You've been cited!

Then when it was safer, we had a fancy dinner with clients who had become my friends over the years. Their dollars fed degree pursuit. All through my doctoral process, I side hustled as tech support who came to your home to help you sort photos, setup your printer, and learn technological patience. But…that’s not the point. Sorry, I’m a little overwhelmed and excited.

Back to the google alert…

Okay, so I clicked on my profile and found that it was in fact **TRUE**! Someone had indeed cited me. Sitting there in their research was my name, not the pen name I now write under, but my name, my words, and their trust that I had done my job. **But that wasn’t all…**

I saw that there were 9 citations. There were 8 other people citing my work, like I knew what I was doing. I have cried twice today trying to rectify that I was placed alongside scholars who have been doing this a lot longer than me and had been able to find careers in the field. I did not and it is a sad story, but I’m hoping I’ll turn this around by the time I’m done.

I had to remind myself that no one may read this, but I will have, at least a short term, record of this moment and how I felt. Yes, I could have kept this as a page in my journal, but I’ve never successfully kept one of those. Maybe I could blame this on my desire to help people not make the same mistakes I’ve made or maybe it’s purely vanity. As my brother reminds me constantly, “Shit is what it is and you can accept it and move on or not.” I still don’t think the statement means anything, but it works here. Don’t tell him.

A Sad Story

Now for a sad story and it’s a doozy so sit down. I graduated in Spring of 2020. At that time, I was working as a manager and technology instructor with a public library system. It was a coveted job up and coming librarians whose focus drove them to integrate more technology to the profession. I was not a librarian, nor did I have the degree, but they took a chance on my experience from working at Apple. I had been a Creative, which is a fancy title for the teaching position in an Apple Store.

ADHD Side Story: How I spent my time at Apple.

Apple alone was a funny story, because they hired me with an anthropology degree and an archaeological background. It was a shot in the dark during a time where I was desperately searching for stable work. Still not sure whey they did that, but I consider myself lucky for having the experience of rising in the ranks there.

If you want to imagine what I did for Apple. Please imagine that I got my chance to be like Britney Spears with that black microphone that tucks over your ear and sits directly in front of your mouth. Me and my microphone would teach a classes about the iPhone or Final Cut Pro to a group of 5-10 individuals who ave a passion for technology, but don’t understand how to only tap once. Many of my clients were retired with amazing stories and passions, but there were also a mix of creative individuals who just wanted to understand.

All of this is all done in the middle of very busy Apple Stores at one of those tall tables with those uncomfortable stools. If you don’t know what that looks like I encourage you to google videos of the crowds on iPhone release days. At least those days were well organized in advance. It was always busy. Always.

A Sad Story Continued…

While working for the library I experienced something I had yet to face and that was myself and my limit of what I could handle. I broke. I stopped being able to function. There were contributing factors like an abusive boss and someone close to me attempting suicide, but I didn’t know I was on borrowed time.

To help explain, I had been diagnosis of bipolar disorder in 2017 and had been treating it with the help of a psychiatrist, cognitive behavioral therapy, and medication. Up until this point in 2020 I was managing, barely, but managing. Though not without help, my wife was holding it together for us both. She is kind and supportive and never made me feel like I was too much.

I made quite the scene in the process, but I quit my job at the library and started focusing solely on my doctoral work and mental health. Most of the effort went into my studies, though I followed doctor’s orders and talked openly to my wife and therapist. Unfortunately, I was unpredictable. The roller coaster still had a grip on me. That’s the thing with bipolar disorder. You can rapid cycle, which means you can fluctuate from very high highs to very low lows in a very short period of time. Those who do this kind of work knows that this will take its pound of flesh from your quality of life.

I got another job in this time because we needed the money. It was at school that taught working adults how to code. I worked in administration and honestly whatever they asked me to do. I think I even installed a door handle, but I got fired. Not by any fault of my own, but because the company was closing down I was deemed unnecessary in third round of cuts.

This was a first for me. I had never been fired. It was a very low low. And again the roller coaster sped wildly along the track, never stopping long enough for me to feel stable.

I don’t know how I did it, but I defended my dissertation and I graduated. It only took me seven years to get it all done. Yeah my student loans suck. So, it was time to job hunt.

But life is what it is sometimes, and one day I heard something. It was a voice behind me, someone, a woman, talking in a foreign accent, but I was home alone. No one else had a key to my house. It was only me, my wife, and our cats renting that apartment. I considered it being my landlord, but I looked everywhere. No one was there, but I still heard the voice and it didn’t like me.

Then It happened again and again. It was unpredictable and I couldn’t believe what was happening. Was I hearing ghosts or picking up a radio signal with the metal plate in my head, but then I didn’t have a plate in my head. Then I thought for sure that I had a tumor pressing on my brain causing unbelievable damage and it was making me hear a very angry, possibly Indian woman in my head.

Though let me say here, that it didn’t sound like it was in my head. The voice came from the room, somewhere behind me. That was the only way I could have explained it.

Immediately, I told my wife and we talked to my psychiatrist. We tried several different treatments, but after several months of the voice I accepted it as part of my experience here on earth. As we continued to try to find a medical way to treat the new condition I kept looking, not getting anywhere on the job front.

So much has happened therapy-wise, medicine-wise, and life-wise, but I saw the official schizoaffective bipolar disorder diagnosis on my records. Yes, occasionally I hear voices. Yes, they’re miserable unpredictable buggers who ruin some of the best moments. They would not go away.

Coming back to this moment in time, I’m still on a roller coaster but it’s a slower ride. The voice became multiple voices, but as of late it has settled on a voice that sounds too much like someone I know. It is disconcerting, but I’m still going forward with therapy and medications that keep it mostly manageable.

At the end, when I’m looking at my life, I hope I’ll say I really fucking tried.

At present, I have refocused and reinvented until I can figure out what to do with this information. I’ll be Harlo for now. I did, however, update my settings so that I see all the google alerts. I am aware that the information will have an expiration date, but I hope they continue. When I see them, I’ll feel good. If only for a moment.

Resources:

If you need them or need to know they are there:

Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance: https://www.dbsalliance.org/

International Bipolar Foundation: https://ibpf.org/

National Alliance on Mental Illness: www.nami.org

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Crisis Hotlines and Resources: https://www.apa.org/topics/crisis-hotlines