This is a public service announcement, this is only a test, emergency evacuation protest-Green Day

When I can’t think of a title for article, I just write the song lyric I just heard.That came from Warning by green day.

It was that line that gave me an idea. For the last however long I’ve been trying to convince my counterparts to move across country from New Hampshire and Toledo to live with me in Seattle. This is easy for me to say, because I’ve moved so many times in the last three years. To give example of this, I’ve lived on the East Coast the West Coast and the Midwest this year alone. 

I’ve made a habit of staying in one place for about three months, moving somewhere else, going back to that first place moving somewhere else after three months again, and so on and so forth. 

This lifestyle was great for the first two years. I had spent the first 20 years of my life living in Michigan, the house I grew up in was my fathers childhood home, and subsequently my grandparents house before I moved in when I was seven. so essentially I live in the same place my entire life.

This lifestyle can also get very old, very quickly. It’s lonely living on the road. It’s a simple as that. When you’re only somewhere for three months you can’t cultivate friendships, you can’t get into a routine, you can’t really do anything because it’s only short-term. 

At this point I’ve been here for four months. I work two jobs in my field starting my career I have business plans I’m working out

I know I’m going to be in Seattle for a couple years. My parents just moved to the Pacific Northwest my sister lives down the hall from me I have a good job that’s in my field. I have no reason to go anywhere, and the feeling is amazing.

It’s strange though, since moving here my life is changed drastically. And I’m not as upset or angry at everything anymore. If you were to ask Ted how to describe me he would say the angriest person alive, I can’t really blame him. 

I have a perfect example of this. A week or so ago I run article about how much I hate Christmas. I still don’t love Christmas but in that time I’ve met some people, now have some friends, I’m going out little bit and actually having a life and now I’m hosting a Christmas party. 

And no, I’m not doing this because of a girl. The girl who is organizing this party I’m hosting is married.

So, all my friends, I have to say, move. If you’re not happy with your life, then leave. Keep moving until it all feels right.

I apologize for my absence 

As we all know, the three of us are battle depression or some kind of mental issue.

My colleagues are better about opening up than I am. I’ll open up to them, but they’ve also seen me at my worse, on multiple occasions. 

The past week or so I’ve been in my head a lot and I’ve been battling a question, something that I assume most people don’t about, or don’t think about often.

I don’t like the holidays. October 31st-January 2nd, don’t be near me. I’ll be the first one to admit I’m a Grinch. (Side note: I also hate that someone who doesn’t like the Holiday season is nick named a Christmas character) Halloween was ruined by a traumatic experience a few years back and don’t get me started on thanksgiving and Christmas. Both holidays revolve around family, something that I’ve struggled with my entire life.

During this time of year my normal ritual is simple. Be so high that I don’t know what my name is. Usually that works, but as I get older the less effective that method becomes, And this year….nope not working.

So this is what changed.  

Jeff Lark is my father, Donna Lark-Weiner is my mother

For the first time in my life my family headquarters isn’t going to be in the small town in rural Michigan that I hated with a passion. I’m not going to be sent back to negative temperatures and a house full of negative and traumatic memories.

In other words I’m happy. Or I think I am. Or I’m on my way to being happy. I don’t know what’s going on or how I feel.

To make a long story short I’ve had a hard life. School and I never worked, family wasn’t a thing, I’ve always been really sick and my heart is an idiot, to say the least. There’s a hole in trying to fill, but that’s for another time. 

I’m going through a change and I think it’ll be for the best.

Wait this dude had a problem…

Yeah who would have ever guessed that the guy in the joker/Bowie make-up years after the fact would have a drinking problem. Shocker.

But all joking aside, I couldn’t be prouder of the man to whom I call my brother. 

Ted has had a hard few years, but his life is on the up and up. Today starts a new chapter for him.

Like I’ve said before here, he’s my partner in crime, creativity and lyphe.

Here’s to a new life, new beginnings and dreams becoming goals. You can do anything you put your mind too. This man is proof. 

Peace and love to everyone. 

I Had My First Panic Attack

Having a panic disorder sucks more than you think. Especially when you aren’t exactly sure what is happening to you. It is an indescribable feeling truly, yet here I am attempting to spell it out for you. Because it is a condition that isn’t something you can see, some people (myself included at one point) didn’t think it existed. It’s more than nerves, it’s more than being stressed, it’s more than being scared. It’s a creeping, physical feeling where you think something absolutely awful is going to happen. Either someone or something dreadful will “get” you in some manner. It’s painful, terrifying, and extremely real. I remember it so vividly.

Starting when I was about seven years old, my summers were spent in the Fort Greene area of Brooklyn, New York where my father had a rather large upper-part of a brownstone. He worked nights at the famous Village Vanguard jazz club so his days were, of course, deemed for sleeping. When you’re seven years old, that shit don’t fly. Luckily, next door was a wonderful black woman and her two daughters, one around nine and one in her late teens at the time. The mother, who we will call “Miss Viv” was a teacher, so her summers were free. Her youngest daughter (who we’ll call “Kenya”) and I were thick as thieves from the get-go.

Eventually, I ended up practically living there, sleeping on a pullout mattress in Kenya’s room. Since Kenya was a bit older, that meant of course she was contractually obligated to torture me a little bit. Scare the shit out of me at every opportunity. And, I was a fucking scaredy-cat in every sense of the word. One night when I was 11, and she was maybe 14 or 15 , the trailer for the 2005 Rob Zombie movie “The Devil’s Rejects” came on the TV. The operative word was “trailer”. That shit scared me to my fucking bones. I had never, ever been so disturbed in my life, and I didn’t even know why. Horror movies still to this day petrify me but this did something to my psyche. Since I slept in her room, it was her domain and she wasn’t scared of the dark. I WAS. (Side note: before you call me a pussy, yes, I agree in retrospect as a 22-year-old but I was a naïve child with naïve child-like thoughts. So bugger off) And I think the combined stress of being away from home, being in the dark, harboring a deep-seated fear of my father, and the loneliness I felt very often culminated that night and I had a panic attack. I could not breathe. I could not even cry. I shook in the fetal position so violently; Kenya called her mom into the room. I couldn’t even explain how afraid I was or what was wrong. It must have been intense because my dad had to come from Manhattan to Brooklyn and back at past midnight. Oh, the perks of being a parent.

In retrospect, it wasn’t that bad but I was still really terrified. Panic disorders are extremely real and opened a door to a mental illness I didn’t want to accept I had. I got addicted to the medication prescribed to manage it and now I’m struggling to live a clean life while managing everyday stresses that make life possible. So Godspeed to everyone out there who has this condition. We’ll chill out eventually.