Journey

1.    I was informed I was discharging from the Psychological Institute of Washington the day after I communicated with staff that I was planning to hurt myself. I felt fear and anxiety but lashed out in anger, turning it toward myself. I began hurting myself and trying to kick the magnetic door open. The doctor told me I could choose to stop and stay calm or continue and would be restrained and given a cocktail injection to be forced to calm down. I chose to sit with the discomfort of how I felt. This was the first time in a long time I had chosen to feel my feelings. It was extremely uncomfortable, but I realized it was possible that day. And, if it were possible that day, with no foreseeable solution, it could be possible any day. It reminds me of a quote by the Buddhist Master Shantideva, “If something can be done about the situation, what need is there for dejection? And if nothing can be done about it, what use is there for being dejected?” I could do nothing but stand...

I once wrote a suicide note. Only once. I have no idea what it said, but I know it was probably very conventional. "I love you. I'm sorry. It's not your fault." It probably had no address. I doubt I wrote, "Dear Tim and Ian." That was in the absolute most painful period of my life. There was no relief from the constant nagging of inner turmoil, grief, and hatred. I wanted out, so I wrote fast. I failed in my attempt to end my life. A friend of mine says that I am terrible at dying and should never try again. He actually told me a story of a person he knew who shot himself in the chest and missed every organ. This man had a hole in the front and a hole in the back. I told my friend that the man he spoke of was far worse than me, but I digress (and I am not sure too many people are really going to understand the humor I am using here).  I've never felt very far from where I started - holding a 9mm pistol to my head with the safety off only releasing the tr...

I am not a fine wine, craft beer, or perfectly aged whiskey. No, I am Prohibition Moonshine. Wine, craft beer, and perfectly aged whiskey have something in common. They have years of developing and perfecting flavor; top of the line production equipment; and knowledgeable Oenologists, brewers, and Maltmen or distillers.  I have always had a fascination with people defying authority; probably because I am not very good at it.  I mean, in order to have an operation to make whiskey from corn (and some barley), you had to figure out how to get loads of corn or corn meal into the deep woods where no one would find you (near water). You had to have a way to transport (bootleggers) gallons of Moonshine Whiskey to a location to sell it secretly (a speakeasy). You had to have the parts and know-how to run it all. You had to understand distillation which requires knowledge of temperature, which materials could withstand what temperatures, and the danger of making Moonshine. I suppose it...

I am going to need some grace on this. There is a concept known by many, and it has a few names. Probably the less abrasive one is Brene Brown's idea of foreboding joy. Everything is going really well, and fear strikes because you just know that something bad is going to follow; probably soon. The much more offensive term is "the fuckening," It has the same basic definition: "When everything is going too well and you don't trust it and some shit finally goes down...Ah, there it is, the fuckening."  You know, when you get a new landlord who cares about the building and starts making the repairs that have been necessary for a while. The hose that feeds water to the toilet tank gets replaced. You get up to pee at midnight, and it falls off and shoots a high-flying fountain of water all over you and the bathroom, creating a flood and soaking every towel in your house.  Or you get rid of the couch on the wrap-around porch and clean it up to make a nice place to s...

I was reading a book the other day about resilience and the factors involved in becoming resilient. As a matter of fact, the book is called  Resilience . One of the factors that the authors discussed was looking for meaning in difficult situations.   Probably the most resilient person I have ever read about to date is Viktor Frankl. He survived unimaginable torture in concentration camps and tells some of his story in his book  Man's Search for Meaning . Ultimately, he contradicted Freud's belief that motivation in life is driven by pleasure and Adler's belief that motivation is driven by power. Frankl believed wholeheartedly that our only motivation in life was directly linked to our meaning; the meaning we assign to ourselves. Before being sent to a concentration camp, he was treating patients who were suicidal. While in the concentration camp, he recognized that what was true for his patients was also true for him. He had a manuscript for a book that he was workin...

While I was in the hospital, I thought about three different responses that people had in specific situations. I wrote about these responses in a journal given to me by the staff in the hospital and decided to share. 1. Listen to what someone is asking for and provide it. And get to know someone well enough to know what may help. My brother has been gone almost two years. Admittedly, I have not quite dealt with the agony despite trying to work through some of the thoughts and feelings I do have about him and myself. About two months ago, my phone was ringing about 15 feet away from me. My husband told me my brother was on the phone. I asked, "which one" and immediately began sobbing. A similar incident happened one morning while I was in the hospital. Often I would take the opportunity to talk with my husband around 7:00 am or 7:30 am because most of the other patients were sedated with medications. On this particular morning, I was talking with Tim when he told me h...

My brother and I cut down a tree that had potential to fall and damage the shed and barn. We cut, split, and stacked the logs but left the brush in a large pile in the yard. Because it was green wood and brush, my brother, who was very intelligent but rather carefree and fearless, doused it in gasoline. He was standing about five feet away when he lit the small cardboard match. A deafening boom was heard, and the ground shook. I looked over at my brother, and he was laying on the ground about 15 feet away with singed arm hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows. One tiny match caused an instant, blazing fire. On another occasion, I had collected brush from around the farm in an effort to clean up the apple and apricot orchards. It was dry brush; perfect for a family campfire. A little newspaper at the bottom of the twigs and larger sticks and limbs at the top made for the perfect recipe. My brother struck the match, threw it at the newspaper, and the fire began growing steadily until it w...