Gingerpithicus Frisii

In November of 2016, something happened that a lot of us never saw coming. I supported Bernie Sanders, both financially and personally. When he dropped out of the election, I voted for Hillary Clinton. The possibility of Trump winning the election that year was not even remotely on my radar. 

The day after the election was rough. I went to my anthropology department and, not to minimize a tragedy, but it was like experiencing 9/11 all over again. Everyone was zombified. One of my friends offered me a bolt from his hip flask. Classes were not postponed, but the subject on everyone’s mind was the shocking results of the election- every class was pre-empted from its regularly scheduled programming. 

Like my classmates and professors, I was thrown into a tailspin by the election results. Despite my and others’ financial, time, and energy contributions, a complete asshat was elected president. I felt powerless. Impotent. Ineffectual. Helpless. I was so disappointed in America. A man who actively works against those I love was put in a position of power in my home. My patriotism disappeared. I could barely look at an American flag. 

This event was the inception of what would become a nine-year depression for me- the deepest I’d ever experienced. 

I didn’t know it, of course, but there were other, equally damaging contributing factors to come. 

The second “shock” took me when my second wife and I divorced, and she forced me out of my home (see “A Legacy of Violence” https://gingerpithicusfrisii.com/2026/02/13/a-legacy-of-violence/ ). I was put on a medication that caused both weight gain and took away a large part of my life force. 

The third “shock” was the loss of my ambitions. Toward the end of my bachelor’s degree in anthropology, I began to explore the possibility of becoming a professor of archaeology or anthropology at the university level. The idea held massive appeal to me, and I fantasized regularly about what it would be like to be like my own professors, my heroes of academia, as it were. I idolized them. I put them on intellectual pedestals. They were so charismatic- they held my attention easily, and answered my questions ad nauseam. I was in love with learning, and I loved the idea of passing on my passion to younger minds. 

Unfortunately, my fantasies were disabused by reality. 

Perhaps most importantly, I learned that I tend to see my happiness as always on the horizon. The old adage about the grass being greener and all that. That I’d finally be happy if I could just become a professor. 

But then reality set in. 

I learned that my then-wife wouldn’t support me in that way by moving to wherever I was accepted into grad school, and it broke my heart. I learned that my professors weren’t as perfect as I’d thought- that they were just as liable to engage with things like interdepartmental infighting as anyone else. They had personal problems and mental illness, just like me. My fantasy had evaporated. It was a form of aspirational regret.  

It broke my mind.

I stopped singing. 

After losing 145 pounds, I regained more than 100 pounds over the next six years. 

I developed a drinking problem in my desire for sleep. 

I moved to Spokane, where I licked my wounds and just…existed for a while.  

In the late 1960’s, Martin Seligman conducted what is now considered an experiment that, despite its unethical nature, yielded very prescient results about learned helplessness.  The following is a simplified overview of said experiment. He placed a series of dogs into cages and subjected them to electrical shocks (the control group received no shocks) from electrified floors. Both groups were then given the option to hop over a barrier that would allow them to escape the shocks. The dogs in the first group learned to hop over the barrier easily when the floor was electrified. The second group, however, learned that no matter where they were, the shocks continued, and that they had no control over what was happening to them, so they simply lay down and took the shock. 

I knew from experience how the dogs who lay down felt. 

From 2020 to 2025, I worked in the maintenance department of a substance abuse treatment facility. For the first few years, people there got accustomed to my antisocial ways; they just thought I was quiet, when in reality, I was removed from life itself. I always had one earbud in my left ear, listening endlessly to audio from The Office and Parks & Recreation from the phone in my pocket. That was the only safe content I could consume at that time. The repetition didn’t bother me at all- in fact, it brought me comfort. I didn’t interact. I got to know a few people, but only one genuine connection happened at first. 

A coworker at the facility reached out to me regularly to thank me for doing a good job cleaning or fixing something in a timely manner. She asked me about my day, how I was feeling about this or that, and regularly shared gossip. She got that goddammed earbud out of my ear. I had made my first friend in Spokane. She started a change in me that I had no right to expect. 

Sometime later, as I was making my rounds one day, I stumbled upon a group of women who would also change me. They got the earbud out of my ear, too. We talked about movies and books- two subjects very close to my heart. They opened me up to connections that I wasn’t expecting, but treasured nonetheless. 

It wasn’t immediate. I didn’t see my new friends very often, and I only went to the movies with them a couple of times, and then it sort of fizzled. Honestly, I was a little insufferable.

Looking back at my Facebook feed at that time, I was sharing a lot of tongue-in-cheek depression memes- one of them indicated that, though I wanted to be invited, I still wouldn’t show up. 

I regret that.

In April of 2025, I switched jobs at the facility. The new role permanently took the earbud out of my ear, and I began to make more and more friends. There was Sam, my fellow-in-residence, who became my first cis-hetero male buddy in a long time (I have a hard time opening up to straight men- more on that in a later piece, I’m sure). There were a number of smaller, lighter relationships that formed at that time, too. Later in the year, I ran into one of my friends at the mall, and we made arrangements to go to a movie. Another friend wanted to do the same. We all started going out for coffee on Sundays, and the connections deepened. Authentic connections just kept coming. 

And with each connection, though I didn’t know it at first, I started to lose weight, and the depression began to lift.

I stopped taking Olanzapine- the weight-gaining med that took out a large slice of what made me who I am. 

I started to treat my ADHD with Adderall, and my ability to focus exploded. 

One of the most important changes I made was to create boundaries with my social media consumption. I unfollowed many political groups and curated my feed to show me self-growth content instead. My feed isn’t totally devoid of political and social justice content now; it’s just less prominent. Also, it’s not apathy- it’s the preservation of my mental health. Maybe someday, when my boundaries and mental health are stronger, I can incorporate more political content. 

Also of great importance: I started taking Mounjaro, a GLP-1, which, amazingly, led to significant weight loss. It’s now six months later, and I’ve hit my first goal of 79 pounds- half of what I want to lose. In fact, I blew right past it and hit 83. My ultimate goal is to lose 158 pounds by sometime in the fall of 2026. 

If you’re interested in what a smaller me experiences now, here’s a list: 

• When my family and I flew to Anaheim last week, I noticed I could put the seatbelt on and lower the tray table all the way. 
• People at work say I need to update my badge to reflect my new look.
• I had been diagnosed with type II diabetes about a year ago- no more.
• I can cross my legs. 
• The shower feels much bigger- I’m not touching the walls nearly as much.
• My body no longer triggers the switch on the movie theatre seats.
• I get cold now- all the time. It’s wonderful.
• My blood pressure is now within the normal range without medication. 
• I just dumped all my 4XL shirts and am wearing non-big-and-tall jeans for the first time in 10 years.

I began to sing again. 

I cleaned my room, and I’m doing the hygiene things again. 

I picked my hobbies back up- I’m reading like a madman on so many subjects. I’m thirsty for more.  

I’m planning on going to grad school to become a sex & relationship therapist. 

I’m dating again and investing time and energy into all of my relationships. 

I’m planning a trip to Ireland to celebrate my new body by learning how to surf. 

I have plans for the future, and the most important one of all is to build my best life. I don’t know exactly what that will look like. Whatever it will be, I feel prepared to live it. I’ve got good friends and family to support me, and I’m emotionally intelligent. 

I’m going to be fine.