Let me start by saying that this blog post is more for me than it is for you. I’m not trying to be insightful here, or persuasive, or anything like that. I just want to write about something for the purpose of writing about it and talking about it in public. I’d call it therapy if that didn’t make it sound weird.

Those who follow me on Twitter will know that I’ve been having some medical problems for a while, and that I’ve been talking about them in vague terms. I mean, I complain about migraines eight times a day, but I’ve been alluding to something else for a while now.

In a nutshell: I have a severe panic disorder.

For those who don’t know what that is, here’s the definition from the National Institute of Mental Health:

“Panic disorder is an anxiety disorder and is characterized by unexpected and repeated episodes of intense fear accompanied by physical symptoms that may include chest pain, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, dizziness, or abdominal distress.”

The first time I remember getting a real honest-to-goodness panic attack was in the summer of 2008, while I was doing my MBA internship in Minnesota. It had been a very stressful couple of months, working about 70 hours a week. My wife had just flown home to Utah, and I was alone there for about ten days, living in a cheap hotel. And one night, all alone in the office, I suddenly just couldn’t breathe. I felt completely overwhelmed with fear, like I needed to run or hide or curl up in a ball. (My response to this new, unknown sensation was to leave the office and relax. So, it being the summer of 2008, I went to the theater to see The Dark Knight. And let me just say: if you’re trying to relieve a panic attack, going to see The Dark Knight is not the answer. It was the most unpleasant experience I have ever had a theater, ever.)

The panic attacks subsided for the most part, and I went back to my normal life. Once in a while, they’d pop back up, and I’d freak out, and then they’d go away and I didn’t think a whole lot about it. (Well, what I thought was: “I’m really stressed, and this is a normal product of stress and worry. Suck it up. Muscle through. Tough it out.”) And that’s how things were for a couple years.

But about nine months ago, everything started to fall apart. The panic attacks got worse. They were more than just feelings of fear and dread; they had physical symptoms: chest pain and numbness and shortness of breath. And as they got worse, they also got more frequent. They were coming every week, and then several times a week, and then every day. It got to the point where I couldn’t even make it till noon without crushing feelings of doom and failure, and a racing heart rate and sweating.

More than once my wife would find me curled up on a chair in my office, head under a blanket, or sitting on the floor of the kitchen in the dark at eleven o’clock at night. At work I’d be in meetings and have a sudden, irrational, desperate need to get out of the room, to get out of the building.

Three months ago I told my writing group about it. For too long, I’d been making up excuses for why I couldn’t go, and I didn’t want them to think I was abandoning them and leaving the group. But I just couldn’t handle going. In fact, any social event is hard–I struggle to go to neighborhood parties, or group lunches, or even get-togethers with extended family.

And that’s when I finally realized it was time to see a doctor. Because this wasn’t normal stress, and it wasn’t something I could just muscle through. This was crippling my social life, my family life, and my work life. It was irrational and uncontrollable. I read the science behind them and tried to think myself through the attacks: I’d tell myself “This is just hyperventilation, and it’s not dangerous, and you’re going to be fine.” And it made sense in my head, but was accompanied with such feelings of intense terror that it didn’t help.

This week I got to see the doctor. He diagnosed me with a classic panic disorder. I am now in the early stages of treatment with medication, and may soon be going to cognitive-behavioral therapy.

So, why am I tell you all of this? I’ve wanted to talk about it publicly for quite a while, mainly because this is a huge part of my life and I’m tired of keeping it a secret. But I’ve been reluctant for many reasons. For a long time I felt guilty: that this is just stress and everyone gets stress and I should just deal with it. (That is no longer something I believe.) But I also have been reluctant because I don’t ever want it to come across as a convenient excuse: Rob can’t do X because he’s having panic attacks; Rob’s missed his deadline because of a mental illness; Rob’s a poor performer because he’s dealing with health problems. I’ll admit that it’s been difficult, and I haven’t been on top of my game for months, but I’m not posting this here because I’m asking anyone to coddle me.

For that matter, I’m not posting it because I’m looking for sympathy, or because I want you to tell me how your MLM’s superfruit juice can solve my problems.

I’m just telling you because it’s been too hard not to tell you. So, here it is. Carry on.

I went and saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 on Friday. I loved it. I loved it despite the 3D (which generally gives me a headache). I loved it despite the dummy a few seats down who would laugh during quiet, dramatic moments. I loved it despite the nibbling chipmunk behind me who gnawed loudly on her popcorn (HEY PEOPLE: You put a kernel in your mouth, close your mouth, and chew. An individual piece of popcorn does not require three bites with your front teeth.)

Popcorn and inappropriate laughter and 3D aside, it was a great movie–a great end to a great series. However, I have a big complaint, both with the books and the movies: I hate how Ginny is not treated as an equal.

Ginny has proven herself to be courageous, skilled, smart and a good asset in a fight. And yet when the time comes for Harry and his friends to do stuff, she’s always in the background.

As I’ve discussed this with fellow Potter fans, I’ve heard a few explanations/rationalizations. I don’t think any of them hold water.

Some fans point out that Harry pulled a Spider-man and told Ginny that they can’t be together because she’d be in danger. There’s two problems with that: first, she’s already in danger—especially when crap hits the fan at Hogwarts—so he’s not really shielding her from much. Second, he told the same thing to other people throughout the series—heck, he told the same thing to Ginny more than once!—and it’s never stopped anyone from disregarding his advice and helping him anyway. It’s like Rowling was purposely keeping Ginny out of the way…

Which is exactly what other people cite: that adding Ginny would change the dynamic of the books. It’s always been Harry, Hermione and Ron, and adding a fourth would…not make it just Harry, Hermione and Ron anymore. This is true, but it’s a really, really stupid excuse. The structure should fit your story; you shouldn’t shoehorn the story to fit your structure. As soon as Rowling made Ginny awesome and brave—and HARRY’S GIRLFRIEND—then the dynamic of The Three must change.

Because there’s a very real problem here. Ignoring Ginny and leaving her out of things (when the Spider-man/Mary Jane excuse is so obviously a plot device, not a plausible character-driven reason) turns Harry into a jerk. Why does Harry ignore Ginny during important moments? Is it a lack of trust? Is is a lack of interest? Is it a lack of caring? At the risk of crass hyperbole, Ginny becomes a booty call.

Seriously. That’s what she is to Harry. He doesn’t view her as a skilled companion compared Ron and Hermione, or else he would let her help out. He doesn’t see her as trusted advisor, or else he would consult with her as much as he consults with his other two friends. We can’t say that Harry is too busy to spend time with her, because he spends lots of time with Ron and Hermione. And we can’t say that Harry’s lack of communication with her is because he can’t confide in anybody—because he does confide in people. He confides in Ron and Hermione.

Harry trusts and likes and cares more about his platonic friends than about his girlfriend. And that bugs the heck out of me, because that’s not a healthy relationship AT ALL. It relegates Awesome Ginny to Generic Romantic Interest. She’s someone who he can kiss and pine about (though he doesn’t pine much) but he has no respect for her otherwise.

And Ginny is awesome, and she deserves better.

Of course, I’m not saying that Harry Potter is actually a jerk and that Ginny is actually a booty call, because I know that’s not how Rowling intended them. What I am saying is that Ginny’s exclusion from The Three is plainly a plot device designed to maintain the consistent Ron/Harry/Hermione dynamic, and when we extrapolate the implausibilities of that plot device to their rational conclusion, there’s no choice but to see Harry and Ginny’s relationship as shallow and lousy. And that bugs me.

(P.S.—and SPOILER: Implausibilities aside, I want to add that I was extremely annoyed with the final shot of the movie. It’s the epilogue, showing Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny all grown up. The camera watches the four of them as the Hogwarts Express prepares to leave, and then it zooms in slightly and cuts Ginny out of the shot. Now, I realize that Ginny is a somewhat late addition to the party and that we have a sentimentality for the other three. But MAN—couldn’t they have found a better way to honor The Three that doesn’t seem like it’s purposely excluding Ginny? Remember: this is the woman who—aside from all the other things that makes her awesome—is the person our hero has ostensibly been committed and devoted to for 19 years. And then the director says “One of these things is not like the others” and cuts her out of the frame. I don’t get it.)

JOEL: Rob finally woke up from his coma (or just had a couple of busy weeks—what am I, someone who actually talks to people?) and realized that What’s for Lunch Wednesday had wasted away to a shell of its former self, so we decided it was in need of fattening up. And, after a few grueling rounds of “I don’t care; where do you want to go?” we decided to visit a local burger joint, largely because Rob was feeling especially patriotic (later he found out it was a red, white and blue intestinal parasite).

Unfortunately, everyone else in the valley decided to visit the same place at the same time as us, so we chose to find somewhere less popular, and probably less tasty, to eat. The obvious choice, therefore, was Mexican food, which I agreed to as long as Rob paid.

ROB: I don’t think the issue was that a million people were visiting the hamburger place; the issue was that the hamburger place is about the size of a walk-in closet.

So we went to a Mexican place, but it was more than just a Mexican place: it was a Mexican and El Salvadorian place! And, if I knew the Spanish word for “portmanteau”, I would use it to describe the name of the restaurant: El Mexsal. El Mexsal holds a special place in my heart. Due to the fact that it’s both yummy and cheap (but mostly cheap) it became a popular hangout during grad school.

And so we walked in and were waved to a booth over in the corner. Frankly, I think they were embarrassed to have two incredibly pale guys in their establishment and had to decide what to do with us.

In the end, they must have decided we really were there to eat, and a nice lady came over to take our orders. Rob knew his order the moment we walked in, which he delivered in his flawless Spanish: “Yo KEE-yay-ro la NUM-ero SIN-ko, EE una Dieto Coke-o.”

Rob's Food

I actually ordered the #32. And, tragedy of tragedies, they only had Diet Pepsi, not Diet Coke. But, since all I wanted was the the chemical additives anyway, who cares about brand?

The #32 is the chicken enchilada and chile relleno, with rice and beans. Every Mexican place includes rice and beans, but this is the only one where I actually look forward to them. They are good.

I also ordered a pupusa, which is like a stuffed tortilla. Joel and I debated what this was similar to—not a sopapilla, not a pita—and finally settled on: it’s like a stuffed tortilla. I ordered mine stuffed with rueveltas (cheese, beans and pork).

Joel's Food

I ended up deciding on a beef enchilada/beef taco combo. And, at Rob’s insistence that I order one, I got the pork pupusa. I’m a sucker for alliteration.

When our food came, I was happy to see that the plates looked like pending heart attacks, which is a good sign despite my general disdain for Mexican food. And as we dug in, I was not disappointed. The enchilada was fantastic, and the refried beans were amazingly edible. Even the rice was the nice pink kind (I don’t know, is it cooked with tomatoes?) instead of the nasty lime/cilantro stuff.

I want you people to reread Joel’s words: “despite my general disdain for Mexican food”. Kind of makes you want to punch him in his stupid, ugly face. It certainly makes you disregard all his food commentary.

Anyway, the food was fantastic, as expected. I ate too much and was sad when it was gone.

Pupusas, with and without curtido

The pupusas, on the other hand, are weird. I always order one when I go, and I always think “Well. That was kind of good?”  It’s served with a sort of sauerkrauty slaw called curtido. It’s weird, but it definitely makes the pupusas much better. But the combination of the two never gets past “That’s nice/odd.”

Rob’s just a little sensitive because he was denied an official food critic job, since he is not at all selective. Remember that Seinfeld episode where George ate an eclair our of the trash? Well, I wouldn’t say it was based on Rob, but… well, yes. It was based on Rob. He thinks if you dislike a dish it’s a slap in the face to an entire culture.

Anyway, the point here is that this experience actually raised my opinion of Mexican food, even if it resulted in Rob being outed as a food-bigot-bigot. That’s a real thing, right?

If it’s true that disliking a dish is a slap in the face to an entire culture, then Joel has slapped every culture in the face repeatedly, until he got carpal tunnel syndrome. The United Nations passed a resolution declaring Joel a “hater” and went on to say “Why’s he gots to bust our chops?” If nothing else, your main takeaway from this blog should be: Joel is a terrible person.

Anyway, I give El Mexsal 4.25 ApBs. Really yummy, really cheap.