Anxiety and Depression

A few years back, I started struggling hard with anxiety and depression—stacked on top of the PTSD I’ve already been battling for years. Even writing this is uncomfortable as hell. I was raised to believe that men don’t talk about feelings, we don’t show weakness, and we definitely don’t show our demons. Only a handful of people even know about my PTSD, and I won’t be sharing that online. But I will talk about the anxiety and depression, because it connects directly to why travel has become so important in my life.

Looking back, the signs were there over a decade ago. But back then I stayed busy with drag racing, car builds, and a little bit of travel—enough distractions to keep my head above water. Then we became empty nesters. We sold our house, unloaded most of our belongings, and took off on our “mid-life crisis cross-country road trip” before moving to Lake Havasu, AZ. We thought we were stepping into our dream life. Turns out, it became my nightmare.

Good things did happen along the way, but nothing went to plan. We moved back to Washington—supposed to be temporary, 6–9 months, tops. I traded my dream dually for a Kia for my wife (she loves her Sorento). I bounced between jobs, started my own business again and failed again—five times now. Eventually I ended up in a job I dread going to every day. Honestly? Some mornings I’d rather stab myself in the dick than clock in, but the paycheck is good, and switching industries means taking a massive pay cut.

So here I am, writing online about my life and travels, hoping to build something—followers, sponsors, affiliates—anything to bring in a little side money and maybe, eventually, a new path forward.

But before I spiral into negativity (and have another mental breakdown like the one I had last night), here’s the good stuff that happened during that same stretch of chaos—things that delayed, then ultimately ended, the plan of returning to the desert:

My daughter got married.
Then she had a baby.
My son got married.
My parents invested in a piece of land that we’ll turn into a family park and maybe a permanent base for all of us.

None of that is bad. In fact, it’s all incredible. But I can’t shake feeling like I failed at another dream.

See, my wife is genuinely excited about everything happening here. And I am happy for all of it. But I also feel defeated. My passion has always revolved around custom vehicles. In the desert—Arizona, SoCal—that lifestyle thrives. Up here, it’s a hobby you hide in the garage until there’s a 0% chance of rain, dust, pollen, sneezes, or whatever. Down there? It’s life. And I know I could make a living doing what I love. Up here, not so much. If I had a pile of cash, maybe. But in the desert, I know I could thrive.

Anyway… totally off topic. Maybe this should’ve been an ADHD post instead.

So how do I deal with anxiety and depression?
Well, I went through a year and a half of different meds. Some were okay, most were awful. One turned me into a zombie, one made me suicidal, one made me homicidal. Luckily, I had enough sense to fight those thoughts off—but that’s a story for another day. Eventually, I ditched the meds completely because the “help” wasn’t helping.

What works for me is getting out—travel.
Movement. Distance. Space.

Even simple day trips on the bike help. When I’m riding, it’s just me and the machine doing dumb shit together and trusting each other to make it home. I used to ride casually. Now I have to flirt with death a little to feel alive. Not great, I know, but it’s where I’m at. What used to take a couple hours to clear my head turned into a tank of fuel… then three… then a weekend. Now I can get by with one tank again, but only if I’m taking 30 mph curves at 60+, splitting traffic on a two-lane, or doing whatever gets the adrenaline going.

I had a memorial ride to go to in California. Couldn’t get the day off work. It’s a 12-hour ride, and I left at 7pm after work. Rode hard until 11 and was already almost to the California line. Woke up, finished the ride, checked into my motel at noon. My average speed was probably triple digits. Harleys aren’t made for that, but that’s how I ride now to feel anything. I know I should probably sell the bike. Not happening.

When I’m not riding, I take road trips with my wife. Usually back to the desert—Moab, Havasu, Vegas. Even when we fly, we end up renting a car and road-tripping anyway. Sometimes just planning a trip is enough to pull me out of a dark place. But planning can bite me too. I planned to take my Jeep to Mexico for my 50th birthday—doors off, top off, desert air. Something I’ve wanted for 30+ years. My birthday came and went. No Mexico trip.

I also want to visit my 50th state while I’m 50. I’ve only got a couple months left. We’ll see what happens.

But here’s the thing: writing these posts—these “stupid little posts no one is reading”—has actually helped. It forces me to slow down and reflect. Some of what felt like “bad shit” turned out okay once I looked at it with clearer eyes. Maybe I’m babbling. ADHD? Who knows. Haven’t been diagnosed… yet.

So I’ll ask you:
Have you been diagnosed with anxiety or depression?
How do you cope? ADHD?

Let me know in the comments. I’m gonna go chase a squirrel.