Help Asher Find Stability in Utah

Once Upon a Time in Iowa

The move to Iowa wasn't exactly planned, but I had broken my leg, see…

When a college friend offered me their condo for a year or so while they worked out-of-state, it seemed like perfect timing: I was five months into the I-broke-my-leg-now-I’m-part-robot medical leave and the seemingly endless weeks of watching rats play in the alley outside my window had left me feeling restless. I was all in for an adventure in the Hawkeye State.

As luck would have it, my company approved a transfer to their Iowa City location. Beyond the practical benefits of taking a break from mass urbanity during the pandemic, I was drawn to the college town's literary atmosphere—home to the renowned Iowa Writers' Workshop—and saw it as a chance to build a more stable life, something I desperately needed after a series of traumas the past couple years had put the spotlight on just how not-stable I still was, even after several years on meds.

I'd been open with my company about my personal "krazy" from Day One. My Chicago team provided exceptional support throughout five years of challenges: they stood by me through psychotic breaks, the deaths of both my parents, the morning I was assaulted near Wrigley Field, and throughout the pandemic and my medical leave. They understood that mental health challenges didn't diminish my value as a team member.

The Iowa City location, however, took a markedly different approach from the first moment I walked through the door: their welcome to Iowa greeting included denying my request to have a stool or chair available during my few shifts at the registers. In case I had to rest my still-healing leg. The one I had just been on a nearly 6-month medical leave for. Did I mention I still needed a cane to walk at this point in my healing journey? And to add insult to literal injury, my transfer store treated me as a new hire rather than the veteran associate I was. I could’ve easily adapted to my new coworkers, and even the leaders, treating me like I couldn’t spell my own name if hadn’t been for the accompanying stares, murmurs, and abrupt silences. Over time, the uneasiness surrounding my bipolar disorder became increasingly apparent from comments I caught wind of and tensions felt throughout the team.

When mounting pressure and stress eventually triggered a manic episode I was, not surprisingly, treated as a liability by my new team. After they denied my transfer request to a location one town over—my attempt to escape what felt like an increasingly toxic environment—I was dropped from the schedule for two weeks as punishment (a charge admitted to by the HR Leader). I was forced to pull-off a perfectly-synced resignation in order to cash out my 401k in time to cover basic expenses and avoid default on other bills. (My financial situation had become precarious while on medical leave and I was a stickler for paying everything on time. Such concerns seem so quaint to me now...)

I am My Only Light : Everyone I Meet Makes It Darker

The subsequent months have tested my resilience. Job stability has remained elusive, with my more colorful moments—particularly those requiring impulse control, as well as the reality of my increasingly intense psychotic episodes—often leading to premature exits. Attempts to build a support network led to ridiculous situations I would have found more impressive were I still a teenager, including a relationship that seemed to blossom lovingly, but landed me in the hospital with fractured ribs and my former beau mired in legal trouble.

By August, after a five-month court battle fought to keep my record eviction-free left me victorious but still homeless, I found temporary refuge with a friend in Des Moines. But this arrangement, while generous, isn't sustainable—my presence has triggered an uptick in PTSD symptoms for my host, a Vietnam veteran who owns the house. (As of Sunday, November 10, I have agreed to leave the house by November 24. Thanksgiving 2024 will either be spent on the street or in the Beehive State.)

My story illustrates a broader truth about mental health stigma in our society. The people who pushed me out, who made biased accusations, who fired me—they're all "good people" who would claim to support those with mental health challenges. They'd say they're allies, that they "Fight the Stigma." Yet it sickens me to remember my last boss's response when I offered to speak with uneasy coworkers about what it's like living with bipolar disorder: "No! We're not going to force that kind of thing on our team." I was fired a month later.

The Chapter, Next: Cedar City, Utah

Yet even amid these setbacks, hope has never strayed far. A long-time friend in Utah has offered not just a place to stay, but is able to set me up with a job with his company. This isn't just a roof over my head, but something more valuable: a real chance at stability.

This dramatic change in scenery—trading the watery vistas of the Great Lakes and Mississippi watershed for red rock landscapes, arid plateaus, and juniper trees—makes tangible the dramatic changes that lie ahead for me. While I'll miss watching the seasons change alongside a riverbank teeming with life, I'm eager to take my bike and hiking boots out on the endless trails that will surround my new home.

This move means more than just a change of address. It's an opportunity to rebuild my life, return to my writing, explore business ideas that will free me from the strictures of traditional employment, and re-establish the kind of routine that's crucial for managing my restless brain. It’s a chance to feel safe again. Given the fragile nature of my current living situation—I'm in a very real race against homelessness—I need to leave as soon as possible and hope to do so soon after Election Day. (As of 11/10/2024, I have agreed to be out of the house by 11/24.)

A Journey's [Very Tight] Budget: $777 Total

Transportation - Budget Rental SUV: $592

⛽ Fuel Calculations* : $168

*Based on 26 MPG fuel efficiency and AAA State-average price/gallon from October 25, 2024 for the following States:

☀️Incidentals & Accomodations : $17 (and 777 is a nice number that evokes grand travel)

A Journey's Ideal Timeline (fingers still crossed)

+ November 23 :

+ November 24 : Evening arrival in Cedar City

+ November 25 : 9:00 AM rental return, followed by my first bike ride in Utah

+ November 28 : Thanksgiving in the Beehive State

The $250 deposit on the rental will become available after I've returned the car. I'd like to use those funds to send a small thank you to everyone who donates. Nothing major, a postcard or trinket from Cedar City. Whatever I figure out, it'll be a way to share a piece of my new home with those who helped me get there. I'll also post updates and photos throughout my journey as WiFi allows.

Whether you can donate or simply share my story on your social media feeds, you're helping to challenge the often implicit stigma against mental illness that is regularly ignored or goes unnoticed, but can literally destroy a life. Together, we can work toward a world where understanding replaces fear, and support replaces silence.

"I can do all things through him who strengthens me." Phil. 4:13