![\"Chicago’s](\"https://i.postimg.cc/T3h0mjzG/IMG-1543.webp\")
Reading: The Ruins by Scott Smith
\n", "summary": "“The Ruins” by Scott Smith explores the harrowing experiences of a group of friends who encounter deadly vegetation while vacationing in Mexico.", "date_published": "2026-09-11T17:59:43-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2026/09/11/reading-the-ruins-by-scott.html", "tags": ["Now Reading ","Books "] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2026/09/11/briefing-for-a-descent-into.html", "title": "Briefing for a Descent into Hell", "content_html": "Whenever I start writing for a new publication, I start by copying and pasting this story. Not only is it extremely important to me that others read it, but I have had countless messages from strangers thanking me for telling their story.
\nI’m a very ardent advocate for mental illness, mental health, and its treatment. I believe we’re currently at a crossroads where we can either start treating those with mental illnesses humanely or continue down the road of stigmatizing them and hiding them away in hospitals.
\nSince I wrote this piece years ago, my diagnosis has changed from Bipolar 2 to schizophrenia. I was rehospitalized last year for hearing voices and suicidal ideation. The experience was so much better than the one I experienced below. However, having to change my identity from Bipolar to Schizophrenic has been a very scary transition. But I’m making it work. I’m on a high dose of an antipsychotic and have ketamine treatments twice a week (which have saved my life; it pulled me out of a deep, debilitating, stubborn depression), and I’m showing kindness and compassion to everyone I encounter.
\nThat’s how to make a better world.
\nAuthor’s Note: I wrote this piece three years ago during a dark period in my life. ProPublica picked it up when I published it on my WordPress blog, using my experience as evidence of neglect. I am reposting it here since I am shutting down my WordPress blog and want to keep my experience published.
\n
ACLU of Illinois Demands Removal of Children in DCFS Care From Troubled Chicago Hospital
\n\n\nMore allegations of sexual abuse at Aurora Chicago Lakeshore Hospital, already under government scrutiny, have surfaced.
\n
America is great if you’re rich. Just look at Kanye West. Or the countless other celebrities who come out having a mental illness and become icons of bravery. You can have a mental illness and go to lush, private facilities dedicated to wellbeing and health.
\nThose of us with poor health insurance, who have to rely on underpaid, undertrained, uncaring health professionals, are having the same treatment as our 19th-century peers.
\n![\"19th](\"https://i.postimg.cc/VNgN8Mkh/IMG-1668.webp\")
Mental Health treatment in the West has improved somewhat from the 19th and early 20th centuries. Gone are Lobotomies and Water Sheeting.
\nYet, the mentally ill are continual scapegoats for larger societal problems. Every time there is a mass shooting, mental illness is to blame
\nThis is my experience trapped in a Chicago mental hospital for five days:
\nI just got out of the mental hospital where I never should have been. I wasn’t suicidal, wasn’t going to harm myself or anyone. On Monday, I was feeling extremely depressed. A depression that was getting worse and worse. I started having suicidal thoughts. Not suicidal ideation, I wasn’t forming a plan, and I had no intention of harming myself. But I didn’t want to get to that point.
\nA good friend told me to go to the ER to be observed. Also, I’ve been trying to get into an Intensive Outpatient Program for months and nobody had been helping me. Besides, I had lost my medical insurance in July. Luckily, I had managed to get insurance through the Marketplace for a $476 premium (Yay American health care!) My only transportation to the ER was by bus, and I couldn’t handle that at the moment.
\nSo I called 911.
\nI explained I was very depressed, but knew myself and my illness, and that I didn’t want to get to the point of harming myself. Not once did I say I was going to harm myself. Just that I wanted to be observed. Five minutes later, a fire truck and the police show up at my apartment. It was really embarrassing. They made me sit on the back of the fire truck, took my vitals, and treated me like an unstable person. The police never removed their hands from the top of their guns. Soon, an ambulance shows up. More vitals, more questions, more denials that I wanted to harm myself.
\n![\"An](\"https://i.postimg.cc/yND7wG2n/IMG-1669.webp\")
They loaded me into the ambulance, and they took off, siren blazing, to an unknown hospital. After a 20 minute, anxiety-inducing ride, I’m shuffled into the ER where I repeat myself for the fifth time. They take blood; I pee in a cup, because it’s assumed I’m a substance abuser. After an hour wait, a nurse comes in and asks me the same questions as everyone else. I tell her I have insurance, but the cards haven’t been sent yet. My insurance is active, and I gave her the phone number to the company to verify that it is. I tell her I’m diabetic and need my insulin. I tell her all of my medications. I stress again, I’m not having suicidal ideation or have a plan. I’m just very depressed and want to be watched. And, oh, can you find me an IOP? Thanks!
\nSoon a doctor comes in. Says she hears I’m suicidal. I once again say I am not, I just don’t want to get to a point where I will be. Oh, can I have my insulin now? I’m diabetic. She scribbles things down and I’m left to my own. For two hours. Then five hours. No insulin, no medication. While waiting, they put another patient in my room and I get to hear all of his personal information. He is suicidal. His mother is with him. He is about 20 and is white. Looks upper-middle class. The mother hands over her private insurance card. The nurse tries to comfort the boy and goes off to verify his coverage. His mother hugs him, tells him he’ll be ok. To not be scared.
\nI just wait. Alone.
\nDinner is brought to me, eventually. It is all carbohydrates. I still haven’t received my insulin. And it’s going on 8 hours now. I know nothing. I’m getting fed up. I venture into the hall. A security guard moves his hand to his gun (since when did hospital security guards carry guns? And why was there a security guard watching me anyway?) I ask a random nurse what’s going on with me. He said he’ll get my nurse to come see me. I exchange looks with the security guard, thinking of running. Instead, I shuffle back to my room.
\nA new nurse comes in 30 minutes later to explain that because I don’t have insurance, they’re trying to find me a bed in a state mental hospital. By now I’m irritated and exhausted. First, why am I going to a mental hospital? Second, I have insurance. I have told multiple people this. I have volunteered to show them my accepted case on the marketplace. I tell her this and she says she’ll look into validating my insurance again. While this was happening, I forgot to notice that they have discharged my suicidal roommate, sent to a private mental hospital for observation. I wonder how long he’s been gone. It is now 2:00 am. I still haven’t had my psych medications or my insulin. I protest, but nothing happens.
\n![\"ER](\"https://i.postimg.cc/sg8kZg06/IMG-1670.webp\")
Around 6:00 in the morning, I am informed that they have validated my insurance information and the doctors are now trying to find me a bed in a mental hospital for observation. I ask again why I’m being admitted. I’m told because I came in suicidal. I repeat yet again that I am not suicidal.
\nI don’t think anyone hears me.
\nIt takes another six hours for the doctors to find me a bed in a mental hospital. I am told the medical staff is fast-tracking my intake.
\nAround 3:00 pm, I’m told a bed has been located in a hospital 12 miles away. I just need to be transported there now. I am loaded into another ambulance, strapped into a gurney, and we plummet into the streets of the city. It begins to pour rain and flash flood warnings are sent out.
\n50 minutes later, via many diversions down alleys due to flooded streets, I am finally wheeled into the mental hospital. I’m starting to think that now, finally, I can get some rest and get my meds. I’m starting to go through withdrawal. It has been 36 hours since I had taken them, including my benzo. I am roughly directed into a triage room to wait. And wait. And wait.
\nI try to sleep, but it is so hot in my room, I am coated in sweat. Loud howls start to come from the room next to me along with horrendous banging against the walls. The person in the room next to me has entered into a psychosis and is tearing apart the recliners they provided us. Metal is clanging against the floor and the man, shrieking, started banging his head against the small glass window in the door. He breaks it. He keeps howling “kill me, kill me, kill me.” The staff was so ineffective at calming him down that the police had to be called in and restrain him.
\nThis was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.
\nI still hadn’t had my medication and my anxiety had become overwhelming. I curled in a ball and hoped sleep would come. Eventually, someone comes to see me. I don’t know the time or how long I’d been in this room. All of my belongings were placed put in a bag and locked up. The man who had come to my room had me sign a bunch of forms. I didn’t even bother to read them. I was finally transported to the fourth floor to my bed.
\nExcept not. I’m on the wrong floor. But I still had to sit and wait for another 45 minutes by the nurse’s station while my file was put together. There were no computers, no technology. Only binders and paper and pencils. I asked if I could have my medication and my insulin. I was told I would have to wait until morning when I could see the doctor. But I was allowed to have a Benadryl.
\nExcept, I’d have to go to floor three to get it. No one leads me there and I just sit in the partial darkness. It had now been 48 hours since I had my medications and even longer since I had had my insulin. Eventually, I was thrown some scrubs — they were too small — and shown to my room. On the third floor. Another elevator trip.
\n![\"Mental](\"https://i.postimg.cc/4N0LWFvD/IMG-1671.webp\")
My bed was a plastic mattress crammed into a wooden frame. My pillow was some rubber monstrosity tucked into a scratchy pillowcase. My room was blistering hot and, since we were near the lake, extremely humid.
\nI didn’t sleep well that night.
\n7:00 am rolls around and I’m called out of bed to have my vitals taken. Blood pressure. No insulin still. But at least they checked my blood sugars.
\nA breakfast of dry eggs, mushy square potatoes, and sausage. I return to my room and try to sleep.
\nAround 10:00 am, I’m called to see the medical doctor. He asks me about my physical conditions and is appalled that I haven’t had my insulin in almost 56 hours. Apparently, the ER never mentioned it in my paperwork that I am diabetic.
\nHe immediately prescribed me my non-psych meds and I finally get my insulin.
\nAt 10:30, I get to see the psychiatrist. She listens to me and agrees I never should have been admitted as an inpatient. But because of the forms I signed, I’m stuck here for five days.
\nMy heart sinks.
\nI should have read those forms. The third form, full of legalize and confusing language, explains that my right to own a gun has been taken away upon my admission to the hospital.
\nI can understand the language because I’ve been trained to read and analyze this type of writing. My heart sinks for my fellow patients who see the complicated sentences and obscure words and just sign the form at the nagging request of the staff.
\nI hate guns. I hate them. I will never in my life own a gun. But I am deeply disturbed that this hospital, meant to heal people, is stripping away essential rights of American citizens simply because they are seeking help. It just shows how the mentally ill are feared in this country. I think this is a violation of my civil rights, but I don’t have the energy to further explore it. I’m exhausted, in withdrawal, and just want to sleep. So I sign without reading or raising an issue.
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\nSo I am prescribed my psych meds after over 56 hours. But not all of them. Because this hospital is so disorganized, they missed several of my medications and have to pull my profile from my pharmacy. And without any computers, this has to be done manually. By phone.
\nA woman who looks to be in a daze comes to the nurse’s counter. She asks to have some water. Nobody hears her. The orderlies are busy laughing at a YouTube video on a phone that had been smuggled in.
\nThe woman waits a couple minutes, then shuffles off.
\nThe first day passes in a blur. Between bouts of sleep, all I do is eat and use the bathroom. I don’t leave my bed the whole first day.
\nThe next day, the doctors have finally worked out all my meds. I get everything prescribed to me. Except I have to correct the nurses on the dosages. Once, I get someone else’s medications.
\nI tell the orderlies this and am greeted with a disgusted look.
\n![\"Not](\"https://i.postimg.cc/nrj7rTsC/IMG-1673.webp\")
The next three days are rife with mistakes. There is only one glucometer for a hospital of five floors. The staff can’t read doctor’s orders or simply ignore them. Group therapy consists of patients complaining about the conditions only to be told that if they behave, they’ll be released quicker.
\nOne woman had been in this hospital for eight months. There are whispered rumors about her. She is very nice, if not lost in a fantasy about her dead husband. Nobody takes care of her. She just goes from person to person in the group room telling her story and being kind to other people.
\nI think we have forgotten her.
\nThis was an experience on a Ken Kesey level. I was finally released on a Friday after checking in on a Tuesday.
\nAs I was walking down the hall with my few belongings shoved into a garbage bag, I pass a puddle of urine. I point it out to the orderly leading me to the elevators to take me downstairs — to the real world — and he just flashes me a smile and says, “Not your problem anymore.”
\nNobody had come to visit me. I received one phone call from my wife. I was discharged to no one, just let out the door. There was no discussion or referrals for follow up care. I wasn’t given any means for transportation home. But luckily I had money on my bus pass and there was a bus stop right out the door. With the help of my iPhone, I’m able to get the correct buses to get me home. Two hours of transfers.
\nThe staff lost some of my belongings and they forgot to return my CPAP. I had to wait to return to my floor to collect it.
\nI could go on further about how horrible this experience was, but it would just be another listing of the horrors of mental health care that people gasp at then ignore.
\nMental health treatment in the country is basically locking up patients like prisoners, medicating them, then shoving them out the door. Mental health is one of the most neglected health issues in this country.
\nI was seeking help because I knew I was becoming really depressed. I was not suicidal. I wanted to be watched and helped so I didn’t become suicidal. I took action against my disease, recognizing the signs, figuring out what I needed, and acted on it instead of isolating.
\nThis is what all therapists tell us to do. And when I actually did it, everything was made worse.
\nI was treated with no respect and without dignity. I was treated as a burden, worsening my depression.
\nWhen health care is run as for-profit, it only treats the affluent well.
\nThe state of mental health care in Western Culture is deplorable. Especially America. Mental hospitals are horror shows with technology from the 70’s used for organizing patients’ files and medication logs. Accordion files loaded with paper scribbled with undated notes are placed in a rotating storage system above the nurse’s station.
\nIndividual patient’s files are routinely lost, and they force patients to track their own medications.
\n![\"The](\"https://i.postimg.cc/gj8qcdBj/IMG-1674.webp\")
Why do we treat mental health so poorly?
\nBreast cancer has marathons and fundraisers. ALS had the Ice bucket challenge that went international.
\nWhen somebody has Bipolar or Depression or Schizophrenia, they are shoved away, out of sight and locked up like prisoners.
\nMental illness scares people — I have learned this, losing intimate partners who would not attempt to understand my fluctuations of mood. We don’t want to confront it head-on. We discuss mental illness through celebrities and tabloid gossip, never having an authentic look at the struggles the mentally ill go through in a day.
\nNever understanding why it takes 40 minutes to just put on a sock. Looking at someone with pity because they just don’t have the energy, or care, to maintain their hygiene.
\nWe see the glamorous side of mental illness. The celebrity version.
\nIt is no surprise that people who are extremely depressed force themselves to put on a facade of “ok’ness.” It’s no wonder those who are suicidal simply avoid asking for help and go through with it. _When the healing process demands a loss of dignity and is performed with complete indifference and neglect, when the treatment forces you to be a prisoner exposed to trauma, hopelessness is all that’s left. _
\nWe are failing as a culture. We are disregarding the things that make us human: sadness, loss of hope, empathy. We use medications and locked doors and padded rooms and bathrooms without a door as treatment instead of kindness, instead of understanding, instead of acceptance. Reaching out and hugging someone, or holding a hand and saying “it will be ok”, we applaud the strength of the famously ill and then distance ourselves from the actual madness.
\nWe must show kindness. We must confront what scared us. We must truly support those of us struggling just to make it through another day without crying.
\nWithout isolating.
\nWithout locking ourselves behind doors.
\nWe must do better.
\nI wrote this before the Pandemic in 2020. Things changed during this time. Normal people who function in everyday achievements got a taste of the isolation and depression and anxiety many of those of us with a mental illnesses live with daily.
\nNormal, healthy people were suddenly shoved into a daily life of isolation, anxiety, depression, fright. Nobody knew what was going to happen with this disease, whether our loved ones would be the next case. Whether we’d be the next case. Anxiety permeated the globe.
\nBecause of this, a better understanding of mental illness and health was made. People were experiencing empathy for those of us who put on masks and play acted we are ok just to go out in the world. Hell, Drew Carey would sign off from the Price is Right asking us to take care of our mental health.
\n![\"Drew](\"https://i.postimg.cc/9fw4HbkF/IMG-1675.webp\")
And we have gotten better it seems. Or younger generations have, at least. My generation, GenX, still feels we can push through and will ourselves better.
\nI had another stay in a mental hospital in 2019. It was much nicer than my previous stay. We at least had dignity, and the nurses seemed to actually care. I’ll write about it someday.
\nBut for now, even though we’ve moved ahead in treating mental illness, we still have a long way to go.
\nFurther reading:
\n“Mad in America: Bad Science, Bad Medicine, and the Enduring Mistreatment of the Mentally Ill,” by Robert Whitaker
\n“An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness,” by Kay Redfield Jamison
\nAnd if you or someone you love is struggling with mental health issues, please contact your local National Alliance of Mental Illness (NAMI). They truly save lives.
\n", "summary": "Mental health treatment in America often neglects patients’ dignity and rights, leading to experiences of dehumanization and inadequate care.", "date_published": "2026-09-11T11:04:00-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2026/09/11/briefing-for-a-descent-into.html", "tags": ["Health","Hospital ","Mental Health"] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2026/09/11/im-a-horrible-person.html", "title": "I’m a Horrible Person", "content_html": "I’m watching the 9/11 remembrance ceremony, and I can’t help but think that they’re reading off prisoners’ names. I’m expecting the prisoner number to follow.
\nThis is probably because I’ve been binge-watching Oz. Yeah, this and my newly developed paranoia of prison.
\n", "summary": "The remembrance of 9/11 evokes thoughts of prisoners for the speaker, influenced by binge-watching “Oz” and developing a paranoia about prison.", "date_published": "2026-09-11T10:01:00-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2026/09/11/im-a-horrible-person.html", "tags": ["9/11","tv","Oz"] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2026/09/11/remembrance.html", "title": "9/11 Remembrance", "content_html": "I’m not one to criticize anyone who is grieving or has lost someone in a tragedy. But, watching the 9/11 remembrances on the news and listening to the families read off their lost loved one’s names and then immediately praising J.D. Vance as _strong_and trustworthy makes me question if they’re not politicizing the moment in the worst possible way.
\nTwo families called upon Trump to expose Saudi Arabia as the ones who planned and enacted the 9/11 attacks, who then went on to _praise_Trump. Praise the man who is currently botching a war with Iran, bribing the American people for their vote, and has been convicted of 34 felonies for something he didn’t do.
\nI think they’re justified in calling out Saudi Arabia. The BBC published a story 4 days ago showing videos linking a man with ties to the Saudi government to the terrorist attacks on 9/11:
\nNew videos of man in 9/11 lawsuit reveal extremist links
\n\n\nThe lawsuit argues Saudi Arabia was complicit in the attacks and that Bayoumi aided two of the 19 hijackers who flew planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, with another crashing in Pennsylvania.
\n
Ok, let’s mourn this day. Let’s call attention to the Saudis who orchestrated the attacks and have yet to be punished.
\nBut don’t gush over the Vice President and the President, especially considering all the illegal stuff they’re up to.
\n", "summary": "Criticism arises over politicizing 9/11 remembrances, as families honor their lost loved ones while simultaneously praising controversial political figures.", "date_published": "2026-09-11T07:58:32-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2026/09/11/remembrance.html", "tags": ["politics","9/11","Trump"] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2026/09/11/the-end-of-humanity-in.html", "title": "The End of Humanity in 2020", "content_html": "![\"Apple-Campus-and-Rehoboam.jpg\"](\"https://i.postimg.cc/0jYf3RMj/Apple-Campus-and-Rehoboam.jpg\")
This is interesting: the top image is of Apple’s Marina Bay Sands store in Singapore. It was built on September 10, 2020, years before the whole Artificial Intelligence debate.
\nFor reference, OpenAI was founded in 2015
\nThe bottom image is of the Rehoboam AI computer from HBO’s fictional show Westworld. Rehoboam seeks the death of the imperfect. Of humans. Just an intriguing juxtaposition.
\n", "summary": "The juxtaposition of Apple’s Marina Bay Sands store and the Rehoboam AI from Westworld highlights the contrast between real-world innovation and fictional dystopian technology.", "date_published": "2026-09-11T05:05:00-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2026/09/11/the-end-of-humanity-in.html", "tags": ["AI","Apple","Doomsday "] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2026/09/11/031144.html", "title": "AI and the Threat to Art", "content_html": "Reading back through my old blog posts, I came upon this gem: AI Writing and now feel like a prophet.
\nWell, yeah, people were already voicing their hatred and criticism of Artificial Intelligence, but I feel that I hopped on the elevator at the 3rd floor. There were rumbles about AI fucking over the arts, but not as prominent as it is now.
\n![\"Apple](\"https://i.postimg.cc/0jYf3RMj/IMG-1663.jpg\")
I double down on my criticism. AI is not art!
\n![\"E451E0AB-8D16-4F50-93E5-1CDB8C7481FA.png\"](\"https://i.postimg.cc/Sx9q3nTC/E451E0AB-8D16-4F50-93E5-1CDB8C7481FA.png\")
I will die on this hill. As a professional writer, I’m now faced with skeptical readers asking did he use AI to write this? It’s an obnoxious question created by an obnoxious technology. I’m not one of those who is advocating for the death of AI, and I believe many artists are overreacting, but when Apple Music is posting a Top AI music chart, no matter how small it is and AI music has infiltrated the Top music charts on Spotify and other streaming services, something is going on. And AI can’t be ignored.
\n<!–more–>
\nAnd in the writing community, the tempers run from The World is Ending to Meh, it’s become difficult to get anything new published.
\nUse the em dash in your writing? Must be AI! Or how about the stately Oxford comma? Definitely AI-created. Self-Published? Written by ChatGPT (or Gemini if low on funds).
\n![\"Unsplash](\"https://i.postimg.cc/gJV1HR2B/FCC03B58-D8B8-4674-86D9-D348A3FBC6C9.jpg\")
While the writing landscape in today’s world of AI-written slop produced just to make money is harrowing, it’s not as doom-and-gloom as the critics claim.\nFirst, a professionally written journalistic article is easy to spot. The writer of a professional article focuses on the main topic, using unique and creative word structure, whereas an AI article is vague, repetitive, and lacking creativity. It should be easy to see the real writer amongst the AI slop.
\nHowever, the constant upgrading of AI models by the big guys OpenAI, Google Gemini, Anthropic (safety AI my ass), and Meta AI (kinda; I barely count it as a big one considering its focus on social media) has writers scrambling to sound “authentic” even if it means purposely adding grammar and spelling errors in their work. It seems editors should also be scared.
\nSo, not to ramble on about a topic I already rambled on about (seriously, read the article linked at the beginning of this piece), art can never be fully reproduced by a computer or AI. Art requires access to pain and happiness and sadness and heartbreak and giddy love. Art is an expression of what it is to live as a human (see my reference to Saussure’s Sign and Signifier). No AI, no model, no matter how advanced, can reproduce the human experience. And if it eventually can, I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.
\n![\"Professor](\"https://i.postimg.cc/cCnqtj8Q/IMG-1661.gif\")
I found this article on Substack discussing the fate of writers in an AI world. And although I disagree with many of his analyses, I do think he’s onto something concerning the future of self-published writers. Read it here:
\nAI’s Impact on Future Writer Career Path (long)
\nI could write so much more on this topic, but I’ve already covered it, and Nicolas Cole goes very in-depth in his article. Seriously, take the time to read it. He makes some great points.
\nBottom line: AI will not destroy art because AI cannot replicate the human experience.
\n![\"AI](\"https://i.postimg.cc/qqjmRx1X/97A527AC-20C5-4A34-92A7-DF5418DECBCA.png\")
(grammar embarrassingly checked by AI: Grammarly)
\nAddendum:
\nOn a whim, I asked ChatGPT to write a short story in my genre l, Cyberpunk Horror. Here’s the result. Think what you will of it:
\n\nReally? Ghost in the Glass? I mean, it’s a direct reference to the seminal cyberpunk film and manga Ghost in the Shell? It’s not even hiding its plagiarism. Or if not plagiarism, definitely heavily influenced.
\nI’ll take a great novel by William Gibson or T.R. Napper over any AI slop inspired by the real art.
\n", "summary": "AI cannot replicate the human experience, and therefore it cannot truly create art.\nPsssst, I generated this summary with AI, and not only is it soulless and missing the post’s intent, but it had two grammatical errors", "date_published": "2026-09-11T03:11:44-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2026/09/11/031144.html", "tags": ["AI","Art"] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2024/10/26/photography-saved-my-mental-health.html", "title": "Photography Saved My Mental Health", "content_html": "So, I’ve been a deep, dark depression for over a year. I wanted to do nothing but sleep. I isolated, I didn’t eat, I barely left my room, I was happily sauntering down the knobby road of self destruction.
\nMy psychiatrist was desperately trying to break my depression, changing medications each appointment. He was trying to give me a floor to stand on in order to get better, considering I was really far down into the pit. My therapist got frustrated with me. I’d just not go to appointments without calling, didn’t answer her calls, turned off my phone and ruminated on everything I’ve done wrong in a swiftly darkening room.
\nShe stayed with me. My therapist is amazing after all I put her through. My psychiatrist came upon a medication that actually worked a little bit. Lamictal. I’d been on it before, but couldn’t remember if it was effective or not. But it worked. Well enough for me to stop isolating and ruminating all the time.
\nI got out of my room. I saw birds and felt sunshine. It was wonderful. I was a human once and I’m struggling to get back there. But I started to feel human, just a little bit. I’d say Lamictal works on me. Not to disregard all the hard work I did on trying to change myself. My therapist went from frustrated to proud. I felt pretty good.
\nI’ve always loved photography. I took a class on it in high school. For two years. We had to do everything manually. Loading the film into the camera in complete darkness, dredging the film in chemicals to expose the negatives, hanging the film to dry. It was all hands on, especially making photographs from the film.
\nThat was a long time ago, another life, that one clean and unburdened by the world. He had a future. A future I fucked up.
\nI’m supposed to challenge the negative. Guess I’m not doing so well. Oh god, I remember the red light of the darkroom, the eerie world we moved through. We would put our favorite albums into a cheap stereo and make everyone listen to our god awful taste in music. I loved putting on Moby to annoy everyone. I laughed.
\nI remember I had just bought David Bowie’s latest album. It was Earthling, just to date myself. The last time I’d visit the darkroom was the first time I’d hear that album. We toiled away in the darkroom, slopping chemicals and throwing out failed exposures, all to Bowie’s “I’m Afraid of Americans”.
\nI miss it. I was happy then.
\nSince my depression was lifting, I surprisingly got back into photography. Not writing, which is my passion. Nope. I was snapping pictures. And having a wonderful time doing it. I found my hobby. Something to do to eat up the hours of the day. Except I really enjoyed taking pictures, even if it was with my iPhone.
\nSo I’m going to share what’s been making me happy. I’ve even entered contests and have won! Twice! So I might be kinda good. Or lucky. Doesn’t matter, I just enjoy it.
\nHere are my photos. I’m sharing what’s dragged me out of a deep, deep, depression. I hope this mood lasts.
\nBecause I feel human again.
\nI’ve been going to my favorite park everyday. It’s beautiful. Here are some photos from the park:
\n![\"Boing!\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/4cdc28e537.jpg\")
![\"Pikes](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/1393797474.jpg\")
![\"October](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/5fa16c5ad0.jpg\")
![\"My](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/682e9f9765.jpg\")
![\"Geese](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/6a1ad2267c.jpg\")
![\"Rawr\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/ee5aeb2b6d.jpg\")
![\"Redhead\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/1fdd57e9b7.jpg\")
I also caught some pretty sunrises in my city.
\n![\"It’s](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/b2d2da4906.jpg\")
![\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/ffe6d73a9e.jpg\")
And just because I’m so excited about winning two contests, here are the two photos that lifted my mood to Pluto.
\n![\"Danish](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/282b554d94.jpg\")
![\"Lone](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/acb26d1e87.jpg\")
Both of these were taken in Denmark. I was told the roses bloom only in a small sliver of time. I was lucky enough to have caught them in full bloom.
\nThe house really struck me. It was the only building in that area, surrounded by rocks and the ocean. I was at the northern tip of Denmark in a town named Skagen. It is a small fishing town right on the ocean. I was just dumbstruck by how everything around me was so…lonely. The place oozed loneliness. And for some reason, it was comforting.
\nIf you read this far, thank you. I haven’t written anything in about a year. It means a lot to me that you read this far. Thank you.
", "summary": "So, I’ve been a deep, dark depression for over a year. I wanted to do nothing but sleep. I isolated, I didn’t eat, I barely left my room, I was happily sauntering down the knobby road of self destruction.\nMy psychiatrist was desperately trying to break my depression, changing medications each appointment. He was trying to give me a floor to stand on in order to get better, considering I was really far down into the pit. My therapist got frustrated with me. I’d just not go to appointments without calling, didn’t answer her calls, turned off my phone and ruminated on everything I’ve done wrong in a swiftly darkening room.\nShe stayed with me. My therapist is amazing after all I put her through. My psychiatrist came upon a medication that actually worked a little bit. Lamictal. I’d been on it before, but couldn’t remember if it was effective or not. But it worked. Well enough for me to stop isolating and ruminating all the time.\nI got out of my room. I saw birds and felt sunshine. It was wonderful. I was a human once and I’m struggling to get back there. But I started to feel human, just a little bit. I’d say Lamictal works on me. Not to disregard all the hard work I did on trying to change myself. My therapist went from frustrated to proud. I felt pretty good.\n", "date_published": "2024-10-26T00:41:52-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2024/10/26/photography-saved-my-mental-health.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2024/10/25/desperation-not-a-great-photo.html", "content_html": "![\"Desperation\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/f597d7d02f.jpg\")
Not a great photo, but shows the hidden desperation in late stage Capitalism. i took this at 2 am. He was rooting through my house’s dumpster. I dont know if he was looking for food or something else.
\nBut what causes someone to become so desperate that they root through a dumpster? Addiction? No job and no money? Just wanting this life?
\nWhatever the cause, it’s a symptom of a broken system. Capitalism thrives on violence and trauma. Capitalism creates desperation for the poor. Capitalism is dying, and it’s taking the poor with it.
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-25T20:44:06-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2024/10/25/desperation-not-a-great-photo.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2024/10/26/desperation-not-a-great-photo.html", "content_html": "![\"Desperation\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/03790dc5d8.jpg\")
Not a great photo, but shows the hidden desperation in late stage Capitalism. i took this at 2 am. He was rooting through my house’s dumpster. I dont know if he was looking for food or something else.
\nBut what causes someone to become so desperate that they root through a dumpster? Addiction? No job and no money? Just wanting this life?
\nWhatever the cause, it’s a symptom of a broken system. Capitalism thrives on violence and trauma. Capitalism creates desperation for the poor. Capitalism is dying, and it’s taking the poor with it.
\n", "date_published": "2024-10-25T20:44:06-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2024/10/26/desperation-not-a-great-photo.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2023/03/24/ai-writing.html", "title": "AI Writing", "content_html": "So I’ve been playing around with ChatGPT and Bing AI Chatbot. The tech world is abuzz about these AIs. Honestly, after playing with them, they suck. They provide wrong answers or no answers at all.
\nWhat concerns me though is that major institutions are thinking of using these AIs to write films and novels.
\nWriters Guild of America Considers Letting AI Write Hollywood Scripts
\nAs a writer, this scares me. Is my passion and reason for living going to become obsolete? Will machines be writing books?
\nI mean, there are people already using ChatGPT to write novels that are then published on Amazon Written Books on Amazon
\nGross. An AI can’t produce poetry or irony or subtly or metaphors. It can only mimic the language it’s learned.
\nFerdinand de Saussure, the father of Semiotics, theorized that you cannot know the meaning of a word unless you have a Signifier for it. That is, you know and have experienced the word.
\nFor instance, you hear the word “banana.” But you’ve never seen a banana. You know they exist, but you have no reference to what it is. “Banana” is just a word to you. It has no meaning. Then, you see a banana. You have a reference for it. The word “banana” now has meaning.
\nSaussure called the words and letters the “Sign.” But the Sign is meaningless without a Signifier. The Signifier is your experience in the world. If you have a reference to the word, then it has meaning. If you have the Signifier, then the Sign has meaning.
\nOf course, Linguistics and Semiology have evolved and changed through the decades. But Saussure’s theory is at the core of Semiology.
\nI bring this up because an AI will never have a Signifier. It only produces empty Signs from the language it scrapes off the internet. It knows grammar, yes, but it doesn’t know
\nSo, will AI replace writers and artists?
\nCan Writers and Academia Adapt?
\nI say not a chance. AI-generated writing will give a headache to the untalented who churn out basic work. AI can write better than them. But those who are passionate about writing and art will not be replaced by machines.
\nThose of us who live to write or produce art will still be successful. It’s because we can write better than an AI. We have Signifiers. We know poetry and the intricate art of language. Just as other artists are professionals at their craft.
\nI’d love to see an AI-written film. It’d probably be a mixture of Micheal Bay nonsense and Jerry Bruckheimer’s unbelievable action. The script will read like James Cameron writing Avatar 3 and the swirling bullshit that is George Lucas.
\nSo don’t fear these AIs. They suck. And they’ll never be able to achieve the humanness of Art.
\nI asked Bing to write me a cyberpunk novel where the main character is named Kivrin.
\nThis is what I got; William Gibson it is not:
\nHere’s a short cyberpunk story with Kivrin as the main character:
\nKivrin was a hacker, a good one. She had been hired by a corporation to hack into a rival company’s database and steal their secrets. She had done it before, and she could do it again. But this time, something was different. This time, she was being watched.
\nShe didn’t know who was watching her, but she could feel their eyes on her. She tried to shake the feeling, but it wouldn’t go away. She knew she had to be careful.
\nShe started to investigate, digging deeper and deeper into the company’s database. She found something she wasn’t supposed to find. Something that could get her killed.
\nShe tried to back out, but it was too late. They had found her. She had to run.
\nShe grabbed her laptop and ran out of her apartment. She didn’t know where to go, but she knew she had to get away. She ran down the street, her heart pounding in her chest.
\nShe turned a corner and ran into a man. He was tall and muscular, with a shaved head and a scar on his cheek. He looked dangerous.
\n“Kivrin?” he said.
\nShe didn’t know how he knew her name, but she knew she had to get away. She tried to run, but he grabbed her arm.
\n“Come with me,” he said. “I can help you.”
\nShe didn’t know if she could trust him, but she didn’t have a choice. She followed him down an alley and into a building.
\nInside, she found a group of hackers. They were all working on laptops, surrounded by wires and screens. They looked up as she entered.
\n“Who’s this?” one of them asked.
\n“This is Kivrin,” the man said. “She needs our help.”
\nThey all looked at her, and she knew she had found her new home.
\nIt’s ok, like B movie ok. But it’ll never surpass Thomas Pynchon, Haruki Murakami, or Neal Stephenson. AI just parrots language, it doesn’t play with it.
\nAnd because of that, humans will always create art that a machine could never reproduce.
", "date_published": "2023-03-23T18:32:37-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2023/03/24/ai-writing.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2023/03/14/those-who-remember-us.html", "title": "Those Who Remember Us", "content_html": "I wrote something for the first time in countless months. It’s for my next book. I don’t know if it’s any good, but hey, I wrote something.
\nThis is how it went:
\nThe skyline was beautiful on fire.
\nI remember your hair twisting in the breeze: thin, dark strands whispering in the gusts of hot air from below. You kept your hair long and styled whereas mine remained tussled, looking like I had emerged from years of sleep haunted by dreams of better days and motions I once took.
\nThe sun is growing larger and brighter every minute. It started over a year ago. First, days that should have ended became longer and longer. Soon, the night began at ten o’clock, then eleven, then midnight, then we were living in the Arctic Circle, the Aurora shimmering above us in the guise of cirrus clouds refracting constant daylight.
\n![\"Image](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/747452831d.jpg\")
At first, it was beautiful, shimmering gold in the streets—blues and whites intermingling in shards of glass. Then the orange came and the red. And then the riots and the looting. Buildings were destroyed and bodies piled against each other, vibrant skin bathed in the taunting orange glow.
\nBlood flowed in the streets for months. The sun grew larger.
\nThe people, us, we, a combined human agreement, decided to stop. The sun would not stop growing, and neither would we. Everything we had created—money, knowledge, history, even our biology—no longer held us together. We did not care anymore. It would all burn. Like our bodies.
\nMillennia of human evolution condensed into three essentials: food, water, closeness.
\nYour hand squeezed mine in a playful tug, and I looked over at you. Your eyes were shining, bright, and brilliant through tinted darkness. I squeezed back and then pulled you close to me, bumping shoulders, letting go of your hand, and wrapping my arms around your full body. You let out a laugh as we tumbled down through the dirt of the hill.
\nWe wore more dust than clothes. But they had become a necessity. Coverings of the flesh, devoid of social modesty and stylistic expression. Clothes became a means to live in order to die.
\nYou wore a tattered flowing skirt coming down to your ankles, tucked into an enormous pair of black leather boots. A black zipped hoodie stretched across your body. I was in a dark set of jeans, same boots, and a purple zipped hoodie, too small. We had traded. We both wore scuffed and cracked motorcycle helmets and stippled gardening gloves.
\nWe smelled of earth and sweat and a primal essence that had not existed for millions of years.
\nI had the luck of knowing you for several years before the sun began to expand. I did not seek you out; I found you through the chaos of normalcy. Before normalcy became chaos. When things were different and death was a distant image floating on the dying light of a star.
\n![\"A](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/c7ad86d773.jpg\")
Somewhere in the nearby city, a voice rang out, “ONE MINUTE! ONE MINUTE!” It echoed across the hills, “inute…inute…inute…” An explosive roar followed, thousands of people cheering and laughing. Horns and fireworks. People celebrating the biggest party in the planet’s history. And we lay together on a burnt hill, laughing.
\nI started knocking on your helmet visor with my fist and your voice, that voice, specific to you, lilting and unique, muffled by the thick plastic, made the air shimmer with laughter. Your wonderful voice. You.
\nYou straddled me and playfully held my shoulders to the ground. I squirmed and kicked and finally lifted you off me and pinned you to the dust. We were laughing, the sound soft and muffled. You kicked and squirmed and your boot, unlaced, slowly shook off. Your foot became exposed to the light.
\nThe whiteness of your skin immediately turned red, and became blackened.
\nYou tuck your foot behind you, hiding it under your skirt, smiling that crooked smile at me and saying, “It’ll be over soon. It won’t burn off. I won’t feel it.”
\n“30 SECONDS! 30 SECONDS!” Another roar comes. More fireworks. More horns.
\n![\"Toxic](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/d81a80be80.jpg\")
The sun grows above us, brighter and brighter. We came to this place because it was away from everyone else. It overlooks an industrial dump full of toxic chemicals and machinery. A dump that should not exist but does. A remnant of times gone by. In different circumstances, in different timelines, we would protest, and we would get it removed. The climate demanded it. If not changed, everything would be over. And now it is. Now we can do nothing.
\nNow it is our savior. No one knows of it. No one cares. The chemicals bubble and the fumes drift over us—we used to care. We used to care a lot. Now, all we care about is us. The dirt beneath our bodies, feeling the pressure of each other through layers of protective clothing, feeling an inward breath, seeing the expelled air condense on the face mask.
\nThis moment is ours and will always be.
\nI want to touch you with skin and have my last image be of your face in the sun’s brightness. To the side, though, movement catches my attention and I turn my head to see what it is.
\nWalking hand in hand, a couple shuffles through the dust and ash. Shivering with palsy but with no aid. They stand confident, or as confident as their bodies would allow. An older man and woman make their way up the hill. He wears a full suit, dark shoes, and a handkerchief tied around his face. Dark goggles, once used for skiing, wrap around half of his head.
\nThe woman wears a hand-knit sweater and a glowing white skirt, pleated and clean, obviously pressed before they ventured out, a large wicker sun hat, and a handkerchief around her face as well. No goggles, large bug-eyed sunglasses with reflective Aviator lenses—cobbled together, I assume, in earlier days. Open-toed shoes, her toes black and shriveled.
\nThey walk majestically toward the sun. The man places his arm around the woman and pulls her close to him. She wraps an arm around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. They shuffle down the hill until they are out of sight.
\nThe sun flares and I panic. You immediately grab the side of my helmet and pull my head toward yours. Your gloves are off, the skin of your hands peeling and turning black. Your helmet is off. Your dark hair bleaching to a strange whiteness, the skin of your face becoming red and pocked with blisters.
\nI see your smile. Your actual smile. See your eyes brighten and your callused and worn hands, beyond your years, grab the sides of my helmet and gently pull it off. The sting of light makes me wince. But I can feel you, your hands on my cheeks. Your forehead is suddenly against mine and that smile of yours reaching upwards beyond your own body.\nMy gloves come off and I no longer feel the light. I cup your head in my hands, closing my eyes, pressing into you, smiling and happy, ignoring the pain from the massive star eating the sky.
\n“5, 4, 3…” the countdown comes from the city, growing louder. The sun expands and whiteness overtakes us. Orange and red and even the billboards take notice.
\nAnd I take your hands in mine, lowering them from my head, intertwining with your burning fingers. Only a few seconds left to keep loving you.
\nWe fold into each other as the light of a star that protected and cared for us incinerates our bodies. Time ends and space expands; our entire selves reduced to carbon absorbed by photons, spreading across the universe, becoming nothing and everything at once.
\n", "date_published": "2023-03-14T00:50:04-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2023/03/14/those-who-remember-us.html", "tags": ["Writing ","Short Stories "] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2023/02/08/superman-in-my-mind.html", "title": "Superman in my Mind", "content_html": "I wrote this for a magazine (Zathom) that gave you three words to use in a flash fiction piece.
\n![\"Story](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/a284d19c57.jpg\")
You had to integrate the three words into your story and keep the word count under 60 words.
\nI titled it Superman in my mind and submitted it. I didn’t expect any response.
\nApparently, Zathom editors loved it, published it, and featured it on their website and print version.
\nI also got paid $100 bucks simply for writing nonsense in 58 words.
\nAnyway, here’s the text of it:
\nCarlos lights up a cigarette, heavy glow, an island of red in blackness. The band plays on behind the walls, muffled but strong. “They’re pretty good” he says as he takes a drag. Newborn smoke from pink lungs curls in the buzzing streetlight. Anxiety is getting to Carlos. This woman is alien to him.
\n", "date_published": "2023-02-08T14:01:18-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2023/02/08/superman-in-my-mind.html", "tags": ["Writing ","Short Stories ","Micro fiction"] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2023/01/27/ai-and-existentialism.html", "title": "AI and Existentialism ", "content_html": "I think with the rise in AI creations and how the Singularity is becoming more and more a real possibility, we need to listen to James Gleick. He wrote The Information which explores “…how digital information is now being understood in relation to physics and genetics.”
\n![\"White](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/7177936360.jpg\")
Gleick is exploring how current technology is changing us as humans.
\nExistential questions such as: what does it mean to be human? Are we making ourselves irrelevant with the advances in technology? If a computer becomes sentient—shown with ChatGPT and AI art—is humanity still viable?
\nWhat worries me is the use of AI-created information being used to further a certain agenda.
\nLet’s be honest: most people are lazy and stupid. At least on social media. They don’t critically think or research the information they consume. Using AI-created art or writing to push an agenda could be very easy and cause a lot of trouble.
\nBecome media literate. Think critically.
\n", "date_published": "2023-01-27T08:49:06-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2023/01/27/ai-and-existentialism.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2022/11/13/kate-spade-anthony-bourdain-and.html", "title": "Kate Spade, Anthony Bourdain, and Suicide *TW*", "content_html": "It’s been four years since Anthony Bourdain committed suicide. The same for Kate Spade. Spade died on June 5th, 2018. Just three days later, Bourdain followed her. Tragedy is not the right word. Suicide is not tragic. It is filled with sadness, hopelessness, self-hatred, and love. Love for the people who are cared for, holding the belief that the pain being caused to them through your existence will stop once you are gone.
\n![\"Anthony](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/ec358f554c.jpg\")
This is not tragic. This is the result of corrupted thoughts. Thoughts that you believe are true, that are real. Instead, these thoughts are lying to you. They are indeed true in that they exist. But only because they exist. What the thoughts mean is wrong, completely wrong. They bubble up from uncontrollable depression and continually repeat their poison to you:
\n“You’re worthless
\nYou only hurt people
\nYou’ll always be hopeless and sad
\nNothing will change. This is forever
\nThose you love need you to not exist; you do nothing but hurt them.
\nThis is out of love, not anger or spite. But love.”
\nI know these thoughts intimately. They’ve plagued me my entire life. I can only assume they plagued Bourdain and Spade as well. But that’s only an assumption, no one ever knows how someone’s thoughts affect them.
\nDepression is an insidious killer.
\nIt convinces you everything is ok all the whole chipping away at your confidence, your energy, your interests, and your life. Soon you go from lunch with friends to isolating in your room to apathetic to even watch Netflix.
\nDepression is fucking brutal. It’s not being sad like everyone assumes. It takes away all joy, happiness, pleasure, and motivation, replacing it all with apathy and numbness
\n![\"Kate](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/c2a7a321b6.jpg\")
It’s important to understand this: Depression kills. Not just physically, but spiritually. Quality of life plummets until there is nothing at all.
\nI’ll say it again: Depression kills the soul.
\nMost people don’t understand this, assuming Depression is just sadness and after a couple of days, you emerge from your room bright-eyed and so charged with happiness and motivation, you’re going to change the world.
\nBullshit.
\nIf you think this is what Depression is, please read what I wrote above again and again until you get it.
\nWhat makes things worse is the appalling state of health care in America. It’s even worse for mental health. Therapists take months to accept new patients—and that’s even if you’re lucky enough that they take your insurance.
\nPsychiatrists are worse. Most are not taking new patients. And the ones that are studied podiatry and are prescribing medication that changes your brain and mood from an outdated book.
\nI have Bipolar 2 with generalized anxiety disorder, PTSD, and ADHD. The amount of medication I take to control the symptoms fills up an entire pill holder container. And they just provide a floor for my illness. I still suffer from crushing depression. My anxiety is so bad, I can’t step outside without panicking. I’m afraid of everything. Walking half a block blocks to 7-11 is a struggle. Because anxiety is the beast that makes you worry about every eventuality that can occur.
\nI fear something bad is going to happen every minute of every day. And it sucks.
\nMostly it’s stupid stuff: will I embarrass myself? How do I look? Will people judge me? But it can morph into will I get in a car crash? Will I get hit by a car? Will my bank card work? Will someone attack me?
\nBut it’s also irrational thoughts: I can’t be near people; Outside is too much, too big (I was recently diagnosed agoraphobic); my roommates are conspiring against me; everyone hates me.
\nNowhere is safe from anxiety. And it’s exhausting.
\nThere is a term in DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) called Wise Mind. Yes, that’s what it’s actually called. It’s the practice of combing logic with emotion to force the mind to figure out what’s true or not.
\nI’m very bad at it. But it’s the golden state in mental health treatment.
\nCombine depression with anxiety and you’re going to be having a bad time. Depression is the monster that keeps reminding you of what you’ve done wrong. Even the little things. A distorted view of everything you’ve done.\nIt is your past clinging to you.
\nIt tells you;
\nDeath is the only way to escape this.
\nAnxiety, on the other hand, is you trying to predict the future. In psychological terms, it’s called Fortune Telling. It means you believe you know what’s going to happen at the concert you’re going to; when you go out with friends; when you get on that plane; when you go to work.
\nAnd it’s always bad. Horrible things are going to happen. So you cancel plans, you delay your flight, you miss work for the X time. Anxiety, like depression, destroys your life. It makes you live in fear all the time, trying to protect yourself from phantoms.
\nPsychologists have determined there are four physical reactions to anxiety: Fight, Flight, Freeze, and Fawn.
\nI freeze. When my anxiety is high, I just stop everything and retreat into the comfort of the internet. I don’t go out, I don’t eat, I don’t sleep. I just stop.
\nAnxiety is not just feeling uncomfortable or a bit fearful. Anxiety is full-on run screaming into the woods, shuffle under a huge bush with the rabbits, and do not move. Ever.
\nAnxiety kills. Much like depression, except with panic attacks: a wave of anxiety so strong you break down. Some people go into psychosis. Some attack other people.
\nPanic attacks are dangerous. They’re not you getting really afraid of going to a party. They fall to the ground sobbing and screaming, begging to be killed.
\nWe need to treat mental illness so much better in all countries, but especially in America. We need to treat our mental health like we treat cancer. Or diabetes. Or the flu. It is not a personality flaw or a weakness in a person. You are really, truly ill. Only the illness is in your mind. And the affects your mood and how you present yourself. It affects how we perceive reality.
\nI have attempted suicide many times. Each time I ended up in the hospital. My last visit exposed how horrible the conditions and treatment are in mental hospitals. I wrote a post about it here: Briefings on a Descent into Hell
\nWhen you have a mental illness, your brain lies to you. And when you can’t trust yourself. And when you can’t trust yourself, what do you do? You become lost, confused, and scared.
\nSo if you are hurting or your brain is lying to you or you are hopeless, I want you to know I am here for you. I know that might not mean much, but I’ve experienced almost every horrible thing that comes with mental illness. You have my empathy and support. You are not alone. I always say every human is intended to exist. And if that person leaves this existence prematurely, especially by their own hand, a hole is punched through existence. A hole that can never be filled. A hole that will swallow everyone who cared for that person.
\nJust remember what Carl Sagan said:
\n“The cosmos is within us. We are made of star stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.”
\nYou serve a purpose in this world. The universe needs you. You are made of star stuff.
\nIf you are in a mental health crisis, here is the national suicide hotline:
\n\nYou can call or text it at any time to talk to a caring professional who does understand.
\nThere are others here for you. Don’t be ashamed to reach out. You are not weak. You are not broken. You are not less than everyone else for seeking help. You are strong. You made it this far. Keep going.
\nYou need to hear someone say you’re loved and you are worth it. Because you are.
\nPlease, don’t give up. And for everyone else, let’s improve mental health perception and treatment. It’s becoming an epidemic.
\nRemember, you are loved. You really are.
", "date_published": "2022-11-12T18:54:53-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2022/11/13/kate-spade-anthony-bourdain-and.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2022/11/10/hospital-food.html", "title": "Hospital Food", "content_html": "I was in the hospital for six days. I just got out today, and I’m exhausted. You never sleep in the hospital.
\nYou also never get chocolate mousse. For dinner, I ordered chocolate mousse for dessert. When my meal came, I got the lazy version of mousse. Just staring at me.
\n![\"Chocolate](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/0569efdfbf.jpg\")
It was good, though
\n", "summary": "After six exhausting days in the hospital, a disappointing dessert of chocolate pudding instead of mousse was ultimately still enjoyable.", "date_published": "2022-11-10T01:35:00-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2022/11/10/hospital-food.html", "tags": ["Hospital "] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2022/05/10/perusing-old-photographs.html", "title": "Perusing Old Photographs", "content_html": "Woman with her horse on a snowy day in 1899. Photo by Félix Thiollier
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/70ded17260.jpg\")
I love photographs from the 19th century. The sepia tint, the wild experimentation with a new technology, the unsettling feel of the photos. Even the creepiness is great.
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/ae04c61009.jpg\")
\nBBC article on photos of the dead
It’s baffling that we went from huge cameras that required a long exposure time to having a camera in our pocket.
\nI actually wanted to be a professional photographer in high school. I even looked at several colleges that had a photography program. I was talked out of it though.
\nAnyway, I think the first photo is great.
\n", "summary": "Nostalgia for 19th-century photography is expressed through admiration for its unique qualities and a personal reflection on a lost ambition to pursue photography professionally.", "date_published": "2022-05-10T09:17:28-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2022/05/10/perusing-old-photographs.html", "tags": ["Photography"] }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2022/03/09/letter-to-my-anxiety.html", "title": "Letter to my Anxiety", "content_html": "I’ve lived with you so long I don’t know life without being afraid. Because of you, I’ve missed out on so many good things in life I want to experience.
\nI want to go to concerts and music festivals. You keep me at home, making me feel ashamed and isolated. My iTunes account is so full of movies I’ve randomly bought to try to forget the panic and what I’m missing.
\nYou randomly appear out of nowhere and paralyze me. I’m somewhere safe, somewhere comfortable surrounded by people who love me. And you decide to force me into bed, trying to make you go away with the breathing exercises I’ve learned along the way and failing.
\nYou got me addicted to benzos. You made my mental health professionals distrust me with medication.
\nThere are so many people I could’ve met, so many friends I could’ve made. But you show up and make me a fool, cause me to make excuses and run home to be alone. And even then, you’re my constant companion.
\nI am so afraid of the world. This comes from the panic attacks you’ve caused throughout my entire life that I’ve learned that the only way I can go out is to force myself. To make sure I have the proper medication with me at all times. And to always be aware of the escape routes in case things get bad.
\nYou ruined my marriage with your friend depression. You scare my parents. You make the one friend I have constantly worry about me.
\nAnxiety, I don’t know life without you. You are fully a part of me like my teeth or my hands. Always buzzing in the background, always reminding me that no matter what skills I learn, the amount of help I get, you will be there, ready to ruin my dreams.
\n", "date_published": "2022-03-08T21:58:31-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2022/03/09/letter-to-my-anxiety.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2022/03/08/briefing-on-a-descent-into.html", "title": "Briefing on a Descent into Hell", "content_html": "Author’s Note: I wrote this piece three years ago during a dark period in my life. Propublica picked it up when I published it on my Wordpress blog, using my experience as evidence of neglect. I am reposting it here since I am shutting down my Wordpress blog and want to keep my experience published.
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/f37ebc7dfe.jpg\")
ACLU of Illinois Demands Removal of Children in DCFS Care From Troubled Chicago Hospital
\n\n\nMore allegations of sexual abuse at Aurora Chicago Lakeshore Hospital, already under government scrutiny, have surfaced.
\n
America is great if you’re rich. Just look at Kanye West. Or the countless other celebrities that come out having a mental illness and become icons of bravery. You can have a mental illness and go to lush, private facilities dedicated to wellbeing and health.
\nThose of us with poor health insurance, who have to rely on underpaid, undertrained, uncaring health professionals are having the exact same treatment as our 19th-century peers.
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/594876bdfe.jpg\")
Mental Health treatment in the West has improved somewhat from the 19th and early 20th centuries. Gone are Lobotomiesand Water Sheeting.
\nYet, the mentally ill are continual scapegoats for larger societal problems. Every time there is a mass shooting, mental illness is to blame.
\n07/21/2018
\nI just got out of the mental hospital where I never should have been. I wasn’t suicidal, wasn’t going to harm myself or anyone. On Monday I was feeling extremely depressed. A depression that was getting worse and worse. I started having suicidal thoughts. Not suicidal ideation, I wasn’t forming a plan, and I had no intention of harming myself. But I didn’t want to get to that point.
\nA good friend told me to go to the ER to be observed. Also, I’ve been trying to get into an Intensive Outpatient Program for months and nobody had been helping me. Besides, I had lost my medical insurance in July. Luckily, I had managed to get insurance through the Marketplace for a $476 premium (Yay American health care!) My only transportation to the ER was by bus and I couldn’t handle that at the moment.
\nSo I called 911.
\nI explained I was very depressed, but knew myself and my illness, and that I didn’t want to get to the point of harming myself. Not once did I say I was going to harm myself. Just that I wanted to be observed. Five minutes later, a fire truck and the police show up at my apartment. It was really embarrassing. They made me sit on the back of the fire truck, took my vitals, and treated me like an unstable person. The police never removed their hands from the top of their guns. Soon, an ambulance shows up. More vitals, more questions, more denials that I wanted to harm myself.
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/4256267abb.jpg\")
They loaded me into the ambulance, and they took off, siren blazing, to an unknown hospital. After a 20 minute, anxiety-inducing ride, I’m shuffled into the ER where I repeat myself for the fifth time. They take blood; I pee in a cup, because it’s assumed I’m a substance abuser. After an hour wait, a nurse comes in and asks me the same questions as everyone else. I tell her I have insurance, but the cards haven’t been sent yet. My insurance is active and I give her the phone number to the company to verify that it is. I tell her I’m diabetic and need my insulin. I tell her all of my medications. I stress again I’m not having suicidal ideation or have a plan. I’m just very depressed and want to be watched. And, oh, can you find me an IOP? Thanks!
\nSoon a doctor comes in. Says she hears I’m suicidal. I once again say I am not, I just don’t want to get to a point where I will be. Oh, can I have my insulin now? I’m diabetic. She scribbles things down and I’m left to my own. For two hours. Then five hours. No insulin, no medication. While waiting, they put another patient in my room and I get to hear all of his personal information. He is suicidal. His mother is with him. He is about 20 and is white. Looks upper-middle class. The mother hands over her private insurance card. The nurse tries to comfort the boy and goes off to verify his coverage. His mother hugs him, tells him he’ll be ok. To not be scared. I just wait. Alone.
\nDinner is brought to me, eventually. It is all carbohydrates. I still haven’t received my insulin. And it’s going on 8 hours now. I know nothing. I’m getting fed up. I venture into the hall. A security guard moves his hand to his gun (since when did hospital security guards carry guns? And why was there a security guard watching me anyway?) I ask a random nurse what’s going on with me. He said he’ll get my nurse to come see me. I exchange looks with the security guard, thinking of running. Instead, I shuffle back to my room.
\nA new nurse comes in 30 minutes later to explain that because I don’t have insurance, they’re trying to find me a bed in a state mental hospital. By now I’m irritated and exhausted. First, why am I going to a mental hospital? Second, I have insurance. I have told multiple people this. I have volunteered to show them my accepted case on the marketplace. I tell her this and she says she’ll look into validating my insurance again. While this was happening, I forgot to notice that they have discharged my suicidal roommate, sent to a private mental hospital for observation. I wonder how long he’s been gone. It is now 2:00 am. I still haven’t had my psych medications or my insulin. I protest, but nothing happens.
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/dff32f2903.jpg\")
Around 6:00 in the morning, I am informed that they have validated my insurance information and the doctors are now trying to find me a bed in a mental hospital for observation. I ask again why I’m being admitted. I’m told because I came in suicidal. I repeat yet again that I am not suicidal.
\nI don’t think anyone hears me.
\nIt takes another six hours for the doctors to find me a bed in a mental hospital. I am told the medical staff is fast-tracking my intake.
\nAround 3:00 pm, I’m told a bed has been located in a hospital 12 miles away. I just need to be transported there now. I am loaded into another ambulance, strapped into a gurney, and we plummet into the streets of the city. It begins to pour rain and flash flood warnings are sent out.
\n50 minutes later, via many diversions down alleys due to flooded streets, I am finally wheeled into the mental hospital. I’m starting to think that now, finally, I can get some rest and get my meds. I’m starting to go through withdrawal. It has been 36 hours since I had taken them, including my benzo. I am roughly directed into a triage room to wait. And wait. And wait.
\nI try to sleep, but it is so hot in my room, I am coated in sweat. Loud howls start to come from the room next to me along with horrendous banging against the walls. The person in the room next to me has entered into a psychosis and is tearing apart the recliners they provided us. Metal is clanging against the floor and the man, shrieking, started banging his head against the small glass window in the door. He breaks it. He keeps howling “kill me, kill me, kill me.” The staff was so ineffective at calming him down that the police had to be called in and restrain him.
\nThis was one of the scariest moments of my life.
\nI still hadn’t had my medication and my anxiety had become overwhelming. I curled in a ball and hoped sleep would come. Eventually, someone comes to see me. I don’t know the time or how long I’d been in this room. All of my belongings were placed put in a bag and locked up. The man who had come to my room had me sign a bunch of forms. I didn’t even bother to read them. I was finally transported to the fourth floor to my bed.
\nExcept not. I’m on the wrong floor. But I still had to sit and wait for another 45 minutes by the nurse’s station while my file was put together. There were no computers, no technology. Only binders and paper and pencils. I asked if I could have my medication and my insulin. I was told I would have to wait until morning when I could see the doctor. But I was allowed to have a Benadryl.
\nExcept, I’d have to go to floor three to get it. No one leads me there and I just sit in the partial darkness. It had now been 48 hours since I had my medications and even longer since I had had my insulin. Eventually, I was thrown some scrubs–they were too small–and shown to my room. On the third floor. Another elevator trip.
\n![\"Approximation](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/a071cc5664.jpg\")
My bed was a plastic mattress crammed into a wooden frame. My pillow was some rubber monstrosity tucked into a scratchy pillowcase. My room was blistering hot and, since we were near the lake, extremely humid.
\nI didn’t sleep well that night.
\n7:00 am rolls around and I’m called out of bed to have my vitals taken. Blood pressure. No insulin still. But at least they checked my blood sugars.
\nA breakfast of dry eggs, mushy square potatoes, and sausage. I return to my room and try to sleep.
\nAround 10:00 am, I’m called to see the medical doctor. He asks me about my physical conditions and is appalled that I haven’t had my insulin in almost 56 hours. Apparently, the ER never mentioned it in my paperwork that I am diabetic.
\nHe immediately prescribed me my non-psych meds and I finally get my insulin.
\nAt 10:30, I get to see the psychiatrist. She listens to me and agrees I never should have been admitted as an inpatient. But because of the forms I signed, I’m stuck here for five days. My heart sinks.
\nI should have read those forms. The third form, full of legalize and confusing language, explains that my right to own a gun has been taken away upon my admission to the hospital.
\nI can understand the language because I’ve been trained to read and analyze this type of writing. My heart sinks for my fellow patients who see the complicated sentences and obscure words and just sign the form at the nagging request of the staff.
\nI hate guns. I will never in my life own a gun. But I am deeply disturbed that this hospital, meant to heal people, is stripping away essential rights of American citizens simply because they are seeking help. It just shows how the mentally ill are feared in this country. I think this is a violation of my civil rights, but I don’t have the energy to further explore it. I’m exhausted, in withdrawal, and just want to sleep. So I sign without reading or raising an issue.
\nSo I am prescribed my psych meds after over 56 hours. But not all of them. Because this hospital is so disorganized, they missed several of my medications and have to pull my profile from my pharmacy. And without any computers, this has to be done manually. By phone.
\nA woman who looks to be in a daze comes to the nurse’s counter. She asks to have some water. Nobody hears her. The orderlies are busy laughing at a YouTube video on a phone that had been smuggled in.
\nThe woman waits a couple minutes, then shuffles off.
\nThe first day passes in a blur. Between bouts of sleep, all I do is eat and use the bathroom. I don’t leave my bed the whole first day.
\nThe next day, the doctors have finally worked out all my meds. I get everything prescribed to me. Except I have to correct the nurses on the dosages. Once, I get someone else’s medications.
\nI tell the orderlies this and am greeted with a disgusted look.
\n![\"The](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/9dd69caa2a.jpg\")
The next three days are rife with mistakes. There is only one glucometer for a hospital of five floors. The staff can’t read doctor’s orders or simply ignore them. Group therapy consists of patients complaining about the conditions only to be told that if they behave, they’ll be released quicker.
\nOne woman had been in this hospital for eight months. There are whispered rumors about her. She is very nice, if not lost in a fantasy about her dead husband. Nobody takes care of her. She just goes from person to person in the group room telling her story and being kind to other people.
\nI think we have forgotten her.
\nThis was an experience on a Ken Kesey level. I was finally released on a Friday after checking in on a Tuesday.
\nAs I was walking down the hall with my few belongings shoved into a garbage bag, I pass a puddle of urine. I point it out to the orderly leading me to the elevators to take me downstairs–to the real world–and he just flashes me a smile and says, “not your problem anymore.”
\nNobody had come to visit me. I received one phone call from my wife. I was discharged to no one, just let out the door. There was no discussion or referrals for follow up care. I wasn’t given any means for transportation home. But luckily I had money on my bus pass and there was a bus stop right out the door. With the help of my iPhone, I’m able to get the correct buses to get me home. Two hours of transfers.
\nThe staff lost some of my belongings and they forgot to return my CPAP. I had to wait to return to my floor to collect it.
\nI could go on further about how horrible this experience was, but it would just be another listing of the horrors of mental health care that people gasp at then ignore.
\nMental health treatment in the country is basically locking up patients like prisoners, medicating them, then shoving them out the door. Mental health is one of the most neglected health issues in this country.
\nI was seeking help because I knew I was becoming really depressed. I was not suicidal. I wanted to be watched and helped so I didn’t become suicidal. I took action against my disease, recognizing the signs, figuring out what I needed, and acted on it instead of isolating.
\nThis is what all therapists tell us to do. And when I actually did it, everything was made worse.
\nI was treated with no respect and without dignity. I was treated as a burden, worsening my depression.
\nWhen health care is run as for-profit, it only treats the affluent well.
\nMy Experiences With Mental Health Treatment in America
\nThe state of mental health care in Western Culture is deplorable. Especially America. Mental hospitals are horror shows with technology from the 70’s used for organizing patients’ files and medication logs. Accordion files loaded with paper scribbled with undated notes are placed in a rotating storage system above the nurse’s station.
\nIndividual patient’s files are routinely lost, and they force patients to track their own medications.
\n![\"\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/655adc9bf3.jpg\")
Why do we treat mental health so poorly?
\nBreast cancer has marathons and fundraisers. ALS had the Ice bucket challenge that went international.
\nWhen somebody has Bipolar or Depression or delusions, they are shoved away, out of sight and locked up like prisoners.
\nMental illness scares people—I have learned this, losing intimate partners who would not attempt to understand my fluctuations of mood. We don’t want to confront it head-on. We discuss mental illness through celebrities and tabloid gossip, never having an authentic look at the struggles the mentally ill go through in a day.
\nNever understanding why it takes 40 minutes to just put on a sock. Looking at someone with pity because they just don’t have the energy, or care, to maintain their hygiene.
\nWe see the glamorous side of mental illness. The celebrity version.
\nIt is no surprise that people who are extremely depressed force themselves to put on a facade of “ok’ness.” It’s no wonder those who are suicidal simply avoid asking for help and go through with it. When the healing process demands a loss of dignity and is performed with complete indifference and neglect, when the treatment forces you to be a prisoner exposed to trauma, hopelessness is all that’s left.
\nWe are failing as a culture. We are disregarding the things that make us human: sadness, loss of hope, empathy. We use medications and locked doors and padded rooms and bathrooms without a door as treatment instead of kindness, instead of understanding, instead of acceptance. Reaching out and hugging someone, or holding a hand and saying “it will be ok”, we applaud the strength of the famously ill and then distance ourselves from the actual madness.
\nWe must show kindness. We must confront what scared us. We must truly support those of us struggling just to make it through another day without crying.
\nWithout isolating.
\nWithout locking ourselves behind doors.
\nWe must do better.
", "date_published": "2022-03-08T17:44:45-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2022/03/08/briefing-on-a-descent-into.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2022/02/18/changing-writing-apps.html", "title": "Changing Writing Apps", "content_html": "So my subscription to Ulysses ran out. I currently don’t have the money to renew (yes, I’m a broke ass chump), so I decided to use 1Writer again.
\n![\"1Writer\"](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/c6be5c6b37.jpg\")
I still have to get used to it even though I used it constantly 3-4 years ago. The fact tha it’s on par with Ulysses but has no subscription cost is great for me.
\nIt also has pretty powerful URL schemes to deep link and other stuff I don’t do. I might try Byword again though. It was simpler.
\nI kind of wish W.a had a native app to write with that’s NOT WriteFreely. I’ve tried it and ended up with too many errors in syncing and publishing. Integrating publishing via the API in 1Writer or Byword would be amazing.
\nOh well. My first post in months and it’s a whine sigh. Sorry
", "date_published": "2022-02-18T13:18:03-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2022/02/18/changing-writing-apps.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2021/09/28/i-am-asexual.html", "title": "I am Asexual.", "content_html": "![\"Sex](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/f0bc4ec261.jpg\")
I’m Asexual. Yes, I know, I know. There is the gender parade tromping around in 2021 and uptight, confused people are mocking the myriad genders coming out.
\nI’m ignoring those people. If you haven’t had a cursory study of Alfred Kinsey’s Work, you have no business discussing gender and sexuality.
\nYes, Kinsey made mistakes and his scale definitely needed to be improved–but in 2021, who will take up the mantle? Who is willing to take a scientific perspective to watching people bang? Oprah? Nah. Maybe Eddie Izzard. But he doesn’t have a PhD.
\nOH! Let’s enlist Neil deGrasse Tyson to be the next Kinsey. I can see him now, sitting in a deep, soft chair, obscured by shadow in the corner, while two people bang on the bed. Tyson sips his tea and writes in his notebook. The two people moan. Tyson scribbles something. It’s over. Shame sweeps through the room. Neil deGrasse Tyson lifts himself from the chair, nods to the two naked, sweaty people on the bed, then disappears without a trace. Gone. Poof. Back to his lab to do SCIENCE!
\n![\"secret](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/2fccae4b91.jpg\")
ahem I got distracted there.
\nBack to topic.
\nI am Asexual. This does not mean I procreate through parthenogenesis.
\nNo, all it means is that I do not experience sexual attraction.
\nThat’s it.
\nThat’s what Asexuality means:
\n\n\nAsexuality is defined as having the absence of sexual attraction.
\n
It’s not celibacy because celibacy is a choice. Being Asexual is a sexuality, like homosexuality or heterosexuality. It is a legitimate sexuality. It’s often called the “hidden alignment” because, well, who goes around to bars and parties saying, “I’m not sexually attracted to anyone! Yeah! Is that hot?”
\nThat’s not to say that we Asexuals do not like sex. There are many Asexuals who enjoy sex. They’re defined as sex positive Asexuals.
\nThen there are sex indifferent, and sex repulsed Asexuals. Along with so many variations of gray, I won’t be able to list it all here.
\nThe main POINT of all this is that Asexuals are real and are a recognized sexuality. Even Kinsey put us on his scale (in a way):
\n\n\nAccording to Dr. Kinsey, approximately 1.5 percent of his adult male subjects fell into the “X” category, meaning that they expressed “no socio-sexual contacts or reactions.” In his 1953 follow-up, Sexual Behavior in the Human Female, he estimated that between one and four percent of male interviewees, and from one to 19 percent of female interviewees, were Asexual.
\n
I mean, Asexuals were defined as “X”, but we had a category.
\nFrom 2019 to the present, gender studies and identification has exploded. You can see this on social media–mainly with young people–defining their own sexuality. Sometimes these sexualities become nonsense terms created by the individual. Nothing recognized by scientific research or sexologists. Just social media blather.
\nBut I find it fascinating that sexuality has exploded this way. Especially since I came out as Asexual 4 years ago.
\nI had no clue what it was or how to define it. Most research I did led to nonsense Tumblr pages and ramblings of teenagers trying to be “unique.” I was starting to think maybe I’m just broken. Maybe there is no Asexuality, maybe I’m just a broken human being.
\nThen I found AVEN. A site that took this sexuality seriously. That included scientific discussion and recognized Asexuals as real, not broken.
\nI read papers from the Kinsey Institute discussing Asexuality, further reinforcing that it was an actual sexuality and not some internet bullshit trend.
\nI found myself. And it was enlightening.
\nBut then the loneliness sets in.
\n![\"People](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/7bdc871cc5.jpg\")
Does anyone remember high school? It’s kind of a dream for me, like it happened but it was a different reality.
\nDo you remember in high school getting that huge crush on a person and obsessing over them? Walking by their locker, hoping they’ll be there so you can give a quick smile. Driving by their house like some freaky stalker. Calling their phone–and this was the 90s, so no cell phones; only corded phones–and hanging up when their dad answered the phone.
\nThat feeling of a crush, of exhilaration around a certain person. It’s not geared towards sex. It’s more attuned to the excitement of getting to know a person you really like and, hopefully, having them get to know you.
\nThe story of a person is more exhilarating than any one night stand.
\nBeing Asexual does not mean we don’t enjoy sex. Some Asexuals love sex. They have it all the time. Some Asexuals are indifferent to sex. We just don’t care. You want to do it? Sure, ok, whatever.
\nAnd some Asexuals are sex-repulsed. That is, sex is disgusting to them and they want nothing to do with it.
\nAll are valid. All are recognized.
\nTo make things even more confusing, there is another sexuality on the Asexuality spectrum: Demisexuality.
\n![\"Demisexual](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/f8eb0399bd.jpg\")
(Yes, I know there are tons of other sexualities on the spectrum, but most of them are not recognized by experts and exist mainly as made up sexualities, or as micro-sexualities. I’m not demeaning them, I’m just not discussing terms that are not recognized by experts. You can flame me all you want).
\nI’ll let the University of Wisconsin help define Demisexuality:
\n\n\nDemisexuality is pertaining to an individual who does not experience sexual attraction unless the individual feels a strong emotional connection with another individual. Individuals who identify as being demisexual, usually are not sexually attracted to anyone of a particular gender.
\n
I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t that just someone who is particularly picky in choosing a partner? Isn’t it basically everyone?
\nNot really.
\nRemember that high school crush feeling? The butterflies? Well, for a Demisexual, those butterflies, that feeling of euphoria and lust towards another human being, only occurs when a strong emotional bond is formed.
\nDemisexuals don’t sleep around. One night stands are vapor for them. Random hookups never happen.
\nIt’s that one special individual who sparks the sexual attraction.
\nI read an analogy describing various sexualities that I think helps explain Asexuality. It goes like this:
\nI wanted to bring some light to Asexuality. Many people think it’s just celibacy or people not wanting to have sex. But it is an actual, recognized, studied sexuality. The LGBTQA+ has even included us (the “A” causes a lot of controversy though; some say it’s for Asexual; some say it’s for Ally). In fact, Asexual individuals may represent about one percent of the population in America.
\nAsexual people face a lot of loneliness and rejection. With most people wanting to hook up and have sex as the end result of a relationship, Asexuals are typically relegated to (ugh, I hate this term) the friend zone.
\nBut most of the Asexuals I know are passionate, romantic, loyal, extremely kind, and will treat their partner with respect and love. It’s just that thorny sex issue.
\nAsexuals are not broken.
\nAsexuals are not a Tumblr sexuality.
\nAsexuals exist and we’re out here.
\nHumans are weird. We’re a weird species that does crazy things.
\nBut that’s the beauty of being human. We’re all experiencing this life, this world, on an individual level. And it gets lonely.
\nSo we seek out others to be by our side as we walk through life. And we find happiness and hurt and betrayal and love.
\nHumans with love. Whomever came up with that combination needs to be smacked.
\nLove is such a mysterious emotion. It creates such wonderful, beautiful things. But then seconds later, it can destroy an entire world.
\nLove is dangerous. But it’s necessary.
\nAnd sex is not love. It never was. Sex is just the physical expression of love–albeit, the ultimate physical expression.
\nBut it’s not love.
\n![\"Asexual](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/5357f7e769.jpg\")
So a friend of mine noticed I’m pretty good with this online stuff. She’s wanting to start her own service of helping people with art therapy. Which I dig, I’m all into art therapy, especially for kids (whom are her main clients). And these kids produce some friggin’ amazing art.
\nI can only draw stick-figures. Poorly. Here’s is an attempt of me trying to make my own cartoon “self portrait”:
\n![\"Me](\"https://wynnpollard.micro.blog/uploads/2026/740f361ce2.jpg\")
Pretty horrible I’d say. I stopped drawing after I embarrassed myself by making a horrible personal comic journal. It was maudlin and with bad drawing abilities. Not the endearing bad drawings like Jeffery Brown. No, bad bad like a 3 year old with a box of crayons.
\nNonetheless, despite any artistic skills beyond writing, my friend loved the design of my webpages and asked me to help her start up her business page. She’s been having a really hard time lately–really hard–so I said yes.
\nShe knows nothing of technology. I asked her what she wanted her domain name to be and she had no idea what I was talking about.
\nAnyway, I gave her the short and sweet of how the internet works, she kinda understood, I registered her domain, got it hosted, and spun up a Wordpress install.
\nSince I’ve been with my hosting company for over a decade, I get premium Wordpress themes and plugins from them. So I just installed one of the premium themes, added basic descriptions relevant to her business, and sent her the link.
\nI was on FaceTime with her and the moment she saw the site she started crying. Happy crying. Tears of someone who has had nothing but shit thrown their way for months and finally, finally, something goes right.
\nShe cried for 15 minutes and went over everything on the site. She was so happy.
\nI explained to her it’s a template we can manipulate and all the things we can do. She got so excited and we worked for another 2 hours adding wording, changing placements of images, getting her site ready.
\nSo it’s back to WordPress for me for awhile. I thought I’d be done with it, but hey, making someone happy doing something I know and is easy for me is the best thing I can do.
\nI may not be getting paid for this work, but I don’t care.
\nHer smile was payment enough.
\n", "date_published": "2021-09-05T23:25:25-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2021/09/06/back-to-wordpress-it-seems.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2021/06/24/another-boring-post-from-my.html", "title": "Another Boring Post From my Professional Blog", "content_html": "![\"\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/8ae0716345.jpg\")
I managed to make it a full week at work. Which is surprising because, about four weeks ago, I was in the hospital with severe pneumonia and in the ICU. Five days in a grubby hospital gown hooked up to countless tubes, getting poked in the arm at 2 a.m.
\nI got used to the hospital staff rotating, never seeing a familiar face, but always a rotating tribe of orderlies, doctors, and nurses. Beeps and alarms interrupted the static sound from the speaker that was supposed to be playing the television show.
\nA cacophony in prime-time.
\nMy lungs were fire, each inhale striating a line of pain throughout my body starting in my chest. Not to mention the hospital bed began to cramp my back and I had to shuffle shuffle awkwardly to relieve the pressure. My ass still hurts from it.
\nAnd the pressure cuffs hooked around my calves pumping and deflating every 45 seconds.
\nTime became moments of pain and pressure interrupted by the most exciting moments of medication–a Percocet, my regular psych meds, antibiotics–and ordering disgusting hospital food.
\nI got out on a Sunday. It took about 6 hours to discharge me and I became very annoyed. I wanted desperately to be home doing absolutely nothing. But hey, it was my own space in which to do nothing.
\nI was binging Twin Peaks at the time and wanted to get back to Special Agent Dale Cooper, BOB, the Black Lodge, and damn fine cup of coffee.
\n![\"Bad](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/7fb0ffcbd5.jpg\")
Luckily my boss was very understanding and welcomed me back this week. And man what a week.
\nI work in IT, even though I never went to school for IT–in fact, I went and achieved my PhD in Cultural Studies, Film, and Critical Theory. You know, the pointless degrees unless you want to stay enmeshed in the toxic politics of the Academy and make a career at being a professor.
\nIT was and is just a hobby for me. I seem to know networks very well, though I don’t know how to code worth a damn (I’ve managed to hack together the CSS and JavaScript required by Write.As for this blog).
\nTuesday I had an on-site call to a house where their internet was spotty. I showed up in my 1999 Subaru Forester–the paint flaking and the body beat to hell–to a multi-million dollar mansion. This is the case for most of my work. Rich people who can’t hook up their network printers. And it’s up to me to save the day, charging $200 per visit and only earning a measly $12.35/hr. I don’t get to see the $200.
\nNonetheless, I smiled, asked how I could help, and was led downstairs into the basement utility room that EVERY person hides their tech equipment–gray cement blocks surrounding a burbling water heater. I started to sweat immediately.
\nAnyway, after a lot of troubleshooting and banging my head against the wall, I found out that the customer didn’t have access to a professional router (not a LinkSys or Netgear, but an Ubiquity router suited for semi-large businesses creating multiple virtual LANS and subnets). This was overkill.
\nShe forgot the password to access the admin area of the router, which I needed information from. So I reset the router. Unbeknownst to me, the customer’s ISP is some nobody, rural, satellite company that leaches of CenturyLink and was suppling her home a static IP.
\nAn IP she didn’t have any information about. Just a business contract.
\nI called the ISP–which is composed of a secretary to answer phones and ONE guy who manages the connections–and was rudely told they don’t deal with customer hardware, just “the pure internet.” UGGGGGGG. Yes, they actually said “pure internet.”
\nI had just taken this poor woman offline and had no way of regaining her connection because her ISP wouldn’t cooperate.
\nShe became really upset (not at me) and eventually called the owner of the ISP and chewed him out. She came back to my comfy tomb of a closet to tell me that the owner of the ISP said that, oh, yes, that router WAS necessary for his connection, it needed a static IP inputted and his DNS server.
\nWhich is what I had been telling the poor woman I needed for two hours.
\nI left the call defeated and frustrated, though happy that the customer at least insisted she pay for my time and trouble (it’s my bosses policy that if we can’t fix an issue, the client doesn’t pay; this was a 3 hour call and would have cost over $600; she paid the initial $200 at least).
\nI wanted to give up right then.
\nToday was easier, but I still couldn’t fix a customer’s problem. He called our store saying he needed help hooking up his router. Easy, I thought.
\nExcept his router was connected just fine. It was training up to Xfinity’s servers and had a connection. Except it was randomly dropping a TON of packets. A speedtest of his line went from 100 Mbps down dropping to 128 Kbps.
\nSomething was up and I couldn’t diagnose it. I’m not in that area.
\nTold him I was so very sorry I could fix his issue, but the problem was with Xfinity and their lines into his house. He was understanding, but didn’t pay for my visit. I felt like a failed my boss.
\n![\"Robot](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/ca2d955a8a.jpg\")
I hate working in IT. It’s unrewarding and, most of the time, I’m having to fix some other technicians attempt at showing off using complex settings and open source software (I’m an open source proponent, but not as a business answer; you have to be tech literate to maintain open source products, not be some random consumer checking email and streaming Netflix), or set unknown passwords for WiFi SSID’s or routers without recording them somewhere.
\nOr the customer has forgotten their password.
\nOne call I had:
\nClient: “I need the password and IP address for my Windows server!”
\nMe: “Ok, do you remember who set up your server? I can’t just guess your password.”
\nClient: “You’re supposed to know that!”
\nMe: “I didn’t set up your server, so I don’t know your password. And I can’t hack into the server to get it. We don’t do that. Do you remember who set it up? Maybe I can contact them and get it for you.”
\nClient: “I pay you guys to be our IT. You should know these things. So are you going to fix it?”
\nMe: “I’m sorry sir, but I just started a couple months ago and this is my first time working with you. I can try to help get your password, but it’s not like they’re easy to figure out. Hence being a password.”
\nClient: hanging up “Worthless…”
\nQueue head again wall.
\nTo top it off, I had to pick up a prescription today and had the most uncomfortable experience.
\nThere was a new pharmacy technician helping people. An old lady was picking up a prescription for someone else who was (amazingly) 115 years old. Her birth year was 1915.
\nThe new technician spoke English as a second language and was confused when the other lady relayed the date as, “15.” The technician thought it was “2015.” The customer kept saying, “15. She’s 115 years old. The year is 15!” and the technician kept inputting the wrong year.
\nBehind the customer was another woman, probably in her late 60’s, who just started screeching as the technician, “It’s 1915 you dolt! She’s said it countless times! She’s 115 year’s old!” and then turning to the pharmacist behind the counter saying, “Can’t you hire Americans that speak English?”
\nTHEN, and THEN, THEN, this person turned to me and expected me to agree with her! To validate her xenophobic and racist ideas.
\nSure, I was frustrated, but if you show people kindness, if you show them understanding, everything works out for the better.
\nI just shrugged at the angry woman and said, “Look, she’s trying her best. Give her break.”
\nThen ignored her. No compassion from me you angry person.
\nsigh I don’t know. I don’t get along with people very well, but I truly believe in kindness. And kindness is hard. But it is the most important thing we as humans can exhibit.
\nI’m a big Whovian. I love Doctor Who. So much that this nerdy, quirky, British science-fiction show made mainly for kids has truly influenced my philosophy for life. Kindness, life is important, hatred is pointless, anger means something is wrong and needs to be fixed, manage that anger for the positive. Loss is universal.
\nBe more like the Doctor. Be less like humanity.
\n![\"12th](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/9c3c1e62db.jpg\")
#whining #health #technology
", "date_published": "2021-06-24T16:53:16-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2021/06/24/another-boring-post-from-my.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2021/06/22/lastfm-and-apple-music.html", "title": "Last.fm and Apple Music", "content_html": "So I signed up for Last.fm Premium for a year. I was hesitant as there isn’t a reliable way to scrobble my tracks with Apple Music.
\nI was using an app called Eavescrob, but it only scrobbled music in my library. And I listen to a lot of music that’s not in my library but I want added to my Last.fm profile.
\nI found an old Reddit thread and someone mentioned QuietScrob. The big thing about QuietScrob is that it scrobbles non-library tracks. So I decided to try it. So far, it works well. It didn’t scrobble an obscure Hot Mulligan track and that concerns me.
\nBut I think I’ll give it a try for now.
\nIf anyone has a better way of scrobbling Music to Last.fm, please let me know. My Mastodon handle is below, but here it is anyway: @caycepollard@appdot.net
\n(Also, trying the iOS WriteFreely app so apologies if there are issues in publishing this post)
\n#applemusic #ios #lastfm
\n", "date_published": "2021-06-22T19:39:54-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2021/06/22/lastfm-and-apple-music.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2021/06/23/lastfm-and-apple-music.html", "title": "Last.fm and Apple Music", "content_html": "So I signed up for Last.fm Premium for a year. I was hesitant as there isn’t a reliable way to scrobble my tracks with Apple Music.
\nI was using an app called Eavescrob, but it only scrobbled music in my library. And I listen to a lot of music that’s not in my library but I want added to my Last.fm profile.
\nI found an old Reddit thread and someone mentioned QuietScrob. The big thing about QuietScrob is that it scrobbles non-library tracks. So I decided to try it. So far, it works well. It didn’t scrobble an obscure Hot Mulligan track and that concerns me.
\nBut I think I’ll give it a try for now.
\nIf anyone has a better way of scrobbling Music to Last.fm, please let me know. My Mastodon handle is below, but here it is anyway: @caycepollard@appdot.net
\n(Also, trying the iOS WriteFreely app so apologies if there are issues in publishing this post)
\n#applemusic #ios #lastfm
\n", "date_published": "2021-06-22T19:39:54-06:00", "url": "https://cigarettesandsoda.co/2021/06/23/lastfm-and-apple-music.html" }, { "id": "http://wynnpollard.micro.blog/2021/05/28/the-new-dark-ages.html", "title": " The New Dark Ages", "content_html": "When I taught my English classes at the university, I taught my students critical thinking. I beat into them to question their sources and make sure the information they were presenting was factual and true. This was at the cusp of Wikipedia and the explosion of the internet. Smartphones weren’t a thing when I was teaching.
\nOne of my favorite exercises was to gather my students into groups and have them read an official document about the dangers of Dihydrogen Monoxide
\n![\"Warning](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/57bd0b7ab8.jpg\")
I would ask them to construct an argument why we should ban DHMO or why we should not ban it. The group members had to be unanimous in their decision.
\nI would always have the cocky science major raise an eyebrow at me, as if to say, are you serious? But most of the time the groups would vote to ban DHMO. They’d present perfectly logical arguments why; their presentation based on the information I gave them.
\nAnd every student would groan and be upset with me when I told them they effectively banned the usage of water. Many students would complain that I tricked them and made them feel stupid.
\nI would tell them that’s the exact point of the exercise: how information, language, and rhetoric can manipulate your opinion. I would enforce the lesson that they were not stupid, just not trained to be critical of information presented to them. That they believed everything because it is presented as true.
\nIt was an excellent lesson, and all of my students thanked me for it.
\nI’m wondering what the hell happened. When did expertise die, supplanted by YouTube videos made with a slick production spouting pure stupidity?
\nWhen did we all start believing our own truths instead of agreeing on certain universal ones? Like how the Earth is round; and how a novel virus is not a political hit job; and what were once insane paranoias of Satanic blood sacrifices whispered in basements now become fully held beliefs by people in Congress?
\nQ is an internet troll that leaked into the real.
\nIf Social Media has shown us anything it’s how stupid and gullible the common person is.
\nThat might make me elitist. That might make me judgmental.
\nBut when the alternative is giving in entirely to outright lies posted by a once close high school friend, I’ll frigging proudly own those labels.
\nPeople think they’re defending the holy idea of free speech on Social Media. But most people don’t understand that speech has consequences.
\nYes, you are free to say what you want. But don’t expect people to respect your opinion if it’s based on lies and debunked information. You are wrong. And you need to be told that you **are wrong. **Don’t fight the critics who are telling you your information is flawed.
\nLook, the XKCD guy said it better than me:
\n![\"\"](\"https://cdn.uploads.micro.blog/387420/2026/432f844fb3.jpg\")