Dont Lose Your Mind

I feel like Gumby: pulled in every direction.

I have children who need me. They are lovely and fun and nearly all adults now.  They need a bit of time though.  Attention.   Ears to listen and hands to help.  I don't begrudge that.  I just recognize it is tougher right now to do it right.

 I have medical me.  Pretty sure my good friend Berny would be calling me Medical Molly by now.  Medical me has to go to every appointment that the Doctors need, when they say, and has been showing up on time and happy to wait for over two years.  Medical me has had to smile as I get needles and ports and crazy concoctions poured into my body and make small talk. She is expected to be grateful even after being disfigured and whilst  she deals with every indignity of being ill. She is grateful to be alive and thankful for all the expertise the hospitals, plural, have to offer. The real me knows this was supposed to be done with  by now and is less than pleased to be  throwing me back on the mercy of the medical machine.

I have a relationship to hold together.  It is a tricky thing with long distance and Covid rules. Thank goodness he is kind and patient and loves me however hard it becomes to give him the attention he needs.  I worry:  that he is being shortchanged.  Heck, between my schedule and a global pandemic I reckon he deserves more of my time:  gotta fix that sometime soon.

Work needs me: I think.  I would love to be there.  It takes me out of my head. I feel guilty for being sick and injured and on the bench at a critical time in  history. I miss my work buds too.

Friends I would love to have time for:  a bonfire invite:  coffee clatches: lunch dates stacked up for after the Plague. Taking a break from life, venting and a change of scenery  are pretty tough for people at this minute. Pandemic monkey wrench!

I want to:   Go running.  Play Tennis.  Finish sewing the dang thing I have been attempting to sew for three months.  It is not that I am lazy.  The body just cannot right now so I am working hard with a great team:  a wonderful physiotherapist, an nurse practitioner, an incredibly smart Doctor and a very proactive and caring social worker to fix that.

Also: all the  paperwork!  Bane of human existence. Let's not get me started about the hoops you have to jump through when you are already down. I forget; did anyone pin a Kick Me sign on me?Hmmm.  There are just  24 hours in a day.

  At times, like right in this minute, I feel like I am losing my mind.  Nope that is not "just a saying".  There have been a few struggles. Someone close said: oh queen of the understatement, about that.  My closest friends and family seem to have a bit of compassion fatigue.  Yes, that is a real thing.  I feel for them I do.  I know it can be intense listening to me drone on in the midst of my troubles even though I edit most of it out  and throw in as many jokes about it as I can find.  

I do not expect greatness or someone to solve my troubles:  Heck, I once visited a grief counselor at the behest of a well meaning boss:  After I told her my story she said:  " Wow, that was hard:  Even to listen to"   That was All she said.  End of session.  Dangling participle and all.   She  was a professional-  so I get it when my confidantes throw up their  hands.

So I find myself: now, trying to deal with my emotions and trying not to bother anyone.  I am grumpy,  crying a bit, full to the brim with what I can only describe as rage. I  am allowing myself to feel what I am feeling.  The weight of it this week has just been  too big: teeth are seriously on edge.  I have wanted to go running, go bounce balls off a wall, even bounce myself off something- just anything to deal with my frustration, grief and anger.  The body still says no.   I take it out in physiotherapy a little...but cannot get intense enough yet to really get my ya-yas out if you know what I mean.

So I find myself in this dilemma.  It's pretty much all on me to not lose my mind completely.  I thought about calling a 24/7 counselling line....but last time it was a six hour cue....I guess I am not the only one trying to hold on my the grit of my teeth.  Don't  lose your mind people if you can help it.  I also do not want to have to explain Everything that has happened to someone new.  I cannot take another   “wow, bummer" from a therapist.

I am hanging in, trying to adjust and trying to still do at least some of what I should.  Pushing myself too hard right now has already proven itself to be the dumbest thing I can do. What I want to do is scream.  Just go to the top of a mountain somewhere and let it all out.  There are no mountains here.  If I do that here or at the top of the tallest hill  the neighborhood will not be pleased.  I will  find my self having to explain myself to the boys in blue:  besides; nearest hill is beyond the current mobility.

I did call a therapist.  An actual licensed social worker who knows me through my having a critical illness.  I have an appointment set up.  I mention this because mental health is important.  If you sound like me :  reach out.  

It is easier to talk to someone you know and I certainly can attest to that.  However,  sometimes a neutral person who has training is the better bet .  Some of them are pretty darn good:  not all.  Some.  It is tough to be vulnerable and reach out.  I certainly waffled on adding another thing to do to my life.  Jiminy cricket.  I think  Benjamin Mee said it best  in We Bought a Zoo  (2009)  "You know, sometimes all you need is 20 seconds of insane courage, just literally 20 seconds of embarrassing bravery, and I promise you something great will come of it.”

I would say 20 seconds of bravery and a whole lot of work.  Sometimes it is work to share.  Human adults have a tendency to want to hide the hurts, the aggravations.  Some of us would rather not look weak even when we find ourselves a little helpless. We introverts get that. I am a little foolish to even share these moments but I am working on being an open book.  To be transparent and real is everything.  To share and be able to appreciate what it is like to just have far far too much on your plate:  while dealing maybe some times with people who lack empathy and  who would like to add to your pain;  all the while wearing out the ears you bend in the process.

In my life in general  I was sold this superwoman, multi tasker vision.  Slick ads saying you could have it all:  some super put together woman in an early power suit and briefcase kissing her clean and well behaved children good bye as Dad... looking suave packed their lunches. She had it together, she had it all....usually because of her access to the latest in  feminine hygiene or  make up.

So, all this business and fun was supposed to make me feel fulfilled. I should be grateful to have all these people in my life depending on me:  the required one.  I am Grateful.  Glad to have people to love.  Like a lot of  people I did not count on life. That is the kicker, the great leveler as it were.  How frail we truly are as humans: subject to accident injury illness and and, yes, even death at moments notice.

So like I do when I feel stressed I went to the source:   Nope, not Freud!  Shocker.  My original source:  Dale Carnegie. He is the man who first got me thinking about life improvement.  The one who, though I had never met him taught me that my life could be chosen: that life was not something that just happened to you.

In his book:  How to Stop Worrying and start living he said:  Then one day I read an article that lifted me out of my despondence and gave me the courage to go on living. I shall never cease to be grateful for one inspiring sentence in that article. It said: ‘Every day is a new life to a wise man.’ I typed that sentence out and pasted it on the windshield of my car, where I saw it every minute I was driving. I found it wasn’t so hard to live only one day at a time. I learned to forget the yesterdays and to not think of the tomorrows. Each morning I said to myself, ‘Today is a new life.” 

― Dale Carnegie, How to Stop Worrying and Start Living (1948)

I understand this:  This is what I practiced diligently for six months after my husband died.  I knew that no matter what I had to keep going :  for the kids.   To be honest I did not want to take another step. I had all his pills hidden and at the ready.  Every night I said to myself:   "The worst has already happened and you are okay.  You can get through one  more day.  If anything really awful happens you always have these here and can give up.  You are strong enough for one more day."

Only one of my friends knew that was my daily struggle and not right away -  I told her about six months later after living became a habit again.  Oh, surely my tone and my jokes sometimes gave me away.   Thank goodness she knew the art of listening.  She is not one of those people who will panic and try to fix me. She just let me talk.  Changing my thoughts would not interest her.  She just let me get it out.   By that time, the "getting through it day by day"  was a reflex.  I had stopped having to do the pep talk daily.  I had begun to embrace the new reality that was my life: still an epic amount of work.  The work and responsibility that had been divided neatly in two for years was suddenly just on  me.

Now, I am not struggling  like that.  In truth it is more at the other end of the spectrum.  Not depressed, not suicidal.  Just super stressed.  Afraid a little:  that some poor unsuspecting schlub will do some small nasty thing:  one of those little slights that we just deal with as adults everyday....and I will go all Mount Vesuvius.  Pity the fool that starts any lip with me just now.  

 I know I need an outlet for all this angst.  It would usually be a physical outlet for me....walking, running,moving,even dancing .  Yep, sometimes I used to do that.  Picture Elaine on Seinfeld.  Ouch, maybe just take a minute and etch a sketch that from your brain.

Having my usual outlets out of reach is tougher than I ever imagined.  There is only so much Camomile Tea in the world to take the edge off.  My calming Scentsy pods are doing more overtime than I ever did.  I am seeking strategies to deal with it.  Visualizing and Compartmentalizing are two coping methods that have worked well in the past but they are not serving me well with this.

Of course,  I feel lucky.   Lucky I have the wear -with -all to seek answers.  The drive to find ways to deal.  That I live in a place that has options for people going through large amounts of stress and illness and injury.   Lots of places do not.  Many  people have trouble reaching out until it is too late.  They reach for a bottle or a needle or punch someone in the face.  I am grateful that life, though unfair, has given me loads of experience in getting by.  

A sweet girl once said to me: Everyone has a breaking point.  I know I am dangerously close to it.  People around me are oblivious:  caught up in their own lives, as they should be. Yep, each of us can only handle so much.  

  I can see that I am  getting close a little too close to that straw.  You know the straw that I mean. 

Just trying to paddle back before I go over the rapids.

Darkest Whispers

We do not talk about it. Suicidal thoughts. In sad reality we talk about TV shows, news reports or third person what ifs but we don’t talk about our own experiences. If we mention someone ending their own life: we whisper. There is a lot of fear in words we feel we must whisper.

Its taboo. Most rational adults know that even a simple reference to the darkest thoughts one can have leads to consequences, judgements, overreaction. Will my spouse respect me? My friends be overly concerned? My doctor lock me up? My boss stop trusting me?

It's controversial. Suicide itself was still illegal in Canada in 1972. Try it and you’ll be locked up if you fail. Many religions prohibit self harm.  All major world religions prohibit suicide. Catholic rhetoric was that those who took their own life went to purgatory and not heaven. Some Fundamentalists still believe it damns you to hell. Jews don’t condone it. Jewish suicides are buried in a separate portion of the cemetary and denied some burial traditions. Hindus believe it violates the idea of nonviolence. Muslim teachings say " The Prophet said, “He who commits suicide by throttling shall keep on throttling himself in the Hell Fire (forever) and he who commits suicide by stabbing himself shall keep on stabbing himself in the Hell-Fire.” It is considered a form of murder and a grave sin by all these religions: the murder of one's self as wrong as taking another life. Socially it has been called selfish, crazy or cowardice. Centuries of judgement and concrete thinking that  taking your life by your own hand is just plain selfish, wrong, and evil. Even now, you’ll find this attitude without searching too far.

Times have changed though right? We talk about it now don’t we? Perhaps, we talk about 13 reasons why or Rehteah Parsons…..or how tragic it is when someone we know commits suicide. However, when we do talk about it now-unless the conversation turns to euthanasia- it is immediately labelled a mental health issue.

I find that thinking demeaning and outdated.

Suicidal thoughts, on their own, do not necessarily indicate a mental health problem. In fact, they can be part of a persons coping mechanism and a sign of a very healthy mind.

Dwelling and obsessing about suicide or committing suicide are quite different from having the occasional suicidal ideation.

Yet, if a person you loved or you were responsible for mentioned the idea of suicide….Would you react judgementally, immediately try to “talk them out of it”?  I think that way of reacting is assumptive. It is hardly a rational response but a visceral one. A giant oh no! akin to stomping your feet…..and just as effective.

Speaking personally my friend Heather could tell you that the poster in my highschool locker read in lovely script “vaguely suicidal”. Even at the time she said that her Dad, a doctor, would have been royally irritated to know she made that for me. It was, however, my truth at the time. Did I kill myself? No. Was it attention seeking, no: It was deep in my locker for me and no one else. Only Heather knew I had it. Why was it there? Well, life was pretty crappy and in my mind at least, the thought that I could escape it was comforting. The idea that though there was nothing under my control I could still decide whether to be.  Was I crazy? Nope. Would those in charge have ordered counseling if they had seen it? Yupp. Most likely outcome. Did I need a therapist? Nope.

Like I said….having the thought if this does not change I could do that….is not always unhealthy. It does not mean I was in some immediate danger of harming myself. In fact_ that visual reminder was an outlet, a vent, a way help myself overcome the difficulties that stood in my way. All was not lost because I felt I had a choice. But I still could not speak to anyone about that. I knew that meant at very least a swift trip to the school psychologist and quite possibly a mind altering prescription.

I am in no way minimizing mental health or the tragedy of suicide. When my friend Tony killed himself I was devasted . He was full of life and had a bright future. He in no way ever indicated depression or spoke of ending his life. That’s the key- he never spoke of it. Why didnt he?

Perhaps he was not interested in hearing platitudes and reasons why he shouldn't. Or didnt want his life disrupted or to see that godawful head tilt people do when they feel sorry for you. Maybe he thought his parents would yell. I'll never know but I do know for sure he did not have what you would call mental health issues, he was not unhappy, bullied or selfish. I do know he discussed his plans with no one. I have known two others who also did not speak of it. All three took their own lives. It might be anecdotal evidence but in my world each one of them shared a silence about their inner thoughts and feelings. Two of them you would describe, if you had known them, as having perfect lives. Perhaps that is why, like most of us, they felt they couldn't share their darkness. Scared of shattering the perfectly happy, lovely person, responsible child myth.

We need to speak. This is something we need to let people say without our fear, judgment, invasive concern, efforts to "fix" them, labelling or social stigma. Listening without silencing them.

I think if honesty was highly prized in society many more of us would cop to our darkest feelings. If we had no fear of reprisal we would speak of our own despairs large and small. We are sometimes, just too content with whatever the common way of looking at a situation happens to be. We have to learn to let people talk despite our discomfort. We need to listen and learn instead of talking about and judging. In my mind at least, we must question the way we look at whispered words.