Illuminating the Facts About Behavioral Health and Rising Above the Stigma
My dear friend Ricardo “Ricky” Reyes of Mount Joy, Pennsylvania, passed away tragically on August 20, 2022. He was born on June 21, 1987 and grew up in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the son of Iris Gomez Lopez and the late Salvador Reyes. He graduated from Lancaster Catholic High School in 2005 and enlisted as a reservist in the United States Marine Corps. He served as a Field Artillery Cannoneer with India Battery, 3rd Battalion, 14th Marine Regiment, 4th Marine Division out of Allentown, Pennsylvania, from November 2005 to February 2012. He was deployed from September 2006 to April 2007 in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom attached to [2d LAAD Battalion? – pending confirmation]. He was also deployed to Africa from May 2011 to June 2011. He was a 2012 graduate of Thaddeus Stevens College of Technology in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, with an associate degree in Collision Repair Technology.
I met Ricardo, or “Ricky” as most people knew him, online in 2006 sometime before or during his deployment. I can no longer remember exactly when or where, it may have been on Xanga or MySpace or potentially on Military.com’s forums as I spent a lot of time on there due to being interested in enlisting. Wherever it was, I remember us messaging one another, initially about the Marine Corps and other military related stuff. From those conversations we grew to become friends and exchanged phone numbers and followed one another on social media for the next sixteen years. He supported me both before and after my enlistment in the Marine Corps in 2007, for a while I considered him one of my closest friends that I could confide in with anything because I trusted, admired, and respected him immensely, I was and still am grateful for his long-lasting and loyal friendship.
He was there for me when I was going through mental health struggles resulting from my premature discharge in 2008. Even when he was busy he still responded to me, any time of day or night. I had not spoken to him as much in more recent years, that’s just how life goes, but I knew that no matter how much time had passed he would treat me exactly the same way as he always did, with open arms and as supportive as ever. Whether it was personal life stuff or car stuff, I knew I could reach out to him for advice. I last spoke to him a few months before his death. A person will never meet someone more loving, supportive, and accepting. The world has suffered a great loss and I am devastated by his passing.
My condolences go out to his family and other friends, of which he had many! He was loved, adored, and admired by so many people, a testament to his character and the type of man he was. I don’t understand how or why the accident happened, but I feel like he would tell me that he died doing something that he loved. He always told me to live without regrets because he tried to live his life that way too.
To anyone who did not know him, I would paint him as a man who served his country with honor and pride, who cared deeply for his family and friends and would do anything for them, he lived to the fullest whether that was traveling, or concerts, or social gatherings, he was always doing something as he hated being idle, and the only thing he loved more than cats were cars and his bike, oh and his loyal “Yota”, he loved that thing too. I never knew him to be angry or bitter, he was always warm and supportive for the entire sixteen years I knew him. He was friendly to everyone he met.
On August 28, 2022, I drove from Missouri to Manheim, Pennsylvania to attend his memorial service on the following day. There are very few people in my life that I had been friends with and had sustained communication with as long as this man, I knew that if I didnโt go I would regret it for the rest of my life. I had hoped that by driving all the way out there and paying my last respects it would allow me to better process my grief over his passing. I also made the decision to go to the location where he died, more about that in a bit. He has since been laid to rest at Indiantown Gap National Cemetery, I will be returning to visit him again.
I was touched by just how many people from Ricky’s life were at his memorial service, such a powerful message for how much he was loved, admired, and respected. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to meet his mom and listen to his family, military family, childhood friends, and other friends tell stories of how he impacted their lives and the funny memories they had of him. Hearing those stories helped paint a picture for me of who he was in other people’s lives, illuminating facets of his character and history that I did not know. To me, this was a gift and I will cherish it. I know that many others have similar stories to tell, though some of us found it too painful to share openly at his memorial service.
In 2021, I had planned to travel to Acadia National Park in Maine and my hope was to stop in Pennsylvania and spend time with him. However, due to pandemic-related complications and my unemployment at the time I made the decision to delay that trip. Reflecting on how I felt during his memorial service, I found that I had some degree of guilt over that decision. Of course I could have never known what the future would hold and so I don’t blame myself for that decision, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have guilt and regret about it. I think that others in his life may have a similar sense of guilt or regret about not reaching out to him more or not spending enough time with him, and considering the circumstances of his unexpected passing I feel like this is a very natural thing to feel.
These last few days I have been scrolling through his social media posts, searching through my own social media feeds looking for posts and comments he made, going through my phone and reading our last private messages, and mentally kicking myself for having not saved our older communications when I changed phones over the years, especially those conversations from 2006 to 2012 when we communicated the most. I didn’t know back then that those conversations would one day hold a whole lot more meaning to me. What I do have left are conversations with him asking me if I put a hood scoop on my Avenger yet, and our most recent conversation wherein he was very convincingly encouraging me to buy a Toyota Tacoma, or a “Taco” as he referred to them. Those conversations may have been generic or basic at the time, but wow do they mean so much more to me now.
In 2016, my mom died after a long illness. I also lost another friend, Colin, just a month before that, very unexpectedly. While I had the opportunity to say my last words to my mom, I did not have the opportunity to make peace with Colin. After those losses, I reached out to Ricky and told him what I really thought about him, essentially my feelings toward who he was as a person and a friend. I am so immensely grateful that I had taken that opportunity. The knowledge that he died knowing how much I really appreciated him brings me a lot of comfort and peace. The shock and pain of his passing is by no means diminished, but it means so much to me that he knew how I felt about him.
As I mentioned at the beginning, I drove to the intersection where the motorcycle accident happened. I don’t know why but I needed to see it as part of my grieving process, to be there in the place of his last moments. There was some kind of work being done at the location, so I couldn’t stop and walk around as I had planned to do, but I could certainly see how an accident could happen there.
Loss is always hard, whether expected or not. It truly is like a wound that hurts immensely at first, drains so much joy and vitality out of you, and it never fully heals because it always leaves a scar that at times will ache as if to remind you of what you have lost. Though the scar fades and hurts less in time it still remains there forever, an aching emptiness to remind you of that person who was once a part of your life but is no more.
I think perhaps there are lessons to be learned here, I feel that we should reach out more to the people in our lives and let them know how much they mean to us, you never know when they may be taken from you. I have lost so many people in the last six years that at times I feel dumbfounded by the whirlwind of shock and grief.
Some say you can fill that void of loss, but I have never found that to be true. Remembering the moments that you shared helps immensely, though it can also resurrect the grief and pain of the loss. I have found that creating new memories by doing things that remind me of the person or engaging in things that they enjoyed can help me feel close to them again without focusing too much on “what used to be” or what I have lost.
It’s not the same as if they were literally there, but in some strange way making new memories doing these things makes me feel as though they are with me. I intend to do this for Ricky as well, it won’t be hard for me because there are reminders of him everywhere I go. I cannot comprehend a life and a world without the privilege of knowing that he’s just a quick message away.
Pour one out for this man, if anyone deserved the title of legend, it’s him. I’d say “rest in peace” but that’s not the man I knew, he wasn’t interested in resting, so maybe “ride free” or “stay wild” or “fly high” would be more appropriate. He was and still is loved and will never be forgotten!
It was the spring of 2021 when I was first introduced to Oliver Daldry‘s music via a U.K. 2015 film titled Departure. At the time, I had quit my job a couple months prior and I was in a low point mentally, struggling with anxiety, depression, and was experiencing suicidal thoughts. For a few months, every day was a battle.
When I went on YouTube to see if I could find more of his music I found a song titled Bookcase, and when this song played for the first time it was late at night, my whole apartment was cast in darkness except for the glow from my laptop screen. The intro of the song stunned me, like suddenly having tunnel vision except for my ears, and as the song played I felt as though I was falling or perhaps being swallowed into a dream, somehow transported outside of time and space.
Every lyric of the song reached out and into me like fingertips touching my heart. It simultaneously hurt and felt loving, like washing away the blood from a wound that has not yet healed, like a harsh truth I needed to hear if I had ever hoped to recover.
I sat there on my apartment floor crying quietly as the song played out, it was like some kind of spiritual experience for me.
Needless to say, I bought the song and I’ve probably heard it a million times since then. It’s not as potent as it was the first time I heard it, but songs are always like that, it can never be like the first time you heard it. It still reminds me of that hard time in my life, but it also reminds me of how I recovered after and right now I need that.
Like I said it’s been over a year now and I am once again unemployed, having quit my job a month ago after situations there interfered with my mental health. I come back to Oliver’s music when I need to hurt and heal, because you can’t have one without the other.
I’ve bought every song I can find of his. Catch the Wind, Diamond Sky, Howling Wind, are some of my other favorites, but every song has a meaning and a message, it’s up to the listener to decipher it for themselves.
The songs are personal to Oliver, and they are personal to me the listener, but that doesn’t require the meaning to be the same. That’s what’s great about songwriters, they help us understand our own emotions without even knowing what our emotions are and yet somehow we have this shared experience and it’s extraordinary.
Oliver is incredible, not perfect, but incredible. His songs are like the mortar for bricks, they are not the thing itself but the stuff that holds the thing together.
His songs are like his scars, remnants of something that was, things with meaning and history, and when he releases a song it’s like he’s revealing a scar to us and while we may not know the story behind the scar we can still relate to it because we have scars too.
He is not merely an artist to listen to, he is an experience to be had. I am grateful to be alive in a time graced with the music of Oliver Daldry.
If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health or substance use crisis, please access my immediate assistance resource page. A comprehensive listing of online and phone resources and services is also available.

I didn’t know anything about the trans community a decade or so ago, and honestly I felt no concern whatsoever over trans people or their rights because I didn’t think it had anything to do with me, my perception was that I couldn’t remotely relate to anything they were experiencing. All of that changed when I met two trans youths and actually had an open conversation with them. They helped me understand what they had gone through and what they were still going through.
There are people I respect and agree with on many social and political issues, but who are completely wrong about trans rights because they take absolutely no opportunity to have an open and honest conversation with someone who actually is transgender, which makes it so incredibly hard to continue to feel any degree of respect for them. I hold out the hope that in time and with empathy they can and will reach out to someone who is transgender for a conversation and undergo a change in perspective, just as I did.
If someone is unwilling to accept that this is about human dignity and not just a political issue, then they’re woefully misguided. It is very frustrating to encounter so many people who do not attempt to understand the trans community and instead choose the path of belittling and harassment. They do not understand them and so they have fear and that fear causes them to have awful opinions and make hurtful decisions. They stop seeing them as human and see them as objects to ridicule, they forego all opportunities to practice empathy. Sometimes this outward hatred is actually a product of their own internal self-hatred.
As someone who has long been involved in behavioral health, it is overwhelming to know how many trans youth are still struggling right now with a society that not only invalidates their identity, but that invalidates their very right to have the identity they know themselves to be. While I do not know what it’s like to feel as though I’ve been born into the wrong body, I absolutely know what it’s like to battle with myself while in the midst of a society that does not accept some aspect of who I am. This is a shared struggle.
The silencing of the trans community and the denial of access to mental and physical health care is outrageous and appalling to me. One does not have to be trans to find these things disturbing, for human decency and the earnest desire to understand another person is all that is required. All those years ago those two trans youths helped me to see that we were not so different, my conversations with them helped me see our shared humanity and in-so-doing, our shared struggle.
The reality is that right now as I write this there are trans youth reading through social media posts and comment threads filled with hateful and dehumanizing language, with discrimination and harassment. Young people who are already facing an immense internal battle with self-acceptance, who are statistically very likely already experiencing suicidal thoughts and behavior.
They suffer ever the more by being exposed, often blatantly and forcefully, to people with a lack of dignity and integrity, a lack of self-control and self-awareness, who openly and aggressively express their cruelty, heartlessness, and chosen ignorance without any regard for the consequences of their words and actions on these struggling, traumatized, impressionable, and innocent youth.
If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health or substance use crisis, please access my immediate assistance resource page. A comprehensive listing of online and phone resources and services is also available.

The National Suicide Hotline Designation Act was signed into law on October 17, 2020 and as of July 16, 2022, will go into effect. This means that starting on that date anyone in the U.S. experiencing a behavioral health crisis can call or send a text message to 988 instead of the previous National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number 1-800-273-8255.
The services received will be the same as before, when you call or text 988 you will still be routed or connected to the nearest Access Crisis Intervention center for your region of the state. For example, if you live in Osage or Cole counties in Missouri you will be connected to a crisis counselor at Compass Health Network’s call center. All of these centers in Missouri and in the other states operate 24/7, all calls and texts are free and conversations are confidential.
The main purpose behind the law was to ensure that an easy to remember number was established and that effective behavioral health crisis response services were developed nationwide. The implementation of this new three-digit number should reduce the amount of calls being made to 911 dispatch that do not correlate with medical emergencies, reducing the occurrences where law enforcement and fire rescue personnel are dispatched to non-medical emergency situations.
Anyone experiencing suicidal thoughts or behavior, struggling with the symptoms of a mental health condition or substance use disorder, or anyone in emotional duress can contact 988 by calling or texting. If necessary, the Access Crisis Intervention centers are also supposed to be equipped with specialized teams of responders who can physically go to the callers/texters location to provide behavioral health aid.
However, this service does not replace law enforcement, fire rescue, or EMT first responders, and so any situation involving imminent risk of harm or death, such as a suicide attempt or overdose having already occurred where someone ingested/injected something or physically harmed themselves or others, should contact 911 as that is a medical emergency and not solely a mental health crisis.
There are urgent realities driving the need for crisis service transformation across our country. Per the CDC, in 2020 alone, the U.S. had one death by suicide about every 11 minutes. For people aged 10 โ 34 years, suicide is a leading cause of death. From April 2020 to 2021, over 100,000 individuals died from substance use overdoses.
According to Mental Health America, we have not seen suicide rates this high since the 1940’s. They report that at least 2.5 million American youth have some form of severe depression. Suicide rates are highest among Indigenous peoples of America and white/Caucasian populations. Per population, suicide occurs more frequently in rural and suburban areas than urban populations, and suicide rates are also disproportionately high for those who identify as LGBTQ+.
According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration and the National Institutes of Health, 1 in 5 Americans is currently struggling with a mental health condition or substance use disorder, 45% of Americans will develop a mental health condition or substance use disorder at some point in their lifetime, and more than half of those developed symptoms by the age of 14 and have not sought (and are statistically unlikely to seek) professional treatment for their condition or disorder.
With 31 million Americans struggling with a mental health condition, 19 million Americans struggling with a substance use disorder, 11 million Americans experiencing suicidal thoughts, and all at this very moment, the need for crisis intervention and support services is high.
The unfortunate reality is that the whole behavioral health industry is understaffed, not effectively equipped, and are underfunded. The amount of turnover, burnout, and compassion fatigue experienced by those in this industry is high. According to the Missouri Department of Mental Health, about half of all Missouri college graduates in the field of behavioral health leave their industry jobs by the end of their first year of employment.
For those struggling and those who are assisting or supporting those who are struggling, the need for expanded services and funding is right now. There are state and federal funding initiatives supporting the 988 lifeline, but more needs to be done to ensure this crisis intervention service continues to be effective in the longterm for all of our communities. Several states in the U.S. have added a small fee to telecommunications services to help fund the 988 lifeline, Missouri needs to be one of those states.
For information from the Missouri Department of Mental Health: https://dmh.mo.gov/behavioral-health/988-suicide-and-crisis-lifeline
For information from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration: https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/988/faqs#about-988

Another long December has come again, another year of trying to forget the way you made me feel, another year of trying to forgive myself for what I let happen, another year of searching for ways to finally heal.
Another long December of regretting the night we laid in a hotel bed, you left me there alone but the memories still persevere, I knew I’d never see you again from the sinking feeling of dread, as you walked to the door so cavalier.
Another long December of remembering how I fell to the floor from the words she said, it was Christmas Eve and you asked your ex-fiance to break-up with me on your behalf, as you didn’t have the courage to say it to me yourself instead, an act so true to your nature of being cowardice riffraff.
Another long December of hating you and hating myself more, I haven’t dated another person since you left me 8 years ago, when I watched you walk out of that fucking door, not knowing how bitter I’d become or how cold I’d grow.
Another long December and I’m still emotionally vacant, another year of not letting anyone get past my wall, my heart may still be there but my love is latent, I just can’t bring myself to trust anyone at all.
Another long December of wondering where at night you rest, lingering thoughts of how much more time in jail you’ve spent, or if there’s still a warrant out for your arrest, or if your daughter even remembers that you’re still her parent.
Another long December of seeing your face on everyone, of foolishly thinking you’ll find your way back to me, as if somehow seeing you again will undo what you’ve done, like we could just start over so easily.
Another long December of ghosts and sunsets, another year of an untouched pillow and a cold sheet, of hopelessness and unhealthy mindsets, longing for a place and a time where our hands could meet.
Another long December of wanting to believe that this time could be different, that this time I’d be the only one and there’d be no silence and secrecy, that your ex-fiance won’t get involved and be so belligerent, perhaps she’ll finally let go of you and her jealousy.
Another long December of constant delusional thought, of confusing who you were with who I wanted you to be, I need to stop being so hung-up and distraught, to find a way to finally let go and be free.

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day!
Some of us have had suicidal thoughts in the past.
Some of us are currently having suicidal thoughts.
Some of us have put those thoughts into actions and have had abandoned attempts.
Some of us have fully attempted suicide and survived.
Some of us have lost loved ones to suicide.
Some of us have experienced all of these things.
Today is personal for us. Personal for me and for some of you, my family, friends, former colleagues, and strangers who fit into one or more of these categories.
Today, we remember our struggle. Today, we confront our struggle. And for some, we remember someone who’s been lost to the struggle.
We shine a light on a topic that too many people run away from, who wish to cast it into the darkness to be forgotten and unspoken. But these people do not understand that in the darkness it festers and spreads, for it thrives in the darkness.
Today we stand together in defiance of stigma. That wretched societal abomination that surrounds us like walls, holding us captive and unreachable. Keeping us alone in the darkness at times in our lives when the last thing we should ever feel is alone.
Not only is stigma a visual impairment, hiding us away from the world, but so too is it a silencer. Hushing our voices in fear of shame and ridicule. And so we not only stand today, but we shout. We shout loud and clear into the face of stigma, reminding all who are near that we exist and that while we struggle – we are more than the struggle. We are human.
Today I have tears in my eyes not just out of sadness for the people we have lost to suicide, but also out of joy at the people we have saved from suicide.
Nineteen years ago I did not die, instead I saw hope, breaching across the horizon in the warmth of the setting sun, as if it were a hug from a friend saying to me “Goodnight, I will see you tomorrow.”
Reminding me that after the close of the day there would be a new dawn and every dawn is a new day and every day is a new beginning. Today I am still alive because of hope, hope that change will come, hope that tomorrow will be better. Hope that was born from love. Love of myself and love shared with other people.
16-year-old me was clueless to what he would one day be able to do because of that small amount of hope he received. He was being tossed about and tumbled by the waves of emotion he was experiencing, like waves ebbing and flowing on an ocean on a moonless midnight. Too blinded and silenced by stigma to consider what the future might hold.
So, I ask you, whomever you may be and whatever your story, that you stand with me and defy stigma today and always. Shine the light of hope into the darkness and pierce the veil that has been cast upon us all. Unseal your lips and be brave enough to start a conversation that matters. Lives depend upon it. One person cannot save the world, but one person can save a life.
Give someone hope.
If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health or substance use crisis, please access my immediate assistance resource page. A comprehensive listing of online and phone resources and services is also available.

I woke up the other morning thinking about how when I quit my job more than seven months ago, I never thought I’d experience nostalgia about my twelve-year career there. At least not to the degree that I have.
It wasn’t the first time that I had quit a job, not the first time I left behind coworkers, not the first time I walked out of my work building for the last time. But there was a unique combination of the large amount of my life that I had spent there, the people I met, and the experiences I had that left me ruminating.
Working in three different positions and offices stretched out over twelve years of your life when you’re 35 years old, you just don’t get to walk away from that without feeling anything. When I stood in that parking lot next to my car on the evening of my last workday and I turned and looked back at that building, I told myself I wasn’t going to miss that place.
I was thinking about all the negative experiences I had while working there, especially those of the last three years. But what I hadn’t allowed myself to think about or feel were the positive experiences. Maybe because I was too spiteful or maybe because it would make getting into my car and driving away difficult.
Lately, I’ve been trying to put into words what my experiences have been like. Trying to find a new job has been far more of a challenge than I honestly thought it was going to be. I expected to be unemployed for no longer than 4 months, 6 months max. Maybe it’s the labor market or maybe all those years of bosses telling me my performance was great and my skills marketable – perhaps they were all just lying to me. After a while of unemployment you begin to lose confidence and convince yourself the latter is true.
At any rate, these last several months of unemployment have allowed me time and space to ruminate about the seventeen years I spent in the workforce in full-time employment, and the six different job titles I held over those years.
Being unemployed has mostly been a new experience for me, as I started working full-time right out of high school and except for a few short weeks here or there, I had remained employed at one job or another ever since. So for me, this experience has felt like a break-up or like a divorce. A strange and new experience I have never known.
One of those situations where you assumed you’d be together forever until you hit a few rough years and you’re so over the relationship that your prolonged bitterness initially makes you view the whole thing as a totally negative experience, only to later remember the good shit after you’ve separated and had time away to reflect.
That’s not to say you’ve forgotten all the drama or the bad things, nor even forgiven them, it just means that you’ve allowed yourself to see the bigger picture and remember that it wasn’t all shit all the time.
I had a conversation a while back with a friend who used to work a retail job in his twenties at an entertainment store that sold books, videos, games, etc., and I specifically remember him talking about how the pay and hours were shit, but that he had really enjoyed the overall experience and had nostalgia about it. This was not the first time someone had said something like that to me about low-paying past employment, it seems to be common.
Could there be something to that experience or is it all just nostalgia about what used to be? Is it merely a coincidence that so many of us look back on jobs we had when we were younger, jobs that had low pay, with a sense of fondness? Or are we all just under the illusion of nostalgia and in fact it was generally a crappy job that we’re all the better for leaving?
I don’t know the answer to that, but I share in the experience. I won’t go into the details of the last position I held at my former employer (the one I quit several months ago), but I really don’t have nostalgia for that position, at least not yet. What I’ve been having nostalgia over is the first position I ever held at that employer, during the timeframe of 2008 – 2017.
That low-paying position where I was struggling to keep my head above water, living paycheck to paycheck, complaining all the time about how I didn’t have enough money, terrified all the time that I was about to face financial ruin if my car broke down or if I got fired. Even though I’ve now been unemployed since February 2021, I’m still in a financially better place than I was the nine years I held that job.
Seems wildly absurd that I would have nostalgia over that time in my life. When I was hired into that job in 2008, it was a different world, or at least it felt like it was to 22-year-old me. Young and less concerned with the on-goings of the wider world, I didn’t have a lot of worries. A simpler time.
However, I don’t feel nostalgic over that job merely because I was younger. It’s the people I met and experiences I had over those nine years and two months that I spent there.
In many ways the job was easy in its mundane and monotonous nature, some times so boring you wanted to slam your face into the keyboard for the sake of a little excitement. So, not every day was butterflies and rainbows. I might have nostalgia but I’m not delusional about the reality of what took place there.
Like any workplace, there was all kinds of drama, gossiping, backstabbing, and the like. Admittedly, some of that drama was caused by me and my poorly treated mental illness, triggered by the stress I occasionally encountered. There are people I worked with during those years that I’m glad I no longer have to deal with or even see.
Despite all of that, there are things I miss. A lot of people joined and left the team I was a part of during those nine years, not only the full-time staff but also the temporary staff that we hired on a seasonal basis. I can safely estimate that I met and closely worked with over 1,000 people during that time in my life. Most of their names and faces I have long since forgotten because the nature of the temporary job only allowed them to work with me for six months.
That’s not to say I forgot them all, in fact I keep (or attempt to keep) in touch with many of them, the ones that made the biggest impact on me. Some of the most profound or memorable experiences of my life happened during this period due to the interactions I had with some of those people. A primary reason I harbor so much nostalgia about that job.
So much time has passed in the years since I left that some of the people I worked with are no longer here among the living and have already been gone for nearly a decade. I’m sure there’s some kind of life lesson in here somewhere, about savoring the time we have with the people currently in our lives. If there’s anything true about life it’s that it changes, all the time.
What feels like forever in the future, will quickly become a memory of a distant past. I think we all look back ever-so-often and think about what used to be, perhaps we do feel somewhat bitter about the more recent things, but the more distant the time and place the more grateful we become.
Social Media, Psychopathy, and Time Management
Posted on August 16, 2021 by Kฤphen
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In May 2009 I joined Twitter, two months later I deleted my account, and now twelve years after that I have rejoined the quagmire of Twitter for one single reason: it’s the only place where I can follow the vast majority of authors, scientists, philosophers, psychologists, etc., who discuss the intellectual and fascinating topics I enjoy, as very few are on Facebook or Instagram.
People like Sam Harris, David Frum, Andrew Hubberman, David Grinspoon, Yuval Noah Harari, Carolyn Porco, David Deutsch, Paul Bloom, Adam Grant, Max Tegmark, Brian Cox, Ethan Kross, Matt Haig, and the list goes on and on.
Though I’ve had an account on Facebook since 2006, I infrequently log in, thus people’s posts from a week ago show up at the top of my newsfeed when I do log in. So, for most of my friends and family, I never hit the like button on their selfies, kid or dog photos, food photos, yard sale posts, or conspiracy posts. They probably think I’m ignoring them, but it’s really that I just never see the posts.
I once considered Instagram to be easier to interact with, and all the photos and videos were more interesting and engaging, but now days I find it to be so uncompelling that I don’t know why I still log in. I just heart photos without even reading the captions anymore, most of the time just quickly scrolling while brain-dead and thumb-tapping.
I suspect my new experience with Twitter will not be anymore refreshing, but I will at least not be tweeting anything related to the humdrum that is my day-to-day life and unless a person tweets content related to science, history, physics, psychology, philosophy, economics/politics, or environmentalism, I honestly won’t be following them.
Beyond the scope of my social media ventures, these last 7 months of unemployment have been interesting. I have come to a few self-realizations, as I have been reflecting and ruminating on many things. Of particular note, I’ve come to realize that I’m far more apathetic and narcissistic than I had previously accepted myself to be.
I mean, I’ve never been particularly interested in the ongoings of other people’s monotonous daily lives and I’ve had an ever-growing ego since I was a teenager, but these past few years I have now seen that I have really pushed the limits of what is socially acceptable. To a point where I have begun to evaluate whether or not I might have some degree of psychopathy.
Not to the point where I’m worried I may engage in criminal behavior, but just to the point that I don’t find myself interested in the stereotypical things that other people desire to spend their time doing or discussing, up-to-and-including seeing or hearing them discuss the on-goings of their own personal lives.
There have been moments, particularly this year, where people have come up or messaged me and started telling me about basic human experiences occurring in their lives, like relationship issues or recent purchases or something that happened at work, and within seconds my mind was flooded with thoughts of, “Sweet baby Buddha, I hope this woman stops talking soon,” or “This is painfully boring,” or “How can I end this conversation?”
At least before, I could still pretend to be interested or fake sympathy or empathy, but recently I can’t even do that and I can tell people notice as my facial expressions and other bodily nonverbal cues give me away by expressing what I’m thinking and feeling during conversation. It feels exhausting to pretend like I care.
It’s a rather jolting conclusion to have drawn about myself, that I somehow have this growing apathy towards other people and their lives. One would think that the past 7 months that I’ve spent hidden away from the world, avoiding socialization, would do the exact opposite – grow a yearning for socialization. But no, I’m more antisocial now than I’ve ever been.
The narcissistic behavior that I’ve noticed is one that I’ve been more aware of over the years. I’ve had an issue with my ego for many years as it spawned from my adolescent insecurities. A meager way of defending myself in the midst of an underdeveloped self-confidence. It also didn’t help that I have bipolar disorder which often gives rise to irrational self-importance, feeding the ego exactly what it craves.
Being unemployed has been humbling and through the process of humility, the layers of deceit that my ego has been hiding behind have been slowly peeling away. Making the dastardly creature far easier to spot as it constantly maneuvers to renounce any suggestion that I’m not a valuable and skilled employment candidate worthy of any employer. Every rejection letter exposes the truth it refuses to believe, that I am, in fact, rather ordinary and deserve no special attention.
Sometimes my apathy and narcissism are at odds because my apathy pushes people away in fear I will have to interact with them but my ego demands their attention, creating a bizarre dance of delusion. This very writing is one of those dances – my apathy refuses to engage and communicate with other people about my thoughts, but my ego presumes to believe that people will want to read about my thoughts if I post them publicly.
I’ve attempted to make my time away from the world as productive as I can, even in the midst of a pandemic. I have been getting more reading done than I have in years, books that had been sitting around collecting dust. I’ve been writing a little too, giving this blog the attention it’s been lacking. I’ve even been sewing (no joke). But what I’ve been doing the most is consuming video-based media, truly an insane amount of streaming on Netflix and HBO Max, and even some films. I’ve also been drowning myself in YouTube videos on topics ranging from science and history to comic books and film.
I had a conversation yesterday with a friend about time spent on media like TV and video games and whether or not that time is a waste. When I was a teen and in my early-to-mid twenties, I easily played video games for 9 to 12 hours in a sitting. One could easily suggest that playing video games for that many hours was a waste of my time and brain power.
It was just such a perspective that was ultimately what pulled me away from the activity in my late twenties, I couldn’t see beyond the fact that I wasn’t accomplishing anything meaningful while sitting there, hands glued to my controller and eyes glaring at my television screen.
When I gave up that addictive behavior several years ago, I replaced it with watching vast amounts of TV, thanks to streaming services like Netflix, Hulu, and Crunchy Roll. Arguably it was worse than video games because with TV your brain is doing less work than when you’re interacting in games, and if you’re gaming with others in-person or online – you’re also socializing. TV only required me to assume a vegetative state on the couch.
One could reasonably argue I took a questionable waste of time and swapped it for an even greater waste of time. There are three arguments I could consider for continuing to watch TV: it provides an escape, it activates the analytical part of my brain, and that it mirrors elements of human behavior and society.
To elaborate a bit, the first potential positive is that it allows me to unplug from the world around me as a coping mechanism, a way to either channel or avoid the stress or anxiety caused by things happening in my life that I might not have the power or ability to change or address. The apparent negative to this would be if I’m using it to avoid responsibilities that I am capable of accomplishing.
The second positive is that it stimulates my brain in a different manner than a book because I visually and audibly learn about characters, their history, motives, the setting, anticipate future actions, and so on. While books require you to imagine the elements that are often described in the necessary detail, television and film require you to fill in the gaps created by the reduced textual elements.
In other words, books explain in detail what’s happening so that you can use your imagination to visualize how it’s happening, where as videos show you what’s happening in the absence of details so that you can analyze and decipher why it’s happening.
The third consideration is that our society molds itself from the stories we tell each other, including those stories told through the medium of television and film. Perhaps TV shows and movies help make our society better by suggesting altered human behavior, normalizing things that might otherwise seem alien or taboo. A lot of social movements rely on the power of this medium to help people see and understand various topics. Of course the negative to this is if the theme of the content is criminal in nature, certainly not something that should be normalized.
It’s hard to stop binging on streaming services because it’s addictive, just like video games. In the past year or two I’ve also taken up the habit of regularly watching the video uploads of my favorite YouTube channels. I could argue that the YouTube videos I watch are on history and science and are interesting and educational, therefore valuable, and one could argue that’s better than spending time watching fictional TV shows and movies. But in all honesty I also watch a lot of YouTube videos about comic books and movies.
I found out today that my favorite intellectual, Sam Harris, watched Game of Thrones and it surprised me because he’s so accomplished, hard working, and productive. I couldn’t believe he had spent any amount of time on a medium like television, especially since he has stated he spends very little time listening to music because he considers it less valuable than listening to audiobooks and podcasts. He went on to mention that he wasn’t the best at time management, which also shocked me.
Ultimately, if I question the time I spend doing things, I try to ask myself what I get out of it rather than what I’m losing or sacrificing because of it. The value gained should be more than the value lost. If it’s not, then I decide to agonize no longer and walk away knowing I’ve made a good decision.