Yesterday At The Bus Stop

Negative Self-Talk

Yesterday, I was feeling very down when I woke up at 3:45 in the morning. That feeling of depression lingered throughout the morning despite the fact that I had to do something about my hair and makeup as I had to go out into that feared realm: the public. And, I do mean the Public as I have no car and rely on my feet, legs and the bus to get around town. So, there I am at the bus stop waiting for the bus so I could get to my therapist’s office which is some distance from where I live. Fortunately, my abode is centrally located next to the bus stops going North and South as well as the office of my psychiatrist which is a five minute walk across the street (so is the ER, just in case I go mad, well madder than I already am).

There were several people already at the bus stop which was a little unusual for that time of day. It was about 1:30 pm, and the general malaise had yet to lift although it was quietly being joined by mania. There we go off into mixed episode world, again. I swear I never get depressed and I never get manic, I just stay stuck and somehow balanced in the weird middle ground. Anyway, the people at the bus stop were comprised of an older gentleman named Charlie who had an impressive white beard, his wife, Stephanie, and I am assuming her son as they both spoke with accents, and Charlie did not. Charlie was also Caucasian, and I am not sure where Stephanie and her son had come from originally. As it turned out, her son had just been released from the mental hospital where I go for psych appointments and used to be a “frequent flyer” in the locked wards. The man, Charlie, spoke to me right off even though I was lost in 80’s metal land. There was something pretty nasty beneath the bench; I will not speculate on what it might have been. Charlie pointed it out, so I took out my ear buds to respond. 

My Brain Is Bouncing

Stephanie’s son picked up on the fact that I had these little ear buds, and made a point of showing me his head phones which he pointed out were much bigger than mine. As her son and I talked (I cannot for the life of me remember his name), it became clear to me that he was mentally “different” (the term illness has been talked to death over the past week). As it turned out, he suffered from Schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder, Asperger’s (?) Syndrome, was also somewhere on the Autistic spectrum, some features of Borderline Personality, and ADHD, in other words, he had a multitude of mental “differences” that rendered him quite interesting and somewhat difficult to talk to (it helped that I have ADD, and Bipolar disorder that was slowly becoming manic) so I was sort of able to follow his train of thought.

This kid/adult was so excited to have someone to talk to, he could barely contain himself. And, not just someone to talk to, but someone who understood most of what he was thinking. He told me he sees and hears things that he knows are not there but he sees them anyway. I replied that I do not see things that are not real, but I hear things I know are not real. This young man was so hyper, I almost couldn’t take it, and I was becoming manic (and have ADD). I am naturally hyper, but this young guy had me beat. As he was also on the Autistic spectrum and had Asperger’s, he became fairly fixated on two things: his headphones being bigger than mine, and his dislike of his meds which he had apparently been off of for several months. It was obvious. I told him that I take medicine too to help me feel better, but that even when I feel okay, I still take my medicine because that is what is making me feel better. I gently told him that going off your medication just because you feel better is not a good idea, because after a month or two, you will feel worse and you are back to square one and the medicine has to build up in your body to make you feel better again. Charlie quietly agreed with me, and I told him the various anti-psychotics I had tried, and that a combination of Abilify and Seroquel had finally put me in the weird middle ground that is the true nature of manic-depression (you are one and the other at the same time).

I mentioned Zyprexa and Resperdal as being some alternatives if Abilify doesn’t work and Seroquel puts you to sleep which makes it a night time medication. Charlie agreed, and asked the young man if the Abilify had worked. The answer was an emphatic no, it had not worked. I am sure that his mother and stepfather accompany him to his therapy appointments. I suggested that maybe they could see what the doc thinks about trying another atypical anti-psychotic. He had apparently been on Haldol and Thorazine for some time. Which in retrospect explains his complaining that the meds made him sleep. I have taken Haldol, and been prescribed it for aggression (when I get overstimulated, I can get aggressive), and yes, it will calm you right down, but the next thing it does is make you sleepy. Add Thorazine to that, and yes, you will sleep most of the day. 

American Homeless

What was even more curious was the man who came by stating that he knew bus stops were a good place to get spare change. I live on disability. I do not even make minimum wage for a 40 hour week. I have no “spare” change. To me, that’s currency, and I need all of it to get by. Charlie and his wife, Stephanie, replied they had no money and were about to lose their storage if they could not come up with the rent that day. They were homeless, and all of their possessions were in that storage locker. Charlie told the man that he was looking for money to save their stuff.

All of a sudden, my life shifted about 10 paradigms to the right. Here was this family with both parents using walkers and not terribly well themselves, and their mentally “different” son whose mother had cared for all of his life, and I was depressed about what exactly. The fact that my brain is chemically messed up and I have no real control over my feelings be them manic or depressive. I have a place that I can call my own. Granted, it takes more than half my monthly income to pay the rent. But, I have the knowledge that when I am done with my therapy appointment, I do not have to look for a place to sleep. My mother picked me up so I could buy some groceries; more than I could conceivably take on the bus or carry as I often do. What I do not know is where were these folks going to find food. They were truly the faces of the homeless. Not the homeless as our society thinks of the homeless as worthless drunks and addicts that are to be stepped over on the sidewalk or crossing the street when one sees a person coming and they can’t be bothered to say that they have no change, or if one does have change, to give it to the homeless person. Many times they are trying to get enough money to pay for one night in a flea-bag motel so they can sleep in a bed, and take a shower. There are those who have become homeless because of addiction, but there are also those who have become addicts because o
f their homelessness. But these people were clean, clothing intact (probably from a thrift store, but that’s where I shop), hair clean and combed. Even the ever so excited young man was clean with clean clothes, hair brushed. They were clearly not society’s picture of the homeless, but they do represent a good portion of people who have found themselves losing their jobs, then their savings, then their homes. 

Homeless Women and Children

“Oddly” enough, my mood shifted. I no longer felt sorry for myself but rather hope that this family could save their storage locker, and hang onto their stuff for another month. Who knows, they may have been living there. That locker could have been “home” as there are a number of rescue missions that provide showers and other types of personal care. I have a friend whose dad (now deceased, too bad because he was a character) lived in his RV which he parked every night at his storage locker.

It is amazing how a random encounter with three people when you are feeling low and socially stunted can transform your day and your world. I am a practitioner of Nichiren Buddhism and we hold that all people are deserving of compassion,

Buddha

respect and fundamental dignity. We believe that all people no matter what walk of life they may come from all have the heart of the Buddha (we just forgot, and have to find it again), therefore when speaking with people, you try to tap your own inner Buddha so that your heart meets theirs, and a dialogue between Buddhas occurs whether the other party knows it or not. I generally wear my ear buds with my music cranked up loud so I can ignore the over-stimulation that can be public transit, but something about this family really made me tap that inner Buddha. It is not that we had anything truly in common except that both their son and I struggle with mental issues. They just seemed like good people in a bad circumstance, and doing what they could to make the best of it and care for the young man (who is going to need life-long mental care). The bus arrived before any of us realized it. I do not believe in random encounters. I was meant to be on that bus, that day, at that time so I could meet these people so they could help heal me in a small way, and I could help heal them in a small way.

Been Having Thought Block

I need to write something or else I will truly go off the deep end of the pool where swimmers need little arm floaties, or some other cute way of keeping kid’s from drowning. I would very much like to know where my floaties went. Somebody took my floaties, and now here I am in the deep end of the pool trying desperately not to go under.

 All of this has to do with my ex-husband. I had expressed a desire to remain friends; we are still returning the drags of the marriage to each other. I do not understand how you can be friends when the flotsam and jetsam have not been cleared away.  I said in an email that I sent Friday (this all started very civilly on Thursday, and was deteriorating into a brawl by Saturday) that I had a doctor’s appointment at 1:30 and should be home by 3:00 pm. And, that I would just like to get this taken care of as soon as possible. He interpreted as hostile and angry sounding. Nothing would have been less true. I was typing it quickly as I had a bus to catch. This was his reply:

“I was reading your e-mail a second time because you sounded a little pissed.  And I’m trying to find out why.  You’ve made it clear that you prefer we remain “friends”.  Every time I found something of yours that you forgot & left here I put it or them in a bag & gladly gave them back to you with no problem on my part.  You still have all the keys to the house, but I haven’t pushed that issue.  Your “I really just want this out of the way” statement, has me wondering about what’s really your true intentions about us & how we will interact in the present and in the future.  Huh????”

Am I the only one who feels that email is hostile, or have I gone completely mad this time? I mean “Huh????” Seriously (insert confused look on face here)….what the fuck is that all about? I have tried repeatedly to explain to him that while I am not emotionally crying my eyes out, I am still sad and sometimes angry, and while I have achieved the heart-mind disconnect (which is crucial for my mental sanity), I can still feel hurt because my mind registers hurt in what I can only assume is a complex web of firing neurons.

Ever since this communiqué from him, I have not been able to eat, to drink fluids, or to sleep. He is beginning to sign his little missives with a short version of his name. His first email was signed with his first name. I have signed all of mine with my full name.

I have tried to convey to him that I am going to need time to heal from some of the things he has done and said.  He is verbally and emotionally abusive to those he thinks are weak.  And I have seen him beat a puppy with a switch on more than one occasion because the puppy peed on the carpet. I have to say here, the puppy was confined to a cage and an enclosure with training mats. But, unless you train the dog to go outside, it will pee in the house. It is simple. He finally was so frustrated by the behavior of his untrained 6 – 7 month old puppy that he at 1:30 am gets her in to a carrier, drives to Animal Control, and ties her to the fence with food and water. So, now she is all alone at night, tied to a fence that borders a state highway, and it is winter time.

I guess the question here is do or do I not want to be friends with someone who has abused both people and animals? I can handle the people part, but you should never, ever, ever, ever abuse an animal. All they do is love you. Can I be friends with someone that I know that about? I do not know. I think not.

 

On Spirituality And Mental Health ~ My Perspective

I have been inspired today by several other blog posts I have read to think about the nature of spirituality and it’s healing and restorative properties. While I think it is important for anyone to have some sort of spiritual faith be it Christian, Catholic, Buddhist or Wiccan, I have no prejudices concerning people’s choice of spirituality; whatever works is what you should do.

I happen to follow a sect of Buddhism (there are literally thousands of sects) known as Nichiren Buddhism which emphasizes that you and you alone are the source of the struggle or hurdle that you are facing, and only you can come up with a solution through chanting “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo” which loosely translated means Devotion to the Mystic Law of the Universe and the simultaneity of cause and effect (“Renge” means lotus blossom which seeds and blooms at the same time) through the vibration of sound. It tends to become very meditative if you chant for a while which is not dissimilar to Zen Buddhism that teaches that one must clear one’s mind and life of earthly desires to achieve enlightenment although Nichiren Buddhism does not state that you must give up earthly desires in order to reach enlightenment.

The whole goal of Nichiren Buddhism is to reach a state of “Buddhahood” in which one understands the nature of all things, and is indestructibly happy no matter what gets thrown your way. In fact, if you are practicing correctly and are following the correct path, then obstacles will get in your way to test your faith. Nichiren Buddhism views these trial and tribulations as a means of growing spiritually, and are to be greeted with joy as opposed to sadness or despair. 

Nichiren Buddhism is an inherently humanistic “life philosophy.” It teaches that you practice for yourself and for others (others being the rest of the world), and that everyone regardless of their station in life is worthy, and deserve respect and compassion. When you put these ideas into practice, your environment changes around you. As you become closer to being “enlightened” and you develop a character that cannot be brought down, your reaction to the things that occur just because you are a human become less severe, and more understanding of other people’s inherent rights to be treated with dignity. You become less judgmental, and more accepting of people in general. It is hard to explain. But, it works for me, and about 200 million people practicing in 192 countries. Another idea that is very important and is essential is known as “Dependent Origination.” In other words, we are all interconnected in one way or another with other people and the Universe that nourishes us. It is really hard to explain why this philosophy works for me, but I know I have become happier, more resilient and the episodes of mania and depression have lessened.

It does not matter what faith you follow. It is the act of engaging in spiritual activities on a regular basis is what I believe is important. Being a member of a spiritual group be it Buddhist, Christian, Catholic, Judaic, or Taoist can provide you with a sense of feeling grounded, it also provides social contact, it can provide a social support network (if you feel that you can trust people to not judge you for your struggles); some of my best friends are members of the SGI (Soka Gakkai International ~ means “Value Creating”.)

People of faith tend to be supportive of one another, and if they practice true to the values of their chosen faith, they are respectful and compassionate towards all people. The only real difference between the “People of the Book” and Buddhism is that Buddhists are taught to follow the teachings not the teacher, and that Buddhahood is within you, you just have to find it, whereas the “People of the Book” have an external sense of the divine. Buddhism is all you, your causes and your effects, your obstacles and your method of overcoming them, and Christians have God and Jesus’ teachings to follow, but believe in an external higher being. In Buddhism, you are the “higher power,” you just have to find it. No matter what works for you, I have found that many people with mental issues who are also deeply spiritual seem to have better outcomes, and a more positive way of managing whatever their life or their mental issue throws their way.

Buddhism is part of my three pronged attack on my mental health problems: Buddhist practice, a psychiatrist who is extremely good with medication and is not heavy handed with it, and a therapist who has become a lifeline. These three things keep me relatively sane. They also keep others around me relatively sane as well.

So, I highly recommend that people who suffer with mental issues find a spiritual belief system that works for them. It will keep you grounded, enable you to weather the storms when they happen, provide social contact, and provide a network of people you trust to help support you when things aren’t quite kosher. But, that is only my experience and perspective. It is not written in stone or any medical journal that I know of 🙂

Marriage Counseling Round 2

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on canvas, 73×92 cm, 28¾×36¼ in. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

So, here we go again. Another fateful trip on the counseling merry-go-round. I really hope that the Psychologist is bright enough to cut through the husband’s bullshit. He keeps telling the doctor that I was at an all time low when he met me. He makes it sound like he gave me a life that was not unfulfilling and dull.

 

I liked my life. I was up at 4 or 5 am, and by 8 am, I was on my bike, heading somewhere for two or three hours. I rode with a close friend (and his brother or nephew, sometimes) every Sunday morning. We’re talking 40 mile treks through the urban jungle complete with smoke belching dragons (aka cars). In the summer, after I got back from riding I would rinse off and go hang out by the pool at the apartments. I’d talk to people, some of us became friends. I dated, I went out with friends. But, somehow the egocentrism he is accusing me of (you only care about your illness, ummmmmm, correct me if I am wrong, but shouldn’t I be somewhat concerned about it, you only care about your cat, well, maybe if you hadn’t made me kill the other two, I wouldn‘t have such a clingy cat;the others were her brother, and surrogate mom, and the last thing I care about is myself).

 

Maybe if he were more affectionate and supportive instead of being “constructively” critical the majority of the time, I wouldn’t feel the need to be so vigilant about my own well-being. I would know someone was there to help me if I fell. He is not about that. I have to pick myself up and he calls it being egotistical. Maybe if he would actually bother to learn something scientifically researched and published by M.D.’s, P.hD’s, people who have spent their lives researching and treating Bipolar people, and not just relying on some rather unfortunate experiences he had with one who also was Boderline (bad combo), and one who promised him that she had it under control What a fallacy! Bipolar is never “under control”; it is managed with proper medication, seeing a therapist as often as needed and making regular appointments with you psychiatrist. 

 

I told him when I found out what the one woman had told him that I was offering him no guarantees. My bipolar was managed, but that I would never promise that it was under control. And, I was right. I went through episodes of depression, mania, depression and mania, and outright violent moods. I just wish he would educate himself because that would take so much pressure off of me to be “normal” all the time. I can’t cry because that is showing weakness. I cannot be angry, happy, sad, joyous, any emotion because it isn’t “real”. It is the illness. It really does seem to me that that is the way he sees me: as nothing more than a mentally ill person who always needs help, and can’t see herself any other way. I know what I see in the mirror when I am looking: I see a determined person, I see a person who has goals and dreams and the ambition to realize them, I do NOT see a weakling (as he would have me be).

 

So, I have to question, if I am so many negative things, why’d he even bother looking for me last night? I am pretty good at handling myself, not to mention that I tend to wear Harley hard toed riding boots. That alone could break something if necessary. If I am to be so denigrated in the therapy sessions, why would want to go find that? Are you trying to say I Love You? Why can you not just tell me if you love me or if you don’t? If you don’t, let me go. Let me live. If you do love me, stop disparaging me, and let me live.

 

But then again, I am the one who could be filtering all of this through a “defective” mind……but I do not think so.

 

“……Making love to his ego, Ziggy sucked up into his mind…” ~ David Bowie

 

Found This Posted On My Facebook Timeline This AM

I wish that more people could remember this; myself included. Sometimes it pays to just keep your mouth shut and your thoughts to yourself.

Okay, Now The Gun Control Argument

Sandy Hook Lighthouse (Photo credit: Vicki’s Pics)

 

Okay, do not get me wrong. I am an American, but do we honestly need 300,000 legal and illegal handguns, assault riffles and 100 capacity magazines floating around our country? I am not Pro or Con 2nd amendment, but I do think that we have to look at the Amendment in the context that it was initially framed. We were a brand new nation having won our independence from England through a bloody revolution. We were afraid of government at the time. And, rightly so. But what does the 2nd amendment really give us the right to bear in terms of arms: it confers upon an individual citizen to own a musket, not a Tech 9, or an AK-47 with a 100 bullet clip. Do you really think that the Sandy Hook massacre would have been nearly as dumbfounding and deadly had the gunman had to reload his weapon? The average law enforcement personnel can reload their clip in about 2 seconds, the average gun owning citizen about 4 seconds. In 4 seconds, someone could have taken him out assuming that he had to reload.

 

What really freaked me out was the increase in gun sales, especially assault type weapons, automatic weapons, and high round clips that occurred after the Sandy Hook massacre. I saw one gun shop that had customers 5 or 6 deep at the counter. People just DO NOT need clips that hold enough rounds to take out a small army. If you cannot hit your target, moving or not, with one or two shots, maybe you shouldn’t own a gun. If you have to make mincemeat out of someone, maybe you should look into anger management classes.

 

If you look at the world numbers for death by gun shot wounds, the United States leads all of the industrialized nations by thousands of deaths per year. We have approximately 10 people dying every 8 hours due to gun violence. This does not include mass shootings. These are our kids that are dying. If 10 people on average are dying very 8 hours that means that 30 people die every day from gun violence. Multiply that by 365 days per year, and you have about 11,000 people per year. This is simply unacceptable. If you just absolutely have to kill someone that you have a beef with, stab them, beat them to death; do not stand 20 or 100 feet away and shoot them. You do not have to get yours “hands dirty” to shoot someone, it does not require any amount of courage to shoot someone, rather it is an act of absolute cowardice; you do have to get personal any other way.

 

NRA President LaPierre states that the only way to deal with a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun. Is there really a difference? Honestly, something has got to give. And we cannot just drop this issue just because Sandy Hook is a month past. These were 6 year olds; they will never fall in love, they will not graduate high school, they will not attend prom, they will not attend college, it is a loss of 20 potential doctors, lawyers, social workers, reformers. It is a loss of 20 members of the future generation. These kids that are dying are the future, and we have an obligation as a society to make sure they have the opportunity to become what they may, and provide a safe environment to do so.

 

Another Rant About The Social Stigma Of Mental Illness

Social Stigma (Photo credit: sea turtle)

What’s on my mind? Hmmm….. maybe wishing that society would wake up and realize that mental health issues are real and are just like physical health issues. I get so sick of the stigma surrounding mental health. I have a chart that is 3 inches thick with observations, prescriptions, and other related notes. I have no problem with that. I have Bipolar Disorder, I have PTSD, I have panic attacks, I have days when I cannot leave my house. Has it limited my life? Yes, in some ways, but in others, it has caused me to take a good look at what is important to me, it has caused me to get help, and work on the issues that I have that prevent me from being truly and indestructibly happy.

Having Manic Depression has led me from one extreme to another, but that is okay as long as I learn from it. I have found a spiritual stronghold in Nichiren Buddhism because I have Manic Depression. I don’t view it as stigmatizing, I view it as a daily challenge to be overcome. People do not get all weird if you have a heart condition, so what the hell is it about mental health that everyone shies away from? You cannot be truly healthy unless you treat the body, the soul, and the mind.

If everyone in this country would take a look at the DSM (the manual used to diagnose mental illnesses) and realize that it is about 3 inches thick, that means there are a lot of people out there with mental issues. So what is the big deal? Get treatment, get better, get as well as you can, and just live your life. Don’t use it as an excuse to act out and harm others and/or yourself. Recognize that it is a facet of who you are, and treat it. Treat it with your body, your mind, and your soul. Find a good therapist that specializes in your illness, find a good psychiatrist for medication if necessary, and by all means, find a spiritual path that will ground you and balance you. And if you do not have access to private care, apply for public assistance. Help is out there, you just have to seek it out sometimes. It sure as hell isn’t going to come to you because people want to believe in a Utopian society where everything is just so. Don’t rock the boat, maintain the status quo, and above all, do not be mentally different (insert sarcasm here).

I just get so frustrated with society’s reaction to mental health, because I just do not get it. A person is not defined by their mental or physical health, they are defined by how they treat others, how they respect other people, and by their compassion for others. People do not say, “I am diabetes,” they say “I have diabetes,” or whatever it is. I am not defined by Manic Depression. It is one facet of who I am,yes, but it is not all that I am. Not by a long shot.

So, people, it is time that the stigma associated with mental illness stops. It prevents people from getting treatment, it prevents proper diagnoses, it prevents them from living as normally as they are able.

Sorry for the tirade, but the reports are coming in that the man who is responsible for the atrocious acts of yesterday morning possibly “has” a personality disorder. Of course it would have to be a mental health issue because no “sane” person would have done that. And, that is probably true, but the first thing they talk about is mental status. And, all that does is continue the stigma which prevents people from seeking treatment because they do not want to be labeled as crazy. I have a 3 inch chart that proves I am nuts. I do not care. I have been weird since birth.

So, I and many others are “different,” big deal. As long as you can see how your behavior affects those around you, and those who care about you, and learn from trying to put yourself in the role of the “other,” what is the problem with being a bit off?   Just do NOT use it as an excuse. View it for what it is, and that is a challenge to be the best strange person you can be. People, even mentally ill people, are worthy of respect, compassion, and the right to be treated humanely. 

When All Else Fails, Give Yourself A Manicure

English: Fun day out with Granddad Two happy children and their grandfather run through thick snow just inside the entrance to Ickworth Park, at Horringer. Behind is the parish church of the village, St Leonard’s. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What a way to start the holiday season. My grandma (mother’s mom) has been slowly declining in health for some time now. She was getting tired often, had very little appetite, lived alone, and had congestive heart failure. She was on a number of medications for high blood pressure, a diuretic for water retention, cumidin to thin her blood. Common medications for people with blood pressure problems, and very common among older people. But, she was hanging in there despite the fact that my Granddad (her husband of 50 years) had passed away in 1985; also in November. In fact, it was November 5th, 1985. I was 14 so even though I understood I would never see him in physical form again, I think I was too young to process his rather sudden death. I did not cry for his passing until I was 18, and it really hit me one day that this headstrong, opinionated, bull-headed man who had helped my parents take care of my sister and myself was really gone. 

Due to a medication (Oxycodone) that my grandma had to take for pain due to a fracture in one of her vertebrae, my grandma could no longer be left alone, especially at night. So, the decision was made to move her into a hospice where someone would be available around the clock. She was moved out of the house where she had lived for as far back as I can remember (and I have a memory like an elephant), the house where she had raised two of her four children, where she and my Granddad would baby sit me and my sister if my parents wanted to take a vacation sans children, where I remember big Thanksgiving dinners, and many Christmases. I remember that she and my granddad were married on the 4th of July, and every year the whole family would get together for food and fireworks. She kept a lunchbox with toys in it in the hall closet, and even though I knew perfectly well where to find it, I would always ask, and she’d tell me it was off yonder. If it weren’t for her, I would have no idea where yonder is. Not that it is a specific place, but I will always know where yonder is thanks to her. She was a very strong woman, said very little but when she did speak, you listened. Believe me you listened. She was keenly observant of everything going on around her. It was really hard to slip under her radar. She never thought of herself as a smart person like my father’s mother who had a Bachelor’s In Mathematics from USC and was a brilliant oil painter. She felt that her life had been wasted because she wasn’t as educated as my other grandmother. She also wasn’t nuts like my other grandmother (she had untreated Manic Depression, thanks for the genes.) What she failed to realize was that she had the hardest, most rewarding and painful, most important job on the planet. She was a mother. And, judging by the way my aunt and mom and one uncle turned out, she did a damn fine job of raising her children. but, she couldn’t see that being a parent, especially a mother is the most important thing that someone can do with their lives. She may not have smiled as often as she should have, and I do not think I ever heard her laugh. Maybe, I did and I do not remember. 

When I had my first car accident and could not find my parents (I was about 15), I called her, and she and my Uncle Steve came to get me. I remember being about 18, and living in my very first apartment. I had a kitten named Faustus. One day, I came home from work and I couldn’t find my kitten. She had somehow slipped out when I left that day. I finally located my kitten and she was covered in oil, holding one hind leg up, missing the fur on her ears and eyelids. She had either been in someone’s engine or she narrowly missed getting squashed by a car. It didn’t really matter. She was alive, but hurt badly. I had no money to take her to the pet ER, and I tried my parents (once again), but my Dad was out of town and my mother was working or something. I couldn’t find them so once again I called my grandma. I needed $80 to take my kitten to the vet. Now, my grandma never liked pets; they were messy, but she just happened to have the money that I needed to take my kitten in. I drove to her house holding my injured Faustus, and tried to operate a standard transmission with one hand. That’s a trick. So, she gave me the money and told me to come back for dinner when they were done with my kitten. The vets had sedated my cat and put her in a box. Even though I can’t remember there ever being an animal in her house, she let me bring my very groggy little kitten in to her house in the box. It turned out that my cat’s hind leg was completely severed at the joint. But, even though she had no use for pets, she still let me bring my cat in the house because it was winter time, it was night, and it was cold. I can still see her in her house that night. She always had this way of making everything warm and alright, even if every thing was wrong. She was probably one of the people on this planet that I respected and loved unconditionally. I always knew I could count on her for help, and if it was within her power to do so, she would help. She used to make me gifts of canned and dry goods because she knew that I was struggling financially and she had grown up during the Depression so she knew what being dirt poor was like. She was funny like that. She gave of herself and never expected anything in return.

She was such a strong, dignified, dedicated, and loving person. I feel like I was privileged to be born to her daughter. She taught me so much about inner strength, and just dealing with the situation as it was. There was not any thing else to do, and in her own, very quiet way, she passed that value along to her children, and her grand children, and her great grand children even though they won’t be able to remember much about her. They are all very young; about the same age as my cousins were when granddad died. If I was 14, then my oldest cousin would have been about 9. The great-grandchildren (except my sister’s) are all much younger than that. They will never really know how this woman in her quiet but thoughtful way taught her children and grandchildren how to live life. 

Life was never easy for her and my granddad. They had four children and he worked construction jobs, and she took in people’s ironing and laundry to help make the ends meet. The family would move to where ever there was work for my granddad. It could not have been easy, but she went through life never complaining. She just accepted what was, and had faith that it would get better, and she got through it. I think people born in the early part of the 20th century had more strength to live life on life’s terms than those of us born later in the century. We all want it fixed or done now. We are a generation of people who want instant gratification, but there is so much more character and dignity and grace in learning how to live life no matter what gets thrown at you. 

My family lost some one very special today. It does not matter one bit if she did not go to college, or was a brilliant painter or writer. She was a role model for how to live life on life’s terms. You do what you need to do in order to live no matter how menial it may seem. You raise your children to respect their elders, you raise them to respect people from all walks of life, to have compassion when someone is struggling, and to love and give without expecting anything in return. This is what she left my parents and her other children with. And, in their own ways they passed on what my grandma and my granddad taught them. Work hard, love and appreciate your family and friends, have thanks for what you do have instead of constantly yearning for what you do not have. Sometimes, no matter how hard it may seem, life may be all that you have. I know how important life is. Even as a treated Bipolar, I have tried several times to take my life, but I always clung to life in the end and would call 911. Apparently, I am not ready to die yet. 

This was a woman who accepted me for who I am, the things I have been, and loved me anyway. She weathered the drug abuse, the drinking, the mental illness that makes me so moody, all the things that my own mother had to cope with as well. I wish now (20/20 hindsight) that I had taken more time to find out about her. I always meant to, but somehow never got around to it. I guess I thought she would still be here when I finally had grown up enough to see how amazing she was. I thought she would live forever, I guess. Magical thinking on my part, but when you are in your 20s and 30s, you still have this notion that you’ll never get old and neither will the people around you. But, that isn’t the way it works.

You hit 40, and you realize that time does not stop because you want it to. You age, and so does everyone around you. You come to realize that time will continue and you will age and so will those you love. You are born, you live your life to the best of your ability, and then you become old and eventually everyone dies. It is a cycle that never ends. Life will always lead to death. It is what you do and how you treat others in between that matters. My grandma understood that with her heart, and as a result, was an incredible person. I will miss her dearly. She was like my other mom. I only hope that I can continue to improve myself so that I am like her when I am old, and I can die with no regrets. Why she loved me so dearly, I will never know. But, I am glad she did. Even though I am the odd one out in the family. When life becomes really stressful, just paint your nails, dye your hair that color you always wanted, try a different color of eye shadow, soak in the tub, but above all, be nice to yourself and others. Good night, Grandma.

Velma Pauline Hatfield Varley: born 9/6/1915 and died 11/17/2012. 

Kindness

Buddhism (Photo credit: shapour bahrami)

“My religion is kindness….

I’d rather be kind than right……..

You can always be kind.”

~ Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama

 

Kindness, which the Dalai Lama‘s Tibetan Buddhist tradition identifies as the refinement of compassion, is an eternal absolute. It is the bond connecting all beings in the great web of interdependence in which we all participate and by which we are sustained….When we are living in harmony with our nature then we cannot resist being kind, loving, passionate, and merciful. As the Dalai Lama frequently reminds those caught up in complicated philosophies of religion, this essential fruit of the spiritual quest is the substance of his tradition.” ~ Brother Wayne Teasdale

 

Although I subscribe to a different form of Buddhism, this concept of interdependence also plays a crucial role. You cannot survive in a vacuum. People are dependent on others for jobs, companionship, love, and all manner of things. We are all linked to one another in some way, shape or form. While you may choose to not have friends, you still need someone to provide you with a way of supporting yourself. You may choose not to work, but in that case, you become dependent on someone else to sustain you and provide basic needs.

 

The only way that this interdependence can exist is through kindness, compassion, the desire to help others. A web cannot be held together by a single strand. Then all you’ve got is a single strand or entity. There are, however, many strands in a web, and the structure of the web is sustained through the interlacing of all the strands.

 

The same is true of society; it is only the glue that is different. The glue that binds all people and living things together is kindness, not whether you are right or wrong about something. In the long run, being right pales in comparison to being kind to someone. A person will remember a person who is kind or compassionate to them for a lot longer than the person that has to be right. And, compassion tends to grow upon itself. When one does a good turn for someone, that person is more likely to do a good turn for someone else and so on. Kindness builds upon itself and forms the strands of the human web.

 

Being right is a pretty fleeting thing. You can only be right about something once. However, being kind or compassionate is sustainable. You can be kind to many people, and other living things over and over again. It is infinite, being right is finite. 

Thoughts On Self-Deception

Benjamin Franklin 1767 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“It is the easiest thing in the world

for a person to deceive himself.” ~ Benjamin Franklin

 

….”Self-deception is a human talent we have all practiced at one time or another ~ denial about our faults, our slow pace in personal growth, the danger of large and small addictions, how well we treat others…..We deceive ourselves when we ruthlessly seek our wants or use other people to attain them. We lie to ourselves to shield our conscience from the truth. When we deceive ourselves, we are hurting ourselves the most. Such deception leads to the creation of a false self that protects us from confronting the truth. The cure is pure honesty and humility. True humility never tolerates self-deception.” ~ Brother Wayne Teasdale

 

Since I seem to be on this weird journey of self-discovery, I thought I would examine self-deception this morning. One thing I have noticed about having Bipolar Disorder is that it seems to be linked in many people with what I call the “curse of charisma.” A bipolar can be very charming when they want to be, or when they want something from someone else. We are usually at our most charming when we are in the early stages of a manic episode. We feel energized, like the world is here to do our bidding, that we can do anything we please even if it is completely off the wall. Then we crash.

 

It is in these two states that we are most likely to be deceiving not only ourselves but others as well. Frequently, while in the midst of scathing depression, we convince ourselves that it is not that bad, and put on our game faces to greet the world. We do the same thing when manic. We hide the truth that what we are doing or how we are behaving does not have any negative effects on those around us. However, that is not what others see. These things are true of many people not just those with Bipolar disorder. 

 

What others may see is selfishness, greed, a lack of empathy, or a person being used for selfish gain. It is kind of like putting on makeup. When a woman puts on makeup, she highlights certain features that she herself finds attractive. It can be her eyes, her lips, her cheekbones. Whatever it is, she plays that up. But makeup is deceiving in that it shields the real face of the wearer. Try looking at yourself with no makeup on (for women) and no poker face (analogy for men). What do you see when you look at your naked self? Do you see someone who is honest and humble and compassionate towards others? Do you see someone who respects others needs and wants? Or, do you see someone who is the exact opposite of those traits? 

 

When I am being honest with myself, I can see that I am or can be a very selfish person, that I am truly afraid that other people would not like me if they got to know me well, I see a person who is not comfortable with herself, and I do not mean being alone with my self, but rather someone who does not like who she is, but feels powerless to change it. I see someone who is damaged and angry about it, I see someone who will be whoever you want them to be (charismatic people are like chameleons), and I really do not like that about myself. I feel like I should be liked or disliked based on who I really am, not the person I show the world.

 

I also see someone who chooses to be blind to what others see as my faults. I see someone who is at their core a scared and abandoned child. And a person who acts like that child at times: selfish, greedy, incapable of empathy, unable to see the viewpoint of others, a person who manipulates others through threats and tantrums. Just like a child would. 

 

Maybe I am too hard on myself, maybe I am not all the things I fear that I am. But, deep down my inner adult knows that these things are true. I guess that makes me human. I am just as fallible as everyone else. I am just going to have to CHOOSE to see my faults, and work toward a better self. Not a perfect one because that would be impossible, but one that embodies honesty, humility, and real compassion for all things.