Sometimes I Feel...

 

Sometimes I feel like I’m a songwriter trapped in a newspaper columnist’s body. Songwriters and opinion writers actually have quite a bit in common. Both write to express how they feel about a wide variety of subjects ranging from world affairs to personal relationships and from fast cars to pick-up trucks. Songs and opinion pieces frequently feature themes such as love, loss, fear, anger, hope, and despair. And when they’re done right, these short works of art can make a powerful impact on listeners and readers—as well as the writers themselves.

I hope that at some point in the last nine years I have written something that resonated with you in a meaningful way. Perhaps one of my accounts of our family’s camping misadventures stirred up a long-dormant memory you have of a family vacation that took place in your youth. Maybe my descriptions of teaching primary school music reminded you of the joy of discovering a new favorite musician when you were a kid. Hopefully my stories about being a dad and now a granddadhave helped you understand your relationships with your own family members a little better.

Two themes that are frequently touched on in music are mental health and substance abuse. From Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” to “There’s a Tear in My Beer”, there are countless songs dedicated to songwriters’ emotional and chemical battles. The same is true for my columns.

It has been almost four years since I quit drinking and started writing about my struggles with alcohol addiction. It’s been about six months since I first wrote about living with bipolar disorder. Truthfully, I’ve been indirectly writing about those topics a lot longer than that. Over the years, some of the pieces I’ve written for the Journal have had an angry tone. Some have had a hint of self-loathing to them. Others have been so sad that they brought readers to tears. A few have probably managed to illustrate my manic side as well.

 

The thing that almost all of those 450 or so columns have in common is that they were each a reflection of the state of my mental health at the time they were written. This means that you, the reader, have unwittingly been acting as my therapist for the better part of a decade. I am truly grateful to you for being there for me over the years.

While I don’t see an actual therapist or participate in a 12-step program, I do not rely solely on my readers for my mental health needs. I do talk to my doctor about my issues, and as a matter of fact, I have an appointment to see him this week. Because my life is an open book, (or an open newspaper in my case), I will tell you now what I plan on telling him then: I am struggling.

Despite being the proud grandparent of a brand new, beautiful baby girl, I am struggling. I am struggling with the fact that because I work at a job with a high risk of exposure to coronavirus, I need to wear a mask whenever I’m around my granddaughter. I am struggling because despite the fact that I take a shower, change into clean clothes, wear a mask, and use hand sanitizer after coming home from school, I still worry about accidently making that brand new baby—or my own children—sick.

I am struggling. Teaching kindergarten is not for the faint of heart on the best of days, much less during a pandemic. It is not an exaggeration to tell you that I repeat the phrase “mask up” at least a hundred times a day. I see masks being twirled in the air, flung at other students, and sucked on like lollipops every single day at school. I spray every hard surface in the classroom with disinfectant twice a day and use hand sanitizer so often that it peels the flesh from my palms. And every time I use the alcohol-based sanitizer, I smell either vodka, gin, or tequila—depending on the brand.

I am struggling. I personally know eight people who have Covid-19 right now. I know another four who have had it recently, one of whom spent time in the ICU while struggling to breathe. As someone with asthma, I worry about how my body would react should I become infected. To stay safe, I stay home. Other than going on a handful of family camping trips and getting together with friends a couple of times, I have had no social life to speak of during the last seven months. I don’t envision that changing anytime soon.

Yes, I am struggling. I want to ease my anxiety. I want to ease my depression. I want to snuggle my grandbaby without worrying about making her sick. I want to get together with my car-crazy friends. I want to get together with my music-loving friends. I want to get together with my beer-drinking friends.Sometimes I feel like drinking again.

If that doesn’t sound like a country song, then I don’t know what does. I do know that even though I am struggling right now, this too shall pass thanks to the support of my family and friends, the readers/therapists who subscribe to the Boone County Journal, and some pretty good prescription meds.

Stay safe and stay sane. And as always, thanks for reading.