Angels Are Among Us

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I am not afraid of dying tomorrow.

I seen yesterday, and I love today."  

                                            ~Louise LaRocque

 

When circumstances in my personal life become too pressing I retreat and seek solitude. It's where I find the strength and wisdom needed to handle the difficult experiences of my life. Two places I am drawn to the most is a wooded area or near a body of water. An inner strength of spiritual nature unfolds and my life becomes more ordered by opening my mind with a great sense of peace.

A few weeks ago I left the hospital where my brother laid unresponsive, and feeling distraught about his rapidly failing health, I sought out a somewhat remote beach on the Gulf side of Florida. After climbing the grassy knolls of rain drenched sand, the brilliance of the setting sun was straight ahead. North of where I stood a few college-aged kids were engaged in playing volleyball. To my south, a disturbance was brewing with not a soul in sight...this is the direction I walked until I felt I was lost in the fine line of water and sand or Heaven and earth. I aligned myself with the setting sun relaxing into the harmony and peace of the presence of my Almighty Creator and begin to pray. I prayed that He have mercy on my brother and release him from his pain and suffering. I prayed that he feel God's loving peace in his mind and within his body. My tears went away and I became calm, serene and relaxed.

The distance between where I started my walk along the shore was long and the sun was becoming a warm glow. I was distracted by an oncoming Kingfisher who looked like he had better days. The disheveled bird's feathers were ruffled and missing and yet he walked towards me with pride and certainty. I watched as he slowly circled around me and stopped at a small pool of water being fed by the tide. He didn't seem to care as I sat down and watched him fish a few feet away as I delighted myself in taking pictures of this wonder of nature. That's when I saw the tiny speck of a person walking the shore. In navy shorts and a teal shirt, a young man with dark tasseled hair drew close. I stood and pointed to the rumpled bird who was feeding at the pool and so the fellow moved away giving a wide berth around the bird and positioned himself beside me for a few moments. His eyes were deep velvety brown and his voice as soothing as the lapping waves, "This is the first time I've ever been to this beach,” he said. “It's a first for me too,” I replied. When I returned his glace he smiled with those gentle eyes and with the voice of a concerned parent soothing a sick child he said to me, “Everything's going to be all right.” I was dumb-stricken when he turned and walked out of my sight. After a minute I turned to follow, I wanted to know how he seemed to know I was praying. I don't know where he went, it's like he just disappeared. As far as I could see along the shore I remained the only one there with the impending storm.

Yes, I believe in angels and I believe this young man with heavenly eyes came to me as a messenger to let me know my prayers would be answered. My brother passed away quietly the following morning. And yes, I do believe in angels.

In memory of Jerry 1940-2014

Strides...

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
~Maya Angelou

“It's no use going back to yesterday, there's no future there...” That sentence made me think. It made me think about the countless tens of thousands of people who can't get beyond their pasts. I know. I mentioned before I'm one insignificant particle in the masses.

I've been making great strides until recently, which is typical for most who suffer from the disease. I started to document what triggers the onset of a new bout of depression. Most of the time I can answer it with one word like; loneliness, jealousy, fear, estrangement, rejection, or grief. Other times, I even documented my depression with the phases of the moon, or if the stars weren't perfectly aligned and even other moments by a word interpreted the wrong way or the lack of love from someone I care about. Doctors prescribe all sorts of magic pills and inspirationalists tell you to look to a higher source. All of the healing hype capitalizes on particular methods prescribed making one or the other the cure. Every situation has a self-help book written by someone who thinks they have the answer, look for yourself on the internet or in bookstores, there's hundreds of them.

I believe God and medication does help, but I have sincerely succumb to the belief it will only happen within a person if they are strong enough, and have the ability to calm the noises in your heart and in your mind. This is what I'm learning as I grow spiritually. To quit fighting life and accept life is not under my control. I don't want my stuff to keep me trapped anymore. I want to throw it all into a particular northern lake and watch the ripples disappear forever.

My therapist friend asked me today if I totally grieved for my losses. I had to think back to several incidents and I replied, “Not completely.” My reasoning was, “because I couldn't do it without someone to lean on.” I felt I had to do it alone because I needed to be strong for another person, and in my worst case, I needed to keep a dark secret that I am only now letting go of.  She then asked why I never asked my family for help, I said it was because we didn't have that kind of family dynamics. Someone might say, “I didn't know.” But in all actuality, did they really want to see what was sealed in the can marked “Worms"? 

Here's another popular quote, “What hurts you today, makes you stronger tomorrow.” In some instances it absolutely applies about life, but not for all. You may think you got over yesterday's hurt, until it sneaks up on you tomorrow...

My mind works like that all the time...it opens, thoughts move around, then closes up again. My growth comes from knowing I am not the meaningless voice of my mind, I am the one who hears it. I know the sun will rise tomorrow morning and it will go down tomorrow night, and an infinite amount of things will go on in this world. I can think about it all I want, but those thoughts will have no effect on anything or anyone, except me. It's not easy applying the methods to obtain a satisfying daily existence, but when my head molds into my down pillow at bedtime and I think of my day with a smile, I know I am breaking down walls one brick at a time. 

Winter and depression's icy hand...

 

 

“And so we came forth, and once again beheld the stars.”

 

In my journey through life, winter is never a good season. It's a suffering that tinges the music of the great composers Liszt, Beethoven, and Chopin, and dances around the darker cantatas of others. I was prepared for the dark hand to hold mine when the clock struck twelve. It tugged and squeezed and it almost won—those who have teetered on the rim, understands this. It goes without saying it's nothing like the ascent to joy from a poet's hand.


Every day I write down my thoughts rather quickly and spontaneously. My paper and pens are my instruments to to write whatever comes to mind—only to be read by my eyes. I speculated in one entry that there was no originality or boldness to speak out frankly about suicide and the impulse towards it. I had apparently underestimated the number of people for whom the subject had been taboo and a matter of secrecy and shame. The overwhelming reaction from others made me feel that I had inadvertently helped many who were eager to come out and proclaim that they too, had experienced some of the same feelings I had described in previous blogs. It was the only time I ever felt it was worthwhile to have invaded my own privacy and to make that privacy public.

When I think of all the doomed and brilliant creative men and women, and the young ones who didn't allow life to happen, I can't help but think of their childhoods, where, to the best of anyone's knowledge, the seeds of depression took strong root. Did any of them have the slightest hint of the psyche's perishability and its fragility? Why did they destroy themselves, while others struggle through the disease of depression? What made me and the tens of thousands who attempted, survive?

No one knows. I don't know. Professionals can only surmise. Some quietly endure the equivalent of physical injuries of never being able to outwardly share their secrets, like the degrading act of rape. For others, warfare, victims of crime, family disappointment, declining careers, failed affairs of the heart and lastly, death. It would be impossible to prove why some people bleed from the inside. It's complex, intermingled factors of abnormal chemistry, behavior and genetics. That is why the greatest fallacy about suicide lies in a single answer. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul.

The groundhog saw his shadow the other day and six more weeks of winter is predicted. Punxsutawney Phil would be pleased if he could think like you and I, to know I am emerging in a new light with some creative juices flowing. I have been dealt a good poker hand and I feel I'm winning in this game called life. I am writing. I am smiling. I am living in the present with the help of a few patient and wonderful people. It's a tough job staying afloat when someone shouts from the safety of the shore, “Keep treading water!” But if encouragement is tenacious and the support equally committed and passionate—the drowning victim can always be rescued.

Peace and Love.



 

Uncorked...

“The change of life is the time when you meet yourself at the crossroads and you decide whether you want to be honest or not before you die.” ~Katharine Butler Hathaway



I had been totally alienated from my feelings. That's how I protected myself all those years. It took me forever to feel a feeling, much less express it. People would say, “How do you feel?” and I'd say, “Just fine...” It was like learning a different language. It was a process of getting things intellectually, then at a feeling level, and finally being able to act from that position. I began to compartmentalize my life. The parts I kept to myself, the parts my family was allowed to see, and the other parts no one was allowed to see, and the happy face when I went to work. I was trapped in my own body.

I am learning to honor all my feeling, especially the anger and the outrage. One day, a friend of mine said, “You know that you created this because you are the creator of your universe and your soul set this energy into motion. So take responsibility for it and quit mewing about it. Just forgive and move on.”

I became so pissed! I was choked with anger and lashed out like a cornered animal. To this day, we have not totally mended our relationship. Through my sessions, I've learned when you're feeling anger, you need to honor that. If you try to get to the forgiveness before you get to the anger, you're going to fuck the whole thing up. This is exactly what I had done. You have to work from where you are in your gut, not from where you think you should be in your head.

I went through revenge periods. I imagined all kinds of horrible wicked things that resulted in torture, a shotgun aimed at their balls, or a Molotov cocktail thrown at their vehicles. Two wrongs cannot make something right, were the words echoing from within my mind. If I didn't feel love for the child in me who had been raped, I would not have had this internal outrage. Sometimes I sat and felt so much compassion for one of my abusers, I wept. I am letting it all come right on through, and the more I allow all of it to come up, the more I find myself moving to loving myself. The more I tried to block the rage, the more I stay stuck. I reconcile all of this by saying I trust the process. I trust the validity of my outrage. The outrage is because I honor and value and love life.

Circumstances in life change. In retrospect, I owe my daughter my life. From the time my daughter was born, my instincts kicked in, and I was able to nurture her and protect her. Somehow, my love and my desire that this child would not be hurt were strong enough to overcome the obstacles that stopped me from doing other things to harm myself. I literally can say I owe my daughter my life because she awakened that ability in me to mother. Time and time again, when for myself I would have chose to die, I chose to live for her. I knew that somehow it had to stop with me and that I would not pass it on to her. Yet, I didn't seem to know what the “it” was. Everything would have been better if I'd known all of this forty years ago. The one thing I couldn't give my daughter was my happiness, my love of myself. I was able to give her a love for herself, a feeling for her strength, but there was a lot of joy we were never able to share. I weep for that.

Chapter 11...Committed to healing

“If you enter into healing, be prepared to lose everything. Healing is a ravaging force to which nothing seems sacred or inviolate. As my original pain releases itself into healing, it rips to shreds the structures and foundations I built in having lived a lie. I am experiencing the bizarre miracle of reincarnating, more lucidly than at birth, in the same lifetime.”      ~Ely Fuller

When you're abused, your boundaries, your right to say no, your sense of control in the world were violated. You were alone and you were powerless. The abuse humiliated you and gave you the message that you were of little value. Nothing you did could stop it. If you told someone about what happened to you, they probably ignored you, said you made it up, or told you to forget it it'll go away. Some may have even blamed you. Your reality was twisted or denied and you may have felt you were going to go crazy, and resigned to the fact you deserved what you got. You then began to believe the only thing you were good for was sex. Your hopes and dreams are irreversibly changed in a prolonged moment of time. In that terrifying moment, your life actually flashes before your eyes and you focus on an inanimate object, the same kind of inanimate object your Lamaze coach told you to focus on to block the pain of childbirth. The same inanimate object your eye is unintentionally directed to when making love to someone you owe your life to, your soul mate and the father of your children.

People have recently said to me, “Why the hell are you dragging all this crap up now?” “Why? WHY?” I answer. Because there isn’t a facet of my life that hasn't been controlled by it. It's prevented me from living a comfortable emotional life. It's prevented me from loving the people I care about the most clearly and honestly. I don't give a damn if it happened over a hundred years ago. It does matter...it matters to me!

The void I've thrown myself into by letting go of this stuff is incredibly desensitizing, making myself more vulnerable to those who continue to strip me of my dignity. It is raising questions I never planned to openly ask and get answers I didn't expect. There is no turning back. I've committed myself and I know now, my life will never be the same.

Chapter 10... Walls

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways acknowledge Him

and He will direct your paths.

~Proverbs 3, 5-6

 

Walls shield us from the sticks and stones some mean people like to throw in hopes of breaking our bones. We put up walls to protect ourselves from the names and faces that hurt us. We put up walls to keep someone from breaking out hearts. We climb walls. We sit on walls. We dig under walls. We peek around walls. Some walls even absorb our total essence, turning us into nothing more than a flowery image which eventually fades away. Walls trap us. Walls, in human behavior are nothing more than a simile for what I keep repeating to myself as “silly me.”

The two most common treatment approaches for PTSD is medicine and psychotherapy Earlier in the week, I did a little research on the medications I've been prescribed for PTSD and was shocked to find that two out of every five people (including veterans) who commit suicide were prescribed these very same meds. I question psychotherapy as the other obvious solution. Most people, like myself are not ready to explore those painful times again, and I'm anxious to the point of nausea and vomiting before each visit having to relive the past. I've already isolated myself from my community, my friends and my family and the last thing I want to do is to sit in a closed-in office with a stranger for what seems like an extended amount of time and relive a period of time I've worked at hiding my entire adult life.

How is it that PTSD can be cured by exploring feelings or even experiencing reminder of a horrible events that were undergone? Upon my further investigation, there have been no significant medical approaches to the resolution of PTSD since the diagnosis came into use over forty years ago during the Vietnam War. In all the medical advances made during that time, it's telling me no one knows exactly how we tick.

I am learning I can't achieve recovery by myself. I am one of those people who feel the need to do everything by myself, another way I was raised. When you're in the middle of the woods and the wolves are howling and you can't start a fire, there is no one else. I've had my legs kicked out from under me many times by this attitude. A dear friend of mine told me it was time to ask others to help me, especially those who cared for me, because that was a way to return the love for someone. I deprived myself of that love because it meant I was weak. I still find it hard to ask for help, I won't lie. I believe in love and I believe that it was ego that sabotaged me from healing earlier.

Last week I managed to take two steps ahead, this week I fell back again. It seems to happen more often than not. I'm reading about twelve-step programs and how it can apply to PTSD. The first step is to become aware that you are incapable of managing your life by yourself. I believe this challenge is my first step after darkness. Recently, I have been surprised where the most profound directions and support come from. It came from a supportive friend whom I haven't had contact in years whose kind words made me truly aware of how important the Serenity Prayer is to healing. It came from sitting in the outdoor chapel overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains where the verse from Psalm 121:1, I will lift up thine eyes unto the hills...” is carved in the timbers, another Divine source of strength. It came from mutual tears shared with my sister this past weekend as I told her my journey. It came from the moving letter from a surviving soldier who lost his legs in Nam. It came in a letter from the young firefighter who witnessed a family of four die in a burning vehicle. It came in the form of blue birds, and butterflies, and the purr of my fur kids. It came from all those who are reading this blog.

Those walls are beginning to crumble as the mortar weakens, liberating those of us from our self-made prisons. In the words of my son's old band instructor, “I'm not telling you it's going to be easy, but I am telling you, it'll be worth it!” Remember, you are not alone, we're in it together...

Take my hand...

Blue Butterflies...

Forgiveness is not about forgetting. It is not excusing or condoning the event which happened, and you have to quit telling yourself that whatever happened was all right, because it was not and is not. It's not letting those who were involved escape the accountability and responsibility for what they did. We all have consequences for our deeds. Eventually justice wins out and one day balance returns to our world. Forgiveness is releasing that hate and revenge you feel to something else, a higher power. Forgiveness does not overlook the action. It rises above it.

Just words, you might say. I know, I've thought it and verbalized it. Easy for someone to write about all the right things you need to do to achieve the happiness, it's another thing to actually experience it. After being shown my brain scan, I was told one of the most significant effects of PTSD is losing the ability to find joy in your life. It assaults the pleasure centers in front of our brains to turn down to a very low level of activity making those who suffer with PTSD to lose that internal direction or the sense of control we have over our thoughts and our actions. If we don't have positive reinforcement in one form or another, our brains don't know how to heal and find pleasure.

This is where I am failing, and I'm discouraged my life is not on an even keel. Some days I feel like I don't want to teeter on the wall and just fall like old Humpty Dumpty did. By the way, how did that egg-head happen to be sitting on a wall and fall? Did he miss the Spring Equinox and deliberately fall instead his obvious fate of being scrambled by the queen if he failed to stand up on end?

How can you get positive reinforcement when those you love treat you like you have an infectious disease or that their problems surmount yours? It's not about any competition, or who's life was worse than yours. I miss the one person who I believe would listen, my mom. My mom passed away thirty-two years ago, and today is her birthday, she would have been ninety-eight. I miss her, and I think I would be brave enough today, to talk about the yest-er-years. I believe she would finally understand my actions and the words I wrote in my diary so many years ago. I don't believe I'm too damaged to be helped now. I know where I want to be, I'm just having a hell of a time getting and staying there. I am learning new exercises that focus on hope, faith and tranquility. It gets quite discouraging to see the sun set at the end of a beautiful day and feel nothing...no one said things would be easy.

I haven't seen any bluebirds since I wrote my last post, but this afternoon as I sat in the shade enjoying the less humid afternoon in the backyard, a Pipevine Swallowtail butterfly landed inches away from my hand. Was this another Divine sign? I think so. This blue beauty is more common in other places than my yard, and the admission I was granted to watch him dance was free. I smiled when I took note he was not carrying any rocks.