Getting Brave + Escaping The Cave

My DIY "TED Talk" On Life After Depression + Grief

Photo by Snowscat on Unsplash

This DIY “TED Talk” was delivered as part of a Pride event at a local church on the evening of June 27, 2025.

Happy Pride, everyone!

Hi, I may not be a big fan of public speaking, so please forgive me for reading most of my talk. But I’m a huge fan of my dear friend Drew, who asked me to speak. So I’m here, queer, and reporting for duty, dear!

Thanks for being here to celebrate our community, our diversity, and our history. Big thanks to everyone who’s made this evening possible, LGBTQ folk and allies alike.

Fifty-six years ago tonight—just after midnight on June 28, 1969—the first glass shattered, the first punch landed, and the first brick was thrown at the Stonewall Inn in New York City.

What followed was six days of resistance, unrest, and rebellion. We remember it now as the Stonewall Riots. Some "polite" historians prefer to call it the Stonewall Uprising.

Personally, I’m not feeling very polite these days.
I’m feeling mad. I’m feeling sad. But also, deeply glad.
Glad for the progress we’ve made.
Grateful for the people who fought—and still fight—for LGBTQ equality.

If you’ve read history, I think you know what kind of fight we’re up against.

But tonight, I want to talk about a different kind of fight. The pink elephant in the room that rarely gets discussed during Pride Month: LGBTQ mental health.

While I’m no expert on what makes us all tick (or scroll TikTok), I am an expert in my own experience. And after years of living with anxiety and depression, I know keeping things safe and sound from public view doesn’t really work.

What we avoid usually ends up smacking us upside our head.

So tonight, I want to air out a little of my own dirty laundry.
To shine a light on some dark times.
To share how I slowly started moving forward again.

About four years ago, I lost three of the most important people in my life—all within six months. First my mom died—suddenly and unexpectedly—from pneumonia. Then my favorite aunt lost her long battle with breast cancer. And finally, my “LA mom” passed from complications related to Parkinson’s.

Even when you know a loss is coming, it can still break you. Before I could catch my breath from one tragedy, another loved one bit the dust. Soon, I was drowning in grief. And my inner light—the one I believe connects us all—began to dim and flicker. Before it almost disappeared completely.

I spiraled into what I can only describe as a total emotional and mental breakdown. I retreated into a cave of my own making, and for a long time, I couldn’t find the light switch. So I hunkered down in the dark and cried. And kept crying….

If you’ve ever lived through deep loss, you already know: Grief is a selfish motherfucker. It doesn’t care about your calendar, your career, or your creative dreams. It just consumes everything as it spreads gloom and doom.

I became isolated. Depressed. Agoraphobic. I started hoarding.
My life felt like something I’d once read. Familiar, but not mine.

For nearly three years, I existed in survival mode.
I quit my corporate job. I barely paid my bills.
I saw people only when I absolutely had to.
And somewhere along the way, I forgot what it meant to live.

Then, one day, a friend suggested I create an alter ego—something to help rewrite the story I was stuck in.

And just like that, Clint Collide was born.
As Clint, I launched COLLIDE PRESS.

At first, it was just a creative outlet: art and design experiments available as print-on-demand. But I soon found something deeper—I loved curating vintage art and photos. I loved creating montages. They helped me start feeling alive again.

My friend dared me to post a montage on YouTube. Before I knew it, the video had over 100K views…and my YouTube channel got monetized.

As Clint Collide, I was able to create and connect more.
A small audience found me. And momentum started to build.
First on YouTube. And then on Substack.

With the help of my newfound friends on the internet, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: a sense of purpose. A reason to fight and show up. A reason to keep trying.

And slowly—gently—that sense of purpose started helping me heal.

The more I was able to show up in my work, the more I could show up in my life.

In early February—not even six months ago—my inner light started flickering back on. Just a little. Just enough to notice. Just enough for me to believe that maybe—maybe—healing was possible. Quietly, things began to shift.

No big fireworks show. No big breakthroughs.
Just a few small, unexpected moments:

• A conversation that didn’t leave me emotionally wiped.

• A memory that made me smile instead of sob.

• A flicker of curiosity about people. About art. About life.

I’m not here to tell you I’m fully healed. Or that everything’s behind me.
What I’m here to tell you is I’m still here, queer, and making stuff, dear.

I owe a lot of that progress to my alter ego Clint Collide. And to the friends who stood by me—patiently and impatiently—as I found my way to the light again. Their love and support means more than I’ll ever be able to explain or repay.

So if you’re in a dark place right now—if grief, depression, or fear is swallowing you whole—please know this: I see you and my heart goes out to you. My light too.

And I won’t insult you with easy answers. Because there’s no one-size-fits-all solution.

But I will say this:

• Watch for the small shifts.

• Look for the light switches.

• Believe that change is possible.

• Believe in miracles.

Because there’s still a bright light in you.
Even if it’s faint. Even if it flickers.

And your light—yes, your light—might be the beacon someone else needs to find their way home. So find it. Reflect it. Shine it like the lifeline it is.

Because love and light always win in the end.
Even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s hard.

It may take time. But life isn’t a race, sunshine.

Thank you for listening.
And here’s to brighter days—for me, for you, and for all of us, boo.

Namaste. The light in me sees the light in you.

Happy Pride!

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RESOURCES

• LGBTQ+ Mental Health Services (The Trevor Project)

  TrevorLifeline = 1-866-488-7386

• National Alliance On Mental Illness (NAMI)

• SAGE LGBT Elder Hotline
  Talk and be heard at the SAGE LGBT Elder Hotline. Connects LGBT older people with friendly responders. For LGBT elders and caretakers.
  1-877-360-LGBT (5428)
  Confidential support and crisis response, available 24/7.

• Trans Lifeline
  A 24/7 hotline available in the U.S. and Canada staffed by transgender people for transgender people.
  1-877-565-8860 (United States)
  1-877-330-6366 (Canada)
  Confidential, 24/7 crisis support.