Around 25 years ago, in late August 1992, I started college (erm, university for you British English speakers out there). It’s a right-of-passage many Americans go through every year when they’re 18, and I’m sure there are many stories about how that first year went for a great many people. Maybe my experience was unique, but I’m pretty sure it’s not.
What I can tell you is I remember my Mom crying when I started college at Northern Illinois University. My excitement due to my freedom was tempered by how upset she was. Being the very anxious person I was and continue to be, I wondered if I’d made the right choice. As an aside: my counselor keeps telling me I do things to please other people instead of myself, and I’m not living my life authentically if I keep doing this. On the other side of this argument, I stayed at college because it was what I wanted, even though it did hurt my mother initially (and maybe it was more of a, “Oh my God, my oldest son is 18 and leaving home and I can’t protect him any more”, which I understand but I’ve never been through so I can’t compare that experience to my own experiences).
Sorry. I digress. You should be used to that by now if you read any of my blogs.
Read 25 Years Ago(-ish), I Started College
I originally wrote this blog in May 2016 but never published it. I’m not sure why I didn’t, but here it is, updated slightly.
Over the past few years I’ve written about emerging from a period of suffering from the dissociative disorder known as depersonalisation, the result of a lifetime full of anxiety and a short, rather deep bout of depression. (You can read the latest entries: “Recovering from Depersonalisation” and “Reducing Anxiety through ‘Staying Present’“, or any entry on depersonalisation through looking up the tag #depersonalisation on my blog.)
But I want to take you a step back to the 1990s as a kind of example of why living in the here and now is important.
Read Living In The Here and Now
When another New Year rolls around, quite a few of us make resolutions to make this year different from the last. We’re going to lose weight, or stop drinking so much, or run three times a week. How often we stick to these resolutions really depends on our outlook and our drive to make such a significant change in our lives.
Read A Happier New Year, 2017 Style
One of the side effects of the dissociative disorder known as depersonalisation, for me at least, has been the lack of finding enjoyment in many things I used to enjoy. This has been particularly disturbing for me, as, for those of you who know me can attest, it usually doesn’t take much to amuse me. That makes me sound rather simple, but, at one time, I would find enjoyment in something as simple as reading a book in my bedroom or listening to music while doodling on a piece of paper.
Yesterday, my counselor asked me point-blank about what I enjoy doing now. We had been speaking about my falling out of love with Star Trek (something that had been happening for a while, I must admit) while feeling so upset and then overwhelmingly relieved and happy that I was still able to continue portraying Ken Kato in Henglaar, M.D., which, to be honest, was one of the few remaining things I used to like doing that I still enjoy doing.
Read Learning to Let My Guard Down
A few days ago, I wrote that My 40 Year Love Affair With Star Trek… Is Over. The final straw, as you may remember, was CBS and Paramount issuing rather draconian Star Trek fan film guidelines, which saw several of the fan films I really like shut down and possibly fan audio series, like Henglaar, M.D. that I voice act as Ken Kato in, wound up as well.
I am still out of love with Star Trek. I still am angry and sad about their draconian fan film guidelines, among other things. Their approach towards the fans is as if we can be pushed around, not consulted, and we’ll continue to throw money hand over fist at Star Trek with any product (good or bad) they put out there. And I have a choice on what I do with my money, and by not spending it with CBS or Paramount, whether by not subscribing to CBS All Access to watch the new Star Trek show in 2017 or by not snuggling up to a huge tub of popcorn and watching Star Trek Beyond in the movie theatre, I’m objecting with my wallet.
Read I Am Ken Kato
Anyone who knows me knows my love for Star Trek.
As a child, I remember my parents introducing me to Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Bones, and the Enterprise, these complex characters and graceful-looking starship soaring from planet to planet. I think some of the weekly aliens scared me, especially when they flashed them up at the end of the credits. (Balok, anyone?)
I didn’t understand the cerebral and more thought-provoking parts of the episodes because, as a child, you usually don’t have those parts of your brain developed until you start hitting adulthood. So it was good to watch as something fun as a kid.
It was one of my introductions to science fiction, and one I will always be grateful to my parents for introducing me to it.
Read My 40 Year Love Affair With Star Trek Is Over
Recovery from illness is difficult, especially a major one. I have dealt with recovery before: from broken bones, from earthquake injuries, from depression, from inflammatory disorders, from a mystery virus that caused me physical exhaustion and mental anguish. But somehow, this recovery from depersonalization is different.
I hadn’t really noticed it much in the last few months since I became mostly free from this somewhat rare yet very disturbing disorder that robs a person of access to the feelings his emotional responses create, but I’m more disturbed now. Feeling happy? As the feeling goes along its merry little way, an analytical section of me hijacks the afterglow of the feeling, scanning every second, demanding to know what triggered the happiness, why it faded, how long it took to fizzle out, and, finally, the fear of wondering: will it ever come back? Will the happiness ever return for longer than a few seconds? And the double-edged sword of a question: will I always be this numb from now on or will I return to normal ever?
Read Recovering from Depersonalization