3 Oct 2025
S1E4: Glimmers-n-Gallows #GnG
These past two weeks have been raw—grief, despair, and the uncertainty of quitting school. Losing a part of my identity, missing campus life, friends, and experiences. But even in the gallows, I found glimmers: starting this podcast, dancing like no one was watching, and spending meaningful time with my wife. Moving through loss, embracing new opportunities, and discovering the power of support and connection that I didn’t know I needed.
#MentalHealthMatters #GriefJourney #Resilience #Authenticity #Storytelling #Trauma #PTSD #cPTSD #GnG #GlimmersNGallows #RRP #RelationshipRecoveryProcess #DoomsdayReligiousCult #Cult
This is the piece I wrote called "Lost:"You know those moments when something feels so instinctively right you can almost feel your life pivot under your feet? A decision so deep you know it will change everything. It shakes loose the old scaffolding, destabilizes what you thought you knew, and opens a road into certain uncertainty. Like a soldier performing an about-face, you snap into a new direction so abruptly you barely have time to breathe, let alone process what’s about to unfold.
I’ve just made one of those turns. In truth, it’s one of several over the past four years and they leave me spinning—like an astronaut adrift, tumbling slowly through space. After chasing a degree for more than twenty-five years, finally seizing the chance to make it real, I decided to quit school. It feels, on one hand, like a trauma reflex; on the other, like the only right move for me in this moment. I still hold the hope of finishing a bachelor’s someday, but the path looks nothing like what I imagined. For now, I’m learning to steer through the pull of grief, doubt, and despair while trying to orient myself toward whatever comes next.My whole identity had wrapped itself around that twenty-five-year goal. I wanted the “true” college experience—being on campus, getting involved, volunteering, learning, meeting new people. And I was doing it. I transferred from the local junior college into a university for the first time ever, got accepted into the honors program, joined Psi Chi and the APA, met a fewpeople, did well in my classes. Until I wasn’t. And everything went to hell.
The reality of campus was not the dream. At fifty, even though they say “it’s never too late,” it is sometimes too late for certain experiences. Not for a degree itself, but for the kind of student life I imagined thirty years ago. I’m different now. And I’m having the damndest time accepting it.Then came the classes—the afternoon course with no structure, surprise group projects, group mates who hijacked or melted down, and me stuck as peacemaker. The evening online class with seventy students, a late professor who burned time on small talk and monologues instead of teaching. The final straw: a research-methods test that couldn’t be scored because of a software glitch. The only option was a cumulative make-up during finals week, despite all the hours I’d spent studying and the sense I had done well. It felt like punishment for things beyond my control.Census date loomed. Should I stay or should I go? Overwhelm, helplessness, no way forward. When that happens, I flee. This is my pattern. On September 16th I went to campus one last time, dropped my classes, and walked away. Relief washed in, but also stillness. No momentum. No goal. Only a black hole of second-guessing: Did I do the right thing? Was I too hasty? Could I have managed it?I wanted things to be different. I wanted this to work out. Instead, I’m left with an echo of earlier collapses—my own suicide attempt at eighteen, and the events that led to October 21, 2021, with an aftermath that still lingers.
