Revealing More About Myself

Saturday, November 9, 2013


The time has come for me to reveal more about myself.  It will become clear why I am doing so now and what connection I can draw with PTSD later in this post.

Four months of work with my therapist has led me to a deep amount of clarity regarding what my focus now needs to be.  It has become clear to me that my primary therapeutic goal now needs to be finding a way to achieve some degree of healthy resolution of the grief I have carried for a very long while regarding the loss of my mother to schizophrenia.

My father and mother met in Germany in 1970.  They later married in Borken, Germany.  Borken is a small town (you could almost correctly call it a village) in the province of Nordrhein Westfalen; my mother grew up there.  This province makes up a large portion of northwest Germany.  After marrying in Germany my parents settled in Texas.  My mother's illness ultimately led to my parents' divorce.  My mother eventually returned to Germany where she has lived throughout the remainder of her adult life.  She now has a degree of dementia as well.  I do not know what is a realistic life expectancy for someone with treated schizophrenia.  Though my mother's mental health has deteriorated somewhat she remains physically strong enough to pursue simple activities like walking outside in her local community.

When a person loses the active and supportive presence of a parent it can prove to be a devastating blow.  I know that is how I felt.  And yet I could not fully express the sadness and grief I felt partly because I was so young that I had not yet developed a significant grasp of any language to do so and partly because I did not grow up in a family that has much skill in handling deep loss or trauma in a very healthy way.  And so I carried around this unexpressed grief for many years that eventually became decades.

I think it's important when pondering the impact of significant loss in our lives that we consider not just the loss we can easily describe but also the greater potentialities that will never be due to the sudden detour our lives often take when loss touches us (whether the loss was sudden and unexpected or expected but nonetheless still painful).  Our parents often serve as our earliest and most influential examples of how to develop a relationship with ourselves and the world at large.  When parental modeling is inconsistent, absent or abusive it can prove very painful and undermine our sense of being able to live in the world in a healthy, productive way.

One way a person can experience a loss is through losing the important connection with his culture of origin.  Though my mother separated from my father very early in my own life I nonetheless was fortunate to have the opportunity to learn my mother's language (German) in high school.  I also later completed some courses during my studies for my undergraduate degree.  Yet as any person who has traveled extensively can attest it is one thing to study a language outside of its corresponding culture and another thing entirely to experience the immersion of living within a culture and using its language in an intensive way.  I have enjoyed a number of opportunities to visit with my mother's family in Germany.  I am very grateful I was able to enjoy such opportunities.  Yet despite learning the German language and developing a virtually fluent capacity I nonetheless felt disconnected from the culture itself.  It is this disconnect and my desire to reclaim my cultural heritage that serves as my focus today.

One aspect of German culture that has long fascinated me is the leather community.  I have been part of many communities while living on the West Coast for a number of years.  Yet throughout that time I never allowed myself to explore my fascination with leather in a deep way.  I would like to learn more about the cultural history of leather with a specific focus on its presence in Germany.

In the spirit of exploring the leather community or scene I am applying to be a contestant in the Mister Minneapolis Eagle 2014 competition.  The contest takes place next weekend.  This is but one way I am honoring a part of myself I have long not allowed myself ample space and time to explore.  I am finally honoring my full self.  And in the process of doing so I find more grief within that needs release.

There are no dull moments lately.

Onward and Upward on the Path of Healing

Friday, November 8, 2013

This was an eventful week.  I completed a two week long day program at Abbott Northwestern Hospital.  I also am no longer scheduled for any additional physical therapy appointments; I went to my last appointment earlier this week.  My shoulder is basically healthy enough that I do not need to go back to see my physical therapist unless I again experience some limitations or significant pain.  And so, approximately three months later, the many challenges I have been facing are now beginning to wane.

I enhanced my existing awareness and self-care skills these last two weeks by allowing myself to be very present in the group therapy sessions I attended.  Being in a room (and often being the only male) with a number of women experiencing mild to severe health issues was a potent means of reminding me of how I felt when my mother was beginning to suffer her schizophrenic breakdown.  I adopted something of a caregiver orientation to the relationships in my life at an early age.  It seemed to become my default setting.  Now I can consciously choose the nature and quality of relationships that I wish to pursue.  I expect that I will have more success developing healthy relationships now that my self-awareness is even greater than it was previously.

I also had the great fortune of interviewing for a job last night.  I had not done that in quite a while.  The interview went well; I hope to hear the results next week.  I have made monumental progress considering the circumstances I faced in late June when I received my diagnosis.  I have been successful in breaking some not so healthy habits and starting or resuming other ones.  As time continues to pass and I remain loyal to my recovery process I am confident I will continue to feel better and better.  It's just a matter of time now.

I am often amazed by how common PTSD seems to be in the population.  I have not looked closely at the many statistics in health science literature that might provide greater insight into the many health issues Americans face.  I wonder if PTSD is a condition that is under-diagnosed.  I suspect it is.  One of the other patients in my day program may very well have PTSD; this was apparently the opinion of the psychiatrist who sees each client of the program throughout their attendance.

I intend to continue writing this blog and welcome others to read and share their thoughts.  Have a lovely weekend.

  

Here and There

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The momentum of my personal healing journey is building as I continue to focus on meeting my basic needs while working on my deeper issue of grief.  I am hoping that I will get referred to a good grief support group in the coming weeks.

One of the most profound aspects of my current experience is the simple daily moments in which I really see the world around me in all its manifold color and glory.  The texture and color of the world is so much more vivid than I recall it ever being.  And certainly it's not because the world itself has changed.  Instead, my own capacity to perceive is changing as I continue to work with my therapist.

I am continuing to develop my self-care skills such that I have a more fine tuned sense of when I am inside a stress inducing situation.  We all function with some degree of stress every day.  And stress and anxiety can actually be positive as they can motivate us to achieve amazing things.  It's when the stress dial is turned up too high that it becomes debilitating rather than motivating.  The day treatment program I have been participating in since last Monday has helped me to refine my skills in coping and self-awareness.  I found ample opportunity to use them yesterday.

Whenever a 'new' person enters the group the therapist who works with us in the morning group session describes the progression of activities typical for each day.  She also describes some boundaries regarding how participants are expected to interact with one another outside of the program itself.  This is done in part to minimize the risk of 'trauma bonding'.

Yesterday there was a 'new' person who began recounting some details of her life experience.  Upon hearing the word suicide I decided it was time for me to take a break.  I walked outside and enjoyed the sunlight for a short while.  The brisk, fresh air felt good to inhale.  I'm going to continue to hone my stress-meter and do my best to heighten my skills of listening to my body and my mind.

Looking back more deeply over my life history it is no wonder that I would have been a walking case of PTSD.  I was essentially expected to carry an enormous amount of stress around during my earliest years of life.  No child should be expected to bear such a burden and emerge from such difficulty completely unscathed.  It's simply not a realistic expectation.

Each day I continue to wake up feeling stronger, more present and more optimistic about my future.  I am excited!

When The Ties That Bind Also Feel Like They Strangle

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

When I first entered therapy in my twenties I came across a fascinating book called Too Scared To Cry.  The book, written by child psychiatrist Lenore Terr, utilizes a highly conversational writing style to explore the phenomenon and impact of trauma upon children.  Terr uses the abduction of a group of children on their school bus in Chowchilla, California in the late 1970s as source material for her survey of the subject.  I recall being absolutely fascinated as I turned the pages of the book.  It was truly a page turner.  I suppose you could say one of the advantages of a chaotic childhood is that you may find your future adult development such an enigma that you never find life all that dull or predictable.  It has been common for me to be fascinated by my own development, dreams and fears.  But thankfully the fascination has never really developed into a full blown case of unhealthy (read here excessive) self-absorption.

At one point in her book Terr introduces us to the role of trauma in the development of one of America’s most well known horror writers.  That distinction goes to Stephen King.  She specifically focuses on one of his tales in which four nearly teenage boys go on a field trip to view the body of a local boy who was killed by a train.  Read closely and with a thoughtful  eye you can find yourself getting into the mind of Stephen King and even make some educated guesses about King’s own formative experiences.

One story that was also made into a film that made quite an impact upon me is Cujo.  For those domestic and international readers unfamiliar with the tale I will reprise it here.  A woman and her son experience traumatizing terror when a large dog belonging to a nearby resident in their small Maine town becomes rabid.  Unfortunately the mother has no idea what horror is about to befall her until the dog announces itself with a terrifying display of fury.  The horror escalates exponentially when her attempt to drive away fails as her car’s alternator dies.  Thus begins a period of many days in which mother and son gradually suffer growing levels of anxiety, dehydration and terror.  A person fascinated by the movie version of the story will reach the threshold of despair if he has any feelings of empathy whatsoever.  The mother is ultimately able to save herself and her son but not without first experiencing some serious wounding.  Though the physical scars will ultimately heal you can well imagine the psychic harm would require much therapy to overcome.

I’ve thought about this story a fair bit lately.  And here is why.  One of the most powerful scenes is the very ending.  In the movie the mother takes her essentially unconscious son into the house after first successfully bludgeoning the dog to the point she earns a short reprieve from its madness.  With a mixture of determination and seeming desperation she scatters the contents of a kitchen table out of the way and lays her son on it.  She begins giving him mouth to mouth resuscitation and rubs water on his chest.  Many painful seconds later the boy finally comes back to consciousness.  The mother then grabs up the boy to cradle him.  A look of joy and relief fills her face.  Then the dog crashes through a window and makes a final attempt to kill them.

The movie does a fine job of capturing the pain and terror of a mother and son whose desperate situation escalates more and more as days pass and no help comes.  The traumatic element of the story (the rabid dog) represents a departure from typical King storytelling; the horror is entirely not supernatural.  This was horror completely plausible given the right mixture of timing and bad luck; the dog had become rabid due to a bite it suffered while playfully chasing after a bat.  And there one sees another potential subtext.  The innocence of play is not necessarily without its unintended consequences.  You can almost sense a sort of negative lesson being inferred in the plot: even in play you must be on guard.  Another way to describe being on guard is being hyper-vigilant.  This is but one unfortunate symptom that can be attributed to the condition of PTSD.

It’s easy for me to see that image of the mother working to resuscitate her son in my mind’s eye.  It’s a powerful image.  The maternal instinct of a mother will do most anything to protect her own.  This image is especially powerful for me now because I see myself as actively resuscitating my child self who experienced trauma of a similar sort.  Just as the boy was trapped in a desperate situation with only his mother to look after him so did I feel trapped as a young boy.  Yet the major difference was that the source of my terror was my mother.  And in that sense my own trauma holds perhaps yet an additional layer.  It’s disturbing when that which is idealized as the archetype of nurturing (the mother) is also the source of your greatest terror!  How can a little child’s mind reconcile such seeming polar opposites?  The answer it would seem is ‘not easily’.  I know it was certainly not easy for me.  I am now working through grief that is decades old.

It is indeed a disquieting thing when the people you love the most can also, by intention or accident, cause you great harm.  I believe it is quite a natural response that a person affected by this particular ‘variety’ of trauma develop a certain ambivalence about intimacy.  I certainly have felt that to be true for my own experience.  Developing a greater capacity for love based in a trust that such love is not only possible but can even be enduring is a challenge many of us face even if we have not suffered significant trauma.

I personally have ventured so far along the road of healing that there can be no turning back now.  I have made the investment; I can only move forward.  I am growing more excited with each day as I continue to remain steadfast in my commitment to my own personal healing.

A Renewed Appreciation of Beauty

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

I look back over the last four months and now clearly see how I have been experiencing a profound awakening.  It actually began in the spring when I began having crying fits that would come on rather spontaneously.  I associated the tears with the sudden improvement in my home environment when I moved from my studio apartment into a house that was far more comfortable.  I was also quite excited by the trip I took to Germany in May.

I have come to conclude that the strange issues with my eyes these last few months are due in part to the grief I have been carrying regarding the loss of my mother.  Somehow some of the grief concentrated behind my eyes; whenever I do an EMDR session with my therapist I notice a significant change in my eyesight.  I have commented on this phenomenon in other posts here on my blog.  I am excited by the opportunity to continue doing EMDR therapy.  And I am excited also by the prospect of continuing my therapeutic work and finding deep and lasting healing.  I DO believe it will happen in time.  Among other things I believe it is critical to cultivate the virtue of patience.  Often this feels easier said than done.  But at least clarity has finally come to me.  I see clearly the central core of my pain.  It is the grief.  It is a grief I carried for more than three decades.

As my healing process continues I notice that the nature of my ability to be present in the present moment is also changing.  I finally see how effortlessly I have been able to disassociate at earlier times in my life.  And now that I am consciously aware of this tendency I can develop healthier coping skills when I find myself in very stressful situations.  I suppose you could describe the change as ‘cultivation of a greater bandwidth’ to engage with the world at large.  I can be truly present to another person and engage in eye contact.  It’s wonderful when I see smiling people.  And it’s a bit painful when I see frowning people.  My capacity for experiencing deep feeling is growing on both ends of the spectrum.

When leaving my day treatment program yesterday I briefly spoke with a woman in my morning group.  She spoke about the father of her son going to Vietnam and not coming back.  And she further alluded to those who went to Vietnam and did come back…but came back profoundly changed.  Later, as I waited for the bus to take me to my therapist, I reflected on how it was entirely possible that my own father could have served in Vietnam.  He was the perfect age to have been sent there.  Born in 1942 he was a young man still in his 20s for much of the time the Vietnam War was escalating.  I thought of how my father could have gone to Vietnam and not come back.  Or he could have returned but returned home a very different man.

Though my father never served in Vietnam he once did serve in the Army.  He went to Korea.  I do not know many of the details of that time of his life.  I suspect there may be much more to my father’s life journey that I do not know.  And I have the intuition there may be trauma in his past history I have no knowledge about.  It would certain explain his disposition and those occasions when he becomes highly reactive and expresses volatile anger.

I love my father but I have decided it is best for my own health that I do not interact with him any more in the future without the assistance of a trained mediator.  Feeling safe is a basic human need.  I need to feel safe while in the company of family and those I care about and who care about it.  A life lived without a certain minimum feeling of safety is a life filled with much too much anxiety.

I often wonder how a person truly heals from an anxiety disorder that has persisted for not just years but potentially decades.  It’s a question I intend to explore more with my therapist in the near future.

Some people submit their bodies to the ongoing pursuit of scientific inquiry when they die.  I don’t know what I will choose regarding that.  I do know that I intend to continue writing this blog in part because I wish to contribute to the literature about healing from PTSD.  I don’t believe anyone should suffer through what I did as a child.  I long ago moved past the point of blaming my father or mother for the ways I feel they ‘failed’ me as a child.  They did what they did and I reacted as I did.  I can unlearn unhealthy coping skills and supplant them with new ones.  It will take some time to do this but I can do it with sufficient support.  And of course the balm of deep self-care is a vital ingredient.

I spoke about my father today in my group.  I have compassion for him and his experience even now despite everything I experienced as a child.  Indeed, I have tried to understand his own experience in a broader context.  No one person exists in isolation.  We live in a broader milieu that must be considered when we ponder why people make the choices they do.  I do not know what happened between my father and his father in the days and weeks after my father was shot and nearly killed.  Perhaps my father carries lasting wounds about that experience that involve his own father.  I would not be surprised if this is true.  And yet to make myself responsible for helping my father to heal any issues he may have with his own father is not something I ought to do.  Here is another challenge I can recognize as such.  Setting and maintaining healthy boundaries is a necessary aspect of a healthy life.

I am committed to breaking out of my own dysfunctional coping skills.  I ask any Higher Power that exists (and I do believe there is one in some form that defies human language) to help me at this time of immense change.  I cannot ever recall feeling such hope for my future and simultaneously feeling such terror knowing that life and our connections with other can be tenuous.  Such can be the positive lesson of trauma: Each and every moment is precious.

It’s almost magical how much I enjoy the beauty of the world now.  And appreciating magic (as manifest in those unexpected moments of kindness you show to others or others show to you) is itself a great sign that I am well on my way to healing.  I pray that all I need come to me and that I continue to enhance my skills such that I can effectively meet my basic needs.

When Disassociation Stops

Monday, November 4, 2013


Yesterday was a day filled with unexpected developments and insights.  It was the type of day I could not plan to have no matter how much I might try to influence events.

I went for a walk in the afternoon after arriving home from a theater show I saw at the Guthrie Theater in downtown Minneapolis.  It was the first afternoon without Daylight Savings Time; the sun was already low in the southwest at 3 p.m.  Cirrus clouds and the low sun made for a wan type of lighting.  A stiff wind was stripping countless thousands of leaves off the trees all around town.  As the leaves scatter and skitter down innumerable roads and alleys I hear their sounds as the announcement that winter is coming.  Winter is coming in the inexorable way that only winter can.  The landscape outside is emptying out of the glory of summer vibrance.  That emptiness is growing.

The show I saw at the Guthrie left me speechless for quite some time.  The plot hit quite close to home. I could see myself in both of the main characters.  It was a story of a young man who lived on the streets and prostituted himself to make a living and survive.  He unexpectedly meets a much older man who takes him in.  Their relationship is never clarified with great precision such that there can be absolutely no ambiguity as to its quality.  They profess to love one another at one point in the show.  But how one defines that love is itself not entirely clear.  One could call the older man the rescuer and the younger man the rescued.  Or you could even describe the relationship as a daddy-boy relationship.
Watching the plot unfold reminded me of the deep hunger I had for a healthy relationship with my own father.  I also felt in my body the pain of the knowledge I came to early in my childhood that my father was very limited in his ability to be present to me to guide me through the darker side of life.  He is too afraid of his own grief to make himself available in that way.  To use language from Iron John my father cannot sit in the darkness of ashes.  And he surely cannot speak of how the ashes feel.  The pain leaves him struck dumb.

Have you ever met a person who speaks so prolifically that you begin to believe they speak to fill up the space between you because silence somehow scares them?  Many of us have.  It's that silent space between words pregnant with possibility that can be so...overwhelming.  As I rode back with my friend today I felt myself virtually unable to speak.  I wanted to sit in silence because filling up the space around me with words seemed almost an insult to what I felt unfolding inside me.  I needed silence to be with what I have been discovering is gradually emerging within me.

My grief is showing itself.  I am finally beginning to truly let go of what I had hoped my parents would be for me.  After seeing my mother in May and then attempting to go to my father and seek solace for my grief (and instead becoming even more enmeshed in grief when he failed to offer me what I needed) I simply cannot let the veil cover my eyes any more.  I see my parents with such an objective clarity that denial itself can no longer stay rooted in my psyche.  I realize I cannot look to my father for so much of what I need.  And I realize I simply must grieve until that leaden grief within me is finally transmuted and I am enlightened and lightened up such that I can move forward.

I realize that I have been unconsciously filling up time in different little habitual ways of behavior that do nothing but put up a wall between me and that aching grief.  And nothing good can come of it in the long run.  Avoiding the grief will keep me a prisoner to it.  I must embrace the hard lines and dark sinewy texture of my grief.  In doing so it can soften and melt.

I realize I am finally coming out of a state of unconscious and habitual occasional disassociation.  It has taken me some time to get here.  But here I am.  I am at the threshold of a new potentiality.  But first I must do the work of grief.  First I must descend into the ashes and truly mourn my losses.

Earlier this year I attended the Minnesota Men's Conference.  One of the featured speakers was Francis Weller, a therapist based in California.  One of his special interests and skills lies in the issue of grief.  I realize now that before I can move forward I must attend to that grief I felt (but didn't consciously work through) when I was such a little boy and my mother returned to Germany after her illness had derailed her entire life.  It's time for me to work through my grief so grief no longer subtly undermines my own life.  I have been a hostage to grief long enough.

This week I will be looking for local resources to help me to work through the grief that I have been carrying for over three decades.  What a project!

How To Not Solve Your Challenges

Sunday, November 3, 2013


I went to the YMCA today...on a Sunday morning no less.  I am that committed to my own recovery process.  Tomorrow morning I will have what will hopefully be my last visit with my physical therapist.  I have had a good physical therapist all along but I am growing a little weary of how it seems I have been virtually living at Abbott Northwestern Hospital since this past July.  It's been an arduous process at times but I am very thankful to now be on the other side of the most difficult period I have experienced in quite a while.  Now comes the deep work of retraining my brain and deepest habits of relating to the world at large.  This is quite obviously not something one does in a single day, week or month.  But I am making excellent progress.

Sometimes I wonder how many Americans are drinking the magic Kool-Aid that leads to delusion, avoidance and simple bizarre processes of thought.  Faux News certainly specializes in this brand.  Yet even more mainstream media seem to be good friends with the elixir of delusion.  CNN is but one good example.

While at the gym this morning I noticed CNN was running on one of the television screens.  And there, yet again, the commentators were speaking about the 2016 election.  Whoever is ultimately responsible for the stories they focus on each day seems to be smoking crack or regularly doing hallucinogenic drugs.  It seems the people of CNN have not noticed the writing on the proverbial wall.  In my opinion the results of the 2016 election are not very likely to effect much change in our nation.  Why?  Because the Office of the President does not wield the type of power it once did.  And why is that?  This is due in part to the machinations of Congress in general and the Tea Party in particular.  When a small faction of one political party in one branch of our government exerts sufficient power to literally shut down operations of the federal government it is a healthy conclusion to believe that our government is on metaphorical life support and is no longer very democratic.  How can a democracy thrive when such a small minority of people are able to undermine an entire nation with a population exceeding three hundred million people?

I'll now make a second point (which is actually a rehashing of something I have already stated previously).  It's currently still 2013.  Why in the world is CNN focusing on an election that is three years away?  Is that somehow supposed to bring comfort to so many who are still recovering from the recession that first hit five years ago?  Three years is quite a period of time to wait for change.  By focusing so much on the presidential election CNN is doing the American people a disservice.  It's almost as if they are forgetting that there are two other branches of government that play vital roles in the healthy functioning of our society.  What will it matter who is President if our Congress continues to  perform so dismally that it rightfully earns the worst performance ratings ever recorded?

I reference the current political discourse (as evidenced by what I witnessed on CNN this morning) in this nation to make a point about one particular habit that simply does not work for individual people going through recovery from a serious health issue or addiction.  CNN is making the not insignificant error of focusing on one particular election that is almost exactly three years away.  Let me ask you the following question: When you are beset by a whole host of problems whose resolution proves quite challenging to achieve is there much value in thinking about something that may or may not happen that is three years away?

I don't think any therapist who possesses any skill whatsoever would advocate obsessing about the future to the detriment of paying attention to the present.  Obviously we need to give some amount of thought to the future as that is part of healthy living.  But taken too far we can end up distracting ourselves from the present moment.  The only moment we can ever truly live in is the present moment.  The future and the past both exist in our minds; we have memories of the past and can wonder, ruminate, worry or happily daydream about the future.  But to consistently live in memories of the past or visions of the future is to never really live at all.  To focus on the past or future to the complete exclusion of the present will not bring happiness or even a sense of relief.

After leaving the YMCA this morning I could not help but reflect on what I saw on CNN.  I believe our particular culture is not only obsessed with acquisitive behavior as a supposed path to happiness but also is one that advocates perpetual distraction.  We cannot successfully address our individual or collective problems if we cannot first be radically present to what is.  And so I ask you to consider this: What indeed is the reality of your life?  What are you able to be present to?  And what would you rather avoid confronting?

Healing and wholeness are not necessarily easy to achieve.  But we can find our way to a much healthier way of living.  But it takes time and patience.  I have learned the necessity of diligence and patience these last four months.  I continue to work hard and I am beginning to see more significant results.  If you feel overwhelmed take heart and know you are not alone.  And don't believe the American delusion that instant gratification is something realistic to expect.  It is not.

Have a lovely Sunday!

An Invitation...Opening the Door to More

Saturday November 2, 2013


I have noticed a sudden surge in my viewership today.  I promote my blog quite frequently as I would like to believe it might prove a source of consolation and encouragement to those who are perhaps struggling through their own journey of recovery from PTSD.

When I first began this blog I felt so raw and sad.  It was the very first days after I had received the diagnosis of PTSD when I decided to begin writing.  I had my doubts that I would find the discipline within myself to write on a regular basis.  But I decided to do my best to live in the present moment and just write each day I woke up.  Now it's four months later and I continue writing each and every day.  Some days I feel quite inspired and some days I do not.  Some days I wake up with absolutely no idea what I will write about.  And then the day begins and events lead me to ponder certain topics I feel are relevant to the issue of PTSD.  And then there are other days in which I have an idea set in my mind and writing is as simple as sitting down at the computer and letting the thoughts flow from my heart and mind to the screen.

Today I noticed a very unexpected spike in the viewership of my blog.  I don't know the cause of it.  But I am excited by the idea that so many people might genuinely find my writings of interest.  I took the compliments of a few friends to heart earlier this year.  That was also a source of inspiration to write.

One of the pitfalls of being a writer (as opposed to a community actor or stage musician) is the isolation that you may experience.  It's wonderful to think people are actually seeing the creations of my heart and mind as made manifest in these daily entries.  And yet I have had no interaction with them; this has been purely a monologue.  And some days it has felt as if I am a voice crying out in the wilderness.  Many of us can struggle with such feelings at different points in our lives.  Will my life have mattered?  How will people remember me when I am gone?  Will I have left behind anything that could be considered a worthy legacy?

This summer brought me down to my knees.  It fundamentally changed who I am and how I see myself using the remainder of my life.  I wish not to waste time on trifles and petty matters.  Life is for living.  The sun and moon and stars all invite us into their majestic tapestry on display each and every day and night.

So I welcome you to share your own thoughts with me.  Know that you are not alone.


The following is a status update I posted on my Facebook page this evening:

I found some amazing wisdom today amongst the clutter on my desk. I've been taking so many different classes and pursuing so many activities as I move forward on the journey to reinvent myself that it's time I clean up some of the blizzard of paper cluttering my space. The following words spoke so deeply to me. I share them here so you see how they are striking me to the core of my heart:

Disappointment and loss are a part of every life. Many times we can put such things behind us and get on with the rest of our lives. But not everything is amenable to this approach. Some things are too big or too deep to do this, and we will have to leave important parts of ourselves behind if we treat them in this way. These are the places where wisdom begins to grow in us. It begins with suffering that we do not avoid or rationalize or put behind us. It starts with the realization that our loss, whatever it is, has become a part of us and has altered our lives so profoundly that we cannot go back to the way it was before.

(This is what happened to me when I was diagnosed with PTSD this summer. I was changed so profoundly that I cannot be the man I was before. And now I seek to become the man I have always wanted to be...now and forevermore.)

Something in us can transform such suffering into wisdom. The process of turning pain into wisdom often looks like a sorting process. First we experience everything. Then one by one we let things go, the anger, the blame, the sense of injustice, and finally even the pain itself, until all we have left is a deeper sense of the value of life and a greater capacity to live in it.

These last words describe what has been happening in my life these last four months. I find myself appreciating so many things that I only dimly valued before. It's an awakening of sorts....made possible in part by a diagnosis that, though I have no terminal illness and thus would seem virtually guaranteed to live a joyful life IF ONLY I MAKE WISE CHOICES, has led me to fundamentally alter my perception and my intention regarding how I will live out and enjoy all the remaining days of my life.

Vitamin F

Saturday, November 2, 2013


We are now entering the time of year when it is wise to take a Vitamin D supplement.  As the length of day continues to shrink towards the time of greatest darkness on the Winter Solstice it becomes imperative to take especially mindful care of yourself.  The nights are growing quite cold now; we've already had the first killing freeze of the season.  Unlike last winter I plan to take Vitamin D throughout the winter.  That should make for some greater ease in weathering the cold, dark time of the year.  This last week I heard about another important vitamin.  This is Vitamin F...where F stands for fun.

I need fun to become a standard part of my vocabulary.  I worked very hard during graduate school in the hope of beginning a new career.  I recently gave up on ever pursuing the direction I was attempting to move in; I had the consistent experience of knocking on doors of opportunity that would not open.  One great post-graduate opportunity did come to me, however.  That was my trip to Germany I completed in May of this year.  I am still working to complete the related fellowship which was awarded to me by the American Council on Germany.  The trip itself was a very fun experience!

Some time ago in this blog I wrote an entry with the title 'Parents of Murdered Children'.  I have been thinking about this entry lately because the words are a metaphor for what I feel nearly happened to me.  That period of my childhood which coincided with my father's second marriage began quietly enough.  It ended in a most explosive way with my father nearly murdered.  Though I did not die I believe my own death would have been necessary to awaken my father's siblings to just how dysfunctional he was at the time.  I indeed count myself lucky to be alive today.

One of my hobbies is astrology.  An amazing book I discovered years ago is Saturn in Transit by Erin Sullivan.  Sullivan adeptly weaves mythology throughout the text as she delineates themes common to people's lives in seven Earth year increments (which corresponds to the time it takes Saturn to move one quarter through a single revolution of its own about the Sun) starting at birth.  For those who experience misfortune in childhood she says the following may occur during the period of life between 37 and 44 years of age:

"There are many ways one can 'lose' one's childhood or adolescence.  An abused child (whether than is sexually, emotionally, or physically) is never a child; a child or teenager who has to care for an ill or alcoholic parent never experiences childhood; a teenager who becomes a mother or responsible father loses her or his adolescence.  There are many examples of people who need to recapture a period in their life which was truncated or never lived at all."

I recognize that I am one of those people.  I had a truncated childhood.  I was present to my mother's schizophrenic breakdown during the earliest years of my life.  And even though I obviously had no real skills to take care of her during my earliest years the mere fact that I was present to her was enough in itself to represent a form of care.  Indeed, sometimes the most powerful gift we can give to another person is the 'mere' gift of being generous with our time by sitting with that person in a time of deep need.  And this is essentially what I did day after day, week after week, for several years.

Despite the pain I experienced by being present to such pain around me I do not resent my mother now.  I know with the mind of an adult that she developed a serious illness and could not help herself.  And I do not resent my father either.  I do, however, find it difficult to speak with him because of his own inability to be present to some of the darkest of human experience such as when one is consumed in grief.

It's no wonder I struggled to develop the healthy habit of play that typifies healthy development in a child.  It's always been fairly easy for me to lean towards workaholism because I was exposed to demanding circumstances early on in my life.  But now I want to break that pattern.  I must break the pattern for my own sake.  I need a daily infusion of Vitamin Fun.

I have been in therapy long enough now that I can clearly see the core issues I am wrangling with.  That is a blessing and represents the completion of the important initial step any person must make when entering (or reentering) therapy.  I need to find resources to help me address the issue of that grief stricken boy I was who never was given sufficient resources to help me address my grief at the time.  Decades later I am now doing that work.  And I find it grueling.  But I am doing it.  I am doing it one day at a time.

Enjoy your day!  Breathe well and deeply!  Cheers.

Houston We *Still* Have A Problem

Friday, November 1, 2013

Actually I would say we have more than one significant problem in the United States right now.  But I am going to speak here about the one that keeps popping up over and over again in the news.  And just as quickly as it surfaces it disappears again from the consciousness of our all too distracted society.  Yes, it's time to talk about gun violence...AGAIN.

I was eating lunch today during my break from a day treatment program I have been attending at Abbott Northwestern Hospital.  As is common in many public places in the United States there are televisions in the basement level floor where one can find the cafeteria.  I was sitting enjoying a healthy lunch when I chose to look up and check what was on the screens.  I didn't really pause to think through that choice.  On one screen Fox "News" was obsessively covering the story of the shooting incident at Los Angeles Airport.  And a nearby screen featured what appeared to be a soap opera replete with the predictable yelling, hateful looks and other theatrics.

I have to say I am experiencing immense compassion fatigue regarding the issue of gun violence in America.  Next month will be the one year anniversary of the Newtown, Connecticut massacre of schoolchildren.  Unlike previous incidents of senseless gun violence it appeared (at least for a time) that the Newtown disaster might finally foment sufficient public outrage that a sensible change in our policies regarding firearms might finally take place.  That didn't really happen.  Though President Obama did use his power to create several Executive Orders intended to address this disheartening issue little substantive change has occurred.  I don't even know how many people have died due to wounds inflicted by firearms throughout the country in the time since the Newtown tragedy thrust the issue back into the conscious awareness of the American people.  I suspect it's fairly similar to what was true before that incident.  Inner city children in Chicago still die each week due to violence.  Children still find guns adults thought they had successfully hidden away from small hands and curious minds.  And then more young lives end.  Suicides still continue among servicemembers who served in multiple tours in Iraq or Afghanistan.  And terminally ill people still seek the comfort of ending their lives rather than linger through a hollow life defined too much by immense pain.  I don't expect these aspects of our national life will necessarily change much.

Despite my low expectations I still became very upset today when I saw the news about the shooting in Los Angeles.  But my upset was not really a reaction to this particular event.  No, I am tired of hearing the media cover one story after another that focuses specifically on this issue.  Why?  I find there to be such pretense in our media's attention to this issue.  The predictable coverage includes news anchors speaking with shock and horror about the shooting event.  Images of SWAT teams, polices officers and the like fill the screens.  The appearance of trauma induced hand wringing and soul-searching briefly fills the coverage on multiple channels.  And then, days later, the story is already old news.

Here is my opinion.  Let's either have a real conversation about gun violence in America (i.e. one in which the NRA does not twist the dialogue to the point that people actually think Obama is coming to take all your guns personally and the poor NRA is being 'attacked'!) or let's drop all coverage of it permanently.  Let's stop the pretense.  If the slaughter of a group of six year old children does not move the national conscience sufficiently (and I believe I am assuming quite a bit by imagining there is such a thing as a 'national conscience') to do something demonstrably effective regarding gun violence what would it actually take?  I believe we are nearly at the end of that side of the spectrum of the most horrible possibilities.  When I try to imagine populations of individuals more vulnerable (and thus more likely to elicit sympathy from the general public) than six year old kids all I can come up with is infants, toddlers and the elderly.  Would we need a massacre of a large number of people from one of these groups to generate sufficient outrage to change our course?  It seems so.

I quickly had my fill of the coverage beaming down at me.  I was also more than a bit perturbed that such coverage was being allowed in a hospital cafeteria.  I don't believe such 'news' is appropriate given that many people likely to be found in a hospital environment have their own serious healing challenges to face.  I certainly did not feel comfortable once I realized what was coming through the screen.  Having finished my lunch I stood up and left.  

Secondly, incidents of gun violence are so commonplace in this country that it strikes me they aren't really news any more.  Shouldn't the newsworthiness of a story be determined in part by its frequency?  How is something that is a virtual epidemic problem in this country newsworthy when the reality of its scope has not prompted a sane collective response to change policy?  You would have to be living under a rock to not be aware of this issue.  And yet nothing has really changed.

I don't wish to be a Debbie Downer by harping about this issue but I seriously believe it is put up or hush up time regarding gun violence in America.  We've reached the end of the road folks.  Massacres cannot be much more grim than what happened in Newtown.  Between this issue and the issues playing out in our federal government (as reflected by the government shutdown last month) I cannot help but imagine many in other countries are wondering the following: 'What is going on in America?'

Boo!

Thursday, October 31, 2013


In the spirit of the playfulness that children display on Halloween I am happy to report a very encouraging development that occurred yesterday after my workout in the basement of the Wasie building.  After lifting weights and completing some physical therapy I went to take a shower.  The shower in the locker room was equipped with a removable shower head.  As I was washing off my thighs I noticed the stream of water was making a linear pattern in the hair on my thighs.  I started playing with the water and repeatedly made funny patterns on my legs.  Yes, I actually had a moment in which I was playing in a carefree way.  I was completely enjoying the moment.

That I was able to completely lose myself in this mundane moment is great evidence that I am continuing to improve.  Having sufficient psychological and physical space to play as a child was a challenge for me; the anxiety I felt much of the time (which I was typically not even consciously aware of) frequently undermined my feelings of joy.  Play was too much a luxury when I was growing up.  I was fortunate to have boy friends in the neighborhood I could play with.  But my immediate environment during some of the most formative years of my life was often so anxiety inducing.  It's sad when children miss out on fun.

The good news is that I did not suffer any permanent damage.  I still have the capacity to play and pursue a variety of interests.  And now, as I finally do more intensive therapy to address the dark moments and stretches of my childhood, I am finding myself able to find the strength and ease to cast off an overly serious veneer and allow myself to have some genuine fun.

Today I submitted a medical opinion form I completed with the assistance of my therapist during our session yesterday.  I am now determined to be able to work forty hours a week again though there are some limitations.  I am moving in a new career direction now and am excited by the possibilities that await me!

I am going out to celebrate Halloween tonight and give myself some quality time to celebrate.  I'm going to make more time for play in my life.

A Productive Day!

Wednesday, October 30, 2013


The festival of Samhain is nearly here.  I shall be writing about that tomorrow.  This time within the cycle of the year took on a special meaning for me several years ago when I studied the background of my paternal ancestry.  It is a time to honor those who have gone before us and have crossed the veil to the other side of this strange, wonderful and constantly changing Cosmos.  I have to admit that lately my blog feels like a bit of a ghost town; daily viewership is very low the last week or so.  Am I becoming boring?  I am quite open to receiving input on what I share.

On Monday of this week I began an outpatient day treatment program at Abbott Northwestern Hospital.  The program customarily lasts between two to three weeks.  I have continued to feel better and better each day as a consequence of what is offered.  Today was an extremely productive and long day.  I had many insights and reflections.

One primary takeaway from the last three days has been my appreciation that there are plenty of people out there in the world who aren't necessarily "all there" when you meet them walking about in their physical bodies.  By that I mean to say that people who are preoccupied, disassociated, enmeshed in grief, sadness or depression and the like are not fully present to the world as they perceive it with the senses of their bodies.  They are thus not "all there".  This issue came up one day when we ascribed percentages to how present each of us were in the group room.  This unexpected activity helped me to appreciate how little attention we sometimes actually receive from the people in our lives including the people who mean a lot to us.  I appreciated how much I felt unseen when I was growing up.  Many times it felt as if I was starving for any attention whatsoever.

Disassociation is a very troublesome phenomenon.  I recognize that I can easily fall into this state when I feel stressed or anticipate a confrontation I would prefer not to have.  A feeling of being threatened can prompt a fight or flight response.  I have become more aware of how easily I can disassociate.  I sometimes find it perplexing how much I am still learning even now.

One of the members of my group is dealing with some rather severe sleep deprivation.  She is often so tired that it appears to be a struggle for her to stay awake throughout the day.  Today our therapist who facilitates the group expressed concern that continued sleep deprivation could put her at increased risk of sleep deprivation induced psychosis.  I didn't think much more of my fellow group member's sleep issue at that time earlier today.  But then this evening I had an insight that I hope to explore with my therapist more in a coming session.

When I was still a kid and growing up at home my father had more than one job for many years at a time.  For many years he held a nighttime job throwing newspapers on a newspaper route.  His route grew larger and larger as time passed until he was eventually throwing a route typical of what three or four people would do if all their houses were grouped together.  His route would prove especially challenging on weekends in which there were special advertising inserts due to upcoming holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I can still vividly recall the monumental challenge we both faced one weekend when the special advertisement section proved so bulky that the newspapers would not fit in the regular plastic bags; we did not finish on time that morning!

Towards the end of my father's time working this second job it seemed he was rarely able to get much sleep.  I'd say he lived on four or five hours of sleep a night at most.  This went on for many years.  And yet not until today did I make what might prove to be an important connection!  Many people cannot function well on so little sleep over extended periods of time.  And yet somehow my father managed to do so.  But today, as I put the pieces together and remembered this aspect of my childhood, I began to wonder if my father ever was near the border that separates functionality from psychosis.  Perhaps he never experienced even a fleeting bout of immense disorientation or temporary psychosis (if such a condition can actually be temporary!)  And yet even if he didn't experience such severe symptoms I cannot imagine that his relative lack of sleep didn't undermine his capacity to be present to some degree.  Indeed, I recall one of his favorite rhetorical questions he asked me was: "Have you ever been really tired?"  I didn't answer very often.  And when he would ask me I would feel a mixture of sympathy, guilt and irritation.  I sometimes felt this was one way he would remind me of how hard he worked to support me.  I knew this was true.  And yet I frequently wished he had had more time to spend with me in a direct way.

Last week I picked up a copy of Robert Bly's book Iron John.  In the book Bly speaks about the tremendous transformation that has occurred due to the radical changes that occurred as a result of industrialization.  Men and their sons spend much, much less time together in the industrialized West as compared to only a century ago.  Indeed, the immense transformation in how we spend our time and with whom has unleashed profound consequences for the development of boys into men.  And I would tend to concur with Bly that many of those consequences are not positive.

In thinking of my own paternal ancestry I can see that the transformation is also quite recent.  My father grew up in a small town and assisted his own father with agricultural endeavors; they cultivated much of their food rather than buy it in a store.  That was not my experience.  In only two generations the manner of living in relationship to the Earth radically changed.  And much was lost in those mere two generations.  I'm not sure what all I can reclaim that I have not already sought to do.

What I find especially distressing, even traumatic in a sense, is how the rapid mechanization of so much of our world eliminated not only whole realms of employment but also (some would say irreversibly) radically transformed the fabric of individual families as well as whole communities.  This goes on now in nations such as China and India as people leave countless small villages to seek work in cities.  I am compelled to ask what the human costs must be as this transformation continues.  Where is the human element when economists calculate the growth in a nation's GDP?  What good is growth, 'development'  and the rise of large urban environments if these phenomena ultimately lead to a decrease in individual and collective wellness?  This debate has gone on for some time and I expect it will continue to do so.   And yet it is already clear that economic globalization produces both 'winners' and 'losers'.

It may seem that I am taking a very macroscopic view in my writing on trauma and healing from it but I think it only fair, reasonable and wise to consider the broader milieu when writing on this issue.  What good is it to heal yourself if your community and nation of origin go down the path of eventual self-immolation?  Indeed, is such growth ultimately worth it?  Is massive alienation worth huge highways, vending machines, cold fluorescent lights glowing over lonely parking lots and agribusiness that undermines the lives of self-sufficient farmers?  Healing can be an immense task.

Today was a productive day for me in the sense that I learned more about myself.  This journey of self-discovery is an amazing process.  I realize how much unexpressed grief has undermined the quality of my life.  I see this issue very clearly now in comparison to how well I perceived its existence back in July when I began active therapy.  I am making immense progress.  Eventually I want to offer my larger self in support of a community I can feel myself to be a vital and energizing participant of.

Good night.

On Being A Corporate Whore

Tuesday, October 29, 2013


Among my diverse hobbies I can count the art of people watching.  You know what I find especially intriguing?  It's interesting to watch television with the sound on mute.  It's especially interesting when the channel happens to be set on Faux Noise (Fox News).  I happened to inadvertently catch a bit of this "news" channel while having lunch at Abbott Northwestern Hospital.  And naturally Fox "News" (sorry, I really cannot call it news because it simply is not...it's propaganda designed to confuse, mislead and enrage) was on a roll about Obamacare.  The people of Fox Noise seek anything and everything they can find to belittle, impugn and rail against the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act.  It seems to be their mission in life.  Too bad they expend their precious life energy acting to destroy when they could actually create instead.  Such is the power of hate.  If you don't have any worthwhile suggestions of your own regarding a critical policy issue what is the point in ripping other people's ideas to shreds?

I have often thought it would be interesting to do a survey of people who work for Fox Noise and pose them questions as obtuse, confusing and stilted as the ones they often pose to people who dare to enter their realm to speak.  Some great questions would be the following:

• "When did you first learn you were a corporate whore?"
• "Did you take a class in selling your soul in school or are you self-taught?"
• "Does scientific inquiry scare you?  Are you in therapy because you fear what happens when you learn?"
• "Do you believe having the option of affordable health care is essentially making a deal with Satan?  Do you think Justice Scalia might be able to assist you with a complaint you have against the federal government?"
• "How do you distract yourself when you are immersed in the suffering of your fellow human beings?"
• "Have you ever done anything generous for another person without the hope of a reward in return?"

I realize my words may seem to be a bit harsh.  And I am actually intentionally poking fun at Fox Noise.  But seriously I wonder how anyone in their right mind can take what is passed off as news on that channel seriously?  Like I said above simply put the channel on mute and look at the body language.  If you do not see arrogance, smarminess and other similar off-putting qualities exuding from the talking heads I would ask what planet you are from.

The Affordable Care Act is not a perfect piece of legislation.  Indeed there are some serious issues with it.  One serious issue is the impact the implementation of the law is having on businesses.  Some would rather reduce their employees' hours to part-time status (so they can avoid the requirement) instead of actually providing health insurance to their employees.  But if perfection is the only way to appease the vacuous talking heads of Faux Noise then they will always have a job because nothing is perfect.  It always amazes me when people confuse the merit of an idea with the implementation of an idea.  Listening to Faux News and friends (or even just watching the smug, nasty body language of their drones) you might think the issues with the legislation somehow indicate the inspiration behind the legislation (namely that everyone should have access to affordable healthcare in a wealthy, developed nation such as the United States) is itself flawed.  Can you say the word 'conflate'?  I wish these buffoons would get a job where telling the truth is considered an asset rather than a liability.

I imagine the term corporate whore was first coined long before I first used it.  But I believe it is a great term.  There are many who become corporate whores; their unique identities become subsumed in these monolithic structures where you essentially sell your soul in exchange for a livelihood that does little more than provide the means to feed your body.  This is often how I think of Fox "News".  You only need to give up your integrity and rail against anything and everything you are told to in exchange for a job.  Yes indeed, perhaps we should stop all this pernicious "government overreach" and instead promulgate the values of mediocrity, government "underreach" and self-absorption.  Let's shred every last bit of the social safety net in this nation and see how that affects our ranking against other nations in terms of critical metrics such as hunger, job skills, wealth, violence and opportunity.

I worked in corporate environments for a brief period earlier in my life.  I found it to be such drudgery.  But I did it partly because I wanted to see what the fuss was all about.  We have become a very strange nation now that people (including unsuccessful politicians such as Mitt Romney) can speak with a straight face about corporations being people.  Jerry Mander (one of my thoughtful heroes) has eloquently articulated the fallacy and horrible consequences of allowing law to define corporations in this way.  Corporations cannot feel pain.  People can.  Corporations are not moral creatures.  People can be moral though they do not always make wise decisions.

The environmental damage done by corporations operating in developing nations makes for excellent fare in discussions held in environmental policy classes.  I should know because I have listened to such dialogue.  While taking a course in Norway in the summer of 2010 I was introduced to the idea of corporate social responsibility.  This is another idea whose value is perhaps greater in its theoretical form as compared to its implementation.  I don't believe the concept is inherently good or bad; I believe it depends on what exactly corporations do, for whom and why.

So what does this have to do with PTSD?  That's a good question.  I would link the two topics in this way.  Jobs in which you become an automaton resembling a cog in a vast machine are not really humane jobs.  They might not cause you to develop PTSD but the depersonalization implicit in some types of work (such as working on a manufacturing conveyor belt) certainly does not nurture the human spirit.  I have my own experience of this; I briefly worked for Tyson Foods years ago while doing some independent research.  The long hours, cold warehouse and automation don't exactly feed the soul.

A move in the direction of the corporate control (or at least invasive influence) of a vast percentage of our human and natural resources seems an inevitable additional step in the direction of continuing to deepen our disassociation from the creative and life sustaining matrix that is this planet on which we came to be.  As more and more wealth and power concentrates within the hold of a smaller and smaller group of people in this nation I can only wonder what will be the inevitable outcome.

Such a topic is by no means cheery.  And perhaps I am focusing too much lately on what I perceive is wrong with the world at large.  In the coming days and weeks I expect I will further refine my writing here.

Thanks for reading!

Privacy & Piracy

Monday, October 28, 2013


The issue of privacy has been in the news a lot lately.  Yet again the United States is appearing as a pariah on the international stage.  And this time it isn't due to the inability of Congress to behave in a  sufficiently mature way that it can easily be distinguished from a typical kindergarten class.  (Ted Cruz would be the class clown who believes that by talking endlessly people will somehow eventually give him the attention his narcissistic character needs) No this time we are dealing with more news related to the issue of privacy.  Our European allies are quite upset with us; Angela Merkel has been wondering if she was the target of eavesdropping by the USA.  Every time I feel appalled by the behavior of the U.S. government I am surprised to discover the bar can fall even lower.

And before any follower of my blog who happens to hold conservative political views decides to pounce on me please know I do believe there is a degree of wisdom in gathering intelligence on other nations.  I am not opposed to surveillance; it is only wise to do so as a means of protecting national security.  But you won't find me mindlessly accept that reasoning to justify all sorts of invasions of privacy.  Hearing that Merkel's own phone may have been tapped is indeed quite ridiculous; our nation sure seems to be perfecting the art of becoming a pariah on the world stage.

Privacy is an important issue.  A lack of privacy can lead to all sorts of strange pathologies in human behavior.  Paranoia is but one example.  George Orwell painted a grim world in which privacy is essentially extinct when he created the world of the Thought Police in the book 1984.  The need for privacy can be reframed in another way.  Think of privacy as a matter of creating and maintaining healthy boundaries.  When you lack a sufficient amount of privacy to feel safe (and thereby unhindered from pursuing activities greatly appreciated by introverts) you do not enjoy the benefit of healthy boundaries.  And the earlier in human development this blurring of the public and private spheres becomes normalized the more harmful its impact seems likely to be.

Lately I have been reframing my understanding and memories of the earliest years of my life in a new way.  I have reflected on the immense anxiety I felt (but could not even verbalize) when my mother began to suffer her schizophrenic breakdown.  Being exposed to this at such a young age was quite anxiety provoking; in a sense her illness shattered any healthy sense of boundaries (read here also 'privacy') I might have developed that is reasonable for children to expect to enjoy.  There was no significant boundary between me and my mother and I certainly was not old enough to understand how to create one.  I therefore had a front row seat and witnessed her breakdown in immensely fine detail with the power of stereo surround-sound.  And somehow I think this very early experience affected my subsequent understanding of what boundaries are, how you create them and why they are necessary for healthy living.  It would certainly explain the issues with boundaries I experienced years later as a young adult.

When looking at the development of an individual person it is also vital to consider the larger cultural milieu as experienced in a community, state and nation.  Growing up in Texas certainly made for an interesting experience.  To this day you can witness the state's obsession with the issue of abortion that all too often detracts from the very real quality of life issues many experience long after they have been born.  This pathology was on display earlier this year when the state legislature focused on legislation related to the issue.  It often seems this country has several perverse pastimes.  Among them are invading women's uteruses with legislation and invading foreign nations promoting the idea of freedom and democracy.  No wonder so many people are medicated and stressed out!

We all need healthy boundaries from our earliest years of life to develop a healthy sense of self and relationship with the world.  I am committed to creating a healthy life in which I develop the skills necessary to live a life of joy.

A Life Worth Remembering

Sunday, October 27, 2013


Something has been happening lately that I have found a bit difficult to be present to.  It's actually been happening quite a bit since I returned from my trip to Germany on June 1st.  I find myself waking up in the morning and noticing how my mind promptly begins to swirl with so many thoughts that I could make myself dizzy if I attempted to give attention to each and every one of them for more than a fleeting second.  It's a bit like trying to track the Tasmanian devil character from the Looney Tunes cartoons that I enjoyed watching when I was a child.  Meanwhile I sense this deep sigh arise from my body when my mind launches forward at full throttle.  It feels like there is a split between my body and my mind.  My mind doesn't seem to pay any heed to how exhausting my body finds it when my mind first starts running full steam ahead in the morning.

I have also noticed that listening to the news on the radio when I first awaken is one of the worst decisions I can make.  I suspect I am probably not alone in this sentiment.  Hearing about the ongoing scandal of priest abuse in the Minneapolis-St. Paul diocese does nothing good for me.  Indeed, hearing such coverage only reminds me of the time I spent as a member of the Jesuit order when I was a man in my 20s.  And then I find myself subsequently thinking about how that time in my life was quite a transformative period for me but how I would not seek to define myself by it now.  It feels like a portion of time that was swallowed by a black hole.  Stories of the recent federal government shutdown, economic chaos, accelerating climate change and bodies of missing young women being found in fields also do little to improve my mood.  And it's a good thing they do not.  If somehow they elevated my spirit I would pay even more attention to my current state of mental health than I already do.

I find I need such an incredible amount of time to wake up in the morning and prepare for my day.  On one level this is simply a reflection of what the undertow of a depressive affect does to my capacity to move with some degree of speed.  I find I want to move slowly and relish the experience of actually being alive and having a functional body to move around in.

I want to create a life worth remembering.  And I realize how so much of my most recent life is something I would prefer to forget.  And then, when I appreciate just how deeply that feeling runs, I feel this charged swirl of shock, sadness, pain and anger.  I find myself posing the following question to myself: 'How did I reach this point?'  Indeed, how was it possible that I could be so unaware of such a large portion of my psyche that I had to reach the point of crisis before I would awaken to how much of my interior life was going unacknowledged?  In essence I am asking the age old question of 'How did this happen to me?'  How did I sleepwalk to the seeming edge of oblivion?  It's a very good question.

So here I sit contemplating how to create a new life that is worth remembering.  It is my meta-question of the moment.  And of the hour.  And of the day.  And of the week.  And of the month.  It is indeed a huge question.  It is one I simply must address now.  I cannot postpone my life another day.  I have worked too hard, fought too hard, overcome too many obstacles and dreamed big dreams too often to give up on myself now and settle for a dim version of a vivid and rewarding life.

I am finding it difficult to breathe at this time.  My awareness of this pain is so immense and so conscious that it feels virtually suffocating.  Breathing is the only choice I can make and never stop saying 'Yes' to.  I must breathe and find a way to engage with my life as it currently exists.  I must find a way to engage with the pain within me.  In that greatest darkness is the seed of most powerful light.

It's a good thing I am going to my local MCC congregation shortly.  I need the distraction from my own mind.  Light, buoyant and happy moments are something I need more than ever.

Blessings to all who read this.  May you successfully find your way out of any personal darkness you are struggling with.  Know that you are not alone!

That Weird Feeling

Saturday, October 26, 2013


So it's a Saturday morning and I am listening to the wind buffeting the trees outside.  Many of the trees now stand stark in their nakedness.  The sky is virtually cloudless so at least there is copious sunshine to counteract the brisk wind that serves as a cutting reminder that the Winter Solstice is only nine weeks away.  I feel a bit disoriented.  It seems only natural I would feel disoriented considering that I stayed in a crisis shelter this past week.  My stay in a foreign yet thankfully (relatively) comfortable place made for some great fodder to reflect on and share here.

One of the strangest aspects of my week long stay was the requirement that a staff member watch me while I shave.  Obviously this policy existed to protect me and the safety of the other residents.  This would also explain why it was not possible to find a single knife in the dining area when it was time for meals.  I was able to leave the building for 'outside' events only after receiving permission to do so from the staff.  If I had taken an extremely negative view of the environment typical of a crisis shelter I could have thought of it as a prison.  Attitude is so important in the healing process as well as in life.  Do the walls around you keep you safe from the outside world or keep you from being able to enjoy the outside world?  It's all a matter of perspective.

It was only natural that I also think about my mother during this past week.  My mother lives in a facility for those with mental illness whose condition is sufficiently treated and stable such that she and the other residents are allowed to go outside in the community with relatively little oversight.  Not long into my recent stay in a shelter I had the thought that I was living a life quite similar to my mother.  This was a sobering thought.  I realize how challenging it has been for me to live a functional and healthy life considering the circumstances I endured for large portions of my childhood.  Chaos and unpredictability (like what many experience on a daily basis in an active war zone) were common fare. It's no wonder I developed PTSD!

I have fought long and hard to become a healthy, kind, compassionate person.  It has not been an easy road much of the time.  Yet despite my difficult circumstances I completed high school, obtained an undergraduate degree and then went on to complete two different graduate degrees.  I have been a productive member of society for much of my life.  And I intend to continue to be such a person.  But I realize now that I need to make some big changes; my old life no longer serves me.  I am being invited to become a new person.  A new phase of life is opening up before me.

A comment a new friend made yesterday remains with me now.  As I parted ways yesterday she mentioned this expectation of relationships not lasting.  I can see within myself that I have harbored this expectation as well.  For a very long while this idea was something I was quite unconscious was within my psyche.  But it makes sense that I would feel this way.  When people enter and leave your life with such regularity that you are reminded of a revolving door it seems only natural that you will develop the belief that 'people do not stay in my life'.  Thoughts that express this theme with different words would include 'People are unreliable', 'People think first and foremost of their own needs and don't think much of others' and 'People cannot be trusted to appreciate and value me enough to stick around'.  These are very self-defeating thoughts.  To hold them as true is to diminish the expansive possibilities of my own life.

Even now, four months after the PTSD diagnosis, I still marvel that I am at this 'place' in my life now.  It somehow doesn't seem possible.  It sometimes seems like I am still living in a bad dream that will not end.  It's something like being trapped in an infinite loop.  And yet I recognize clearly that I do indeed have the power to change the future course of my life.  I must be open to taking risks and experiencing disappointment.  I must be willing to open my heart again and again for if I close it permanently I essentially invite death to take me.  There is nothing but risk in this world.  There are infinite possibilities.  Yet first we must be willing to take the leap and go exploring.

My insights into myself and what I need in this moment in time are continuing to clarify and deepen.  I need to reorient my life around pleasure.  Yet I don't mean to imply frivolity when I say that.  No, I speak of the enjoyment of the rich texture of life.  I need to find ways to feed that boy I was who felt he was virtually starving at times all the while wearing a smile on the outside.  I need to create balance within my life once again.  And to renew my balance I must address the impact of the trauma I experienced in my most formative years.  I am doing that now.  And I cannot clearly see where this path of self-exploration leads.  The layers and complexity of the soul are greater than all the roads we might travel on this planet Earth.  There are so many possibilities.

I need to find a way to honor the grief I carried for so long.  Unexpressed grief is like the element of lead.  Carrying grief is a burden that weighs upon the body, mind and spirit.  Funny what just happened: I made a mistake in typing that last sentence.  It first read: Carrying grief is a burden that weighs upon the boy.  This was true for me.

Autumn seems to be the most appropriate time to exorcise grief.  Grief is something like the chill, dry winds of autumn that dry out the landscape outside our windows and invite all life to enter dormancy.  And lengthy immersion in grief is something not unlike exposure to those autumn winds for a protracted time.  Eventually your spirit dries out and the juicy vitality of your being withers in the face of the onslaught.  It was easy to find my way to this thought this morning; while walking outside I could feel the cold wind stripping the moisture from my face.  It was not a painful sensation but it certainly was something like a sobering one.

Entering the darkest of our darkness can be so difficult.  And yet to rediscover health, vitality and balance we must honor both the light and the darkness.