There and Back Again

I've told you a bit about my self, but now let me dive a bit deeper. I want to paint a picture for you, this book as my canvas, to show you who I am and where I've come from. There is nothing all that special about me, as far as I'm aware, yet, like all of us, my life has been full of special experiences. Moments crafted, seemingly by the hand of god him (or her) self, for my evolution, my growth and ultimately culminating in this very moment.

My childhood was unique, yet rather normal. I was born into a middle class family in Atlanta, Georgia. My parents were loving and kind and gave me everything I needed ... I did not know desire, or craving or need until much later in life. Like many of us young people, my parents marriage crumbled and failed ... they split up when I was 7.

I don't remember it well, I don't think most due, but it was a time of turmoil as well as a rather concrete change. You see my father had been rather well employed at the time of my birth. He had worked for years with a large corporation and was paid well for his efforts. Then, a merger happened and my fathers rock solid career crumbled over night. It's strange how those things happen ... secure, confident and determined ... and then lost, nothing but a golden parachute and a polite reminder to empty out your office by Friday at 5pm.

He, fortunately, had experience with starting businesses and decided to try his hand at it ... on his own this time. After successfully creating a business with my mother as his partner he ended up losing, a rather significant amount of money. Credit card applications were quickly filled out, the eternal bank of unfettered lending opened it's womb and out spilled more and more capacity, more spending and more consumption. He had, unbeknownst to my mother at the time, leveraged her credit as well (you can see why the split up).

When the business wasn't able to make it's debt payments (kind of like our current government) my father filed for bankruptcy and then my life ... was over!

Ha! Just kidding, but it did create a strange schism in my development and this even stranger paradigm. We were able to keep the house, my mom made sure of that, so I found myself a poor kid living in a mansion. We got $100 once a year to go shopping, $50 in the fall and $50 in the spring. At TJ Maxx that can get you almost three outfits, it's surprising what a dollar can do when spent well.

And that was my childhood, growing up in a beautiful home, china in the cupboard but cup o noodles on the table. I knew nothing of it, fortunately (most likely this was actually for the worse. If my parents had divulged their financial well being, or lack of it, I most likely would have been better prepared for the world. Parents out there, your kids are smart! Treat them as such) and continued living my life as if nothing really had happened. Oh the emotional debts that I owed, only to be paid off later in life (but that's for another chapter)

I did well in school, lived as a normal teenager should, breaking some rules but not too many to seriously endanger my well being. After a few scares with the law I was "scared straight" ... ha! That's what they thought at least ... in actuality I just got better at not getting caught. But alas, my time as a child was coming to an end and I was ready, poised to take the next step in life, continuing to wallow in mediocrity at University instead of my parents house.

Now before we start this next chapter there is one thing I must address. It is my psyche, or a portion of it, that did not have the opportunity to develop properly. Maybe it was a lack of spending on my parents part, or perhaps a mineral deficiency at a young age, or maybe the tyrannical nature of my brother (he was older by a year and was always just that much better than me ... love ya bro) but for what ever reason, this sense of self, this "me-ness" that is me, never was able to satisfy itself with being enough, with being adequate. Sure there were times that I was proud, I won many competitions and acquired many awards, but when I wasn't winning this slow creep of dissatisfaction began once again. It was as if I had an oil leak in my vehicle, it drove fine I just had to keep topping it off. I was fortunate, as many young people are, to be better than just about everyone in my small community. There I would rule! There I would be king! There people, those ever present and ever necessary in life, would tell me that yes, I am worthy of love, yes I am worthy of existing. My existential dread of not being good enough was covered well enough with report cards and gold (sometimes silver) medals.

Oh if only I had known what was to come.

I think many smart people have this same experience (or successful in any manner). We excel in our small town, are constantly praised and rewarded for our talents (god given or acquired through effort), and then, as we grow older and enter into vaster and more competitive arenas we see, truthfully, that yes, there are other people who are also quite competent.

I was fortunate to not be ambitious enough to find myself at a prestigious university but even at my school I was constantly bombarded by the fact that I was no longer the best, no longer the smartest, no longer the best looking and definitely, no longer the most athletic.

I had found refuge in Ultimate Frisbee -- a rather obscure sport that offered my a safe haven. Frisbee was not popular enough to attract the most dominant of athletes (primarily because it didn't pay anything) so it gave me the perfect breeding grounds for my ego. As a strong athlete I was able to dominate, forcing my will upon those around me with relative ease. I continued to grow and continued to tell myself that yes, as long as I was still better than most people at this random, obscure sport that it was also true that my life had meaning, my actions had purpose and that yes, I was worthy of consuming the food, water and oxygen that I needed to survive.

I would walk the streets of Athens, where I was in school, demanding recognition for my feats. I can beat you all in Frisbee I would tell myself, why don't you recognize me! Why don't you love me?

This charade went on for a while. I was told by my team mates how great I was. I even had obscure beat reporters write about me as a young man. Ahh how my ego loved it. To be told you are great at a young age, how wonderful ... and how dangerous.

But, like anything, what comes up must also come back down. My demise came quickly and I NEVER saw it coming.

There were too main parts. It first began with an awakening. Mine was rather crude, yet still immensely beautiful. I was at a concert at the famous Georgia Theater. A band, Big Gigantic, was playing that evening. I loved their music, adored the musicians who made it and courageously decided to trip bawls that evening. I had one tab already digesting and another ready in case the tsunami that was my consciousness did not have enough momentum. The night had begun.

Now, that evening was no special evening, yet as all of you who have eaten the forbidden fruit must know, each and every moment is quite special on it's own whenever we remember how unique and special it truly is.

That evening was no different. Standing, back to back with other seeking their own poison or purification, I stood, waiting for my gods, my heroes, to enter the stage. There was one headliner ... a young man, venturing on his own into the foray that is a venue in a college town. He was nervous, my amplified senses picked up on this instantly, and like so many of us, simply wanted approval. He was a chef with the wrong ingredients, putting dashes of spices in at the wrong time and ultimately adding too much salt to a dish that needed none at all... the crowd despised him.

They too had came to be wooed, to be seduced by the wonderful music of big G and this man was ruining their vibe. What began polite quickly turned hostile, the crowd began to boo this man. Trapped by the predetermined number of songs he was obligated to play he fought between his ever present desire to be accepted, to be seen, to be loved and this primal terror that was building. The crowd hated him and he knew it. He needed their love and they would not listen.

In that moment, between one untimely played riff and another I made a decision. This man has done nothing wrong, he was simply doing his best in a moment where his best was not enough. If anyone was to blame it was the manager who hired him to play his act with such a wonderful group following behind. But that is besides the point, at that moment I decided that I would do my best to support everyone and anyone in their attempts to live, to be, to create. If someone has the courage to stand up on stage in front of hundreds of ravenous, drug fueled fans wearing thick armor of alcohol and ignorance than I would do my best to support them. They didn't have to be good, they didn't even have to entertain me, but I would do my best to share my love either way.

So, in the midst of that frantic and frustrated crowd I began to pray. As you acid head and shroom saints know prayer is a powerful force... I saw my love, the energy that I had in my control flow from me, through me, past weathered faces and brand new jackets, dancing with the off key notes that this man was producing and mingling with his own terror, the sweat dripping from his pain riddled face, sitting their with him and telling him, you are ok, you are loved, you are appreciated.

That moment came and went. The set ended, Big G arrived and began to rock all of our faces for the rest of the night. But, even with the insanity that was that evening one thing stuck with me. What would happen if I truly did support everyone? What if I showed love to everyone around me? What if I stopped judging, what if I stopped being judged?

That next morning, when I awoke, I set out on a mission. To become a master of love. To recreate myself as a Buddha, as a saint, a missionary of good vibes and acceptance. I decided, from that moment on, to accept and love everyone as they are.

Fortunately for me I had the luxury of being a college student. My classes, irrelevant and undemanding, took no time from my pursuits. My aim was simple. To eradicate all semblance of fear from my mind and replace it with love, acceptance and gratitude. I spent hours and hours meditating. In my free time I would read the words of mystics and in between those moments I would sit in nature. My progression was rapid, changes in my mind occurred quickly and my experiential state was vastly altered. I went from being a college student to monk within the course of a few weeks ... my life, as I knew it, had ended.

** Aside : one thing that I have not mentioned that is infinitely relevant is that, earlier that fall, I had sustained a serious head injury. Playing sport I acquired a concussion in exchange for my sense of self. I remember (ironically) that I had forgotten who I was, so I could become anyone who I wanted to be. I think, this reformatting (and deletion) of my sense of self is what allowed me to recreate my mental state and perceptual state so quickly. Those of us without brain injuries (how I define myself now) need to take more time, or more effort, or sometimes more drugs (set and setting people) to elicit a similar effect.

I was riding a wave of existence, I had no foundation, I had built a skyscraper on a single thought, and ultimately, it came crashing down.

I spent the better part of a month in nirvana. This state, classified by many, is the experience of true bliss. To know that you know nothing, to know that you need nothing, to know that you are truly loved and accepted, completely, is a wonderful thing. I shared my love with everyone and everything and in turn was loved. My life was bliss.

Yet to my friends and family, my life was in disarray. I stopped going to classes, I neglected my responsibilities, I sacrificed my predetermined "future". My friends and family were desperate to get me, this person they knew, back and decided to intervene.

Ultimately I found myself in a mental hospital. At the request of my parents I sought the advise of a mental health physician (fuck those people). During our first meeting (aka the day of imprisonment) I was feeling a bit mischievous and decided to match my intellect and knowledge of the psyche against that of the psychiatrist who was assigned to my case. He quickly, without hesitation, labeled me insane and had me imprisoned in his castle, his refuge.

I did not know this at the time that I walked into that building but you can actually have your rights taken away if people think you're crazy. Medical professionals or even family members can actually label you as insane imprison you. Why don't they tell you this!? I would have been much more polite to such a powerful man.

Oh well, my vacation to hell had begun and I did not even know it. I quickly began trying to figure out how to convince these people that I was sane and make my way back to my luxurious and blissful life ... only to be caught off guard and astounded. When someone labels you crazy, everything you do is crazy.

I spoke with the nurse "What do I need to do so that they can see that I am sane and stable so I can leave?" ... and they heard, "jesus Rogers, this insane guy thinks he is sane. Isn't that wild".

I won't droll on too long about the audacity of the mental health system in the United States (I know nothing of how it's done (imprisonment of the eccentric) in other countries) but I will tell you the outcome. While I was there I was forced to take various psychiatric medication. If you don't take the drugs, you don't leave I quickly found out. Anti-psychotic, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, mood stabilizer, tranquilizer ... these were some of the "terms" thrown at me. It's strange, when you nullify most components of your mind you are left without much mind at all. It's as if I was living in a castle but had been forced to stay in one room. I could still do basic arithmetic but that was about it. I had been gifted with a formula one racer (thanks mom and dad) but they forced me to drive at 10 miles an hour on the go kart track. I did not like it.

I played their game, I found a way through the maze and a week later I was out. I had returned to heaven, returned to sanity and peace and was ready to continue my journey of meditation sans medication and transcend my way into eternity ... yet there was one thing that held me back.

I WAS FUCKING ANGRY!

I was angry at my parents for abandoning me, angry at my friend for reaching out to them behind my back, angry at society for letting something as fucked as the modern health care system exist, angry at that doctor for being such a punk bitch that one joke caused him to imprison me. The lightness with which I had walked the earth a week earlier was gone. I was imprisoned now by my own anger and pain. It had been locked away, the key thrown into the ocean and no longer could I sore through the skies with bliss and ease.
I did not want another concussion, so this time I would have to deal with my pain and dissatisfaction the normal way (do you see where this is starting to go?)

For a very long time I was angry, hurt and embittered. I had solved the equation of life. I had discovered bliss and knew how to stay there, and in my mind, I had had it all ripped away from me. I knew that I was divine, I knew that I was destined for peace and happiness and I knew that it was someone else's fault that I was now no longer there.

Now I know this started with me being a stereotypical young jock and I promise I will return to that tale, but first let me say something very important.

If you are having issues with your mental health, you must do something about it. No one will be your savior, no one will do the work for you. There are many out there ready and willing to help, but you must first ask and make an effort. We are here for you, we are waiting excitedly for you to begin your healing, but ultimately you must take each and every step.

Enough with the caring and compassion and back to my story! Ha for in this moment it is about me and that is something I relish. If you are jealous, write a book about yourself and you will have the same experience.

So now, the year ended, I had been to hell and back, forgotten who I was, discovered a new me along with many other fantastical things and then I was deposited, roughly back into my place as a young adult in a large state University.

What the FUCK was I supposed to do next?
I was still on my Frisbee team at the time but how could I convince myself to exert myself, to struggle and suffer for a piece of plastic when I had been divine, when I had been at peace with everything? Ultimately, I couldn't. My performance decreased and with it so did my confidence. This shell, this armor I had worn for so long, began to be brittle and crack. I was no longer Hayden Hartline, athlete extraordinaire, I was simple Hayden, depressed, moody and less capable. I began my fall from the heights.

The next summer I had a moment, or many of peace. I decided to ride my bike from Georgia to Michigan, stopping along the way in Indiana where my brother was working. It was a spirit quest for me ... a reawakening of the soul, a gentle reminder that life is good. Over the course of two months I spent just about every moment riding my bike, smoking a lot of weed, devouring countless tasty meals and just enjoying myself. Once again peace returned, once again I found my divinity.

That summer ended and I returned to school. I had just changed majors and I found myself as a fourth year sitting in massive seminars with prepubescent freshman just out of high school ... it was an insolvable equation ... I dropped out after 2 weeks. I spent the better part of that fall selling weed, making grand plans to travel the world, and ultimately, what I see now, as healing. My heart had been wounded in that mental hospital. While in nature I could be at peace, wounded and whole at the same time, but in the fast paced modern world I could not take the turbulence and wrapped myself in a protective cocoon of marijuana and gentle stimulation.

I came very close to not returning to school. I had no desire to be there and no intention of using any degree. My plan was simple. The previous summer I had ridden South to North across the country. This next spring, as soon as the frost broke I would ride East to West. I needed nothing, just a bit of food here and there, and ultimately peace and salvation would be mine once more. I knew the recipe for happiness and I wasn't interested in looking at the menu any longer.

Contrary to my expectations my parents were able to convince me to return to school in the spring. "Just get your degree they would say", "it will be worth it in the long run". So, against my better judgement (once more) I submitted to their will and began to walk someone else's path once again.

I promptly, like right on time within a moment of my return to "normal life" blew the FUCK out of my knee. One stolen pass lead to an easy lay up and the only thing between me and becoming a jock once more was a frustrated college student who couldn't play D1 ball. He was mad I stole his pass and he was going to make me pay ... seems that he did but ultimately my parents footed the bill. That was it, I had been kicked off my Frisbee team (prior, not post ACL sacrifice), I was "crippled" and could no longer be the person I dreamt of, Hayden Fletcher Hartline, athlete. My life, as I knew it, was over.

And that, for the sake of your time, and my own (Jesus I feel like carpal tunnel is creeping on to my horizon) is all you need to know of my upbringing. The important part is this. I grew up with a strong sense of identity as an athlete, as a smart person, as someone who had a "future", and through a serious of fortunate (these things happen for you, not to you) I lost it all. Only through losing these things could I see they were not me. Only through losing these things was I forced, and guided, to discover who I truly was. My life as an athlete had ended, my life as a human being was just beginning. Thank you basketball man who took my ACL, thank you rampant overuse of pharmacology in psychiatry who took my bliss, thank you strange, under skilled DJ who took my anger and judgement. This was my true education, these were my true teachers, without them I would not have learned these lessons, without them I would not have learned these skills, without them I would not be able to teach YOU how to love yourself.