Banal Hemorrhage

Social anxiety sometimes rears its ugly face even in moments when you are supposed to let go.  One situation that triggers me a lot is with music. You see folks, I was born with no rhythm.  Granted; that's not uncommon, but I was also born Latino . A Latino who can't dance is in the "Latino who doesn't like soccer" levels of social ostracizing. Which reminds me, I don't like soccer either.  People tried. So many patient girls tried to get me to step in beat with the songs. It didn't take. I may be able to keep a beat for a bar or two but my mind wanders and dislodges from any semblance of order. This is a post about social anxiety, not my lack of rhythm, though, so I wanted to talk about a strategy I learned over the years. I talked about booze and drugs in the previous post , but here's my next strategy; a healthy one that will not cut your life short: controlled embarrassment. It's like microdosing social anxiety, inoculating your system a little

  Me and social anxiety are BFFs. We have been tightly wound together since my testicles dropped belatedly (according to my locker room observations) . My anxiety  peaked in high school, in which it took a worrisome spike. Walking through the hallways of that fountain of anxiety we call high school, I remember thinking that I had zits pulsing and oozing and generally Akira-monstering throughout my face and that everyone was staring at me.  Narcissism and social anxiety can sometimes meet in the middle.  They meet in the Venn's Vagina, as I like to call the space between two circles.  I was in the Venn's Vagina during high school. If I recall correctly, the only vagina I was in during high school. My social anxiety got better after high school, but as everything in the mental health realm, it's never totally gone. I'm a recovering nervous Nellie. Or do we guys have nervous Ned? This comic is based on the thoughts that flutter wildly in my head, thoughts I’ve learned to c

In college, late nineties, I wrote a sophomoric paper about beauty standards and how the size of the ideal woman was shrinking. My whole life until then things were standardizing down to skinny and pale. Heroin chic was a thing. I believe that things are changing a little bit. Back then, the attempts to revitalize beauty standards were led by Benetton, a company whose solution was to jam together skinny girls of all colors.   Lately, you are seeing different bodies, faces and even skin conditions in billboards and, man, does it give me joy. One day even a pear shaped boy like me could be seen sporting tighty whiteys for all you ladies out there!  It only took like 40 years. I wonder why it takes so long to curb some things. Or should I say 'curve' in this context? Next in my list of things that I would love to see before I die: Metric system adopted in the US Tipping culture cancelled (fair wages) LGBTQ humans don't have to fight for their basic rights  Enragement doesn'

  I have a treasonous resting face. Whatever is going through my brain at any period will be transmitted 100% to the face continuously, non-stop. Whether it is joy, sadness, confusion or blankness... you'll get it all. It's problematic. This week in the office we found that a mouse had been caught by one of those sticky pad traps. I hate those traps and I've removed them from the floor, but this one was replaced by a janitor. The poor little guy was stuck in there and we were told to put it in the trash. I did, because it was the morning and I wanted to have my team get on with their work. Talk about the Stanley Milgram effect. If facilities would've told me to kill it I may have. Later on, my conscience woke up. I went back to the trash, jumped in, took the guy and cut as much of the trap as I could. He was left with some cardboard shoes and a big section of cardboard in his back. Looked a bit like an origami turtle. I saw him wander off and I had two thoughts. One p

It is 2023 and I still feel like it's taboo to talk about mental health at work. How many of you actually say that you need to work out some issues with anger or that you're too depressed to get out of bed or that you suffered an anxiety attack? At least for me, I always come up with something... migraines, pets, household issues, family issues, family with household iss ues, pets with migraines  or  an y permutation thereof. Thankfully I'm currently really healthy so I can use some of these excuses. I wonder what great people in history used as excuses in the past? Did George Washington miss drills to 'tend to his cherry tree'? Did Alexander the Great have elephants mysteriously needing vet appointments before council meetings? Did Genghis Khan use Kublai Khan being sick as an excuse before a raid? Probably not.  The sad thing about suffering from a mental health issue, for me at least, is that there are but a few examples of successful, laudable people who endured

  This week around my wife’s birthday I started thinking about all the ways she and women have had to do everything I do plus so much more.  They were talking in the radio about menopause and work, and how it is usually something kept under wraps. Additionally, they mentioned how some women had no idea this process can have its start as early as the thirties. Some women were so unaware, that they didn’t recognize menopause until it was already partly through! I spend a lot of time demystifying mental health issues and I wanted to make sure I recognize that women have some special biological and psychological processes that are also seldom discussed.  To Roxanne, I see you. You’ve handled this and other issues so well! Do you imagine me going through menopause? Based on how I react to colds, I would probably wallow in self-pity and make stupid jokes about it! I am forever humbled by your strength and I have no doubt in my mind that you and every other woman out there are and have always

This is one of the greatest ironies in the pharmacological world. Through sheer happenstance they found a medication that actually helps with depression symptoms. However, one of the most common side effects is the inability to achieve a literal orgasm, or to want to participate in sex. So you finally get the energy to say yes to that orgy e-vite, but you can't actually enjoy it as much. To this day it's not like I advertise that I'm on medication. Nobody does, even though as much as 13% of ALL adults in the US take them. And it's more staggering the older you get.  What is that shame that comes along with needing something external to stifle the darkness?  I know part of the answer. The moment you mention you're taking medication, there's 100 voices telling you that you wouldn't be depressed if you just exercised more, ate better, meditated, joined a club, found jesus, wrote, cooked, lifted, art-ed, cut social media, hire a life coach, went to a specific th

Psychological projection, in its most basic sense is putting out in others what is deep inside you. So in a way, it's like flinging poop. You are flinging poop on other people all the time.  They don't want you to fling poop on them. You may not know you're flinging poop on them, but you sure are. We all are. We all do it, but it's not all bad. Projecting can be seen as being in the same spectrum as commiserating or empathizing. But then, you meet conservatives. The people being the most adamant against homosexuality, nudity and non-missionary sex have shown very often to be closeted themselves. They rage against their own machine.  All these super religious people who don't believe people can be good without religion? They're saying a whole lot more about themselves than about people in general.  What about abortion, why are so many white old men so verbally against terminating pregnancies? What are they hiding with this ridiculous resolve? Do they have an inna

Smartphones and social media are a double edged sword for me. Without them I'd be a lot more disconnected from the world at large but with them I am more connected with the world at large. Would I be more sociable without them? If we somehow un-invented them, like in Neil Gaiman's short story "And Weep, Like Alexander'", would I be a more sociable guy or not? I lost my phone to the waters of a foreign country recently and I experienced first hand what the world is like without one, and it's not pretty. How did we know which restaurant had better ratings? How were we able to know who that guy was in that episode of Seinfeld? What the nearest fuel source is? I lived through those dark times and I can't even remember! As a bonus for being patient, here's another take on my miserable experience.  

Dear readers, this is not a joke. For at least a decade, I enjoyed the fruits of my immigration status. Every awkward, weird, strange, outlandish and cringeworthy thing I did was blamed by yours truly on the fact that I was from another country.  'In my home country we used salt instead of sugar,' I'd say after messing up a recipe. 'In my home country it's normal to be barefoot outside.' 'In my home country, it's customary to get blackout drunk on Mondays.' ' In my country we say grace AFTER eating the turkey. ' Do I feel bad about it? In my home country we don't feel bad about things. But, honestly, it was great. After a lifetime of being weird and an outcast in my own country, I got to flip the script a bit and make it exotic in a new one. It didn't last long. People caught on at around year 3. And then, in year 7 I became a citizen of the United States of America. I entered a period of diminishing results. And now, I'm back to

I’ve written and talked about impostor syndrome at length. Here is one early sample , and another . I’m still plagued by these feelings every once in a while, that I’m just acting like I know things instead of actually knowing things. I’ve heard a few of my coworkers express that feeling as well. I think in part it is because I work in healthcare, but I’m not in the front lines. The front line is where the magic happens (you can’t fake setting up an IV), we are all there just for support, and it is often hard to find the value we provide from the sidelines. All I can do some days is cheer like a paraplegic behind the marathon finish line. And then, there are those that should be feeling a bit like impostors but have no sign of self awareness. Do they wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night and wonder… perhaps I should come clean to my West Virginia constituents and tell them that I’m actually a Republican in disguise? But seriously, the syndrome is real and it is very common

One time, after a long presentation I gave at work, a coworker took me aside and told me that she loved how simple my mind was. One ex-girlfriend once told me that I was a great boyfriend because finally she wasn't punching up in the looks department. Last weekend someone congratulated me for wearing a mask at a concert, even though they were "useless". Keeping in mind the infrequent compliments I get, it is quite striking the high proportion of them that are poorly disguised insults.  How about you, dear reader, do you have any notable examples of this? Sound off in the comments, lest I am left with the feeling that I'm the only human subjected to this tribute torture.

When I lived in Venezuela, we used to say that United States citizens “Lived to Work instead of Working to Live.” After almost 20 years here in the USA, that stereotype rings true; specially for boomers. Labor is Jesus for so many of the people in this country. It seems that no matter if your job is actually saving people in the emergency room  or selling subscriptions for the National Enquirer, people in the United States give their all to their job. They spend their earnings on pools they don’t have time to swim in and call it good with a one week curated vacation a year. It’s always resorts and cruises with these folks, a formulaic approach to life. Hard work plus cruise = live, laugh, love. For the last few months I’ve been running a COVID vaccine clinic. 11 hours a day 5 days a week, with the occasional weekend. This is the main reason why I haven’t been able to draw and write. It’s the most I’ve ever worked in my life for such as sustained time. It’s easy, though, when you believ

Bathrooms are the Water Temple of social anxiety. That’s a Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time (1998) reference and trust me it’s very, very funny. On point though, public bathrooms, locker rooms, and other  loci of excreta have always been challenging locations when my social anxiety is at its highest. I don’t want to learn about others in these quarters, I feel no need to reach out to anything but my self. One time, as a new employee, I went to the bathroom adjacent to where I was being onboarded. The CEO came bounding in, loudly announcing himself and patting other urinators on the back. He then proceeded to let go of his liquid waste hands-free while holding a power pose and whistling. It dawned on me that that’s probably why he was the CEO. He had conquered the bathroom. Surely the people who hired him could tell this is a person who can pee while loudly talking about the weather! “He’s going places”, they must've said to themselves!  Extra panel:  Listen, I know it’s a shitt

I'm not spiking my morning coffee if that's what you're wondering. I am, however, definitely drinking more now than the before times. We used to go out a lot, and I got most of my drink-on out there. It has not been the same without a place to gargle my griefs with grog. My fridge and bar are stocked with a lot more happy juice these days.  I've been asking around. I'm not alone. This is what we originally called the second wave, a stealthy mental health undertow that could suck us up. If you are reading this, you are likely shook up. And this time you can't blame it on the mediocrity of my comics.  The good thing is this: People ARE sharing their levels of anxiety. We are all there. Do we vary in our response? Yes. I make bad drawings of bad situations mocking my own issues. Some people crochet and stuff. Everyone, including your Facebook perfect friends seem to be experiencing a connected restlessness. Yes, them. That family that is always together, smiling, p

    I remember standing in line for album releases. The anticipation was part of the thrill! I could maybe afford one cd a month, a few video games a year. However, I remember them all very fondly and it may have been from the unique value and space they possessed in my life.  Now, I can go from being all "Who is Sufjan Stevens?" to listening to his whole library in seconds. This is an objective improvement in people’s lives, and yet... Each individual piece of media I consume seems a bit less valuable. I’m never going to extensively complain, though. I am a technophile and have a short attention span, so this is my world; but if I’m ludicrously honest with myself, I miss wanting sometimes.  Writing this makes me realize I've just won the first-world-contest that I host in my head every day. Also, not enjoying things you used to is a very common symptom of depression which would come off as no surprise to my readers or to many of the melancholic people I know. Extra pane

I embraced Social media when it hit the world. For an introvert like me, it felt like a good way to be connected with the world. But then something terrible happened: it got populated.  Facebook is riddled by ignorance and silliness, but at least I can ignore or block most of it relatively easily. Twitter, on the other hand, just has everybody's opinion with no consequence. I applaud their recent efforts at curtailing fake news, but I don't think it will ever be enough. If you've seen a city hall open mic , you can see why it may be problematic to give everyone a voice.  Young-me would be appalled that I do not consider every voice equally important. I don't really give AF what you think, young-me! Why should anybody care that the limo driver next door is dubious of the world's roundness? He should meet like-minded people in mysterious subgroups. Why is his voice equal to that of a geologist or an astronomer in a conversation? I'd love to hear his thoughts on th

I remember the ‘92 LA riots. If you don’t, there’s a brilliant documentary in Netflix about it (LA 92). At the time, the loss of property and all the literal flames made me question if the response was balanced to the cause (Rodney King’s beating.)  Now, I don't even pose the question. I can never know what it is like to be culled and focused on so adamantly. Sure, other minorities get some crap. But there’s something about the image of a black individual in society at large that scares white people. An angry white man doesn’t generate the same fear and reprisal that an angry black man does. An armed white man? Well that’s just Walmart on a Friday night! An armed black man is a death sentence.  I’ve only experienced racism a few times, and it only happens when they hear my accent. Instead of cops, the institution that treated me like dirt was Homeland Security in airports. They mocked my accent, they questioned my motives, and they generally made me feel powerless. However, I never

Obama was a bit drone happy. Hillary was a bit hard to relate to. And I voted for both of them. The thing that surprises me the most about the Trump presidency is how his supporters don’t even acknowledge his faults. This week the president suggested that we look into putting disinfectant inside our bodies. Fact. Even the dumbest among us know how dangerous that would be. And the Trump defense force has been strong this week. Their defense is the most hilarious thing I’ve seen, and I consume a lot of comedy. Their argument is that Trump isn’t actually doing it, he just wants us to consider it. The highlight of my week was a Trumpian saying it was fake news and providing text that would exonerate the President, but the idiot forgot to change the words and provided the actual words: “And I then I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in one minute, and is there a way you can do something like that by injection inside, or almost a cleaning. Because you see it gets in th