The Man Who Yelled at Clouds

By Justin Eller and Justin T. Eller

They say marriage is a spiritual mirror that shows us who we really are.

Ryan and Sarah think they've found the perfect marriage.

But can happily-ever-after survive the truth?

 

At thirty-one, Ryan thinks his biggest problem is hiding a few shady business dealings from his wife long enough to get their finances back on track. 

 

Until he's hospitalized for hallucinations and paranoia. 

 

Diagnosed with bipolar disorder and other mental illnesses, Ryan struggles to find the right combination of medications and the mental clarity to stay on them as his bouts of psychosis worsen.  

 

Ryan's illness forces Sarah to care for their family alone, straining their relationship. When she learns the truth about his significant debt, their crumbling marriage collapses. 

 

Struggling to find a grip on reality and right his wrongs, Ryan pleads for God's mercy.

 

But relief doesn't come.

 

Instead, a new diagnosis devastates Ryan's family beyond the breaking point. If he can't keep what's left of his family together, he will lose everything. Is this really God's answer to his prayers?

 

Inspired by the author's own experiences, The Man Who Yelled at Clouds is a brutally honest yet inspiring story of finding faith and strength in our darkest moments.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resilience
• Release date: Mar 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218134457

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Copyright © 2023 by Justin T. Eller

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical ­articles and reviews. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the publisher. For information or permission, visit [e-mail].

This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

Cover design by MiblArt

Author photo by Jessica White

Interior print design and layout by Marny K. Parkin

Ebook design and layout by Marny K. Parkin

Published by Resilience

Paperback 979-8-218-09468-3

eBook 979-8-218-13445-7

In loving memory of Angela Eller

Acknowledgments

T

here are many who have helped bring this book to fruition, and I’m grateful to all, but I’d like to especially thank Shauna Packer, Nancy Miles, the team at Precision Editing, and Jen for their support, Colby and Julia for raising me right, and my children, who’ve been with me through the hard times and overcome their own challenges.

Introduction

(Fiction)

R

yan has a wife and three young children. At age thirty-­one, after experiencing intense auditory hallucinations, he is hospitalized and diagnosed with several mental illnesses including bipolar disorder. When he is released from the hospital, he realizes how hard it is to find the right medications and stay on them. Bouts of mania and depression weave in and out of his life. Ryan struggles to hold a job and maintain relationships, including with his wife, Sara. When Sara is diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, Ryan is forced to face his inner demons and care for her while taking on the responsibilities of a parent for their children. When Sara passes, he must do whatever’s necessary to maintain his sanity and raise his children alone.

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Falling from the Top of the World

S

ales was not my initial plan back when I matriculated at college. I majored in English at the University of Utah and planned on working as a content writer or an editor in the Salt Lake area. Writing and editing were my interests, and my degree hadn’t prepared me for using technology in the workplace. It was the early twenty-­first century, and everyone in the marketplace was looking for help in their high-­tech endeavors. E-­commerce had exploded, and it seemed every potential employer was interested in an attractive website. Of course, with websites there were jobs for content writing and editing, but I wasn’t computer savvy, and I knew nothing about writing search engine optimization (SEO) jargon. All I’d done in school was write and email critical essays to my professors. So I talked to some people but never interviewed for anything in my desired field.

Instead I decided to look for a sales job. My father used to tell me that no matter what the economy or the marketplace did, there were always sales jobs out there. But he didn’t speak for the quality of those jobs. As a young man, I fell into the trap of employers luring job seekers with persuasive arguments that you could have unlimited income if you worked hard enough to sell their products. In most cases this was a miserable lie because many products were useless, others were worthless.

I don’t believe what they say is true, that a great salesman can sell ice cubes to Eskimos. How do you convince an Eskimo there’s value in paying money for ice when it’s falling from the sky? That would be like a child of Israel walking around with a basket trying to sell manna while wafers are falling at everyone’s feet.

On one jobsite, I saw an opportunity to make anywhere between $5,000 and $20,000 a month. I inquired and landed an interview. In shirt and tie, I sat in front of a man twice my age sharing his wisdom and interrogating me.

All insurance jobs are straight commission. At least if you want to make any money. He put his hands behind his head as he reclined in his cordovan leather chair.

I understand. If you provided a salary, people could just try to get away with doing as little as possible and stay comfortable. This guy’s a jerk.

Right, he said firmly, and it puts a cap on what you can make. Cachet has the best individual health insurance products on the market, and the rates of our plans are generally twenty-­five percent cheaper than comparable plans.

I leaned back in my chair to mirror his style. Sounds like Cachet is twenty-­five percent smarter than its competitors.

He leaned forward with a wide-­eyed, open-­mouthed laugh. Ha, ha, ha. That’s a great observation. When can you start?

I can start Monday. Do I really want to work for him?

Okay, we’ll discuss the commission structure further then, and we’ll begin your training with our top sales rep. We want you to learn from the best to ensure your success. He stood and reached across his desk to shake hands.

We sealed the deal. I nailed it! One interview out of college and I’d gotten the job, catapulting me into the workforce. It felt awesome but as the months went by, I saw new sales reps come and go, and eventually, I quit because the job wasn’t what my boss had built it up to be. His tales of unlimited income had evaporated and I couldn’t continue to believe.

After such a disagreeable experience, I moved on to another sales job. I told people I loved direct sales, but looking back, it was a demonstrable lie. Perhaps I lacked the testicular fortitude to be bold when potential customers were short with me. I hated the confrontation I often ran into when cold-­calling. Yet I continued to tell myself I could become a great salesman, hoping if I believed it strongly enough, I would live up to that persona and maybe even start enjoying it.

Then one successful experience changed the course of my life—though not success in a business sense. It came as I sold supplemental life insurance to hospital employees. The hospital provided a conference room for me to meet with staff members individually and enroll whoever wanted $750,000 in guaranteed twenty-­year-­term life insurance.

The employees were all names and faces—until a petite nurse came in and sat down in front of me. She looked too young to be a nurse. When we made eye contact, I smiled. Hazel eyes!

In front of her, papers littered the desk. Sorry for the mess.

That’s okay. Aren’t you gonna show me those papers? She sat facing me as if to say Let’s get on with this. It made me nervous. Her eyes followed every move I made.

Yeah. I stopped and put the papers down. Hi, I’m Ryan, I said, smiling. We’re—

I’m Sara. She cut me off.

Nice to meet you, Sara. A.L.E. is providing employees a special rate on $750,000 guaranteed term life insurance . . .

How long’s the term? And is there underwriting?

She knows life insurance? Twenty years. And there’s absolutely no underwriting, everyone’s eligible.

How much is it?

Every question was like a gavel being slammed down in front of me. She had a look of intelligence. I leaned forward, and with my pen out, I guided her eyes to a rate sheet that I held in front of her.

Just $16.75 comes out of each paycheck. I turned the page. All you have to do is fill out this form, front and back, and you’re covered.

Okay, she said, I don’t have any dependents. I’m single.

Why is she telling me this? Does she want me to ask her on a date?

Well, I’m single too . . . but I’m glad I have life insurance because you’re killing me with those eyes. You idiot! You’re cringeworthy. I immediately regretted using such an atrocious pickup line.

Oh my gosh! She covered her mouth and laughed in her hands. Is that the best you can do? No wonder why you’re single. She tried to keep her laugh quiet, but the giggling got louder.

You aren’t giving me any time to think.

I sat back in a more comfortable posture hoping that I would have a chance to play it off. The lack of eye contact made sense when she lowered her hands, but she was blushing, which told me that she was either shy or her laughing had caused blood to run to her head. I was up to the challenge of trying to recover from my embarrassment.

Do you want to hear another line?

She just sat there smiling.

Your father must be a thief—

She cut me off again. Cause you’ve been running through my mind. Ha, ha, ha.

Okay, so you don’t want the insurance, and you don’t want me. What do you want to do now?

She leaned forward, picked up the pen, and started writing on the enrollment form. I’ll take the life insurance today, she said as she wrote. I’ll never take you. Then she put the pen down, stood up, and began walking out of the room without looking back.

I waited until she’d walked through the door before I looked down at what she’d written: Sara, 274-­8094. I know a creep when I see one. You’re too juvenile to be a creep, but if you’re an a-­hole, then our next meeting will be shorter than this one.

Amazing! I smiled with delight. I can’t believe I got her number.

On our first date I took her to a Journey concert. She loved Journey and although she seemed shy, she loved the concert and laughed at my jokes. At the end of the night I realized that I’d mistaken shyness for coyness. Sitting in my car, she gave me an alluring look, so I moved in and kissed her. She reciprocated it with a kiss of her own.

That was good, I said with a smile.

Which one? The one I gave you, or the one you gave me?

Both.

Not so much, she said.

What? She didn’t like it?

You came in too strong, so I had to correct you. She laughed, so I laughed with her.

We sat in the parking lot until everyone was gone. We spent hours talking about deeper things than strangers usually talk about. And we were still strangers. I told her what kind of dynamic that I wanted from a relationship. I described it with a word that I learned in college. Propinquity, or developing a relationship by staying in close proximity. She shared the same desire.

Flip phones weren’t the main crutch of communication the way smart phones are now, so the phenomenon of propinquity was much simpler to live then. There was no texting. But as we dated, it became our motto. Nobody ever knew what we meant when we said we lived by it, and we liked it that way. Within six months, we were married. As a wedding gift, a close friend made us a sign that said, Propinquity. We hung it in the main room of our apartment to remind us of it often.

It wasn’t unusual for a twenty-­three-­ and a twenty-­one-­year-­old to be married, but we both still looked like teenagers, and as reality set in, we acted as such. Her desire to do absolutely everything together became galling to me.

She’s smothering me, I told a married friend.

That’s marriage, dude. Men are hunters and women are nesters. We want to be out doing crazy things with our guy friends, and they want to nestle in at home and share a cup of hot cocoa by the fire. You’ve gotta learn to share adventures together. I knew he was right, and Sara enjoyed hiking and riding mountain bikes, so we began to take day trips to different parts of Utah to explore the outdoors.

It’s in those first few years of marriage that you get a vision of what the rest of your life is going to look like. But even though you’re living in the reality of the moment, that vision is a liar. It can’t be trusted. There’s always better and worse than you can imagine, and it waits just over the horizon.

We had communication issues that aggravated us both, but I figured it was normal. As long as we had propinquity, everything would be fine, she would say. By the time we had our first two children, Sierra and then Cameron, Sara was fed up with my bouncing around from job to job. She, on the other hand, maintained steady employment at the hospital, working nights mostly so that she could have more time with the kids. To me, it was all temporary. My success would come, I just had to find the right opportunity.

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One day a friend from college told me about a business opportunity in Boise, Idaho, that I was convinced was my ticket to true self-­employment. I could buy my own marketing franchise on a business loan. When I got home that night, I started the conversation with Sara, explaining everything the best I could.

It’s a great opportunity, and I can be my own boss. You know I’ve always wanted that, I told her.

You’re asking me to give up my life in Utah. I love the outdoors here. I love the weather. My career is here. She was a nester and didn’t like change, and I could see by her reaction that this was far from her comfort zone. She was pacing around, arms folded. In protection mode.

Well, I’ve looked into that. There’s a huge shortage of nurses in Boise, so they’re paying moving expenses and also giving sign-­on bonuses. We can get a bigger house there. And there’s plenty of outdoors stuff there too. Propinquity, remember? We can have that anywhere as long as we’re in it together. I tried to take her hand to stop her pacing, but she wouldn’t have it.

That’s only if we’re one in purpose, and all of this would be for you. I’m the one who would have to sacrifice everything for something you want that has no guarantees. You don’t know if you can be successful at this. It’s a start-­up company and start-­ups go under all the time.

The conversation was over. She walked to the play area and mingled with the kids. Over the next few days, she asked questions about the job. I didn’t have all the answers, so I invited my friend over to help explain what it was and the potential it had. He owned the local franchise and said he was successful. Sara began to quietly research the Boise area jobs, schools, etc., until she finally agreed to relocate.

We were able to buy a brand-­new house with the money we made from our old one. The neighborhood was nice and family-­friendly. Sara began working three nights a week at the hospital and said she was impressed with the PICU staff. I was happy with the new arrangement, and so was Sara.

Within the first year of being there, we had our third child, Sydney. It was tough having three kids under the age of six. Kids have a way of shooting arrows in your back every time you turn around. Working for myself motivated me in a way that I’d never felt before. Marketing wasn’t a whole lot different than sales was, but rather than selling a particular product, I was selling a service. To me, marketing was all about relationships, and that’s where I excelled.

I started with no clients, but as far as marketing skills go, I ascended to the top of my game. I worked one on one with other business owners to create loyal relationships between them and their clients. Initially, I worked out of our home, but soon I moved into an office space that my buddy Dave owned, free of charge. He was the kind of best friend that would give you the shirt off his back. Business deals were made on the golf course, while fly-­fishing, and by taking clients out to lunch. It was an entrepreneur’s dream.

The happiness lasted about fourteen months. Everything broke down when the corporate office shut its doors and the owners skipped town. They were responsible for printing and sending out mailers and the products that I sold. When the products were no longer being delivered on behalf of my clients, I drove to the company headquarters to find out what was going on. When I got there, the parking lot was empty. I got out of my car and peered through the windows. Where there had once been office desks, printers, and materials, there was only vacancy.

I’ve been screwed! I yelled.

How had the corporate headquarters disassembled and disappeared so quickly? Where did everyone go? It felt like I must have been at the peak of ignorance. I called other franchise owners, and nobody knew what had happened.

One of them said, I saw the writing on the wall, so I cut my losses and moved on. I didn’t know they’d go down so fast though.

I took out a loan to pay for my franchise. I’m on the hook for that. I was pissed.

Wow! I’m sorry, man. They screwed everyone that got involved. It was obvious that they weren’t making any money other than the payments they were receiving from owners like us.

It hadn’t been obvious to me, I said. I didn’t see it coming.

This was a moment of genuine embarrassment. I thought I had a perfect plan for a soft landing. But I was wrong. With the business debts that I’d accrued, along came stress that would eventually consume my life. The pressure of not being able to follow through on the promises I’d made to customers troubled me. Regrettably, I decided to take up lying. Lying to my customers, my prospects, my wife, my friends—all to keep up an image that I was successful. I had trouble doing it at first. I couldn’t answer a straight question with a straight face when I was being dishonest; the smoke and mirrors were painted all over it.

The more I lied, the easier it got. I told existing clients that the products would be coming soon. I continued to sell a program that no longer existed. When I collected a check from new clients, I never returned or answered their phone calls. Eventually, word got around that I was a crook, and many were unwilling to deal with me anymore.

I told myself that I could get through it without anyone’s help. But I couldn’t escape the fact that my business and my reputation were in shambles. I was blacklisted by friends and associates, and it hurt. My conscience burned like brimstone. Sara knew that something was wrong, but I refused to tell her anything. Every morning I got up, put on a shirt and tie and drove to work. Until one day I pulled up to my office and Dave was there waiting for me.

Hey, man, you can’t use my office space anymore, he said as I opened my car door.

But you’re not using it, and I need it. I can’t work from home. I stepped out of the car and did my best to show sincerity.

We can still be friends, but I’ve had people coming here pissed off saying that you screwed them over, he said. I don’t want that kind of negativity around here. I don’t want to lose my business relationships by having my name associated with you.

But you know it’s not my fault. You know that. I paced around, kicking up dirt.

You’re making it your fault because you’re still going around collecting checks. That’s dishonest. You know that you can’t deliver on what you’re selling. You should be out looking for a job somewhere else.

He was right, I should’ve started looking for another job. Dave helped me box up my things and throw away all the documents that were obsolete. As we carried the boxes to my car, I realized that he wasn’t judging me. He had to protect his own interests, but he wasn’t trying to get rid of me.

As he was lifting boxes and placing them in the trunk, he said, I’m worried about you, man. Something’s not right. I know you, and lately you’ve been . . . not here.

So where am I? I folded my arms and stuck out my chest.

I’m not baggin’ on you. I dunno. Do you feel okay physically?

I feel fine. His question made me self-­conscious.

What about mentally?

I rolled my eyes and opened my car door. I’m leaving now. I’ll see ya around.

Yeah, don’t let this come between us. We can still fly-­fish and hang out.

Yeah. I shut the door, turned on the ignition, and drove away.

On my way home, Dave’s words came back to me. What about mentally? Does he think I’m crazy? I pictured my brain as an asylum with lunatics running around making the decisions. I began to marvel at who else might think I’d lost my mind. If I’m crazy, maybe that means there’s no accountability. If the hat fits, I oughta wear it. Nah, I’m not crazy. But I can see how my actions could make it seem that way.

I’d spent three months running around in denial. But I still had an incredible family to go home to. My wife, Sara, and I had now been married for ten years. I loved her sweet personality. But she was also a very private person, which made her emotions hard to read. She carried herself resolutely, if that’s a thing, which often made it difficult for me to open up to her.

As of late, during my idle time when the kids were in bed, my emblazoned mind wandered aimlessly. The only thing I found comforting was to stare completely unfocused, short of anything that would distract me from the immense preoccupation of hopeless thought. My worries became obsessive, and I was a bit paranoid. While for a brief moment I was on top of the world, the next moment I was living under the weight of it.

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Sara worried in silence for the most part. But I knew she could see that my nature was fundamentally changing. Changing from being a man of many words to one that was suddenly muted. She did ask questions, but I evaded them with denial and by playing the fool. By pretending I didn’t know what she was talking about.

When she’d ask what was wrong, I’d respond by saying, Nothing. Why do you ask?

Sometimes I would gaslight her and act like she was the problem. The way that she responded to me became cold and calculated, which made me more paranoid. Eventually, she was as distant from me as I was from her. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, not because of a lack of awareness, but because I didn’t want to know.

One morning she approached me and said, I have to work night shifts for the next three nights. Are you going to be all right with the kids?

What do you mean? I said defensively. The kids and I are fine.

She walked closer to me and looked me in the eyes.

Well, you just seem a little off lately, and you don’t talk to me about it.

There’s nothing to talk about. If you had my job, you’d be stressed too.

I couldn’t handle the eye contact, so I broke it. There was a moment of silence, then I changed the subject.

I have to go to Walmart on my way to work this morning. Do you need anything?

No. She looked down at the floor with a defeated look on her face.

I could almost feel the disappointment in her expression, but I had little compassion for her. Inquisitions made me weary. I left the house with a feeling of discontentment. I was more than a little off but wasn’t ready to share my feelings with anyone. Secrets would end up being revealed, and I didn’t want that because people would be disgusted with me if they knew what a monster I really was—especially Sara.

I was well on my way to a mental breakdown. In fact, I’d probably crossed that line, but I didn’t know it. At Walmart I bought driving gloves and sunglasses. My gloves would soften the reminder that everything I touched was falling apart. Not necessarily what my hands touched, but everything I meddled in. The sunglasses were essential for providing cover from people I’d coaxed. They were my disguise.

Walking back to my car I put on the gloves and sunglasses. Before driving I took a moment to think things through.

Never thought I’d have to hide from people. Is it criminal to want to feed my family? But I wonder if those people showing up at Dave’s building are really pissed off customers. It could be the authorities. Nah, I haven’t done anything that bad.

As anyone with a conscience might do, I began to justify things in my mind. After all, it wasn’t like I was a masked man climbing a rope with a stethoscope flung around my neck, sneaking through windows, cracking safes, and taking everything that I could get my hands on. No doubt there was a gray area in all my business transactions, but I couldn’t make restitution. I didn’t have the money or the means to. But that didn’t make me a criminal. Criminals were people who got caught, tried in court, and sentenced to time. I had no criminal record. But there was a body of evidence growing against me and my antics.

As the days passed, I still