Wednesday, June 25, 2014
That sweet day has arrived. The end of my first year of active, fully conscious recovery from PTSD has arrived. Now begins Year Two. I am rewarding myself with a flourless chocolate cookie at Starbucks in downtown Minneapolis. I survived today! And it wasn't exactly the day I was expecting. It was a much more stressful day than I had planned it to be...not that we can always easily plan how much stress will enter our lives...
Today I had a coworker confide in me about a recent suicide attempt. I could almost see red sirens go off in my brain with the phrase "Red Alert!" intoning through all of my brain cells. The scariest part, though, was that I didn't immediately call my off-site supervisor with the agency that placed me in my current position to report this. As I recall about an hour passed before the thought went through my mind: "What are you doing? Call your off-site boss now!" It's almost as if I dissociated and didn't allow myself to think about the full range of implications if I had said nor done nothing. And that scared me a bit.
I now find myself wondering if my co-worker might find a way to read my blog. I very briefly connected with her on Facebook. It's very possible she looked through my page and found one of my older blog posts linked on my Facebook profile and thereby discovered my web address in the short time I was connected with her before I severed the connection on Facebook. I hope she believes that my decision to report my concern was done with her own welfare in mind. I provided her three different referrals to mental health care professionals this morning. I sense that is probably partly why she then confided in me...she trusted that I was a kind, thoughtful person. I do my best to be...even when others have unjustly demonized me. Cruel, malicious gossip has a way of destroying lives and reputations. I've had enough stress in my life. I just want to find love...and peace.
I found it a bit weird that these events that unfolded today occurred today. Of course then again they might not have if I had not disclosed to my co-worker that today was the anniversary of my own unexpected diagnosis. Again, it's a matter of boundaries. I recognize a lot of my own life experience and issues in what she shared with me...namely being subjected to life in a highly dysfunctional family in which individuals are deeply immersed in highly self-destructive behaviors. You never know what you might receive in reply when you open your mouth. Exhibit A as evidence for this truth: June 13, 2013...the day I spoke at an annual meeting and unintentionally 'provoked' a backlash the likes of which left me in a psychic daze for weeks. It's no surprise that last year on this day I felt like I was going to fall apart. But then again my life *was* falling apart. Despite all my efforts to heal from the pain of my earliest years of life it was apparent I still had not succeeded. More therapy was indicated. So yet again I jumped back in. And now here I am a year later.
It's obvious to me that my life is vastly better than it was a year ago. For one, I am in treatment. Two, I am no longer depressed. Three, my physical health is much better. Four, I am working. Five, I haven't given up trying to realize my deeper, longer term goals. Six, I have made new friends. Seven, I am working through my immense grief...slowly but surely. Eight, my sense of self is becoming much less distorted. Nine, my eyesight is amazingly good. Ten, I don't dissociate unconsciously. Eleven, I don't tolerate abuse from others. Twelve, I am still a kind man. Thirteen, I am still generous when I can be. Fourteen, I know I will in fact survive the loss of my entire paternal family of origin. Fifteen, I still appreciate beauty. Sixteen, I notice myself 'tuning in' to beautiful music in random places. Seventeen, I appreciate the beauty of men as I never have before. Eighteen, my courage is undeterred. Nineteen, I am still willing to help other people. Twenty, I can still smile.
That I could rattle off twenty things to be grateful for so quickly tells me that I am indeed moving in the right direction. It just takes time. Maybe I'll live to 105. Maybe I will die tomorrow. But at least I am making peace with my past and present one step at a time. I am dreaming again and looking forward to what I can still create.
I have definitely been in what Richard Rohr calls the "Second Half of Life". It began one year ago today.
I have a feeling Year Two will be a lot better! That is certainly my intention. I have never felt so good.
That sweet day has arrived. The end of my first year of active, fully conscious recovery from PTSD has arrived. Now begins Year Two. I am rewarding myself with a flourless chocolate cookie at Starbucks in downtown Minneapolis. I survived today! And it wasn't exactly the day I was expecting. It was a much more stressful day than I had planned it to be...not that we can always easily plan how much stress will enter our lives...
Today I had a coworker confide in me about a recent suicide attempt. I could almost see red sirens go off in my brain with the phrase "Red Alert!" intoning through all of my brain cells. The scariest part, though, was that I didn't immediately call my off-site supervisor with the agency that placed me in my current position to report this. As I recall about an hour passed before the thought went through my mind: "What are you doing? Call your off-site boss now!" It's almost as if I dissociated and didn't allow myself to think about the full range of implications if I had said nor done nothing. And that scared me a bit.
I now find myself wondering if my co-worker might find a way to read my blog. I very briefly connected with her on Facebook. It's very possible she looked through my page and found one of my older blog posts linked on my Facebook profile and thereby discovered my web address in the short time I was connected with her before I severed the connection on Facebook. I hope she believes that my decision to report my concern was done with her own welfare in mind. I provided her three different referrals to mental health care professionals this morning. I sense that is probably partly why she then confided in me...she trusted that I was a kind, thoughtful person. I do my best to be...even when others have unjustly demonized me. Cruel, malicious gossip has a way of destroying lives and reputations. I've had enough stress in my life. I just want to find love...and peace.
I found it a bit weird that these events that unfolded today occurred today. Of course then again they might not have if I had not disclosed to my co-worker that today was the anniversary of my own unexpected diagnosis. Again, it's a matter of boundaries. I recognize a lot of my own life experience and issues in what she shared with me...namely being subjected to life in a highly dysfunctional family in which individuals are deeply immersed in highly self-destructive behaviors. You never know what you might receive in reply when you open your mouth. Exhibit A as evidence for this truth: June 13, 2013...the day I spoke at an annual meeting and unintentionally 'provoked' a backlash the likes of which left me in a psychic daze for weeks. It's no surprise that last year on this day I felt like I was going to fall apart. But then again my life *was* falling apart. Despite all my efforts to heal from the pain of my earliest years of life it was apparent I still had not succeeded. More therapy was indicated. So yet again I jumped back in. And now here I am a year later.
It's obvious to me that my life is vastly better than it was a year ago. For one, I am in treatment. Two, I am no longer depressed. Three, my physical health is much better. Four, I am working. Five, I haven't given up trying to realize my deeper, longer term goals. Six, I have made new friends. Seven, I am working through my immense grief...slowly but surely. Eight, my sense of self is becoming much less distorted. Nine, my eyesight is amazingly good. Ten, I don't dissociate unconsciously. Eleven, I don't tolerate abuse from others. Twelve, I am still a kind man. Thirteen, I am still generous when I can be. Fourteen, I know I will in fact survive the loss of my entire paternal family of origin. Fifteen, I still appreciate beauty. Sixteen, I notice myself 'tuning in' to beautiful music in random places. Seventeen, I appreciate the beauty of men as I never have before. Eighteen, my courage is undeterred. Nineteen, I am still willing to help other people. Twenty, I can still smile.
That I could rattle off twenty things to be grateful for so quickly tells me that I am indeed moving in the right direction. It just takes time. Maybe I'll live to 105. Maybe I will die tomorrow. But at least I am making peace with my past and present one step at a time. I am dreaming again and looking forward to what I can still create.
I have definitely been in what Richard Rohr calls the "Second Half of Life". It began one year ago today.
I have a feeling Year Two will be a lot better! That is certainly my intention. I have never felt so good.
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