Posts Tagged ‘mental health’
Just Stuff
When on an expedition having nothing to do with society’s news of the day, one finds things of lesser significance can have a more dramatic impact than they otherwise might. With my mind protected from the gloom of current events during the last few months, I’ve found myself noticing more details about my immediate surroundings during daily walks.
The other day, I noticed some of our trees with an abundance of new shoots sprouting from the lower trunks. My intuition told me the trees were reacting to something, and when I figured out they were all ash trees, I knew what that was. The emerald ash borer is taking a toll on our region, and it seems our turn has come. I learned the new growth is called Epicormic Sprouts, revealing a tree’s effort to survive stress.
In addition, closer inspection revealed birds are chipping away at the outer bark to get at insects beneath. This gives the tree trunks an orange hue that makes them easy to spot from a distance. I was pointing it out to Cyndie yesterday, and we counted a handful of the largest affected ashes. I’ll be watching to see how long it takes them to die.
Meanwhile, we will continue to nurture new growth showing up in our oak, maple, elm, poplar, and spruce & pine tree populations.
This time of year, it is easier to spot the trees that have broken or tipped and are hung up in surrounding branches. The large poplar in this photo is a doozy. That break is probably 10ft(3m) or more up from the ground. I won’t be taking a chainsaw to this challenging widow-maker.
Several trees in the vicinity of that one broke off at a similar height. None of the others got hung up. Must have been an interesting gust of wind to cause that.
A couple of snow flurries ago, our driveway ended up looking rather bovine in appearance.
I gotta tell ya; it’s a lot easier to laugh or be mesmerized by the crazy things I see around me every day while on this expedition of avoiding that which would break my heart and spirit were I to give it a chance. I admit to feeling guilty about having the privilege that enables me to turn away while others must look straight at it all and will be receiving the brunt of abuses underway.
Even as I try to ignore it, there are blips of evidence that get through with hints of difficulties looming for the world.
I’m looking at our stressed forest and laughing at our second snow-starved winter in a row. I’m dreaming of a new shade sail for the horses and marveling over how the four Thoroughbreds are evolving as a herd of rescued former racers and broodmares. Just local stuff must be the focus right now for my fragile mind.
We will be voting with all our might at our upcoming Wisconsin election.
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Feeling Small
Last night, Cyndie and I finished the 5th episode of the streaming Apple TV+ documentary series “The Me You Can’t See,” about mental health, hosted by Oprah Winfrey and Prince Harry. There are so many issues people live with that we cannot know about unless the person chooses to talk about them.
It’s been so many years since I gained control over my depression that I don’t talk about it so much. That documentary makes me think I should discuss my experience more regularly than I do. The folks who participated in the series exposing their struggles to the world showed laudable courage in sharing what is traditionally kept secret.
Three thoughts of my suffering spring to mind instantly when I contemplate the years when I was sliding deeper toward clinical depression.
- Triggered beyond my ability to cope, I stepped outside one of the basement doors of the lake house into a dark winter night wearing no outdoor clothing and laid down, curling into a fetal position in a snow drift, desperately yearning to vanish from existence.
- A Monday morning when I couldn’t muster the resources to get out of bed, finding I wasn’t able to do more than utter a grunt in response to a query from my wife as to whether I was going to get up or not. It was later that morning, alone in the house, that I sat on the end of the bed, called our clinic, and asked to be seen. When the voice on the phone asked for a reason, I choked on the words, and she made the appointment available for as soon as I could get there.
- Some period of time after treatment with Prozac and Psychiatrist visits had occurred, I found myself sitting downstairs by the door to the garage with car keys in my hand. After years of imagining suicide as a way to fantasize my way out of the doom and gloom I was drowning in, this was the first time I took a physical step toward acting on the idea. Luckily, in realizing that, I seemed to scare myself straight.
I was already aware that the onset of treatment didn’t automatically stop depression instantaneously and that sometimes things can continue to get worse before they get better, so I used having car keys in my hand as the turning point from the worst to a blessed incremental improvement toward freedom from the beast.
Early in the talk therapy sessions, I learned that my suicidal fantasies needed to be banned. That was a habit that had been perfected starting when I was very young, and it took a while to break it. Eventually, when visions would pop into my head, they came across as comical to me and carried no weight. It got easier and easier to banish them as quickly as they came. In time, it just stopped happening.
Hoping to free myself from living on Prozac for the rest of my life, I asked my psychiatrist to let me stop taking it. She pushed back and convinced me to stay the course. I agreed to respect her wishes if she agreed to consider it a future possibility. The next time I asked, she agreed to wean me off under close supervision.
Compared to the mental health challenges depicted in the documentary, mine feel small, even though I know it’s illogical to measure one person’s experience against another. We are all seeking a resolution of our burdens in a way that works for us.
One way is to look directly into the eyes of whatever monster is looming and which you’ve been avoiding. It (in my case, depression) doesn’t have the power over you that you think it does. Marshaling the courage to look right at it cuts it down to size and can make it much more manageable to address, especially when you have trained professionals for support along the way.
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Long Trip
By the end of my third blissful day of isolation from any news, I was briefly thrown back into the repugnant reality of our election outcome by a video post someone shared with Cyndie. We watched it together. A man speaking directly to the camera, speaking to the majority who chose to elect a person who, in my opinion, is so unfit to lead this country that what just happened wouldn’t be believable as a plot in some fictional story.
The harsh reality of our situation –sane people, marginalized people, everyone in countries around the world who didn’t even have a vote– came rushing back to my consciousness in a flash.
I feel like I am living in the movie “The Sound of Music,” and a car of thugs from the new regime might be showing up any day to insist we fly their flag above our doorstep.
If I were to respond in the manner of my personal philosophy, I would conjure feelings of love for the people who have chosen the next President. I’m feeling rather hypocritical in my failure to achieve this for them as a group at the moment. Maybe on an individual basis, I could muster some meager successes. Love the person, not their intentions?
Stop the madness; I want to get off.
In an attempt to return to my happy place, my vacation from the daily news cycle, I recall camping trips where I was completely isolated. There would be no news if I were on an expedition to a remote place. I would be justified in a sole focus on watching my steps, guarding myself from the elements, eating for fuel, and absorbing the beauty and wonder of my surroundings.
I would like to get back to my odyssey of living free from depression on a small rectangle of forest and fields, caring for the land and a few rescued animals, and exploring ways to share love with family, friends, and strangers alike. I’m interested in returning to being able to sleep through the night.
I’m not confident I’ve amassed the necessary provisions. I’m not aware of having any trustworthy maps. I guess I haven’t really planned for this journey. It wasn’t my idea. I guess my expedition is more like being lost at sea.
Ah, but I’ve got my dignity. I’ve got my pride. I’ve got millions of like-minded people who know exactly how I’m feeling. I’m confident we can get through the challenges of the days ahead. But no one likes platitudes. We can’t phrase our way through this trip.
We need to feel our feelings and be honest with ourselves in our choices about what comes next. For my mental health, I intend to continue avoiding the site and sounds of one person in particular until such time I feel better able to cope.
I’m hoping the mountain I am about to climb will be for singing and not as an escape to a safer place.
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Felt Hot
Yesterday was day two in the 80s and combined with the drought we are experiencing, it felt rather unsatisfying around here. Admittedly, being unsatisfied with warmth in October isn’t something we usually express, but it’s because the warmth was actually annoyingly hot.
At least we enjoyed the benefit of having our windows open overnight, so the hoots of our forest owls were easy to hear.
If I was still tied to a day-job, I would have called in yesterday and claimed a mental health day. Instead, I just showed up for chores a few minutes late. Maybe it’s because it was a Monday, even though Mondays are no longer the dreaded burden like they were for 40-some years of my gainful employment.
Of course, for Sunday sports fans, football game losses and Championship WNBA game 5 losses can easily cast a pall of gloom that carries over into Mondays. That is something that doesn’t affect dogs, horses, or spouses who can take or leave team athletic competitions with zero residual impact.
“Honey, our unbeaten streak is over!”
“Oh? Can you unload the dishwasher for me?”
Asher just wanted to go outside and run after his favorite yard ball with a rope through the middle of it. That is a game in which he requires a person to act like they want possession of the ball more than he does.
Yesterday, I would have preferred to unload a dishwasher.
Eventually, despite the heat, I managed to drag myself down by the road to do battle in some of our thickest undergrowth to eradicate more buckthorn shoots that had sprouted from stumps I had cut the year before. I coerced Cyndie into coming along to help point out locations because when I get in the middle of things, I tend to overlook opportunities that are often right behind me or practically underfoot.
After lunch, I made my way down along the fence line on the far side of the hay field with the pole chainsaw trimmer to clear out low-hanging box elder tree branches that were beginning to droop too close to the top wire. My desire to have those branches cut down has increased every day that I’ve walked Asher along that pathway for the last few months.
It feels so great to have them finally dispatched that I find I no longer care about what happened in Sunday’s sports competitions.
Although, carrying the heavy pole saw all the way back from the far side of the field in the high heat kept me from feeling too much in the way of jubilance.
The first thought I had when I eventually returned to the house was that it was too hot to be wearing socks. I’m hoping the local meteorologist’s claim that yesterday would be the last time we reach 80 this year proves accurate.
I am very ready for some weather that deserves warm socks.
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Modest Wealth
I saw a headline referring to MN Gov. Tim Walz as having “modest wealth” and it struck me as a good description for the luxury Cyndie and I enjoy of having enough retirement income to cover our very comfortable lifestyle. I would also apply the modest wealth phrase to my physical and mental health. Staying just healthy enough to function effectively, but short of excessive riches in either realm.
What average person doesn’t feel some covetousness for the physique of Olympic swimmers, divers, or gymnasts’ bodies? I’m probably more active than the average 65-year-old but still maintain more of a “dad-bod” middle than the sculpted exposed torsos we get repeated views of every 4 years of the summer games.
Mentally, I’m happy to have learned the value of hearing the tone of my self-talk and quickly altering the direction when it slants toward the dysfunction of depressive thinking, but the fact I need to repeatedly practice the skill reveals a shortage of infinite mental health wealth, as if there were such a thing.
I like the concept of modesty when it comes to wealth, wherever it is measured. Today, I feel extremely rich in entertainment value because I get to watch the US Women’s Gold Medal Olympic Football match. It wouldn’t surprise me if such a simple joy were overlooked by others for its wealth.
It’s all relative, but the measurement of “modest” is one that I like as an offset to any embarrassment of riches.
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Self Soothing
There are days when Cyndie and I put our energy toward helping our dog, Asher, learn to calm down on his own. Yesterday felt like a day I needed to practice a good dose of my own self-soothing. Between the US Supreme Court rulings and news of current early-season hurricanes, I put myself through unnecessary trauma by watching the US Men’s National Soccer Team’s futility in their crucial elimination loss to Uruguay in the COPA America tournament.
These are not the kind of warm and fuzzy inspirations that one prefers to be basking in while on a vacation at the lake.
If I wasn’t trying to eat healthy as a general rule, I’d binge on a too-large serving of our favorite ice cream from West’s Dairy in town to assuage my angst.
Has there been any encouraging news related to the SCOTUS in the recent past? From ethics disasters to blatantly political rulings that defy legal logic, it’s as if they are in a contest to see how much faith in the institution from average citizens they can destroy.
I’m not sure how much more news from the nine Supreme Court Justices I can take and still maintain my happy lookout on life.
I’d like to meditate on the beauty of a golden sunset but then I start thinking about Hurricane Beryl being the earliest category 5 Atlantic hurricane on record and my happy place gets blown away.
Breathe, John. You don’t need any ice cream.
The wind screaming across our lake yesterday didn’t help much in providing a calm and soothing atmosphere. Still, Cyndie and I got out for a walk around the properties in our association which soothed my nerves some after having watched Portugal eke out a victory over Slovenia on penalties after finishing extra time tied 0-0 in Euro 2024.
My exercises in self-soothing will get a fresh workout this morning after I watch the 4th Stage of the Tour de France which is already climbing mountains in the Alps. Oh boy.
Oooooommmmm.
For the record, I much prefer the stress of spectator sports over that of politics or climate catastrophes.
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Everyday Thinking
Knowing better doesn’t always prevent me from suffering moments of feeling overwhelmed by the mixture of world events I can’t control and my agendas and responsibilities I can control that need attention. I know that if I just stop thinking about the combination of issues and “to-do” list items I could settle my mind with a deep breath and a pleasant thought, but that does nothing toward making progress on issues I need to address.
Not a day goes by free of reports about the narcissistic grifter whose name I resist typing or saying. Do you know how many days have passed since the Republican party adopted him as their shining light? It is very hard to endure while striving to maintain a healthy outlook about the sanctity of truth and justice in the world over such a long duration of daily pounding.
Is it any wonder why I enjoy losing myself in the athletic competitions of spectator sports?
One basic method of dealing with the unrelenting growth of my personal “to-do” list when it starts to weigh on me oppressively is to simply take action on things that just need ‘a trigger pulled’ so to speak. Get them off the list. Just do it.
I’ve asked for quotes from local landscape companies to upgrade the settled soil around the foundation of our house. Out of 4 companies contacted, I received 2 proposals. There were a lot of differences between the two. I left them hanging for a couple of weeks because I couldn’t decide how I wanted to proceed. I told the outfit that recently phoned looking for a decision that I would let them know this week.
Yesterday, I called and turned both companies down. Think of the money we’ll save! A much more rudimentary version of the upgrade might still happen, but I will be providing all the labor and materials.
Cyndie and I made it to our polling station before noon and voted in our local spring election. Knocked those decisions off my list.
I logged into my Medicare account and finally filled out an application for one of the gazillion options lobbying for my attention. Wish that would curtail the inundation of spam texts, emails, and unhelpful snail mail coming my way. There are an amazing number of medical insurance corporations aware of the fact my birth happened almost 65 years ago.
When I notice there are pending decisions beginning to pile up in my already thoroughly cluttered mind, one fix that helps me is to take immediate action on things that I have been putting off. When I know deep down that additional research won’t add anything substantive to a decision I’m already leaning toward, taking action to instantly alleviate the pressure of that task is good therapy.
Then I can sit down to watch the next great moment in sports with a much freer sensibility.
“Oh! They are going to pull the goalie!?”
What were they thinking?
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Some Songs
Yesterday afternoon, a song popped up on my random shuffled library playback and triggered a visceral response that none of the songs ahead of it did. My reaction wasn’t immediate beyond appreciating that I hadn’t listened to it for quite some time. Then I noticed it was building to an ending that has always been one I adore. The last two minutes of the 4-minute and 52-second song grabbed me.
I spontaneously told Cyndie, “Play this at the closing of my funeral.”
Now, I’m not currently in the thought process of planning for my funeral, so I don’t know where that idea came from. I also don’t know what it was in that moment that triggered my brain and body to react to the end of the song in the way I did.
Some songs just do that for us. Last night we coincidentally watched the 2018 version of “A Star Is Born” with Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga in which there is a scene that talks about the 12 notes between octaves…
…music is essentially 12 notes between any octave. Twelve notes and the octave repeats. It’s the same story told over and over forever. All any artist can offer the world is how they see those 12 notes. That’s it.
Sam Elliott’s character, Bobby, talking to Ally (Lady Gaga)
There is an article posted (Dec. 2022) on Psychology Today, “The Amazing Power of Music in Our Lives; Seven great reasons to incorporate music into your daily routine.” Music is good for our health.
I don’t know why some songs stand out more than others for us or why a particular moment I hear a song can have such a distinct impact.
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Yesterday, “Opposites” on Eric Clapton’s 1975 album, “There’s One in Every Crowd,” resonated deeply for me.
Some songs just do that.
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Our Realities
There are as many similarities between us all as there are differences. I don’t ever want to forget those differences when I write about my experiences. In the time since I retired from a day-job, my world has shrunk significantly to the 20 acres around our home for weeks at a time. A month can pass without a reason to drive my car.
That isolates me from lives that are dealing with issues that involve complications that rarely enter my mind. I don’t worry about where I am going to sleep at night. I don’t need to communicate with attorneys to solve spurious accusations. I don’t hear about problem bosses or annoying coworkers. I’ve yet to need to make doctor appointments for consultations about scary test results. I no longer struggle to get out of bed in the morning due to depression.
When I wax poetic about our experiences in the great outdoors with pets and nature at Wintervale, imploring others to seek health and cultivate love in their lives, I mean no disrespect to anyone who finds themselves struggling to cope with heavy demands consuming their precious energy.
We all have our own realities. I hope that on some level, the stories I post provide a brief escape to another place and a peek into one person’s life who strives for better health with a goal of inverting pyramids of dysfunction.
We watched the Grammy Awards Show last night and I got a heavy dose of reality about songs and performers whom I know nothing about. Those are worlds that are a mystery to me.
At the bottom of all things in our lives lies our commonality. In fact, one thing we all have in common is that we are all different from each other.
I recently found a quote about love from an interesting man named Wim Hof, a Dutch extreme athlete and motivational speaker:
Love is compiled by happiness, strength, and health.
If you radiate good energy because you are healthy, happy, and strong, that’s love.
Today, I am sending love to all who are experiencing stress that I know nothing about.
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Feeling Thankful
I’m particularly thankful on this final day of the US Thanksgiving holiday weekend. The good fortunes bestowed upon us by the universe, chance, choices, and a smattering of genuine efforts are beyond measure. As such, engaging in the exercise of naming a few that come to mind provides valuable perspective for a immeasurable phenomenon.
When I realized the automatic waterer for the horses in the paddocks was getting warmer than a hot tub, I looked up the temp control details online. Upon opening the access panel of the waterer, I found there was no thermocouple to adjust. After I got over the shock and traced wires several times, suddenly my fingers landed on the leads to the unit that was just dangling in air. I don’t know what caused it to slide out but I’m extremely thankful the fix was so easy and the water is now a reasonable temperature that won’t sting the horses’ lips.
- The surgical incisions on Cyndie’s ankle have a ways to go before the skin has healed fully. Still, already she is experiencing joyful relief over the absence of the screws and plates that once held the shattered bones together. They eventually became a problem of their own. I’m really thankful for the good work of the surgeon and staff of the hospital and Tria Orthopedic for their excellent treatment of Cyndie’s injury.
- This is an ongoing appreciation but lately, I’m feeling particularly aware of the mental benefits of successfully treating the depression that dominated much of my life from childhood through roughly mid-life. I am so very thankful for the doctors and therapists who guided and educated me, some of whom I can’t even recall names or faces. I guess I wasn’t focused on the guides but on the destination.
- Lastly, for this exercise, I want to tell you how thankful I am that you are reading the odd chronicles I decide to post here every day on Relative Something. To the worldwide audience of WordPress bloggers who happen upon random posts and end up returning for more and the friends and family who understand I don’t use other social media and keep in touch by reading me here. Even if I don’t know you are following along, if you are reading these words right now it means something to me and I am thankful internet stranger(s).
Maybe by exercising my thankfulness muscles in this way, I will continue to gain prowess in my journey toward optimum health. Mental “planks” as compared to the back-saving core exercise I continue to employ. Thankfully, those seem to be helping me to avoid prolonged repeated episodes of debilitating pain.
Happy last day of this (U.S.) holiday weekend!
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Relative Something 