I’ve never seen anyone dying before. With all his ailments and increasing frailty, I suppose I’ve been seeing him dying for weeks. In the last moments I got to see him, he was like a skeleton just learning to breathe.

The weirdest part was that, next to his death bed, I didn’t have anything to say. The truth is that I felt more sadness for my family than I did for him. Whenever I’d look at him, what I felt most was envy. Not that I would have traded places with him in that moment, but I hoped that when it’s my time to go, that’d the kind of ending I’d want.

He seemed like a good man and that night in the hospice was the net result of his good life. The man was 87 years old, sleeping at peace, pumped full of opiates, and surrounded by people who loved and cared about him. Really, we should all be so lucky.

When I first started seeing people share her videos, I kinda got it. I could see the appeal. She’s a hot, young, quirky girl who talks about sex stuff. But it was my sight that was betraying me. I wasn’t quite absorbing the things she had to say because I was too often distracted by her bubbly facial expressions and epic boobs.

There’s a trick I’ve learned after years of listening to Loveline and talk radio… You get a very different impression of a person if you can’t see them and only hear their voice. Especially if the person talking is attractive to you.

So I began to listen to Laci Green from another browser tab so that the video was obstructed. Very quickly I realized that she’s kind of a twit. She was covering very simple material and was often condescending. This might almost fit if she was addressing tweens currently going through the awkward phases of puberty. Maybe that was her target audience, but instead it hit more strongly with college-age folks and older…which gets frightening the more I think about it.

“But Sean, could it be that you think that way because you’re a misogynist?”

Maybe. Though there are plenty of men whom I believe are overrated, too. Like Russell Brand. He’s a beautiful, charming man and panties moisten at the sight of him. He’ll state the obvious in interviews like, “War hurts pee-po; wha do we do et?” and it’s taken as profoundly zen. If you listen to just his voice (or read a transcript, for those who dig accents), he’s not any more brilliant than most average entertainers.

I’ll admit Laci’s gotten better in the past year or so. But her content is still no more enlightening than an editorial in Cosmo.

I had a suspicion that my wife had something in store for me, but I couldn’t predict what was actually bestowed to me. First, she treated me to one of my favorite breakfasts: Eggs Benedict. It was her first time ever attempting the dish, but it did not disappoint. A poached egg, thick cut bacon, and an English muffin… All my favorite players for the first meal of my day.

Then came the gifts. I don’t know where she found the card, but it was perfect. The message described our relationship with our child flawlessly. I couldn’t help but show it off to others.

The card was the appetizer for the real treat: The audio book for Kevin Smith’s Tough Shit: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good. I have an affection for Kevin Smith that feels like a guilty pleasure. Much like my man-crush with Adam Carolla, Smith is often discounted by my peers, but has been a personal inspiration to me. Relevant to the holiday, he’s one of the few people I seek for insight on being a good father and role model for my children.

The only foil to our Father’s Day weekend plans was my own clumsy hands. We were recently given a really sweet knife set from a friend which I’m always excited to use. Unfortunately, I got a little too excited and chopped the hell out of my finger. So the time we might have spent on other Father’s Day fun, we spent nursing my wound. The good news is that I didn’t need stitches and the bleeding stopped by the next day.

Whenever Cody Baier (or equally, Max Vader) recounts an event, it reminds me of TV shows that will have scenes with a theater troupe re-enacting events the audience has already seen. It’s like a cartoonish interpretation; most of it is inaccurate, applied with artistic license, and has just a dash of agenda in the mix. So whenever I listen to Cody and his crew, rather than address everything he says with, “But that not how it happened,” I can distill it down to one simple problem:

Cody doesn’t know what podcasts are.

Podcasts are literally recordings of things that people have said (and in a way, what they haven’t said). Let’s assume that Cody has listened to any of the podcasts that involve him. He must believe that his own audience is so dumb that they’ll be satisfied by his version and not bother to check for themselves the material he’s discussing. And if they do, they’ll somehow just ignore all the discrepancies.

Now let’s give Cody the benefit of the doubt. Let’s assume instead that he truly does completely ignore the podcasts where people discuss him. Let’s believe him when he says, “I haven’t heard it, but my fans told me all about it.” This means that someone who will read through every disgusting page of a Monster Girl RPG wiki for a gag strangely won’t investigate when he’s the subject of a criticizing post.

Especially if it could result in conflict between him and someone else; or at least create a hassle of his fans quarreling over a misunderstanding. That means that Cody is also too dumb to know or care if his audience is lying to him and making him look like a jackass. If his fans’ word is good enough for him, then he’s being played.

So if you’re a fan of Cody and think I’m a pathetic, loony piece of shit, that’s cool. But the archives of The Other Side, Anime3000, Alpha Counter, Fightbait, and Whiskey Thursday are still up and free for you to verify that Cody isn’t just making stuff up.

While you’re at it, give Mating Habits of the Modern Geek a listen. We do some really funny stuff there.

Well, I’m here to tell you now that the Hatman is dead. The idea; not myself. I’m not writing this posthumously after some suicidal misadventure… Something you might expect after listening to so many episodes of Hatman in the Morning. Also, I ditched that damn hat years ago. Look, protip: Taking regular, current photos of yourself could be a good plan.

But, that not what I’m really getting at here. The very good news is that I’ve been able to claw my way out of the deep depression that’s haunted me for the past few years. After some evaluation, it seems to be caused primarily from a hormone issue. I’ve also recently reached the point of finding just the right combination of medications to get me back to at least feeling “normal”. If I can get myself into a gym 3-5 days a week and write for this blog about as often, it’s likely I may not even need the meds for long.

I’m not completely out of the woods yet, though! There are still stressful issues I’m struggling with that continue to bring me dread. And I’m still experiencing a handful of symptoms and side-effects that haven’t been completely worked out. I’m just staying positive and learning to light a candle, rather than curse the darkness.

First of all, I want to thank drugs. Finding the anti-depressant that scooped me out of the gravity well of despair was a miracle and I’m grateful for the meds I’m currently taking to keep me above that threshold.

More importantly than first, I thank my wife. Real Talk: If she hadn’t given me the support I needed to get better, I would be dead right now. Not to disturb both of you reading this, but it’s no joke. She encouraged me to find the help I needed and stuck by me when I was at my worst times.

In addition, I’m thankful for my soon-to-be-born daughter, Natasha. For the first time in recent memory, she’s given me something to be excited about each and every day. I now have something to truly live for.

Going forward, I’m fantasizing that I’ll use this blog more frequently. I’m paying for it so I probably should. May mostly consist of baby trubs, but I may have some extra thoughts to express from time to time…

Thanks to the current state of social media and scandals like GamerGate, there are three hot topics that are bound to draw attention: Female game developers, transgender people, and online harassment. The reactions I’ve been seeing are very telling: Suckers get riled up because they see only what they want to see and pass it along to others without thoroughly reading the story.

You see, Rachel Bryk was a 23-year-old transgender woman who committed suicide. That much is true. But calling her a game developer is pretty generous, unless you count her hobby of building Gamecube and Wii emulators as “game development”.

Then there’s the matter of her suicide. Many of the stories I’ve seen cover this mention (but gloss over) that Rachel as been living with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia, which caused her chronic pain. Those same stories also mention that she supposedly had low self-esteem…and okay, I’ll bite on that. Those things alone are a very common recipe for severe depression.

The current statistic is that ~15% (roughly 1 in 7) of people who suffer with depression will die by suicide. That’s the reality. So here’s what I NEED people to understand:

Rachel Bryk died from her illness…not bullying.

She was harassed a lot in online communities, but reports are saying that about a month before her death, she left those that gave her the most trouble. I greatly respect her for that because that is a very difficult, mature, and healthy choice. Rachel did what I think was the right thing.

Now, she did return shortly before her suicide and that’s where she got abusive comments encouraging her to jump off a bridge. But by that point I believe she’d already decided to kill herself. When you’re in that mode, you might reach out to support to bring you (figuratively and literally) back off the ledge. But when the disease of depression has you in its grip, telling you to kill yourself, you look for validation for that decision. When other people than just the voice in your head telling you that you’re garbage and the world would be better without you, you accept it as truth.

The people who harassed Rachel are in fact horrible people and I hope they carry shame for every awful thing said to her for the rest of their lives. BUT they are NOT responsible for her death. Don’t use her death as an excuse to form a lynch mob and become monsters yourselves.

No matter what kind words people give you, you know that the world and everyone in it would be better off if you were dead.

That’s a brutal funk to pull yourself out of. I mean, who’s to say you’re wrong and that the world wouldn’t be better without you in the long run? As hard as you fight the feeling, you can’t argue with it. As much as you want to take command of your own destiny and write your own history, it’s humbling when you recognize that the world is (and always will be) bigger than just you.

I think the best way to ward away that part of the sickness is to accept that you’re here; that you didn’t die when you were “supposed to”. If the universe wants to fix itself and take you out another way at another time so be it. But…maybe the universe will find a way to heal around you. It may feel like an uncomfortable fit, but there’s still a place in history for you.

Of course, if someone is preyed upon, the true villain is the person doing the preying. I’m not saying, “Well, what was she wearing?” here. Calm down; I’m not a monster. What I’m saying here is “Make a fool of me once, shame on you. Make a fool of me twice, shame on me.” There’s a growing resistance the latter part of that idea. And the key word, I think, is shame.

Social media is the battleground for a war on shame (among other things). Now, shame isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s built into our biological wiring; like pride or jealousy. It feels bad, but much in the same way that pain alerts us of injury. Shame is a social device that alerts us that our behavior may be unhealthy to ourselves or others.

That off-color joke you think is really funny? Maybe you should gauge your audience before you share it so you don’t upset someone. Your tastes in entertainment reveal a lot about your personality. Your favorite anime may be cause for some introspection. That group you associate with that everyone seems to make fun of? Maybe they’re not quite as awesome as you think. And fezzes are NOT cool–you only think so because a fucking TV show said so and even that was supposed to be a joke, you clod.

Before social media, our shame kept us quiet. We were more prone to listen and learn from the examples of those who could take the lead. But now everyone has a voice. And for all the good that’s done, there’s another side of that coin. Rather than listening, people are more interested in talking. And those people tend to only be interested in listening to other people who parrot back their same ideas. Rather than coming together as a community, the folks who feel shame for themselves have instead taken to narcissistic crusades to validate their personal damage.

I have my own shame, but that’s an important distinction: I own my shame. The prime example is how I’m ashamed of my weight. However, instead of crying over societal stigma or accusing others of being fat-shaming sizeists, I’m motivated to make [at least some] effort to get in better shape. No doubt, it’s the most challenging solution, but ultimately it’s the most rewarding if I succeed in overcoming my weight problem. I’m also the first guy in line to label me an idiot…but there isn’t all that much I can do about that. In the meantime, I live with my shame. It’s my burden to bare; not my peers.

When you own your shame, you master it. Shame becomes a tool that you can wield. Either you can use it as motivational fuel to improve yourself or you can accept that part of yourself–embrace it in your own security–and move on with your life.

The first thing that seems to confuse people about depression–especially Robin Williams’–is how he could feel so sad. He was blessed with talent, money, fame, adoration… How could someone with so much not be happy?

Well, depression isn’t really about being sad. Sadness is in there, but to me depression is more about hate. You hate yourself. You find your very existence offensive and are disgusted by the horrible burden of being the person who is you. So Robin Williams may have had everything that anyone could ever want in life in excess, but the depression convinced him that his success was vulgar; he didn’t deserve it.

People also seem confused that he could be depressed when he was a comedian and always appeared to be such a cheery guy. Cracked.com posted an article that hit the nail on the head and a little close to home. The smiles are a mask. It’s a glamour you cast over yourself to protect others from seeing the ugliness that you see in the mirror.

One person, acknowledging Williams’ history of battling with substance abuse, asked, “Why didn’t he just overdose?” This question confused me. The best I can assume is that they meant why hang himself instead of getting blitzed on whatever so that he could die, but in some sort of chemical bliss.

I hope I’m wrong in my assumption because I’m pretty sure that’s not how overdose works and I hope everyone else has a similar understanding. Overdose is a horrible, agonizing way to die. It’s not like you’re taking one last roller coaster ride that ends suddenly into a cement wall. It’s more like a roller coaster ride that ends with bolts gradually popping out of the track until it wanes and rends itself apart; collapsing into a smoldering, messy nightmare.

The way I understand it, substance abuse is a way to temporarily escape the misery generated by depression. There’s a reason why a habit is often called “self-medicating”. There’s just enough hope and desire to live within you that you subdue your despair with drugs just so you can survive the day.

Folks who die by overdose have technically committed suicide, but it’s usually by accident. They meant to just “medicate” themselves, but lost control. Robin Williams wanted to die. There was no more treating the symptoms for him; he went after the cause by taking his own life.

I used to subscribe to another common misconception about suicide in that it’s completely selfish. This comes from the idea that you may be ending your own woes, but it’s at the expense of the living now suffering a life-long loss. Sounds like reasonable criticism, but not quite how it feels to the suicidal.

You see, when you hate yourself, you see yourself as deadweight to the world. You know that your death will affect others. You recognize that people may mourn. But you believe that in the long run, you’re doing everyone a favor. You’re no longer stealing air from more worthy lungs. Often, you’re so consumed by nihilism that you tell yourself that in no time, you’ll be forgotten by the entire cosmos, buried in the sands of time; as if you were erased from ever existing…and you prefer it that way.

Mainstream and social media is spreading the usual list of suicide hotlines, insisting that if you feel suicidal, please call and seek help. I appreciate that we have these things, but I honestly don’t know how effective they are. Mostly because I don’t believe that anyone who is truly suicidal would actually call one of these hotlines.

There’s a reason why so many suicides come as a surprise: Suicidal people don’t want anyone to know. First of all, like I stated above, when you’ve reached that depth of despair, you want to be forgotten. You want to fade away unnoticed while everyone else is busy. In fact, the first sign that someone you care about might be depressed is that you don’t see or hear from them for long stretches of time.

The other reason why suicidal people are less likely to talk about it is very simple: If you tell someone, they’re going to stop you. When you have decided that the best thing you can do is to die–that killing yourself is the true, righteous solution–why would you sabotage yourself by alerting anyone who will only get in your way? That’s the most inconducive move for your plan.

Aside from the puzzled comments from a few of my peers, I’m pretty proud of the reaction I’ve seen in the media about depression and suicide. It may have taken the loss of someone like Robin Williams to get people’s attention, but at least now we’re starting to have real conversations about this growing epidemic in our culture.

As this age range broadens, so does the generation gap, and it’s becoming a point of disconnection between many of my friends. The older members will often become annoyed and dismissive of the younger crowd. Meanwhile, the younger members meet with frustration when they reach too far in believing they share through osmosis the same maturity as their elders.

Typically, I lean into the curmudgeon camp; mostly because I’m also older and getting older still. But in either direction, I’m jaded by every moment someone slings accusations of “agism”. Now, I don’t know if maturity directly correlates biologically with age. Ask some doctors; I’d bet most of them will say yes.

However, I tend to think that maturity is something that is more about experience and what you learn from it. And not just knowledge–attitude, intuition, assessment… Whether or not it’s biological, it’s certainly psychological and a load-bearing pillar of your personal character.

When I think of someone who’s immature, I think of someone who hasn’t experienced much or learned as much from the experiences they’ve had. Naturally, you accumulate more experiences over time…so the older you are, the more opportunities you’ve likely had to learn and grow as a person.

And of course there have been a lot of exceptional people who have had more, and more nutritional experiences in their youth. Unfortunately, that’s not the norm, so we’ve earned that general rule of thumb. Younger people tend to do foolish things because they likely haven’t learned from the experience of those foolish things. Unfortunately there are more and more immature older people who still haven’t learned from their experience and continue to do foolish things.

I like to compare it to academia. You can read up on all the knowledge on a subject anywhere, but simpley memorizing WebMD doesn’t make you a doctor. I could absorb every karate handbook there is from the comfort of my couch, discuss karate with all my karate friends, attend karate conventions (I guess they call them “tournaments”), but I wouldn’t stand a chance sparring against someone who’s earned a black belt.

It’s through the hands-on experience of applying that knowledge–seeing things in action; putting them into practice–that makes you a “mature” expert in a field. The same is true of life in general.

How I approach others is a matter of tense; typically in the past or present. I don’t see a young person and assume they will do stupid things. I see a person who has already done something stupid and assume it’s because they’re young.

tldr; I don’t judge people by their age, but it does factor into how I judge their actions.