Posts Tagged ‘mental health’
Some Days
Some days, you eat the bear, some days, the bear eats you. I am growing weary of the wetness that has ground our projects to a halt, and have noticed a sense of dread settling in. That bugs me, that sense of dread, because it is so familiar that it carries with it a feeling of being “right,” even though, now I know better. I don’t like how comfortable I am with that feeling of doom and gloom. That is where I spent a good part of my life, so it is not a surprise that my simply deciding to think and act differently, hasn’t immediately erased the years of memory.
There has been some added stress at the day-job, which is pressuring me to the extreme, and looks like it may continue for an unknown duration. The ‘not knowing’ feeds into my stress, partly because it is putting other plans at risk. I was supposed to leave for a week of biking this coming Friday. I have no idea how that is going to work.
Yesterday, after having driven to the city to work on a Saturday, I got home and found Cyndie had accomplished a lot of mowing. That eases my mind a bit. She wasn’t able to get to it all, but at least the place doesn’t look entirely neglected. We can’t make it look as good as we’d like because there are so many obstacles hindering the job. She has to navigate areas of standing water, huge divots from heavy equipment driven on the property, lumber piles, dirt piles, ditches, posts and ropes holding trees up, and the little flags marking where utilities are buried. We’ve lived with those dang flags for almost as long as we’ve been here, back in October. That’s how long our projects have been underway.
This long duration of things being in disarray is one of the stresses that drives me batty. I just want to turn the corner where we can start putting the things we have made a mess of, back in order again.
I found Cyndie working on the back hill when I pulled up to the house. She was working on the dirt scar left by the geothermal boring project. I changed clothes and headed out to help. It struck me that this was just one of a variety of things we have in mind to work on. Last weekend, it was the labyrinth that was on her mind. We didn’t make great progress on that, and the weather was lousy, so we switched to the landscape pond. Now, instead of returning to the labyrinth, we are on the back hill. We just chip away on whatever wins our attention at any given moment.
It all needs to be done, but my concrete-sequential mindset drives me to want to work in order. Cyndie’s tendency toward random, like the way she mows the lawn, allows her to be comfortable working on anything at any time. It is a good exercise for me to just go along with her.
The work on the dirt of the back hill turned out to be grueling. It is far from dry, and we were getting sprinkled on as we worked, eventually turning into a steady rain. The majority of what has been exposed is clay. The first goal was to just break up and rake out the ruts of the tire tracks left by their equipment. Then she wants to plant grass again. I think we are going to want to bring in some black dirt. The clay was just brutal, and stuck to our tools, turning them into useless heavy clubs every few minutes.
I gave up, when it turned from sprinkles to rain, but Cyndie kept at it, and finished the last section before coming in to wash off the mud and get dry.
What a long way we have come from the extreme drought conditions that prevailed when we arrived here last fall.
Sunday Morning
It’s Sunday morning, and the precipitation has yet to start. A glance at the radar reveals it is not far off. We are experiencing a fair amount of wind, and the squirrels and birds seem to be putting in extra effort to consume every morsel in and around the feeders.
Cardinal perched in shelter during our last snowfall
On my agenda is to lounge in the comfort of our warm home, and watch nature do its thing.
A quiet day.
a quiet day
to contemplate
take stock
count blessings
restore
revitalize
stretch and recoil
ponder
what is
what can be
visualize
possibilities
allow them
set them free
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Feel free to join me, wherever this day has you being. Find your optimal health!
Lost Intimacy
I have been known to wonder what it would be like if I lost my wife to some accident or illness. It seems like a morbid thought, but less macabre and not so uncommon, you might hear the phrase, “What would you do without her?”
Well, with Cyndie living in Boston, I am getting a chance to find out.
Our intent was to use FaceTime to keep in contact across the miles of distance. We’ve succeeded a couple of times, leaving the connection open while we each went about our separate business, creating a feeling of being together. It worked pretty well for that. Unfortunately, Cyndie’s schedule isn’t providing very many opportunities for this kind of connecting. More often than not, we have been spending our days out of contact. I am left to fend for myself.
It takes a toll. No doubt about it, when days go by and you don’t talk with the person who would otherwise be your most intimate relationship, there is a loss of intimacy. I find myself inclined to put up a protective barrier in defense. After a while, I don’t want to talk with her. It is so counter-productive to the ultimate goal that it seems ludicrous, but that is the natural reaction that occurs to me.
This is a classic example of depressive thinking. It is dysfunctional, but the unhealthy mind presents it as a logical, helpful defense.
If I was feeling a lack of intimacy in my childhood, and it felt natural to create a protective barrier in defense, it would explain how I now feel so comfortable with this reaction. I’ve had years of practice. It feels right, not talking to the person closest to me. My father taught me well. He was a master at shunning my mom.
It is a goal of mine to invert the pyramid of dysfunction that passes from generation to generation. I want to be healthier than my father, and I am hoping to imprint better health on my children to equip them to become healthier than me.
I need to go call Cyndie.
Why Suicide
I have no idea why, at a very young age, I started fantasizing about taking my own life. I think my family labeled me as moody. All I know is that when I got upset, for whatever reason, I would then feel stuck with the angst, burdened with a lack of skill or knowledge about how to return to normal function.
I have a recollection of becoming upset over something as a 10-year-old, when my family was gathered to witness the first man stepping on the moon in July of 1969. I left in a huff to sulk, and couldn’t get myself to return, even for such a momentous occasion, and despite my family’s admonitions to come back and watch history in the making.
For some reason, I discovered early on that one of the things which offered consolation to my troubled mind was, imagining myself being dead. At the time, it wasn’t a conscious choice to have such thoughts in order to feel better, it was more like an involuntary reflex. It just came natural to me to fantasize my demise, and then eventually, I discovered that such thoughts provided comfort. Of course, it was a dysfunctional comfort, but I had no understanding of that at the time.
It is not uncommon for depressed people to seek solace in alcohol. I assume it provides relief similar to what fantasizing did for me; an escape. I would describe myself as becoming something of a ‘fantasylic.’ I functioned for years with a chronic low-level depression that is labeled, “dysthymia,” relying on fantasizing as my drug of choice. I could project an outward appearance of reasonable health, but inside my head, I was honing a dangerous art. I refined this practice from my childhood into my adult life, and in its dysfunctional way, it served me well.
Then I became a father. With that milestone, my suicidal fantasies began to fail me. They no longer provided comfort. In fact, they increased my despair, as I contemplated the potential impact on my kids. It is silly, in hind sight, that the impact on others never seemed to bother me that way. (Depression is a very self-centered affliction.)
I like to think that my children saved my life. It wasn’t easy, and it got worse before it got better, but that change led to my eventual diagnosis and treatment.
When my fantasizing no longer worked for me, my dysthymia progressed to clinical depression. My fantasies morphed to become exercises of actually plotting my suicide.
But for the grace of god, go I.
After years of neglecting to recognize my difficulties as being depression, I finally sought professional help. I learned very quickly about the dysfunction of my fantasies. Imagining my death is now taboo. As a recovering ‘fantasylic,’ I need to work my program with a purpose. The dysfunctional thoughts can come just as easily now as they did the very first time as a kid. It is a reflex reaction, and it became a very ingrained reaction that feels comfortable in its familiarity.
Through practice, it gets ever easier to instantly recognize and dispatch the depressive mental reflex. Over time, the incidence of needing to do so, declines.
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Thinking about suicide is a totally wrong solution for any level of despair.
Sensitive Subject
I have recently been impacted by reading the words of an acquaintance who wrote about suicidal visualizations. It serves as a reminder that I have experience which, difficult though it may be, can potentially be put to good use. I found a phone number and made contact to offer support.
Doing so involves a certain amount of revisiting a place and time when my thinking was dysfunctional. It is a place I spend a fair amount of energy staying away from. I believe there is a delicate balance of staying in touch with my experience in order to serve others who may face similar afflictions, and maintaining a healthy distance from the period when my mental state was in a dangerous, self-defeating loop.
If I don’t make an intentional effort to put my experience to use for some good, I will be inclined to leave it behind me. It is not something that feels like it makes for inviting reading, so I don’t gravitate toward the topic for posts here. But when the subject comes up, I recognize in myself, a strong motivation to offer my perspective.
I have done some writing this past week on the subject, in support of this friend, and in so doing, have discovered the depth of passion I feel toward the subject. I have a strong belief in the ability to overcome depression in our own minds. Our thoughts can, and do influence the chemicals in our bodies.
Just like the way my negative thoughts fed a pattern of a self-defeating loop, my positive thinking feeds an increasingly healthy response in my physiology.
The subject of depression can be a sensitive one, but my experience is something that may prove helpful to others, and it is something that I feel some responsibility to be able to communicate in a worthwhile way. I’m not sure what that way is right now, but I hope I am present in that moment when it comes and able to rise to the occasion.
Mental Divot
With little in the way of fanfare, yesterday marked my return to the game of soccer. I have not been cleared to play on the wood floor at the health club yet, but my physical therapist told me to give it a test outdoors on the grass. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was whining about my exercise choice being reduced to walking? What a difference a day can make.
The game went pretty well. I enjoyed more success than I expected. The back felt fine throughout. More importantly, the release of endorphins and the moral support of teammates does wonders for my psyche. Ian has it so right, with his comments here Saturday, regarding negative framing. I have spent more years cultivating a depressed mental foundation than years seeking optimal health. It can be a challenge for me.
If you know about bearings and raceways, there is a flaw when the raceway gets ‘scored’. The raceway is supposed to be completely smooth, but with wear, or as a result of being over-tightened and maybe suffering a dramatic impact, an indent can form. Instead of the bearing freely rolling in the raceway, there will be a divot that the ball bearing will naturally settle into.
I have a well-honed divot in my mental state where my whole being –mind, body, and soul– comfortably settles if left unchecked. All the knowledge I have gained about myself in the years since identifying my depression has yet to completely remove that ‘divot’. I practice methods of keeping myself moving and am able to recognize the signs and symptoms when I am falling back into that low spot. My thoughts and words are powerful tools to direct my outcome. Having a regular dose of exercise-induced endorphins and the added bonus of positive interactions with other people, doesn’t hurt my cause, either.
It is all part of the ongoing maintenance package that is my reality. In all honesty, even writing here serves as one of the exercises I employ. When I am finding it difficult to write and create, it offers a clue for me to assess my status. When I write about my experience with depression, it helps me to process it. If, perchance, it happens to help inform and inspire others, that is a wonderful added bonus.
Thanks for reading.
Fun People
Let’s hear it for fun friends. Think about it. People who you consider fun, you probably also think of as being funny. We all benefit from laughter.
This morning, on the weekly television program, CBS Sunday Morning, there was a feature segment on comedian/actor Chris Rock. As it ended, I was left with the feeling that I wanted to have Chris Rock as my friend. That isn’t likely to happen.
I already have many friends that are fun. In an instant, I became aware of how my regular daily activity, especially when my wife is out-of-town, plays out lacking in the people I appreciate for their characteristic of being fun. People who radiate fun energy, cultivate fun attitudes, and display an artistry for being funny.
I have long known that my sports activities provide much more than physical exercise for me. I play sports with fun people. Beyond that small percentage of time every few days each week, I experience a lack of interaction with people who emit beams of the ‘fun’ mojo.
How much of your day-to-day life is lacking in healthy doses of fun people? It is telling to every so often take measure of our relative environment. It provides a reference measurement to highlight our surroundings and bring awareness to the things that are impacting the water we swim in, the air we breathe, the views our eyes see, the words we hear.
I want to increase my daily exposure to fun people. I wonder, do you think Chris Rock would be interested in taking a job in my industry in Minnesota?
Mental Revelations
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Life, so they say, is but a game and they let it slip away. (lyrics by James Seals)
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Are we letting February slip away? It’s not like we can stop it. In two days, it will be March. The game of life is marching on whether we think it is us who are doing the playing, or are the ones being played. If you don’t feel you have the ability to make choices about your own life, you just may feel you are being played.
We always have the option of choosing to alter our thinking. Regardless how sure we are about our take on the world, there remains mystery and complexity that deserves acknowledgment. Imagine if technology were able to produce a mirror that would reveal our suppressed anger and sorrow in its reflection. It could be particularly valuable to those who proclaim themselves as having nothing to gain from professional therapy.
Could we make healthier decisions if we became better aware of underlying issues that frame our perspective? Maybe.
I am inclined to believe that our mental health is not well served by our failure to recognize what it is that has hurt or angered us. It would be a shame to let life slip away without taking a chance of bettering our health by simply altering our thinking.
Not Without Effort
Why does it take effort to see the positive in our world while the negative shows up uninvited? Maybe if I practiced being still and in the moment long enough to see, I would discover that there is no imbalance of negative over positive. In my experience of navigating the world without practicing such meditation, the majority of information that paints my backdrop is less than happy. It takes conscious mental exercise to re-focus the landscape around me to reflect all the positive that is ever-present, regardless appearances otherwise.
I’m afraid there is a significant amount of learned behavior that is responsible for my tendency to find optimism an effort to accomplish. I have many years of practicing fatalistic pessimism to overcome.
But hope springs eternal! Local football teams have signed new coaches. The days are getting longer. The dates for my annual June bicycle trip have been announced. We still have our house. There is food on our shelves. Gas in the car. Heat in our home. Clothes on my back. Family is healthy and free of strife. Love is abundant. We know peace that passes understanding.
Yet it is still an exercise to choose to know all that, over the dismay which presents itself without effort. I bask in the grace that allows me the luxury of doing so. I choose to focus on the unending love that inspires the good we enjoy throughout the entire world. It is always well within our grasp.
We are empowered with the ability to make that conscious choice.
Into the Fire
Why does familiarity breed contempt? The more familiar I get with that phrase, the more I despise it.
In my grand acceptance of the belief that opposite realities coexist in all things, it makes total sense that familiarity would also bring respect and affection. For some reason, the classic winter holiday songs I adore –really, the only ones I ever want to hear– are the ones that are familiar to me from repeated hearings throughout my childhood. Not just the songs, though, but particularly the Bing Crosby, or Nat King Cole voices singing the songs I heard. They became my only accepted versions. It can be downright painful to listen to subsequent variations.
Another thing that reflects my belief in coexisting opposite realities is how pain can be both bad and good. What hurts us, can help us. One reality of that is emotional pain. Avoid it all you want, but that will never bring resolution. It tags along with you everywhere you go, like a trailing piece of toilet paper stuck on the heel of your shoe. But if you face such issues head on, speak about and deal with them, such problems can dissolve from your emotional carry-on, like magic.
Why haven’t I been able to get myself to act on that idea of stepping toward the pain? Probably, common sense. If it hurts, stop doing it. I haven’t learned how to get myself to step all the way through. I take that first step, meet the pain, and react defensively, often saying something that makes things worse instead of better. I find myself more hurt, and nothing’s fixed. I tell myself to never do that again. Might as well go get that toilet paper and intentionally stick it to my heel.
I was blessed recently by the experience of a lucid dream that directly reflects my idea of facing the pain and giving in to it, all the way. In my dream, suddenly there was fire. It was as if I was hovering above it. The fire didn’t appear to me as the individual pointy flames, but more as all-encompassing balls of fire, very orange. The area that was burning was very green. In the classic way that dreams can present, the image that I am left with is one of large flowery heads of broccoli. Maybe I can unpack that part later. There was a brief moment of anxiety over the threat of all that fire. Then my mind made the very quick acknowledgment that I was in a dream. This is the very precious moment in a lucid dream where I am able to sense that I am dreaming, without causing myself to wake from the dream. Instead of reacting in fear to the flames, and struggling to devise an escape, I made an immediate decision to fully give in to the flames. If they were going to burn me, then so be it. The word “immolate” suddenly filled my awareness, whether from my subconscious, as a sort of direction of my actions in the dream, or from my more lucid mind reacting to the decision, I don’t know. I held my arms out wide and allowed my dream-self to fall into the fire.
It is a brilliant moment in a lucid dream, that instant of having faced up to the threat. I’m guessing it is so dramatic that it causes me to exceed the barrier that kept me dreaming. I usually wake up at this point. But the experience is not lost, and I am very aware of the sensation that I fell into those flames and did not get burned.
It must be time for me to unload some of my baggage.
Relative Something 