We finally went and did it – we scheduled Sienna’s first plane ride and I’m half excited and half mortified. I’m going to be that person with the crying baby that elicits reflexive growls from fellow travelers upon evening seeing a child’s on the flight. I know it well because I’ve always been that person. Thankfully Elaine will be with me, but pity the poor soul who has to sit next to, in front of, and behind us.

I’m assuming, of course, that Sienna’s going to be a handful, but that’s where my mind goes. So to combat that a bit, I’ll tell a little about the trip. We got a great deal on airfare. We’re heading to Tampa (non-stop – whew!) to visit one of my oldest and dearest friends, his wife, and his parents who over the years, especially recently, have become a second set of parents for me via their constant reassurances, advice, and naked truth about their own lives when discussing my battles with depression. Since I often feel very alone up here in New York because my very best friends have scattered to Maryland, Florida, Los Angeles, Seattle, etc., I’m always thrilled to see one of them. I tend to feel a little normal more normal in their presence because talk picks up as if they’ve never left.

I seem to be going down a bad path again. OK, so we’re headed to Tampa. We’ve asked my friend to try and borrow a car seat and crib/pack & play from someone, but if that doesn’t work we’re going to rent them; just seems to be way too much trouble. I can’t imagine how much we’re going to have to pack. I think Elaine’s going to pick up an extra-large diaper bag to take on the plane (again, pity the poor person sitting next to us in third seat of our row). Sienna gets to fly for free, but will have to sit on our laps during the duration. We picked seats near the front of the plane so we can get out as quick as possible. I hope us flying-with-a-baby virgins are doing all the right things so far. Can you believe we’re prepping two months before we leave??

We don’t have any major Florida plans right now, but I joked that since Sienna would be turning 19 months while we were down there, we should drive the hour or so to Disney World which caused Elaine’s eyes to light up (she hasn’t been to Disney since she was 12). I’m not sure if my friends would be up for it nor am I sure if it’s smart to bring a 19-mo-old to Disney. Is it worth the aggravation? Anyone? Anyone?

Unfortunately, us going to Florida means I won’t be able to attend the wedding of one of my other great friends and I feel guilty about that…stomach clenching guilt. The wedding, which is in Olympia WA, is due to take place a week before the Tampa trip. Elaine had requested days off for Florida before we knew about the wedding so we’d basically have to leave here in the evening (when Elaine gets home from work), arrive in Seattle very late Saturday night, rent a car and drive to Olympia, go to the wedding on Sunday, and then fly out Monday morning. We only have enough miles to cover one of us, so the expense would be enormous. I did a ton of thinking about it and I decided that it wasn’t worth the expense and exhaustion considering we’d barely get to see my friend, his fiancé, and his stepdaughter-to-be. As much as I’d love to be at the wedding and feel indebted to be there, it makes more sense to save up for a trip (hopefully next year) where we’d actually be able to spend time with them. I hope he understands this, but regardless, as always, I’m filled with stupid guilt. I wrote to him yesterday about it, but I haven’t heard back yet and that isn’t helping. My therapist would tell me that guilt serves no purpose and that he’ll completely understand. I hope that’s the case.

In exactly 2 months Sienna will go on one of her greatest (I hope) adventures. As I said, I’m half-excited and half-mortified. I hope the first half wins out.

I have so much difficulty seeing silver linings and worse feeling their existence which as I’ve stated before is something my therapist is trying to beat into my head by constantly saying my feelings are dangerous and irrational. In Silver Linings Playbook, Bradley Cooper’s Pat is bi-polar and just out of a court-enforced mental institution stay, but is trying to learn how to see and make the best of bad situations. In other words, he’s working to change his lifelong pessimistic outlook to one where the cup is half-full. Eventually he’s able to overcome a trigger which is a marvelous feat and one that the movie’s detractors don’t seem to realize. Many who disliked the movie and accused it to be too “Hollywood” believed Pat vanquishes his bi-polar disorder thanks in part to his relationship with Jennifer Lawrence’s equally unstable Tiffany, but that’s not the case. What Tiffany helps Pat do is overcome that trigger, but there’s still a lot of work to be done. I left the theater knowing that the story was not over, but a major bump (as well as a few smaller ones) in the road had been crossed. Essentially, Pat truly realized and accepted silver linings, and the movie showed us that talking with people who understand you and your situation is just as pertinent to healing as conventional talk therapy.

Still from “Silver Linings Playbook”

How does this apply to me? As I said, I as yet am unable to unquestionably see and/or accept silver linings, and I’m also desperately trying to change my outlook from extreme negative to remotely positive. It’s something I can’t seem to grasp…how to change your core beliefs when they’ve been with you so long that they feel innate. Here’s where my therapist would say, “Stop trying to understand everything!” and then list all my accomplishments in the face of difficult circumstances.

Yesterday Elaine and I took Sienna to the Long Island Aquarium & Exhibition Center out in Riverhead and had a very nice time. I love aquariums because I’ve always been fascinated by undersea life (though I dislike things like sea lion shows because I don’t quite trust the treatment of the animals). One of my dreams is to own an enormous saltwater tank filled with spectacular and intriguing creatures, though I know that’s unlikely to happen. Anyway, Sienna enjoyed running around, looking at beautiful fish, incredible sharks, and was especially enthralled by some person dressed up as a shark with huge sneakers (I think she was more amazed at the sneakers than anything else as she kept pointing at them and giggling and reaching out to touch them – like her mom, Sienna seems to have a shoe fetish). They also had an area where you could pose with gorgeous parrots and we decided to pay the $20 because 1) the money raised is directly used to help take care of the birds and 2) we were curious as to Sienna’s reaction – she showed zero fear.

I got pulled over on the drive home and this is where things fell apart for me. It wasn’t that I got pulled over, it was how I was treated by the cop. I was polite and cooperative, but the cop was the very definition of a bully. As I wrote on Facebook last night, “With apologies to any nice ones out there, just because you have a badge, uniform and car w/ flashing lights does not mean you’re superior to people. You should still be courteous if you pull someone over, especially if that person is acting politely. You should NOT interrupt when the driver is trying to ask a question. You should NOT interrupt the driver’s response if you ask the driver a question. And you should NOT walk away in the middle of the driver trying to ask a question leaving his/her voice trailing off into the wind. Policing traffic doesn’t give you the right to be an a-hole.” The bully thing always gets to me as it brings up so much from my past, especially if it’s in a situation where I’m completely impotent. I couldn’t fight or talk back to the cop despite his goading. I simply had to bear it. By the time we arrived home I was quite literally shaking with fury and I felt like there was this huge knot in my chest. I spoke to my dad about the incident and he said that the vast majority of cops are “power-hungry a-holes” (being a lawyer, he’s dealt with plenty of them), but because they hold all the cards, all you can do is say, “Yes sir. No sir.” and get out as quickly as possible. But because of my past the bullying thing wrenched my guts. When Elaine mentioned the good time we had at the aquarium I said I wish we’d never gone out. To me, the entire experience was tainted and not worth it. My daughter’s enjoyment paled in comparison to my anger, to the money I’d owe, and to the points on my license (I’m not going to go into why I was pulled over, but Elaine agrees I was singled out for doing something that everyone else was doing. It was just bad luck).

That night, as the knot sat there, I started thinking about Fruitvale Station (which is based on a true story and tells of the final day in the life of 22-year-old, Oscar Grant III, played wonderfully by Michael B. Jordan) and how the cops acted so superior, so bullying, and not only refused to listen to Oscar or his friends, but goaded them into making things worse for themselves. Oscar wasn’t perfect, but neither he nor his friends deserved the treatment they received from the police which ultimately ended in tragedy and was captured on video by a number of witnesses; the officer who killed Oscar was convicted of manslaughter. I wondered how much more furious I’d have been were I not white. Would my first thought be that I was being racially profiled? Probably. Would the officer’s goading lead to an escalation? I don’t know. Regardless, as I said, a uniform and badge does not mean you’re better than anyone else. Unfortunately, like my dad believes, too many people in power feel and act exactly that way.

Still from “Fruitvale Station”

Getting back to silver linings, I should be able to separate the incident from the rest of the day, but I’ve been unable to; the entire day was marred because of that bastard of a cop. So I’m using this blog to try and get out some of my anger and to visually remind myself of the good things that happened that day. Maybe rereading this and looking at these pictures will one day allow me to say it was worth it.

Where I left off – I’d had a meltdown (or as many of you have suggested on Facebook, a “release”) following the beach trip. I recovered enough to go to the movies that night. I then came home and went to sleep.

I awoke extremely shaky the next morning, chest gradually filling with wet cement, arms strangely numb or feather-light or some such thing, and my stomach feeling as if it were a butterfly garden. I also felt on the verge of tears. Somehow I got Sienna out of bed, gave her breakfast, did the dishes, put her in her pen and got into the shower. It was there that my brain buzzed with blog thoughts and the realization that if I was going to tell the truth about what happened, I’d have to write about how my dad played into things. Guilt, which my therapist always says is useless to me, set in immediately, nearly knocking me over.

I staggered out of the shower, dressed, got Sienna out of her pen, and started her Sesame Street/Muppet Show playlist (her favorite remains “C is for Cookie”…remind me to record her reaction when it comes on). Within minutes of turning on the computer, my dad sent me an IM asking if was ok. Now, this shows how much he cares about me, but it came when I was already reeling and I decided I needed to “confess” and warn him about the role he unwittingly played in the meltdown during which I kept apologizing and begging him not to feel bad. He said it was ok and that he’d deal with it because I said we had a good relationship now, but it wasn’t good enough for me because the guilt was relentless. I continued to apologize. And at one point my dad stopped responding. That’s when I broke again. Tears were streaming down my face and I once more I couldn’t breathe. Worst of all it happened in front of Sienna and she looked frightened.

“Daddy’s ok,” I sobbed, trying to smile. “It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.” I patted her head and typed, “Please write something! Or call…something! Please don’t hate me!” After a few minutes (years to me), my dad wrote back that everything was fine and that he just had a phone call. “I’m a parent just like you and that will never happen,” he wrote regarding my fear about him hating me, but logic had gone out the window. I called my mom and asked for help. She said she’d be over within minutes (she works across the street). The guilt about hurting my father refused to abate and it combined with the guilt about falling apart in front of my daughter to form this monstrous self-condemnation. I couldn’t stop crying. I continued to try and reassure Sienna. “Daddy’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.” But my hands were shaking and I don’t think she believed me.

The doorbell rang and I let my mom in. She gave me a big hug and told me she was proud of me and that she’d take Sienna so I could heal. I told her that I’d just told my dad the specifics and that I was terrified I’d hurt him and he’d hate me. She said that he’d never hate me and that he’d be ok. I sleepwalked through getting Sienna’s lunch together, and my mom took her out, but not before giving me another big hug.

I sat alone in the apartment. Drained. Stunned. Ashamed. I tried to sleep, but it didn’t happen so I watched TV until my mom brought Sienna back for her nap. I could barely talk, but I did manage to thank my mom. Once Sienna was down, I finally fell asleep.

The rest of the evening went ok, though I still felt awful. I couldn’t believe that I’d broken again. Elaine told me it was just an aftershock from the extreme stress of the previous day and that I almost always have them. Everything’s fine. This is normal. My recovery time has gotten so much quicker. She praised me. I was still upset that it had happened in front of Sienna, but Elaine said she Sienna’s so young that she’ll never remember it. I still couldn’t blog…still couldn’t even look at the beach pictures. I couldn’t wait for the day to be over.

The next morning I was fine. Perfectly fine. And I managed to blog. I got a lot of Facebook responses to the entry, but I couldn’t look at them. Once the blog was out I wanted nothing to do with it. I spent the rest of the day playing with and taking care of Sienna until it was time to head into the city for session. My mom came over to watch Sienna while I was out.  The closer it got to my therapy appointment, the more my chest hurt. I was pretty much an internal wreck when I got into my therapist’s office. She read the blog and told me she was proud, but I refused to listen. I spent most of the session stuttering and chastising myself. I couldn’t look my therapist in the eyes despite her ordering me to. Like Elaine, she praised me and pointed out how far I’d come, but I refused to listen, falling back into my old patterns of wanting this all to be over; considering myself a failure because I don’t have the house, the pool, the money, the job status that I’ve always believed I’m supposed to have by now because my definition of success remains strictly monetary and material; and of course, there was the guilt about hurting my dad. My therapist continued to list my accomplishments and had me repeat certain mantras including guilt being a dangerous and utterly useless emotion. I did my best, but I wasn’t responding well. The session was rough (which always makes me feel more guilty as I feel like I’m failing my therapist – my self-recrimination never seems to stop!!). She called me a “writer” and I scoffed saying I wasn’t a real writer and that actually getting published was a pipe dream. She kept telling me to stop being so hard on myself, but it seems I was in such a bad place that very little was getting through my thick skull. Eventually, my therapist got me calm down a bit by having me talk about media analysis and how important it is to me. She advised me to keep rereading my blogs. As hard as it is for me to admit, my therapist cares about me. I have that in print now. She’ll be proud of me for that.

I managed to wind up on the same train as Elaine on the way home. I was exhausted, sweaty from the humidity, drained from session. That night I looked at the Facebook responses to my last blog and couldn’t believe the support. So many friends called me brave and said they were proud of me, and more than one wrote that I didn’t have a breakdown, that I had a “release.” I think that’s a good way to look at it and I will try to. I think the aftershocks are done, though I still haven’t seen my father in person since the “release” and worry a little that another one might be on the horizon. I have to work hard not to think that way otherwise it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I must also keep working on not living my life through the eyes of others and not letting irrational guilt rule me. The facts are that I have an incredible wife and a beautiful daughter both of whom I love so, so much. I’ve developed better and stronger relationships with my parents and sister. I have loving friends. I continue to challenge myself and get better, but it takes time. Healing after holding so much in for more than 30 years takes time and work. Buried memories will pop up and I’ll have to recognize that they are not setbacks. In fact, they’re just the opposite.

Part 2 of this blog is now over and with work and cognizance on my part, there will not be a Part 3. Now this stay-at-home dad is off to play with his beloved daughter.

“You don’t have to do it,” Elaine said. All our beach stuff was set up. Sienna was already having fun in the sand. That left me standing there taking deep breaths.

“I DO have to,” I replied, looking everywhere but at my wife and daughter. I hadn’t had two surgeries to correct gynecomastia and three years of laser treatment on my back just to chicken out when the time came. I took off my hat and tossed it aside. My hat’s like Linus’ security blanket. I’ve worn one as much as possible ever since I was a kid; it just makes me feel safer, though it couldn’t protect me against cruel pranks when I was at camp. Another deep breath and off went my shirt. I’d purposely worn my “Breaking Bad” t-shirt thinking this would be my “Heisenberg” moment. I know Walter White isn’t the best character to emulate, but I looked at it like a chance to take control, to leave the self-loathing defeatist I am behind with just the removal of my shirt.

“Is anyone looking?” I desperately asked Elaine.

“No one. No one cares.”

“I’m still so big,” I said. I scanned my fellow beach goers, my brain conveniently and automatically deleting everyone except those who seemed genetically bred or lived their lives in a gym.

“You’re not big at all. The guy right over there is twice the size of you. It’s ok. You’re ok. We’ve got to get sunscreen on you.”

I stood as Elaine sprayed sunscreen all over my cottage cheese-colored body. I hadn’t been to the beach in more than seven years. The last time was when Elaine and I had visited the Dominican Republic. That time she’d shaved my back and I spent the whole time imagining people were staring at the stubble. It had been more than twenty-eight years since my body was devoid of both gynecomastia and back hair, more than twenty-eight years of taunts and teases; of one kid pointing out to everyone else that I robotically tugged the neck of my shirt forward each time I came out of the house so that when I got on the camp van, everyone was laughing at me; of a 17-year-old kid, a head taller than me and a real jerk who would go on to date a girl on whom I’d had a major crush, looking down the back of my shirt and yelling out in front of everyone, “Damn your back is hairy!!”; more than 28 years filled with similar stories and events, of hiding my defects as best as possible and hating myself. Physically there was no more need to hide.

I kept repeating, aloud, that no one was looking at me. I tried standing straight, something difficult and exhausting since my shoulders now lean forward after years of hunching. We took Sienna’s hands and headed down to the water to let her feel the waves splash and rush around her feet for the first time. She was in heaven!

“Do it for her. Do it for her. No one’s looking at you. Do it for her.”

I tentatively walked deeper into the water as Elaine held onto Sienna. It was cold, but not freezing. I took a look back and then dove into the water. I swam for a bit and looked back. Sienna’s eyes remained locked onto mine. Elaine kept telling her to look at Daddy. I made my way back to my wife and daughter and then the three of us returned to our little spot on the beach. Sienna went right for her pail and shovel. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Elaine told me to just lie down and relax. “Relax!” I commanded myself. “No one’s looking!” I forced my arms not to cross over my chest. I lay in the sun. Sienna played in the sand under Elaine’s watchful eye.

We stayed at the beach for a few hours before deciding it was time to give Sienna lunch and head home so she could nap. We packed up and headed to the boardwalk. Elaine took off Sienna’s swim diaper and washed her in the shower. I stood watching, wondering what it was like to not know shame. I worried for Sienna. I never want her to know that awful feeling, though I know I’ll never be able to completely protect her from it. Children will tease and bully her, but she’ll never get any of that from me. I’ll be the one to soothe her and tell her she’s beautiful, and should anything crazy appear (like my gynecomastia did for me), I’ll make sure it’s corrected ASAP.

We had lunch and drove home. Sienna passed out in the car. Elaine told me she was so proud of me. She kept her hand on my thigh. I started feeling shaky as soon as we got home. Elaine ordered me to the bedroom and put Sienna down for her nap. I felt I needed to blog, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look at our beach pictures. Elaine came into the room and I said I HAD to blog and she said I didn’t, that I’d write when I could. Guilt about not being able to blog was crushing me. I don’t know how long it was between that and my breakdown – not a simple panic attack, but a full-on breakdown. I was in hysterics. Tears, shaking, stuttering. I held tightly to Elaine who hugged back, telling me she was proud, that I was courageous, that I’d accomplished something huge, that a year ago I never would have been able to drive to the beach, make the day all about Sienna, and drive back before losing it. I felt like I was looking down at my quivering body from somewhere else, trying to figure out why I was bawling and trembling.

At some point I started repeating, “My dad said I’m as big as house!” and crying harder. I’m not sure when he actually said this. I’d buried the memory, apparently, but I do know that growing up, my father showed massive intolerance and derisiveness towards overweight people; both myself and my mom were heavy. It was just one part of dad’s personality which at times was viciously sarcastic and bullying. He also blatantly favored my sister. My dad is no longer like this. It is incredibly important that it be said that father has completely changed and he and I have a great relationship now. I love him. I think he’s a wonderful father and grandfather. I trust him as much as I can trust anyone. I know he’d never hurt me and that he feels miserable about my childhood. So to any family members out there that might be reading this, know that I forgave my dad a long time ago, but apparently the child in me remains hurt and buried memories keep surfacing. There just one of the reasons I’m still in therapy and on medication. I repeat: I love my dad. He is NOT the same person.

Elaine said the breakdown lasted about an hour. I felt guilty that I couldn’t help with Sienna’s dinner, but Elaine said we were a team and she’d take care of everything. Mentally drained, I fell asleep. I was supposed to go to the movies that night, but my movie buddy canceled. Still, I awoke and decided to go anyway. I needed to get out. Elaine asked if I was ok to drive and I said I was and so I went to see Fruitvale Station, an excellent film. A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to go out; I would have been bedridden for days. I recognize these things, but I don’t feel them. That’s something I still need to fix. My therapist always tells me my feelings are irrational and irrelevant.

After the movie I went home, read for a bit, and fell asleep thinking it was all over. It wasn’t. To be continued as soon as I’m able…