coming” and I couldn’t tell that one was already present. It wasn’t nearly as intense as the first one where I was convinced I was dying of a heart attack. But yes, super super unpleasant.

Panic attacks are so irrational. I have a very rational mind and I feel powerless when a panic attack is present. The reptilian part of the brain takes over. When I was in the waiting room and the very intense fear came on it seemed to come out of nowhere, but in hindsight I can see the train of the thoughts that led to it. The thoughts in my mind went from “that little boy is so cute” -> “I used to be a little boy” -> “Now I’m 40 years old” -> “I’m going to die.” -> PANIC -> 100% REPTILE BRAIN HIJACKING

In my normal day to day life I don’t even fear death. I no longer believe death even exists. But when the reptile brain takes over the “I” is no longer in charge. What a wild ride. Hugs to everyone who knows from experience what I’m talking about.

5 September

After three days of rolling anxiety and anxiety attacks I’m actually feeling fairly grounded right now, if a little on edge. I’ve spent time with friends, used a new medication, and stayed at my old house two nights. Kind folks have stayed up with me for hours helping me stay calm. I’ve been working to replace the repetitious thoughts creating the anxiety with new thoughts. I’ve been repeating “I’m ok,” “The worst could be over,” “I’m growing from this,” “This experience will help me to help others.” I vastly cut down on caffeine and sugar and am eating even more fruits and vegetables. I’ve walked many miles in the last few days. And for tonight my favorite comfort food—mashed potatoes and gravy! I’ve been calling on my Gram to be with me. I love her. I’m trusting I made it through but there’s still some fear there.

10 September

I’ve been waiting to give an update on my anxiety because after the last two updates where I said I was feeling better I almost immediately dashed back into panic-land. This week I experienced a 5-day rolling panic attack unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It was horrendously difficult and scary. I’m very happy to report that I haven’t had to take any of my new anxiety prescription in 36 hours. I still feel a little on edge but mostly feel back to normal.

Two of my major triggers have been being and feeling alone and when it becomes dark at nighttime. Two days ago I had two amazingly powerful deep cries that addressed both triggers.

First I was walking through the Mission during the day and suddenly cried so deeply in grieving for my grandmother Velma yet once more. It was deep and long and in public and felt so damn good. I really love and miss her so much. She passed when I was 11yo and I had no assistance in grieving at the time. I’ve cried and grieved for her several times over the last few years but this was the deepest yet. I know this was directly related to the trigger of feeling alone and unsupported.

A few hours later it was dark and my anxiety was going way up. A friend of mine wants to make sure I don’t become addicted to my medication and told me to call her before I take anymore of it. So I called and said that my anxiety was really high and told her that the darkness was triggering it. She simply asked, “What do you think that’s about?” and again I had a powerfully deep and healing cry. Again, just like with my Gram, the darkness too is something I’ve cried about before and again it just seemed to go deeper than the last time. I felt terrified of the dark as a child and I suppressed my memory of it—the crying helped me became more aware of just how deeply scared of it I was. I saw a memory of when I was young and alone in my dark bedroom and feeling terrified. I opened the door a crack to get some light into my room to help me feel safe. I was yelled at for getting out of bed, the door was slammed shut, and I was plunged back into the terrifying darkness. It was that terror that had been trapped in my body until that cry let it free.

Lastly, I had a lovely metaphorically-rich dream yesterday morning that left me feeling very peaceful. I can go months or years without remembering a dream and this epic story must have lasted an hour—truly extraordinary for my experience. I’ll refrain from telling the whole tale but in short:

I was in my grandparents’ house at night and came across a ghost in the attic. Terrified, I began running away. It chased after me and was directly behind me and grabbing at me. At once I just stopped running, and the ghost stopped running, and I turned around and looked at her. The ghost turned out to be small, young, and she giggled. She was harmless. I asked her if she was hungry and she said yes. I fixed her a large plate of Thanksgiving leftovers and we sat eating together. Then my family began waking up and coming into the diningroom. They asked, “Who is this?” At ease I responded, “This is a friend of mine. She was very hungry and she’ll be on her way soon.”

When I’m presented with an opportunity to be interviewed I’ve learned to always say yes. I say yes because I know I’ll be asked questions of myself that I’ve never thought to ask myself before. An interview is free self-discovery. It’s free therapy.

Years ago I saw a flyer on a cork board at the local co-op. A college student was looking for gay men to interview and without much thought I ripped off a tab with an email address and wrote him. Days later I was sitting with him in my living room and deeply crying to the point where he became surprised and moved. So much came out of me that day. It was intense! And similarly, so much came out last year when KALW interviewed me about working through COVID at a soup kitchen. And so much came out when Vermont’s NPR interviewed me about growing up gay in a more-conservative area in rural Vermont. And given these experiences I knew immediately to respond to an email I received last week entitled: “I’d like to Interview You about your Male Conditioning.”

And so today I found myself in a stranger’s backyard in Berkeley sipping Earl Grey tea, sitting in the shade of a lovely garden, and being interviewed for two hours about growing up as a boy, being raised to become a man, and what all of that looked like in my experience. This led to the wildest thing happening in my mind that’s never happened to me before. And it likely won’t seem like much, but it feels like a real shift inside.

Movement and singing are two areas from my childhood where I felt perfectly free and later in life I became completely unfree in both. I absolutely loved singing in school as a small child. By 5th grade I came to learn that it was completely unmanly and my voice was lost to me. “Men don’t sing” became an internalized reality. And movement—while I ran freely as a young child, by puberty I became hyper aware that my mannerisms could give me away as gay. I became particularly fearful of running and jumping lest anyone come up with ideas about my sexuality. High school gym class was a particularly dangerous minefield and is still the source of my intolerance for sports. In these two areas of singing and movement I’m still completely bound by fear and panic. They’re largely no-go areas for me.

So naturally the interview found its way to them. When I was asked a question about what it would take for me to become free again in movement my mind showed me the most curious thing. Anyone who’s read my writing knows my healing journey’s sourced from memories of childhood. When I close my eyes the images and movies in my mind’s eye are past, past, past memories; always past memories. And Buddhism has taught me that our thoughts are always of the past or of the future; past or future. And today my mind showed a third way!

I closed my eyes after being asked “what would it take to become free again in movement?” and my mind showed me a vision of an incredibly fit man in light pink ballet tights doing a graceful split leap on a stage. Yet when my mind’s eye wandered up to the man’s face—it was my face on the body! It was pure imagination; a waking dream; and realistic to the core. It was a vision of a pure expression of perfect skill and freedom in movement. When I saw my face on the ballet dancer in my mind’s eye I immediately looked away. It was too much to witness. My body became flooded with emotions. I began crying and couldn’t speak. The interviewer gave me space and time when I insisted that I verbalize what I was shown. It took me minutes to say it aloud; minutes to say that I was shown a vision of myself dancing with the highest attainment of graceful movement. The vision was the opposite of the internal rigidity I’ve felt the whole of my adult life.

My mind imagines things perfectly fine of course. When I thought about how to build the Little Free Library last year I first saw it in my mind before it became a reality. Yet this was different. This image wasn’t powered by me and it wasn’t searched for. It simply showed up and I’ve never witnessed the phenomenon before. It was neither past nor future. It was a bit of both and mixed with something else. It was a gift.

Thoughts of movement make me feel so tight. And right now there’s a small sense of movement inside again; a sense the rusted gears got greased.

When I meet with my therapist over the phone he’s very reluctant to assist me through trauma when it comes up. Since I’m not in the room with him and he can’t observe me he generally stops me, slows me down, changes the topic in some way. In most cases I just want to dive in and drag the trauma out. And he’ll say, “Walter, listen, this is not the time. You don’t need to go this fast.” But sometimes it just goes that fast.

During today’s session I laid in the sun on an open meadow in Golden Gate Park. As I held the cellphone to my ear and looked up at the sky I told my therapist about a situation at work where I became very defensive. I was surprised by the intensity of my defensiveness over quite a small matter. As I talked my therapist sensed some trauma was emerging and he did the usual thing where he redirected me away from my emotional inner landscape. When he suggested I simply apologize for my reaction at work I protested that that wasn’t enough for me—my insides were turbulent and I wanted to iron that out! When I have intense feelings the last thing I want is a practical real world solution. What I want is to rip out the pain by the guts, to exorcise it from my body completely. So I waved away his suggestion and continued on. And, unusually for him, he became very firm with me. He said, “Walter, listen to me. You are not here with me in my office. I don’t think you should go here right now. I know you want to go back into your past and dig around but what I need from you right now is to come back to the present moment.”

Oh, but it was just those words that made the whole thing click. When he directed me to “come back to the present moment” it shifted my awareness from the story in my mind to my body laying there on the grass, my body that I suddenly realized was in pain from one end to the other. It was an intense and very full and very old pain. A dozen forgotten memories flashed across my mind so quickly that I couldn’t grasp any but the last of them. All I gleaned from the flash of memories was that my grandfather Walter starred in all of them. Only the final memory lingered in my mind. I was hiding in the shed, probably 4 or 5-years-old, standing at the center of my grandfather’s many lush geraniums, doing my best to be as far away from him as possible. Doing my best to feel safe.

My grandfather died when I was 6. He terrified me. In my experience he was quick to yell, to hit, and to react. When he was present us kids weren’t allowed to talk, make any noise, or play. Everything that came natural to me as a child had to be shoved down and repressed. Those stifled emotions fermented into resentment and rage. My defensive reaction at work was a burst of steam let out from an overheated system. Steam let off from the rage and resentment inside. Steam that demanded: “I HAVE A RIGHT TO EXIST, TO BE NOISY, AND BE FREE.”

As I laid on the grass I cried and a sense of resolution came quickly. Immediately a strong sense of compassion flooded through. I found compassion for my father, whose entire childhood would have been shaped by my grandfather’s presence. I found compassion for my grandfather, who died shortly after all my memories of him took place, who could have been sick and dying even at the time the memories were created for all I know. I found compassion for my young self, the one who hid among the geraniums, the one who just wanted to feel accepted by the world. And I found compassion for my adult self who simply had a little defensive reaction at work.

A friend invited me to a group event of about 8 people in a park where I’d know no one attending but the host. No matter how much work I’ve done on my social anxiety in the last 10 years the thought of attending makes me feel as if I’ve done no work at all. Walking into a group of strangers terrifies me. It plays out in my head in a familiar way: I walk up, everyone turns and looks at me, I feel really fucking awkward, my mind spins, I can’t decide where to sit and who to sit next to, meanwhile strangers are bombarding me with hellos and questions, I can’t make eye contact with anyone, I likely stumble on something and apologize a bunch, my cheeks are red, I breathe incredibly shallowly, I’m dying for the attention to shift from me to anyone or anything else. I want to be any place else.

(I’m reminded of my therapist recently telling me, “Walter, you’re much more sensitive than most people.” When I argued that I believed everyone had a similar sensitive inner experience his look told me immediately that I was definitely wrong.)

I’m tired of experiencing this kind of anxiety. I’m ready to grow out of having a need for it. Last night before bed I prayed that I might come to a sense of resolution on the issue in the morning’s Quaker meeting. So this morning I made some breakfast and coffee and I sat down at my computer about 10 minutes early for the meeting. Since I had some time to kill I decided to watch the last few minutes I had remaining of this week’s episode of Rupaul’s Drag Race. At the end of the episode the drag queens each had to explain why they felt they were the one who should take home the crown from the competition. One by one they poured their hearts out, explained why they should be the one picked, and I found it very moving. I then switched from the episode to the Quaker meeting and immediately began crying.

At first the tears felt random. Rupaul’s Drag Race was touching, sure, but I couldn’t make the connection in my mind as to where exactly the strong emotions were coming from. So I closed my eyes, I continued crying, and I anchored myself in the feelings in my chest. Soon, out of that sense of unknowing, a thought appeared in my mind, “I want them to like me.” It was clear. It rose right up for me to see and to contemplate. “I want them to like me.” I cried even harder. I saw the long thread of that desire run its course through my whole life. I journeyed in memories from kindergarten, to my dad and his friends, to elementary and high schools, to my coworkers, to my housemates, to this proposed meeting in the park with my friend’s friends. I just want them to like me. I just want to be liked! I’ve wanted to be liked from the beginning—and I’ve been an anxious wreck trying to make it happen.

To have that desire move from the darkness of the mind into the light of my awareness is a great gift. It means the process of undoing it has begun. I imagine in the coming days and weeks more pieces of this puzzle will “fall into place,” or, more accurately, fall out of place. More memories will come up, a greater sense of resolution will grow. Life will provide opportunities to practice moving through and moving past the anxiety.

How odd that a desire to be liked creates an anxiety that makes me so uncomfortable, feel so awkward, that it moves me from the goal of being liked that I want in the first place. In order to avoid the anxiety I end up avoiding social gatherings, avoid seeing friends. I’m reminded of one of my favorite Byron Katie quotes: “If I had a prayer, it would be this: God spare me from the desire for love, approval, and appreciation. Amen.” More and more I see the depth of meaning behind that prayer. What won’t we do to feel loved, feel approved of, feel appreciated, and be liked?

With our modern busy lives it can be hard to slow down enough to hear the quiet voice inside us which can guide us. To be honest, I’m not sure how many times I even heard that voice before the first time I attended a 10-day meditation. Yet that one day, probably in the middle of the 10 days, in the middle of an hour-long meditation sit, a clear voice said within me, “Write your cousin a letter.” Very loud and very clear, that’s all that it said. And so, after 15 years of silence, I contacted my cousin.

Since then, from time to time, I’ve heard that same voice. It’s not too common for me and it’s rarely as clear. But every so often it is. Only tonight did I thread the commonality between that meditative experience, my ayahuasca experience (where that voice is so clear that you’re essentially having conversations with it), and the experience that Quakers are led to practice in their meetings for worship.

Buddhists might call it “walking on the path of Dhamma,” and Quakers might call it “listening to the Light,” and those at an ayahuasca ceremony might perceive that they’re receiving wisdom from Grandmother Ayahuasca. Use the vocabulary that works to your experience. What they share is an active perception of an inner wisdom that can guide us.

“If we heed the advice of the Spirit or Light within us, we get more counsel. If we ignore the advice, God ignores us until we decide to seek his counsel and direction.”

De-Christianize the language as needed

I had been meaning to get new glasses for months and then the pandemic happened. With my screen time probably doubling during shelter-in-place my eyes have been miserable. The last time I got new glasses four years ago, the doctor said to me, “You may want to get bifocals,” and would you know that my pride just wouldn’t have it? Me! Young 34yo Walter with bifocals? I assured the doctor I’d consider it for next time. Fast forward to COVID-times when I haven’t been reading books for 3 months because of the eye-straining.

So I made an appointment two weeks ago when the eye doctors opened back up. My time at the office was miserable. Plastic shields were up, masks were on, tape on the floor told me where to stand. The frames were off limits to my touch! I told the worker what I was looking for and he brought me just FOUR pairs to try on. Normally, I’d spend hours in agony trying to decide what to select. Let me tell you—I have a lot of shit to keep in mind when picking out frames!

For example, do these glasses make me stand out in a crowd? (I’m insecure so I want to blend in with the background.) Might the glasses have the tiniest touch of femininity? (I’m a misogynist and a homophobe and need to look very masc.) Might the frames enhance the massive size of my eyeballs? (I have freakishly massive eyeballs and I’m ugly.)

Do I sound too dramatic?

I got my first glasses when I was 5 years old. The lens for my lazy eye was a quarter inch to a centimeter thick! One day, when I was wearing the glasses while they were still new to me, my mom and I went to the C&C Supermarket (where I’d later work as a teenager) and for a moment I was alone in the store with the very important job of watching my mom’s purse in the shopping cart. Two young girls were standing nearby and I looked up at one who exclaimed after seeing me, “Oh my god! Look! He’s soooo cute!” Cute!? Me!? I really beamed inside! The other girl turned and looked at me and exclaimed, “Oh my god! His eyes are SO big!” And they both laughed. They laughed at me! And that beaming feeling inside turned to confusion and to shame. I put my head down and felt miserable.

That was the moment when I began believing there was something seriously wrong with me, something freakishly wrong with my eyes.

On a later day, I was walking alone down a dirt driveway, and suddenly remembering I had those stupid glasses on my face I took them off, threw them at the gravel road, and I stepped on them. Immediately I freaked out! We didn’t have a lot of money and my mom had given me a stern “these are very expensive and you have to take good care of them” talk. What had I done!? I concocted a quick story, and, crying crying, I told my mom I had been running and they fell off and I accidentally stepped on them. While I waited for days for them to be replaced I reached a sad conclusion—I just couldn’t see well without them. My eyes were bad! And that was the moment when I accepted my spectacled fate.

But the poison of believing there was something seriously wrong with my eyes had already reached the core of my being. I was a broken boy; a defect; a freak with massive eyes. I believed that! And all that suffering came up last year in an ayahuasca ceremony. I saw very clearly the infinite mean spiritedness I had directed at myself for so long; that I had directed at young, innocent, sweet boy-me. How I hated myself, and hated my eyes, and hated how I looked! I cried and cried in that ceremony and I begged forgiveness from myself. I thought I had done all the crying I could! I’ll love my eyes and my glasses from now on! I promised I would.

And then I was at the eye doctors last week and the four frames were sitting on the table before me. My mask was on, my face was sweaty, and the worker was impatient and mostly unhelpful. My eyes were strained and hurting and my old scratched glasses were steaming up from the mask. I was so miserable, y’all. So super miserable! I was stressed. I just couldn’t wait to get out of there. I selected these new frames in about a minute! It’s always taken me hours to select frames before. “Cursed COVID!,” I was telling my therapist just an hour later when I got home. I was telling him about the anxiety that came up at the eye doctor’s office.

I barely said any words to the therapist when the tears and memories came. Oh, it wasn’t COVID that stressed me out! It was the eyes again! My freakishly big eyes! Did you know that on a first date once a guy asked me to take off my glasses so he could see what I looked like without them, and then he never responded to my messages after? Did you know the intensity of my fear when I was in high school that if I selected the wrong frames, with the tiniest element of girlishness, that I might alert the whole world that I’m gay? Did you know I’ve feared that I’ve been single most of my life simply because my eyes look big? All that nonsense came bubbling up, from some dark, forgotten place within. What a total bastard I’ve been to myself.

I know enough to know that I can’t promise to myself I’ll love my eyes and having glasses forever more, because it seems like the healing is never over. I know there’ll by more tears again some day. And more to learn and come to love about myself and all the infinite complexity within.

And for now, I just want to say
Thank you to the eye doctors
Thank you to vision, even shitty vision
Thank you to my freakishly big eyes
And thank you to these fancy new bifocals