Tag: support

  • Fingers Crossed: Part Two

    Fingers Crossed: Part Two

    For those that have read my first “Fingers Crossed” blog entry, I thank you. I wrote it a very long time ago and it describes the beginnings of my diagnosis journey with Rheumatoid Arthritis and my experience with Fibromyalgia.

    When I wrote it, I was a bit younger. My conditions were not as well managed as they could be and I was still struggling with my symptoms flaring often. A few things have changed since then and I figured that it was about time that I wrote a sequel to update anyone that may be interested in finding out what has happened up until now.

    Well, let’s pick up where I left off with the story. It was 2021 and my medications were working the way they should but I still hadn’t fully accepted my limitations. Perhaps I never will in some ways. I was a new father, I was only just learning about my diagnosis. There were many unknown variables that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to ever deal with. Several things have changed since then and I think it’s about time that I opened up about how the last few years have gone. There have been many developments.

    After my diagnosis of RA, a painful auto-immune condition where my body over-reacts to simple things like wear and tear, infection, and injury, I received my diagnosis of Fibromyalgia. Doctor’s were unable to directly associate my symptoms to any one specific condition. So though my symptoms of RA were well managed according to medical professionals, I was still experiencing the sensations of widespread and unpredictable pain.

    My fingers and toes continued to feel like they were breaking, my spine and ribs were always sore, and I would get shooting pains throughout my entire skeleton which would cause me to jolt upright in agony. I wasn’t sleeping very well because of it and I feared that there may be more to the story. I wasn’t wrong.

    My last blog left off with me working for my father in a machine shop. The pandemic was in full-force but my conditions had begun to settle down a bit. I wasn’t quite convinced of my safety but I had begun to learn more and more about my conditions and realized that it had left me vulnerable. I did end up contracting Covid after all of my avoidance and it left me bed-ridden for 8 days straight. When I say bed-ridden, I mean I slept for an entire week with only a few waking hours during the entire stent. I experienced vivid hallucinations, nightmares, and pretty much had the worst of it. It reminded me of a time when I was younger and I must have experienced my first flu. My temperature was high, I was sweating through my sheets and soaking my mattress, my wife had fears of finding me deceased whenever she came into the bedroom to check on me. It was quite the experience. After physically recovering, I experienced wild mood swings and it took quite a long time to get back to “normal.”

    My father was considering winding down his work, and I was quite difficult to manage, so I decided to seek alternative employment doing something a bit more tailored for my interests. Though I was very thankful for the opportunity and experience that he provided me with, I felt like I needed to get out on my own and stop leaning so heavily on my family. It was a lot of pressure to be putting my well-being on those I love and I knew that they would want me to be independent and self-supporting. They have always been encouraging and for that I am eternally grateful.

    A family member of mine ended up moving and I offered to help them pack up and clean up their apartment. During the process, I realized that some of my previous experience in warehousing had come in handy. I packaged items carefully and got them ready to ship, I took apart and neatly packaged furniture, took items to donation, and shipped many others to their new address. It reminded me of when I helped a friend’s family curate a cluttered estate and it got me thinking.

    “I wonder if there are any companies that exist that help those living with clutter beyond their control?”

    I began to explore options and ended up finding a company in Edmonton that helped people living with extreme clutter and hoarding behaviors. They also provided seniors with concierge services in various ways. I myself being a “stereotypical male” with extensive experience doing labour, warehousing, and sales found a way to fit into a caregiver role with some of the most vulnerable people from our population. It would also help my autoimmune disease situation because I knew that I couldn’t expose myself to large crowds so working one-on-one with people that were already isolating made for a perfect environment for me to be more safe.

    I worked with them for quite a while, but unfortunately it wasn’t full-time work. The hours fluctuated and there were no benefits provided. The company decided to focus more heavily on their respite and concierge services rather than hoarding and decluttering which was my favorite part. I began seeking a different place of employment that would perhaps be a better fit.

    Now, in the past as a sales executive I had really enjoyed my role. I had spent nearly ten years with the same company but because of all of my conditions and the changing environment I was finding myself “bouncing around” which didn’t make me feel very comfortable financially. Eventually, I started taking a look at the things that really mattered to me and I narrowed down my focus. I began to look for my “dream job.”

    Being a person that always enjoyed the outdoors, loved organization and working hard, but also enjoyed being of service, my friend suggested to me that I perhaps explore the idea of working at a local cemetery. It would allow me to be outside for most of my days, it would be essentially “stacking and sorting” people, plus I may even get to play with some fun equipment. I certainly enjoyed visiting cemeteries, I mean I was a ghost-hunter after all. So I applied and was pleasantly surprised when they gave me a shot at being a groundskeeper at a very busy location.

    Early on in my employment, I began to feel better. My conditions began to settle and I felt right at home. The team was amazing, we had lots of fun while still providing an amazing service for families during their time of need. I got to be out in nature and learn all kinds of new skills. It was one of the happiest times in recent memory for me. I felt like I had landed right where I had wanted to be and wished that I had found the role sooner. If I had found that opportunity when I was much younger I don’t think I would have ever left. Eventually though, symptoms began to creep in which would begin to change all of that.
    I began to flare again, sometimes for a day and other times for up to five consecutively. I became depressed because I hated missing work and I hated not being able to be relied upon. Previously, I was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. I would arrive early to make coffee for everyone and open up, I’d greet them when the team arrived, I would even offer to stay late and work extra, but now I couldn’t be that person.

    I began to experience panic attacks every morning before work. I’d wake up in a state of fear and no amount of meditation work that I had learned from my addiction recovery would work. It wasn’t a typical anxiety attack, it was something much less within my control.

    My pain symptoms began to creep back in and it was like I was going through my early diagnosis all over again. I was scared. Was my RA making a come-back? Were my medications no longer effective? I feared having to swap medications all over again because I knew exactly how extreme it was and how it affected my family having to witness me go through it. I was suicidal when I went through my first diagnosis and feared that my mental state may relapse back into that dark time in my life.

    What was happening to me?

    I was referred to a pain psychotherapy firm based out of Calgary by an amazing social worker at Family and Community Services. It was a zoom call every couple of weeks with a professional in the field, I trusted him right from the start and our bond grew more and more as we worked together; we still meet virtually to this very day. We began to explore ways to understand my symptoms and identify the sources of my “phantom pains.” I eventually learned about something called neuroplasticity and through guided meditations, constructive criticisms, and insight he challenged me to explore my symptoms not through a lens of fear but rather through a lens of curiosity. I had always enjoyed working on my mental health and spiritual growth so I got right to work and began to learn more and more about how to identify exactly what was wrong with me. My pain began to subside greatly, but the panic attacks continued each and every day.

    Eventually, I injured myself. I had grown accustomed to being in pain so I had ignored many of my symptoms to “push” through so all that I could and continue to be productive. During one of my more drastic flares, I went to see my doctor to get a check up and get another doctor’s note. I knew there had to be more to the story so he gave me a full physical examination, complete with full-body x-rays and blood work. It turned out I had broken my leg sometime in the past couple of weeks though I had no recollection of how or when, and it had set itself and began to heal. Had it not been for the x-ray tech calling my doctor to ask why I hadn’t arrived with a cast or crutches, I wouldn’t have even known. The widespread pain that I lived with each day had completely hidden the obvious. To me, it was just noise within the static of sensations that I dealt with on a daily basis and I had been walking around and doing hard physical labour with a completely broken bone all without even knowing it. That part scared me a bit, what if it had been my neck or spine?

    When the bloodwork came back, it showed I had high thyroid levels so I was sent for an ultrasound. I had also been having some difficulty swallowing so my doctor thought it may be best to get that looked at. I am so thankful for my doctor because without him, I’m not sure where I would be today. During my visit, the lab-tech was training a new technician so they were running their scans over my Adam’s Apple and discussing what they were seeing on the screen. I heard them mention nodules on my thyroid but at the time I had no idea what that meant. I tried to avoid googling it just so that I could hear an actual run-down from a medical professional rather than getting worked up over what it may mean.

    After about a week, I had returned to work and was sitting in a backhoe. When a funeral service was “grave-side”, we knew that the ceremony was coming to a close, we would respectfully wait in the distance for them to return to their vehicles before we approached to fill in the grave and tidy up the surrounding areas. My phone rang, and I answered. It was an endocrinologist calling me.

    “We have received your test results and have a diagnosis.”

    I kept my eye on the grieving family awaiting the signal from the funeral director, it was a mother being interred and her children were near the grave placing dirt on the casket as part of their ceremony.

    “We have found some nodules located on your thyroid that are causing hormone imbalances which is why you are experiencing hyperactivity, changes in your mood, and having panic attacks. You have Grave’s Disease.”

    I burst into uncontrollable laughter; had I not been so far away from the family I would have felt horrible should they have heard me, thankfully I was far enough away and in an enclosed cab!

    “It’s not really that funny Mr. Ackerman” the endocrinologist said.

    I couldn’t help myself so I replied, “it is from where I’m sitting right now.”

    I’m not sure if she found me funny or not honestly, I was only met with silence so I tried to break the tension, “does this mean I can stop test-driving all of the other autoimmune conditions now that you found one that fits?” More silence…

    Eventually, after my chuckling had subsided, she explained to me the symptoms and causes. Graves Disease is an autoimmune condition where the immune system targets the thyroid and attacks it. It causes it to be over-active and pump out hormones into my system which results in things like anxiety, high metabolism, and engages my fight or flight response. It all began to make sense and thank god I had been doing my pain psycho therapy to help me be less afraid of what was being said. It was just another thing for me to learn about and at least I finally had a course of action to follow and a plan of attack.

    I was prescribed methimazole and have been taking it ever since. So far so good, though it sometimes goes a bit heywire.

    Because of all of my symptoms and anxiety, I still was unable to be a reliable employee. I kind of felt like my world was crashing around me and was a bit depressed. I was constantly in and out of doctors offices, making appointments or having to reschedule them due to my work schedule. I had to get regular doctor’s notes for days off which was just another appointment for me to try and make it to. Each month I was in at least 3 different doctor’s appointments and getting blood work done every three weeks, let alone other diagnostic tests whenever doctors needed more data. I attended regular pain psychotherapy appointments, began in-person counselling to better manage my lifestyle, and was given plenty of exercises to do in order to maintain any level of normalcy. I was still experiencing flaring and I was having difficulty getting simple things done around the house. I couldn’t keep up with all of life’s demands.

    I also felt a great deal of internal pressure to perform. I had a great boss who was very understanding. I’m so thankful for him because he had an energy that I admired. I hated letting him down and making more work for him and the team whenever I was unable to attend work. It meant that he had to restructure the schedule to constantly accommodate me. Being there or not being there, plus dealing with whatever capacity I arrived with, was difficult for anyone to manage. I couldn’t communicate what was happening to me, hell even I didn’t understand it myself let alone share that with someone else, and each day brought long-conversations so that we both could understand what I was capable of and what I was not capable of. It began to take about a person and a half to do my job simply because of the administrative burden it placed on my employer. They did everything they could to help accommodate me but no matter what, it always resulted in more work and more time lost. It was inefficient and very costly to the company, a company that deals with grieving family’s money. It wasn’t fair to anyone involved and I never imagined that one person’s symptoms could affect so many people.

    I had a very long conversation with my doctor. I wanted to continue to work but at the same time I felt so much pressure and regret that I couldn’t commit to anything past one day’s notice. I never knew what the next day would bring and when you are planning team projects or being part of a coordinated effort, other people depend on you being there. I couldn’t promise anything to anybody. I hate uncertainty and I began to become a nuisance. Together, we decided that, in order for me to be able to function in any sort of capacity and limit damage done to my body, I had to apply for disability insurance through a private provider so that I could focus on my medical requirements.

    It took a while for me to get used to it. I had been so active in volunteering in various ways, I had been working full time, I had been a parent and partner with every ounce of energy I could muster. I had a lot of commitments that needed to be set aside so that I could focus and that required careful curation and sorting.

    Over the past little while I have actually backed away from all excess extra-curricular activities and, though I may seem quite active on social media, I actually spend a lot of time resting. It’s not an option, either I plan it now or my conditions will make me do it when it’s the least opportune time. I have been learning how to adapt my world to fit my needs, learning my boundaries and participating in various therapies such as vocational and occupational in order to find out what I’m actually capable of without over-extending myself.

    Since I’ve begun creating this new life, I have reduced the effects of my flaring. I still have them but I no longer need to go through the process of explaining it to anyone. If I need rest, I rest. If I need to reschedule an appointment, I can do so free of guilt. It’s made life much simpler for me but my conditions still make me feel guilty for having an invisible illness from time to time. Others may see me as an active member of the community, involved in many things, working and living my life. In reality, I’m carefully managing my time. Calculating what I’m able to accomplish each day and severely paying for times that I overdo it.

    I wake up in the morning, in a cold sweat, and I practice mindfulness. I sit peacefully in reflection of my previous day, things I did well and things I could have done better, and I take an inventory of what my body might be trying to tell me. I touch base with a few of my friends to make sure that other people are aware and I feel heard. Then I plan the day ahead so that I can be the best version of me for those I love. Some days, that means I have to rest. Some days it means I can do some light work around the house. Some days, it means I can be of service to other people. I have begun to find my stride.

    No longer able to maintain a lifestyle of physical labor, I am learning new skills to be able to manage and supervise. It’s something that I am not used to and I never thought it would be such a task to adapt. I’m used to jumping into situations with both feet and accomplishing great things, now I have to carefully plan and adapt as I go so that I do not over-exhert myself. I can become overwhelmed very easily by stress, infection, injury, or sometimes even by thinking too hard. My “battery” becomes drained very easily though many of my symptoms have greatly subsided. I experience extreme fatigue early on in my day. Where I used to be able to have a full day of activity I now only have about 6-8 usable hours on average, sometimes even less. I have to fit a whole life into a quarter of the time. It really takes careful consideration to be able to focus on the most important things and protect myself.

    In order to function and still have purpose, with the help of my insurance provider and healthcare teams, I have been able to start working towards building a new future for myself and my family. I have been able to build a new company and work for myself.

    Now that I am able to manage my own time, free from having to report or adapt, I feel like I can begin to function outside of the typical nine-to-five box that I was trying to fit into. It has freed up my time and allowed me to focus on being productive once again. I never realized how much pressure I was placing upon myself to be able to be responsible to someone else’s expectations. I have learned some new skills and included various technologies to help me adapt as well.

    Sometimes, I am unable to use a keyboard due to the dexterity it requires to type so I’ll swap to a smart-phone or voice-to-text in order to continue to do my work. I can take as many breaks as I need free from guilt to stretch or walk, or do some errands. I can work as I am able, meaning that sometimes I am not working during the day and responding to messages during hours that most people wouldn’t typically work. Because I can manage my own time, I’m also cancelling and rescheduling appointments much less often and I’m able to do the exercises and meditations necessary to calm my nervous system or address my symptoms. I’ve begun to find balance.

    Returning to a previous industry, I began to work with people experiencing extreme clutter and hoarding once again but in my own way. With the support of my friends and neighbours, we have founded a company together, Neighbourhood Hoarding Solutions Inc., so that I have people in my life that know of my limitations and are not dependent upon me for income. I have been able to hire people to do the physical work for us and they also require accommodations on occasion for various reasons. We can work together and help others, doing the best we can with what we have as a group. It has given me a new outlook and purpose and though we are still in our infancy, I am finding myself with extended energy at the end of each day and a new sense of calm that I haven’t felt in a very long time. Many of our clients are experiencing physical and mental limitations as well, so if I ever need to reschedule or adapt, they are very understanding and always grateful for my transparency. It’s like I’ve found a new community to belong to and I’ve made leaps and bounds towards building a bright outlook and new life. I am hoping that, as I continue to grow and build new professional skills, I will be able to have even more success in overcoming many of the obstacles I am sure to face as my conditions progress.

    I am “painfully aware” that not everyone has had the same privileges as me in their own experiences. I am so very blessed and grateful for what I have been given and I don’t want to waste it. I wish that everyone had paths available to them in a similar way to my own and I hope to be able to help guide others through their own experiences by sharing mine. We, the disabled, are diverse. There is no “one path” for any of us to follow, but perhaps people can begin to see hope or someone may be able to find something within my story that may help them in their own journey. Much of my inspiration has come from speaking with people that have walked the path before me.

    The burden of fear is no longer a driving force in my world. I am nowhere near perfect, but I am moving in the right direction. I hope that whoever reads this is also able to find their way towards peace and unconditional love. We should all be so lucky, disabled or not, we are all in this together. Never a dull moment. I am excited to see what the future may hold.

  • Magoo – I’m sorry I didn’t see it.

    Magoo – I’m sorry I didn’t see it.

    This blog is dedicated to the memory of someone I knew and loved. It involves a traumatic personal experience and is a real life example of mental illness. The story is explicitly written from my personal perspective and I purposefully avoided the use of the names of the other people in my life at the time that I did not receive explicit consent from. I know that the person that this story was written about would have given their complete and unconditional consent and would allow me to write about the situation with complete trust. This story is meant to raise awareness about a mental health condition and behavior that affects between 5% and 6% of the population of North America and is a real life account of one such case.

    Thank you to all of those who were present during this time in my life. I was struggling at the time in my own life and I sincerely apologize if I owe you anyone any amends. Please reach out to me directly if you wish, I want to hear from you.

    And now, we begin…


    In Memory of Gary, AKA Magoo

    My roommate and I used to stay up way too late, talking about all of the most important topics in the universe. We had lived together for a very long time and been good friends so we had no difficulties getting into deep conversations and discussions about nearly anything. We shared an interest in the occult, ghost hunting, and that usually branched off into even weirder topics but it really formed a bond between us that has become life-long and I am so grateful for it.

    So one evening, when we were up talking, the topic of “would you wake someone up to let them know a loved one had passed away? Or, would you be the type of person to let them sleep and have one more peaceful evening?”

    Never did we think we would get a real-life example to practice on so quickly.



    Gary joined my ghost hunting group in the early years. He showed up to every event, every activity, every investigation. He was by far the most enthusiastic member of our team. We all loved having him around and we spent countless hours together as a group and one-on-one with him.

    When Gary was younger he played a lot of sports and spent time hanging out with his friends. He competed in track and field, and was an active member of the Dutch-Canadian community locally, as were his parents. He was adopted from an early age, but he was taken in and loved as if he was one of their own. His parents enjoyed gardening, won awards for their beautiful yard, and all of them spent quality time travelling the world; especially in the homeland.

    When he was about 18 or 19, Gary broke his arm in a sporting event. He was tackled in football if I remember correctly, and the break was clean-through. During diagnostics, they discovered that he had cancer within his bones. Doctors began intense chemo-therapy immediately to stop the spread and save his life. Due to the aggression of the treatment it had an effect on his developing mind, Gary’s ability to learn became affected and his capacity became reduced. His life was saved, but Gary wasn’t quite the same ever again. He lost a little piece of himself during the process. He remained his loveable self, honest and kind, but he required additional care on top of what the average person would need. He was “young forever.”

    He lived with his parents into adulthood, but within a very short period of time he ended up losing both of his parents. That left him alone with a small inheritance and he became dependent upon the province to grant him care and provide his agency.

    Gary’s other best friend stayed alongside him, thick or thin they were in it together. For 30 years they spent weekends together, drank beer and pop, and listened to rock music. He was always someone that he could rely on. Of course, his friend got married and had a life so Gary found other ways to keep himself occupied as to not be a third wheel; not that he ever was. He took up butchering at NAIT and was well liked by everyone he met there. He spent lots of time on ghost tours and was active in many different social circles.

    I met Gary at one of the Edmonton Paranormal Society events. He was eager and kind, so I took a shine to him right away. He joined our group and all of us welcomed him with open arms. He became a member of our family. We would spend evenings and weekends together visiting haunted locations, participating in investigations, setting up and taking down events, and we also got together for other reasons like concerts as well. He loved classic rock and attending music events and concerts with his best friends. In fact, one of my favorite memories of all time was attending Deep Purple with him. Jonas and the Massive Attraction opened for them at Rexall place and we laughed so hard we both fell out of our chairs. It was incredible.

    One evening, just after returning to our house after an event, Gary appeared more disoriented than he normally would be. Gary was always a little scatterbrained, but this time it was a bit different. His lips turned blue, so we lowered him to the ground carefully and called for an ambulance. Within a few minutes, he was whisked off to the hospital.

    In the hospital, we kept him company and stayed alongside him. He was well taken care of during his stay. It appeared to doctors that he had a tear in his aorta, he was experiencing internal bleeding which was why he was having fainting spells. They operated on him and he began his recovery in the hospital room. All of our friends took turns visiting, he was rarely alone during any of that time. Even when sleeping, someone was often looking over him.

    He and I always bonded over birds. Knowing he had a pet cockatiel, and myself being the owner of a rescued African Grey Parrot, I volunteered to visit his apartment and make sure that “Pookie” was well taken care of. I gathered Gary’s keys and headed off to spend some time playing with the bird.

    He lived on the second floor of a small apartment building. I unlocked the doors and found my way to the right apartment number. Strange how I had known him all of those years but had never been inside his home, we always met at my place or I picked him up out front. We never had the reason to go in and I remember that being something going through my head as I approached.

    I unlocked the door, turned the knob, and opened it up. The apartment was dark so I fumbled to find the lightswitch. I clicked it on and was a bit astounded at what I saw. It was a single bedroom apartment, living room to the right, small kitchen and dining room straight ahead of me. To the left would be the hallway that took a quick 90 degree parallel with the kitchen path, it led to the bathroom and bedroom suite. The entire floor had a platform of cardboard boxes, about knee to waist high, with only enough space between them all to walk sideways. On top of all of the boxes was a layer of dust half a centimeter deep. Feathers were lightly spread among it all. I could only assume it all had been there for a very long time and there had been no apparent attempt to clean or dust any of it ever.

    I made my way through space. The sink was full of dishes but they hadn’t been disturbed in what I would guess was years. There was a garbage bag full of takeout packaging and energy drink cans. He had a computer desk where the dining room would typically be arranged, it was surrounded in smaller boxes with enough clean space to spin in an office chair and access the desktop and computer.

    He must have slept in the living room often because the couch was relatively clean aside from having a pillow and blanket on it. There was enough room in the living room to access the bird cage, the television, the balcony access, and the couch. It was also apparent that he enjoyed allowing Pookie to be free-range, locking him up for nighttimes only.

    The rest of the apartment was pretty much the same. He had enough room to dress and sleep in the bedroom and living room. He had enough space to bathe and use the washroom. Everywhere else was inaccessible due to the walls of cardboard boxes.

    I returned to him with my report. Pookie was safe but of course, I had to ask about the apartment. Not in a judgemental way at all, just strictly out of concern. I always assumed he just didn’t have much which was why it never really crossed my mind to be the opposite. 

    What actually had happened was that he had inherited his parent’s belongings when they passed away suddenly but due to his capacity he was unable to maintain a home. So when he was forced to sell the family home, and had to move into the apartment, he brought all of the boxed estate belongings with him. He never opened them again due to the difficulty facing the emotions it brought up for him and he was alone with that burden.

    It broke my heart.

    I asked him if he would allow me and my friends to clean and organize his home. He was excited at the idea. As a group, we spent countless hours opening the boxes and sorting everything. Cleaning every square inch of that place, every wall and every floor board, every window and cupboard. The place was spotless and we didn’t even really have to get rid of anything. We were able to arrange all of the personal family heirlooms in a corner with rubbermaids. The apartment was spotless and tidy. We were so proud.

    Upon his return, he was grateful. He was an entirely different person. He had a glow about him and you could tell, something meaningful had happened to him. I think he felt accepted and cared about for the first time in a very long time.

    Then, in the middle of the night, came a knock on my door. I opened it and there stood Gary’s best friend. Gary was dead. He had collapsed at the front entrance to his apartment building, double pneumonia and lung infection. The paramedics and doctors believed his condition was due to the previous living conditions within the apartment.

    I spent the next few hours calling my friends and letting everyone know what had happened. I woke a lot of people up and had very hard conversations with each of them. 

    Remember the story at the beginning of this blog? Whether to wake someone up or not? I did not wake up my roommate. Having  JUST had that conversation, I knew she had taken the side of, “letting them sleep.” So that’s exactly what I did. I decided I’d tell her in the morning.

    She read about it on Facebook, from a mutual acquaintance’s post, before coming up for breakfast. I now have a different view on that belief entirely. Wake them up.

    I did my best to stay involved in the process of taking care of Gary’s estate. His closest next of kin was an elderly lady in Denmark, who did not speak English. This was before the years of Google Translate, so it made it difficult to communicate but we patched it together through emails. Gary’s landlord allowed me access to his apartment to collect personal belongings and family heirlooms but anything else was to be left behind for them to salvage or dispose of. I helped the landlord and the maintenance worker sort everything, including collectible coins from his parents estate. I went through every single room and made boxes to be shipped to the proper relatives. I packed up my Ranger, organized everything so it was sorted, and left with a truck full of items all of which took years to get into the right hands. I copied his hard drive, cleaned his personal files and data off of his devices, and found all of his documents. I then scanned ALL of his family’s photo albums and digitally sent them to his next of kin overseas.

    I also planned his funeral and was the master of ceremonies for a service in the park surrounded by his friends.

    This was my introduction into this condition. I had no clue what hoarding behaviors truly were. I had no idea the depth of emotion, the complexity of traumas associated with each case, and the diversity of each person affected. In my experience, no two cases have been the same. Yes, they often share similar symptoms but the REASONS are completely subjective, often involving trauma, despair, and heavy emotions.

    As a person in recovery and who participates in various therapies with psychologists, therapists, and other professional and non-professional mental health supports, I understand that feeling. I understand the feeling of being completely overwhelmed, feeling beyond hope. I heard it described by a 12 Stepper once; their Big Book calls it “incomprehensible demoralization” and I identified with that heavily. In my own wellness journey, I lived in a “rock bottom,” of sorts. It felt like a deep pit that I could never escape from. I visualize it like a derelict water well with walls made entirely of quicksand with nothing but a dot of light above you to look into.

    Now though, after all I’ve been through as a person, I can look back and see how far I’ve come. I cleaned another 45 hoarding homes after my first introduction to it. And that was before deciding to start my own company to try and do something about it so there’s lots to still tell. I hope you are along this journey with me and I hope that, together, we can get to the bottom of it all. Let’s make room for some healing in our lives and clear the path for others to follow.

    There’s lots to do and lots to learn and I’m here to help. Ready when you are.

  • The Bubble Boy Part Deux

    The Bubble Boy Part Deux

     In a world gone haywire, how does one stay sane?

    The world is against me, after a series of events out of my control, I am a victim. I have been wronged, held back, limited, beaten down for too long and I can’t take it anymore. If only they would be more like me, think more like me, the world would be more peaceful and get along better. The struggles I am experiencing would be alleviated. I wouldn’t feel guilty and ashamed anymore, I could go back to feeling proud of who I am. I could help others.

    That was my mindset on many evenings as I finished up my 5th or 6th beer. I’d grumble to myself about the state of affairs in the world around me, in the lives of the people around me. The company I worked for. In my head, I was solving all of their problems. Why couldn’t they understand it? What are they not getting? How dumb can they be?

    As I rounded my 9th my high ego would turn into a mood of self-loathing. I had wrecked it all. I had caused everything in my life to collapse. I had hurt so many people along the way. Nothing I could do was good enough and no matter what I tried; it was all going to end in a pit of despair with everyone around me getting hurt.


    By my 12th, I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking anymore, or if I even was. I was on autopilot. My eyes unfocused, my words barely able to fumble their way across my tongue and past my lips. My brain no longer recording the events that transpire.

    Oblivion.

    This was a typical evening for me; give or take a few beers, but the end result would be the same. It continued like that for years, a decade and a half actually. A cycle of going to work sober in the morning, racing home in the evening, and celebrating my arrival with my first drink of the evening. Don’t get me wrong, I took some small “vacations” from drinking here and there along the way. The breaks from were typically initiated by some form of drama or chaos happening within my life, self-induced I’ll admit. I would momentarily be lucid enough to understand that my addiction was not helping, so it needed to go or something in my life would, I was forced out of necessity.

    Unfortunately, the idea never really stuck for long. I’d be able to obtain stretches of sobriety for a few weeks, perhaps a month or two, before succumbing to the inevitable. I’d convince myself that I was cured and therefore I could go back to the way it was. I could go back to being a part of the rest of the world. I’d hide my return to drinking out of shame and justify it to myself in my head for as long as I could before being discovered. Hiding everything I was doing from the public eye. I’d plot my entire guilt story in my head in case anyone ever caught me, then I could “open up” about how it wasn’t the problem and something else was, promise I was going to address it. After a week or two I’d be back in my old patterns and the cycle continued.

    I’ve come a long way in three years though. I feel like I’ve grown up by ten. In three years, I’ve had to “play catch-up” with everything I failed to learn over the past 16 years and I doubt I’m even close.

    I know now that I used drinking as an escape from the seriousness of the world, when in reality it was literally preventing me from learning and absorbing new things (like coping skills). Because I wasn’t present for my life experiences, the meaning was lost and any lessons meant to be learned were not recorded. I got caught up in a fantasy world, a bubble, a place I made up. A world not as it is but as I wanted it to be. I was stuck in my own head but I am not so sure this perspective is exclusive to only addicts.

    So how does one get out of that pit? I can tell you it’s a hell of a long journey and there is no end-game only maintenance. It’s completely worth it though and; cliché as it may be, it starts by asking for help.

    We’ve all heard it a million times. “It’s ok to ask for help.” We’ve also heard the same response a million times, “I have a hard time doing that.” That’s where the conversation ends.

    Now, as you read this you are probably nodding your head; even if only internally. This, or situations just like it, are common. People do not know how to proceed to “the next step.”

    Let me explain some of my current perspectives. I want to try and help.

    Are you the kind of person who would drop everything to help a close friend or family member in a time of need? Do you love the feeling of being useful, being asked to help a friend with a really personal problem? Do you want to be there for your friends and family, to support and love them? Have you been in a situation where someone really relied on you and you were able to come through for them in those intimate moments or an emergency?

    If you answered “yes” to any of those questions then ask yourself this… Why are you stopping people in your life from getting that feeling of fulfillment?

    Everyone (or most people anyway) are waiting for any excuse to be useful to those they love or someone else. They are literally waiting on baited breath and want to jump on any opportunity to have purpose and impact in the lives of those around us. It makes us feel good to be needed, it’s rewarding to our egos and self-esteem, plus we get to feel like we made a difference in someone’s life.

    Even strangers, especially those volunteering or working in support groups or call centers, do it because they want to make a meaningful impact on someone or something in this world. Give them the opportunity.

    But what about the feelings of being judged?

    People who judge are one of two things. They are either unable to fully understand the situation because they lack the appropriate experience in their lives to draw from (congratulations you are their first) or they are unable to because of their own emotional status. It’s not their fault and it has nothing to do with you. It does mean however that you may have to ask for help from someone else. No need to put all of your eggs in one basket.

    Again, this is a great place for helplines, non-profit organizations, or step programs to stand in. If you don’t have people to turn to or feel judged, these places are full of people just waiting to be given the opportunity to be useful.

    It all starts with one action, one conversation, one step in the right direction. Sometimes it’s a matter of simply stopping, sitting still, and ending the cycle. Staying where you are, even for a day, is better than sliding backwards. It’s progress.

    One thing I do know is that solitude and isolation are two completely different things. I used to believe that my isolation was a good thing, being away from the public kept me sane because people were my problem, I was protecting myself and it was reactive to the world around me. Now I know that people were my solution all along, my thinking was the problem. Solitude is much more deeply planned as a way to compliment my thinking.

    I was once stuck in a world where I believed everyone around me was drinking and that they were healthier than me, they were the normal ones. I was stuck in a world where I was the only one suffering from anything. I was so wrong; the world is far more beautifully complicated and diverse. In suffering we are united, it’s one thing we all have in common. It’s a feeling we all understand in our own, very personal, way. We will all suffer at some point in our lives, it’s inevitable.

    So why pretend like we don’t? On the most primitive of levels the answer is easy. Embarrassment and low self-esteem.

    I’ve taken at least half a dozen first aid courses in my life. Most jobs I’ve had have required me to have first aid and I have had to use it on occasion. I will always remember what one of my CPR instructors said at the front of the class, right before we began to learn the Heimlich maneuver.

    She asked, “what is the first thing someone does when they realize that they are choking?” to a doe-eyed classroom, half full of people who would rather not be there. After a moment of silence, she provided the answer, “they leave to get away from people and retreat to the bathroom or another secluded place as to not cause a scene.”

    My eyes widened with complete and utter realization in that moment. It is our human instinct to retreat to a place where we are away from help and will surely die alone. It is our INSTINCT to do the opposite of what we should do to keep ourselves alive. What we should be doing is making the universal choking symbol at the first sign of trouble and letting those around us know of the imminent emergency, even if it ends up being a false alarm.

    That is something that truly resonates with me after all of these years and I now know how to look for the signs of someone who is “choking” because I’ve experienced it from both perspectives. I’ve both died and been saved in my own way.

    I believe we are all lost in our own minds and experiences. It’s nearly impossible to believe or perceive another person’s perspective. We do not know their stories, but we can at least understand that we all suffer.

    So, what signs do we look for to know that someone is suffering? How do we help another person who may be stuck? How can we tell if someone is choking? Well, here is another analogy for you.

    Imagine you are walking down a path in a peaceful forest, birds are chirping, the breeze is gently flowing. As you walk, you happen across a dog in the path. You approach the dog gently, smile as you lean in to pet it. It bares its teeth, snarling and growling, it lashes at your outstretched hand. Taken back, you stand upright and naturally retreat your hand away from the open jaws of the animal. What are you feeling in this moment? Likely shocked, hurt, confused, maybe even a little angry at the animal.

    Why would it do such a thing when you were only trying to be kind?

    As you step back your field of view expands and something catches your eye. A hunter’s trap. The dog’s hind leg is stuck in painful trap and it appears to have been this way for quite some time. The dog is hungry, angry, lonely, tired, and; above all, scared.

    Does your opinion of the dog’s reaction change?

    My friends, we have all been this dog at some point in our lives. If we haven’t been, we will be one day. We have also all been the person extending their hand. Now is the time to come to a greater understanding of each other’s situation. We can remove the traps and continue our walk together. We can heal from our wounds.

    I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t asked for help from someone in my life who I believed knew better than me. I wouldn’t be writing this right now, you wouldn’t be reading it, if I hadn’t accepted their advice and guidance and believed that they had my best interests in mind. My son wouldn’t exist or if he did, I wouldn’t know him. People in my life noticed my bared teeth and snarling, they took a step back and noticed the trap on my leg and offered to help. Most importantly, I accepted their help and listened to them.

    I’m thankful to say it has worked until now and continues to work today. I hope to make the people who have helped me proud, so that their hard work and effort is paid in full by my presence. I hope to work each day to make myself as healthy as I can be to put myself in a better position for the future. I hope for the opportunity to be able to help others. I hope to be able to take all of my experiences, even the ones I am not proud of, especially the ones that hurt someone else and make them count towards something meaningful to someone else.

    Perhaps the true secret is that we were never sane to begin with.

    If you enjoyed this blog entry, please let me know. I love hearing feedback. If there is something you’d like to hear more about or a topic you’d like me to write about send me an email. Let’s have a conversation.

    Thank you to everyone for their continued support. To my wife, my daughter, my family, and my friends I could never have done any of this without you. Keep fighting the good fight and I’ll keep trying to do better or at the very least do good.

    Thank you to the person that answered my call for help.

    To quote the famous Canadian, Red Green, “Keep your stick on the ice, we’re all in this together.”