Moral of this entry: Don't be a dingus. Ask for help, and you WILL receive it. Will it be in the form of an angelic Aquaman? Who knows! There is only one way to find out.

And so it begins...

Hey world.

The last few weeks have not been the greatest. Scratch that. They have stunk. The summer holiday stretch never is kind for folks like little ol' me who work in the literary guardianship field. Also known by the regular wordage as Librarian.

Being someone who lives with a chronic conditions (or three if I am being honest here), this means there is bound to be a flare-up or five at some point. Because Summer + Overworked (understaffed) x Rampaging Hordes of Hyperactive Children = Burnout.

This year it came early.

Ugh. I loathe summer. Bring on winter. Bring on the white walkers. I can hold the Wall.

What I cannot do is survive three months of sunshine in one piece. Mentally and physically. It happens every year but this time things took a wrong turn and headed south.

Last week I spiraled into what I call the "Long Dark of Moria". That endless shadowy place in a person's head where sleep is little more than a few hours at best and it physically hurts to even consider lifting a frying pan to make food. Boiling an egg feels like attempting Mount Everest.

Close friends are kept at a distance because you do not want to infect them with whatever it is you have. Like the plague victims of old you feel contagious and should be quarantined. It's better for everyone this way. After all, it's not their fault you are like this. They have their own battles to fight, not be subjected to dealing with your basket of crazy muffins that came out a little burnt on the edges.

Then there is the family. Ohhh boy. What a collection of insanity that is. Instead of telling them the truth, you automatically lie. It is easier for everyone that way. Sorry Mom and Dad, can't go on that weekend family trip to New York anymore because work called and said I was being shipped off to a super special book conference. Somewhere far enough away that it sounds legit but not too far so that they worry and call you sixteen times in three hours. They don't need to know that the real reason you can't go is because your health care provider gave you a travel ban for the next two months until you pull yourself back together or the new meds finally kick in.

Living becomes just a state of existing from day to day. But you step into your public self every morning, put on your costume, do your hair and make-up, and get on stage to perform your role and hope that you are a good enough actor that the world cannot see past the professional stage persona. After all you are fine. Just a little tired from lack of sleep. Just a little moody. Just stressed. Yeah, blame it on the stress.

Is it that time of the month already?

Raw cucumbers and a handful of easy to handle fruit are in fact a healthy diet...morning noon and night when you remember to eat if at all. After all it is the latest health kick fad right? You are fine. Just overworked. Like everybody else. Who are you to complain? Pffffft! Dramatic much?

Everybody must deal with the pain and the stress and the fear and the hate in their heads just like you. Think that you are the only one with depression? Oh please. Anxiety is the new social norm for crying out loud. Just suck it up buttercup and keep on trucking. Everybody is in the same boat so readjust your grip on the galley oar and keep on rowing with the rest.

Such is life, so deal with it. Am I right?

I hate this.

Why? Because it's the truth?

No. That is your truth. The one you spin with clever little fingers into a web of lies. Because that is not life. No matter how many creative ways you try to paint it in a different light. Life is better than that. It has to be.

Last week I hit The Wall.

I crashed. I did not burn however. I bounced.

Still not sure which is worse.

By now I am an old pro at this. It has been, what, fifteen years? I know the signs. Wash, rinse, spin cycle, and repeat. My body on the other hand had other ideas. I did not listen to what felt like every atom of my being screamed at me from every direction. I ignored it all. Just went through a costume change and stepped back into the role. I may be one hell of an actor on a daily basis but let's face it.

Sometimes I can be the world's largest idiot.

If I were a comic book character my alias would be "Captain Oblivious".

So, where does Jason Momoa come into all of this?

Sunday night my body "Noped" hard on me, with a capital N for "Not Going to Happen".

Full stop, emergency brake engaged. If I was not going to listen to what it was trying to tell me then it was going to make me learn the hard way. Red Alert, shields at 50%, Captain Picard demanding a status report and somewhere in the ether Han Solo was muttering that he had a bad feeling about this.

Completely done I had to lay on the kitchen floor with Lou, my black oversized furry cat protector, on my chest trying his fluffy best to get me to regulate my breathing through what had to be the fifth panic attack of that day.

That was when it happened. I threw in the towel and asked for help from the Big Guy Upstairs.

Out loud.

Enough of this shit. I need help. Serious help. I'm in trouble. Is anyone out there?  Anyone know the direct line to The Boss Hoss? Hello God, it's me...that weirdo fruit bat with the...

Cue in Aquaman, in all his majestically long-haired bearded tattooed glory.

My mind is a fascinating place of boundless creative shenanigans. Whenever I go into a meditative trance mode, I see shit. Intense shit. Sometimes even visionary prophetic shit. Heck, I can get warnings from the other side if I am not careful.

So when the Bearded Wonder Bro showed up, shirtless, surrounded by some serious emerald and gold lighting effects in my mind's eye, I took notice. I mean, how can you not? It's a shirtless Jason Momoa!

His hair was fantastic.

Bearded Wonder Bro: You called?

Me: Whaaaaaaaaa????

Bearded Wonder Bro: Sup!

Me: WTF?!?!? Jason Momoa? Why the hell are you here?

Bearded Wonder Bro: Jason? (Looks down at his bare arms) Oh, him. Yeah, I'm not Jason.

Me: HUH?!? Who are you?

Bearded Wonder Bro: Who do you think? (Smirks) I'll give you one guess.

Me: I know my brain is broken but come on. Twenty questions? Really?

Bearded Wonder Bro: (Laughs in that deep head back kind of way) You're not broken, not yet anyway. I'm here to help. Spirit guardian. Angel. Guide from the Other Side. Whatever you want to call it. You asked and I came. About time too.

Me: My guardian angel looks like Aquaman? Seriously?

Bearded Wonder Bro: (Does that squint-eyed side-grin) I figured I'd get your undivided attention if I showed up like this. I don't actually look like this by the way.

Me: Pity. Suits you.

Bearded Wonder Bro: Totally digging the tattoos though. I get it. But you, would you actually listen if I didn't look like this? (Points to the beard)

Me: Dammit.

Bearded Wonder Bro: I'm always right you know.

Me: Thanks for coming then. So, how do we fix this?

Bearded Wonder Bro: "We" don't. You do. Go see a doctor. Tomorrow.

Me: I work tomorrow. I don't need to see another doctor, again, to tell me what I already know, again.

Bearded Wonder Bro: Shut up. You're in bad shape. You need help. I'm telling you to go get it. Tomorrow. Doctors. You know it. I know it. Cut the crap and do it already. You should have seen one days ago. You're really freakin' stubborn you know.

Me: Oh yeah. It's genetic.

Bearded Wonder Bro: I mean it. (Scowls and crosses arms)

(Have you ever noticed that whenever Jason Momoa scowls that scar through his left eyebrow becomes mesmerizing? More so than his pecs? Anyways, back to the story...)

Me: Fine. I'll go. Before work. I'll go! Happy?

Bearded Wonder Bro: Take the day off.

Me: WHAT!

Bearded Wonder Bro: Call it in. Take it off. Do it. Get help. You'll thank me later.

Me: ... (About to let loose an unending barrage of work-related excuses that get instantly cut off before anything can be said)

Bearded Wonder Bro: That's a direct order from the Big Guy. I'm telling you, don't piss this away. I wouldn't be here if you didn't need my help and this is me helping you. So do it and I'll check in later.

Me: Will you be like this? I mean, next time?

Bearded Wonder Bro: You'd like that wouldn't you?

Me: (Gives the Arched Eyebrow of ORLY)

Bearded Wonder Bro: Who knows. I might. Maybe I'll be Betty White. She's pretty badass. Just because I don't show myself doesn't mean...

Me: You're always around. I know the story.

Bearded Wonder Bro: Snarky much?

Me: It's been a long three weeks.

Bearded Wonder Bro: You're telling me. Try sending messages and never getting a response. Or just flat-out ignored. Every time.

Me: You know, you're not the first person to tell me that.

Bearded Wonder Bro: Call your parents too. They're driving me crazy.

(The light show starts to really kick off with the green and the gold auras swirling around)

Me: But what do I call you! What's your name?

Bearded Wonder Bro: (Smiles and shakes his head) You gotta find that out on your own. I'm not making it that easy.

Me: Figures. Wait! I gotta ask. Wings? Do you have them? I can see them?

Bearded Wonder Bro: What do you think this is? (Lifts his palms and the green/gold lights go super nova)

Lou smacked me in the face with a large paw and snapped me out of it. What felt like time had ceased to exist was a good hour of being in the zone. To quote the great Keanu: "Whoa!"

I took Bearded Wonder Bro's words to heart and called in sick the next day. Upon getting my ass into the doctor's office, I was seen straight away. Which is odd because I am that person that always ends up having to wait for close to an hour just to get one foot in the waiting room. The doctor took one look at me, asked the right question, and the next thing I know I break down into a serious crying jag. Took out a box of Kleenex in the process but when it was all said and down I was told I had to take a week off work to get my shit together, go talk to a number of therapists/specialists, and look into new meds.

That was Monday.

Five days (and a number of visits to various medical professionals) later, I am better than I was. Still not functioning at peak levels and will not be for a while. But food is now a daily thing that I am enjoying again. Sleep could always be better. None of this would have happened if I had not had asked for help.

And paid attention when it showed up.

I think it is safe to say that one of my spirit guides happens to be a bearded tattooed member of the Angel League: Guardian Force. I will call him Bearded Wonder Bro until I can figure out what his actual name is. How? No idea as of yet. But I am working on it.