The Stoplight and the Surge

Living with anxiety and depression has often felt like riding on top of a tidal wave. At times, it’s exciting and electric; other moments feel like the full weight of the ocean’s fury crushing you against the rocks beneath the surface. I don’t like talking about mental health issues, although many of my essays seem to allude to that turmoil teeming beneath the surface. Diagnoses and labels do nothing to alleviate the symptoms of a brain gone haywire, so I don’t give them much credence, nor do I acknowledge their nomenclature. I just exist and deal with the nuances of spicy memories, manic frenzies, and moments of panic.

I don’t shout from the rooftops about these issues as if they were somehow badges of honor. No, I simply distill mental turbulence into various art forms and hope that it’s enough to assuage the chaos in my brain for a moment. Maybe this is the life of an artist. Perhaps it’s just the result of baggage I’ve carried and added to since childhood. Who the hell knows?

On the heels of a few emotional weeks, I found myself cycling into an old, familiar rhythm of panic attacks and depression. It happens. I deal with it, move on, and try again. It’s a cycle.

Over the weekend, I was driving around looking for the final pieces of furniture to outfit my revamped home office. This involved going to thrift stores and antique shops in search of something I couldn’t name; I only knew I’d recognize it when I saw it. My wife and I would scour various places looking for chairs and decorations, and I’d stay until my social battery drained to a point of surrender.

Saturday, it all hit me. I was already having a bad day, and on a whim, we decided to drive to the bustling metropolis of Mount Airy, North Carolina. We drove the forty-five minutes only for me to circle the main street and head back home in the time it took a stoplight to change from red to green. I got overwhelmed with the volume of people scuttling across the street, filing around my truck like sugar-crazed ants. I panicked. I got angry and yelled bad words. I punched the steering wheel at how helpless I felt, then I drove home. It was a wasted trip. I felt stupid that I let my emotions get the best of me. Again, it happens. But I hate it.

Seasonal rhythms can explain some of this. I always get weird in August. There are many events tied to this time of year: my birthday, the anniversary of my deployment, memories of school years, and likely many other things I’ve yet to unpack. My wife recognized this cyclical depression long before I did. For as vulnerable as I often am within the confines of these articles, there’s still a deeper root of anguish I keep to myself. No one needs to know the electrical storm of doom that plays on repeat inside my head. It gets better. It always does. This too shall pass, as they say.

Order helps. Redoing my home office has provided a space that fosters my creativity. I spend countless hours in here each week. Between my day job and the hours spent afterward writing and doing other creative ventures, I practically live in this office. Decluttering this space and throwing a new coat of paint on the walls did a world of good for my mental health. It’s crazy to think such small things can make such a big difference.

Acknowledging those bad feelings and then moving past them helps, too. I realized once I got home from that circuitous trip to Mayberry that I was never in any real danger, but my brain couldn’t differentiate. The anxious storm within seems to strike whenever it feels like it, and often it’s in moments when I’ve been “fine” for a while. It catches me off guard. I’m better than this, I think to myself. I feel weakened by my inability to cope with whatever issue triggers the onslaught of emotions. It’s hard to alter the course in the midst, but I’m trying to make those adjustments as soon as I can afterward. I fear I may never be the man I ought to be, but I’m trying to be better than I was yesterday, and sometimes that’s all you can do.

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently living in Bethania, North Carolina with his wife Jess and their house full of animals. He split his time growing up between chasing wildlife and screaming on stages in hardcore bands you’ve never heard of. He has been published by Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and many others. He filmed and directed a documentary called “Hammer Down” about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in with Alpha Battery 5-113^th of the NC Army National Guard. You can find his books, collected works, and social media accounts at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.