Reintroducing myself to myself

I woke up this morning (as I proofread this, I have the Soprano's theme song playing in my head) needing to go to the bathroom. Not a shocker there. It is the price you pay for getting old.

I had every intention of going back to bed after doing my business. I didn't even brush my teeth. When I got back to my cozy bed, and tucked myself under my warm blankets, I decided to filter through my emails and texts on my phone to delete things I didn't need. Yes, I delete things.

As I was checking my texts, I saw a text, which I had missed, reminding me of an appointment with my psychiatric nurse practitioner, Dr. Mike. The appointment was for today at 9:00. I checked the current time. It was now 8:15. It takes me a half hour to get to the doctor's office.

Shit!!! How did I forget about the appointment and how did I miss this text?

The answer to the first part of the question was easy. I never put my appointments in my phone or my calendar. At the end of my session, I check out at the front desk. I'll tell the receptionist that Dr. Mike wants to see me again in four weeks.

OK, does [fill in a date] work for you? How about [fill in the time]?

Yeah, sure.

If I am feeling a little frisky that day, I will make some kind of a standard joke/comment that I believe I am free that day. I, especially, like doing that when the receptionist is making an appointment for a year from now.

How does November 16, 2025 at 11 a.m. work for you?

I'm sorry, what day of the week is that?

It's a Wednesday?

Hmmmm. Let me check my calendar.

One hundred percent of the time the receptionist won't even crack a smile and will just reply, "Sure," and turn their attention to something else while I, supposedly, check my calendar to see if I have anything planned for twelve months from now.

I'm free. That works.

Nothing. No smile or giggle, but that's ok. I am all about amusing myself.

The second part of the above question to myself about how did I miss the text reminding of me of my appointment was not a complete surprise, either. I have a bit of PTSD when it comes to texts. Having been a manager at a restaurant for over twenty years, I was constantly bombarded, on a daily basis, by texts from workers, other managers, supervisors, or owners 24/7.

It was really bad when I became the general manager of my store ten years ago. I would always be scheduled for a nine-hour shift at the store, usually starting at 7 a.m. The store would open at 5 a.m. and, at least once or twice per week, I would get a text from my opening manager around that time saying that there was a problem with the computer freezing up while opening the system or some employee hadn't showed up for their opening shift.

Once I got home from work, I might be enjoying a night out or just sitting, relaxing, watching TV and I'd get a text from my supervisor, bitching at me, "How come the dinner service times at your store are so bad? Why are the dinner sales down so much? Make sure your nighttime manager is cutting labor."

Then it might be midnight and I'd get a text from my closing manager complaining there is no hot water at the back sink or that one of the drawers was coming up $50 short.

So, yeah, I grew to hate texts. Ninety percent of the time when I heard the text notification sound, it was bad news, Hell, my brother even texted me when my sister-in-law died five years ago, unexpectedly.

Hey, don't tell mom and dad yet, but Ana died.

Seriously? That's how you are going to tell me? I hear the notification sound on my phone while I am probably chomping on some popcorn while enjoying a movie while laying on my couch, and look down at my phone, thinking nothing of it, and read that my beloved sister-in-law is dead. Period, end of story. Thank God he didn't include a sad face emoji.

So ever since I stopped working I keep my phone on silent. I'll check my phone when I feel like it and hope that when I do check it that I don't find out anyone is dead.

Even my life partner, Erin, will hit me with bad news regarding celebrity deaths via text sometimes

Hey, did you hear Michael Jackson died?

I refuse to be a slave to my phone. Erin must be the world record holder for quickest response time to a text notification. We could be in the middle of the countdown to New Year's, holding our fake champagne glasses, listening to Ryan Seacrest, "Ten, nine, eight, seven."

[beep, beep]

She will, immediately, put down her glass and check her phone. Maybe it is her mother!

Maybe I exaggerate, but not by much. The point is she will drop everything she is doing and check her phone right away when she gets a message.

That's why it amazes her when, on the rare occasions I do not have my phone set to silent, she sees me have no reaction when my phone goes off. I make a point of it. I will, purposefully, not make a move for my phone for five, ten, fifteen minutes, just because I know it is driving her batty.

Aren't you going to check your phone?

I refuse to be a slave to it. I refuse. So that's why it is not too much of a surprise I missed the text.

So, reluctantly, I scurried to get ready. For a minute I debated calling the doctor's office to switch the appointment from in-person to telehealth. I checked Alexa to see what the temperature was outside.

It is currently thirty degrees. Today, expect cloudy skies with a high of thirty-six degrees.

Just lovely. Oh well, I hadn't had a Dunkin' iced coffee all week. To be honest, I hadn't even left the house the last three days. I figured it would do me some good to get out for a bit.

Once I got on the road, it didn't take me long to realize I had forgotten to take my morning Adderall. This happens often. As a matter of fact, as I am typing this at noontime, I realize I still haven't taken it. Excuse me for a second...

OK, I'm back. It shouldn't take long for it to kick in so this article should get better and more focused.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, forgetting to take my Adderall in the morning. Dr. Mike has had me try a lot of the most commonly effective antidepressant meds – Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Vilazodone, Bupropion – to try to get me out of my funk. None have worked.

The only one that I feel has helped me is Adderall. It doesn't change my outlook on life or make me feel euphoric, but it does seem to perk me up a little and give me more energy. I no longer need two naps during the day, so that is a good thing.

So when I forget to take it, my body tends to remind me very quickly. Unfortunately, a lot of times, like today, my body reminds me too late. I am already out and about. I have thought about keeping a couple of pills in my car.

As I am driving, I can already tell this is not a good mental day for me, maybe even worse than usual. Everything looks drab and gray to me. Things seem to be happening in slow motion. I feel like I am on a safari or carnival ride, slowly riding along the tracks, and watching life just drifting by my car windows.

I get to Dr. Mike's office a few minutes late and I am surprised when he comes out to get me as soon as I check in. Usually, I have to sit in the waiting room for ten or fifteen minutes and listen to the receptionist hum along with some of the 80's pop music that is usually playing through the speakers on the ceiling.

I notice Dr. Mike takes me to a different room and I, of course, point it out to him.

Oh, I don't usually see you in this room?

No, you don't. We always use the room next door.

It is already bothering me that the couch I am sitting on doesn't face the same way as the other one. There aren't as many pillows for me to fumble around with. Dr. Mike is sitting at a different angle from me. The lighting is a little brighter in this room.

How are you today?

That is a loaded question. I don't know how to answer. Honestly, I haven't had time to assess that question yet. I must have rambled for a good ten minutes about the holidays, seasonal depression, financial pressures, my ongoing disability case.

When I talk a lot, I do feel that sometimes something profound comes out. At least, it is profound to me. As soon as I said it, it got me thinking that I have to write an article about this as soon as I get home. Here is an abbreviated version of the realization I had and the "wisdom" that popped into my brain and, immediately, came out my mouth.

To answer your original question of how am I doing today, I must say, 'I don't know yet.' I, literally, just woke up about an hour ago. You see, Dr. Mike, I don't know - when I wake up each day - how I am going to feel that particular day. I don't know who I am every day when I wake up. It is a surprise to me each and every day.

"Hello. Who are you today?"

Every day I wake up, I have to reintroduce myself to myself.

[I am sure I paused at this moment and thought to myself, "Wow, that is good."]

There is no rhyme or reason for it. I, literally, find myself talking to myself and asking myself,

"Who are we today? Is this the happy-go-lucky Tony? Is this the grateful-to-be-alive Tony? Is this the I-miss-my-mother-badly Tony? Is this the why-am-I-on-this-earth Tony?"

There are many variations of myself that I have met and I have become well acquainted with. They are the ones I spend the majority of my days with. But there are also some variations of myself that I haven't met yet. I think that is what I am dealing with today. I don't know who I am dealing with today. I don't know this person. Why are they in my body?

And I think that is the struggle. I have often said that the Old Tony died when my mother did on March 30, 2021. That Tony didn't have a care in the world. He was calm and reserved. He joked a lot. Nothing bothered him. He was making good money and his life was a routine. That routine was definitely a grind, but it was one that he was used to doing for thirty years. Not even those 24/7 texts really bothered the Old Tony.

Then my mother died.

I tend to view my life now similar to how people view the modern day calendar as A.D. or B.C.

Julius Caesar, for example, died in 44 B.C. That means he died 44 years before Christ was born. We are, currently, in the year 2024. That means that we live in a world 2024 years after Christ was, supposedly, born.

In my world and on MY calendar, I am approaching the year 4 A.M. That could stand for "After Mom" or "After Maria" (her name). Everything that happened before March 30, 2021, I consider to be B.M. (Before Mom died).

So when I think back on my life B.M., it feels like a different life. B.M., I put up with a lot more. I was more naive. I believed my owners and supervisors – at the company I had been loyal to for thirty years – respected all the hard work and extra time I put in. I thought, in the end, I would be rewarded with raises and awards and that I would be showered with accolades everywhere I went.

B.M. I believed in the inherent good of people. I gave to every charity that called me at home, interrupting my dinnertime, and I would stop and pull over and give to every homeless person I saw on the street corner. I believed life rewarded good people by giving good karma in return.

After mother's death, though, I question everything. Now I think everyone has ulterior motives. Now, I view most everyone as selfish and that they only care about themselves. I believe a majority of the population is, quite frankly, evil and that they have hate and envy in their hearts.

Yes, I view the election of Donald Trump as leader of the free world as validation of this belief.

It is not a good headspace to be in. Come to think of it, things have been exacerbated since the election, but I have already written about that.

So, yes, I am sorry Dr. Mike had to see whatever version of Tony I am today. I acknowledged that to him and I apologized. I asked him not to overreact. I wasn't going to harm myself.

I told him the Tony he saw before him today might not be the same Tony he might see tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that.

Fortunately, for him, he only needs to see me once every four weeks – if I am free that day. I, on the other hand, have to reintroduce myself to myself every day.