You know, I wasn't that good at my job... you know, that one where I worked with those boys in that foster home. Things were not always done on time, not always done right, not always done as efficiently and effectively as possible. I did not always speak when I should have, and sometimes I spoke when I oughtn't. I didn't know everything about everything. Sometimes I was impatient. Sometimes I slipped, and sometimes I feel flat on my face. I was not infallible. I did, however, win trust. It was trust that I had to go to war and fight for, but it was, more often than not, won. It means something to be the first person to hear about something that would normally not be spoken aloud.
The thing that I did well was to create a safe space. I prayed, and then I listened really hard. I spoke truth when I felt it moving in my soul, sometimes straight into angry, pained faces... sometimes into tears... sometimes into masks fooling all the world but me. I laid a hand on a shoulder, and when that shoulder startled, I laid another hand. I expected honesty. I gave opportunities to be honest. My purse was left in plain sight, unlocked and ready to be picked up at any moment. I walked unafraid into spaces where fists were flying and tempers were hot. I was not afraid. I celebrated successes and spoke openly about failures. I demanded to see all of the cards. I looked into faces with love and never with fear.
I really feel that we are programming our youth, especially our young men, to destroy themselves and others. When we treat them with suspicion, expecting for them to be suspicious or to harm us in some way, more often than not we find our expectations met. I watched the stares of others who couldn't see past their big clothes, hard faces, and tryna-be-a-big-man struts. I watched people fumble and bumble what could have been productive encounters in which those kids could have learned more self-respect by feeling respect coming from others. I watched teachers assume that they couldn't read, couldn't pay attention, couldn't learn. I have seen reaction after reaction where the situation called for response. I have seen deep, seething hurt mistaken for anger and met with anger. If you expect them to steal, they will likely take your stuff.
If you expect greatness, it shows up more often than not. It can take a long time, and there are inevitable disappointments, but I have seen success that still takes my breath away. I have seen young men learn to speak truth in situations in which it was extra topping on the cake. I have seen God touch people in ways I didn't even know were possible.
People who have been mistreated and disregarded have not yet learned how to not make others feel that way. it is important to remember that fear looks a lot like aggression. Sometimes you just have to take one for the team, and sometimes you have to let the storm die down before you address the need for growth, but people are not born knowing how to feel safe and let down the guard. It is a skill we are taught when our mothers and fathers hold us close, smell the tops of our heads, and kiss our fingers. When not everyone gets enough of that, not everyone knows in their bones what it is to be human... to share air and space... to feel trust and give that trust in return... to feel safe and make others feel that way... to befriend and not compete... to build up and not tear down. These are skills. It is my belief that they can be taught through loud, strong, tough, persistent love. They can be taught by saying,"Yeah, you screwed that one up. I'm still here though. I can see your insides, and they are good. I expect greatness from you. I'm not kidding, I'm not scared, and I'm not stupid. Greatness."
Honestly, it isn't the active stuff we do that makes people feel supported. It's the passive stuff. It's listening while they speak. It's looking them in the eye. It's letting them simply sit in your presence without having to try so hard. You know how to non-verbally communicate welcome, ease, and approval. Why not try that next time one of them walks in? Don't react to their stares. Respond. They only look that way because they have had to defend themselves for as long as they could make sounds. Shake it up. Smile. Joke. Relax. You might be surprised, and you never know how deep that stuff goes or how long that impact lasts.
I had no idea what kind of love for God they would ignite in my heart. I had no idea what trusting them would teach me. I walked in the presence of some power. They just hadn't quite figured out their nature yet, but you could see it if you looked with His eyes...
So, kiddo, don't thank me. I don't want your praise. I want to dance at your wedding. I want to hold your children. I want to see you conquer yourself and fight for others. You are miraculous, I want the world to witness your greatness.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Dear Iran
I'm having a hard time not hating you.
Seriously, it's getting really difficult. It would be easier if I could focus on your contributions to the arts and civilization, your food, your humor, etc. It's not easy, though. It's hard.
It's hard because the human rights violations in which you seem to be committed to so fragrantly committing with such self-righteousness make me nauseous. Time and time and time and time again, you go after the Baha'is. You do this for no reason discernible to the whole rest of the world. They're persecuted not because they are rapists, thieves, drug lords, or murderers. Some are in jail because they went into the Iranian hood and set up groups for educating and empowering children. They set up tutoring centers and fed hungry people. They did this in collaboration with devoted members of your own faith, Islam, and with the full blessing and understanding of the local government and without any mention whatsoever of their own religion. You are stoning your women to keep them in "their place." You are robbing your most dedicated, educated, and motivated servants of their freedom by actually keeping them in boxes. Literally, in boxes. Enlightenment, it seems, you have infinite time and resources to fight.
What gives you the right? What the hell are you fighting so hard to preserve? You have removed all access to progress and education from the multitude. You have raised entire generations of men who see it as their right use and abuse their wives and children, continuing a cycle by which Iranian families will likely take decades to recover. You have obliterated any remaining shard of respect any of us may have harbored for our culture of origin.
I listened the other day to the story of a man who had not seen his sister in 38 years. In the space of this 38 years, his sister's husband had been thrown into jail, tortured, and killed. There were two important pieces of this story for which I will never forgive you. This woman's son was hit in the head as he ran to speak with his father during one of their 30-minute weekly visits. I do not tolerate this kind of behavior towards children. Additionally, the man was executed on your orders, and you refused to speak with his wife respectfully when she came to thank you for allowing her husband release from the pain of this world. There is no excuse for that kind of behavior, and there is no excuse for keeping siblings apart for 38 years.
I also will never forgive you for my friend who had to be married in a foreign land surrounded by the family she was forced to create because you made it impossible for her to live at home. When the wedding came, you kept her father from attending. This is also inexcusable and unacceptable.
I will also never forgive you for splintering half of my family and scattering it around the globe. I will never forgive you for the pain which this continues to cause my mother, not even meeting the vast majority of her family and having no access to the land of her forefathers. I will never forgive you for bulldozing my great-grandmother's grave, as you have so casually destroyed other Baha'i cemeteries.
I am conscious that I must avoid insulting any soul, yet it also bears mention that your president may need more information before he goes to speak with other people.
I am filled with an anger which causes my soul to scream in rage. I am called by my religion to love, tolerance, and an understanding that the trials and tribulations of this world are what cause our souls to grow. Baha'u'llah says, "My calamity is My providence, outwardly it is fire and vengeance, but inwardly it is light and mercy. Hasten thereunto that thou mayest become an eternal light and an immortal spirit. This is My command unto thee, do thou observe it." I will spend the rest of my life trying to be obedient to this injunction... to understand that pain is weakness leaving the soul... to wrap my mind and heart around the idea that we are all dwelling in the palm of God's hand and that, regardless of present circumstances, He forgets no one, leaves no prayer unanswered...
Iran, Baha'u'llah promised that you have a very high destiny. Right now, though... I don't even know what to say. Only that hatred and ignorance and willful disobedience to the eternal commandments of the All-Merciful are not without their consequences, and hate and conscious ignorance of this sort are a cancer. You have to fight cancer, or one day you fall down and disintegrate. I will try to fight the desire to see you fall hard, but I won't lie. It's there.
Seriously, it's getting really difficult. It would be easier if I could focus on your contributions to the arts and civilization, your food, your humor, etc. It's not easy, though. It's hard.
It's hard because the human rights violations in which you seem to be committed to so fragrantly committing with such self-righteousness make me nauseous. Time and time and time and time again, you go after the Baha'is. You do this for no reason discernible to the whole rest of the world. They're persecuted not because they are rapists, thieves, drug lords, or murderers. Some are in jail because they went into the Iranian hood and set up groups for educating and empowering children. They set up tutoring centers and fed hungry people. They did this in collaboration with devoted members of your own faith, Islam, and with the full blessing and understanding of the local government and without any mention whatsoever of their own religion. You are stoning your women to keep them in "their place." You are robbing your most dedicated, educated, and motivated servants of their freedom by actually keeping them in boxes. Literally, in boxes. Enlightenment, it seems, you have infinite time and resources to fight.
What gives you the right? What the hell are you fighting so hard to preserve? You have removed all access to progress and education from the multitude. You have raised entire generations of men who see it as their right use and abuse their wives and children, continuing a cycle by which Iranian families will likely take decades to recover. You have obliterated any remaining shard of respect any of us may have harbored for our culture of origin.
I listened the other day to the story of a man who had not seen his sister in 38 years. In the space of this 38 years, his sister's husband had been thrown into jail, tortured, and killed. There were two important pieces of this story for which I will never forgive you. This woman's son was hit in the head as he ran to speak with his father during one of their 30-minute weekly visits. I do not tolerate this kind of behavior towards children. Additionally, the man was executed on your orders, and you refused to speak with his wife respectfully when she came to thank you for allowing her husband release from the pain of this world. There is no excuse for that kind of behavior, and there is no excuse for keeping siblings apart for 38 years.
I also will never forgive you for my friend who had to be married in a foreign land surrounded by the family she was forced to create because you made it impossible for her to live at home. When the wedding came, you kept her father from attending. This is also inexcusable and unacceptable.
I will also never forgive you for splintering half of my family and scattering it around the globe. I will never forgive you for the pain which this continues to cause my mother, not even meeting the vast majority of her family and having no access to the land of her forefathers. I will never forgive you for bulldozing my great-grandmother's grave, as you have so casually destroyed other Baha'i cemeteries.
I am conscious that I must avoid insulting any soul, yet it also bears mention that your president may need more information before he goes to speak with other people.
I am filled with an anger which causes my soul to scream in rage. I am called by my religion to love, tolerance, and an understanding that the trials and tribulations of this world are what cause our souls to grow. Baha'u'llah says, "My calamity is My providence, outwardly it is fire and vengeance, but inwardly it is light and mercy. Hasten thereunto that thou mayest become an eternal light and an immortal spirit. This is My command unto thee, do thou observe it." I will spend the rest of my life trying to be obedient to this injunction... to understand that pain is weakness leaving the soul... to wrap my mind and heart around the idea that we are all dwelling in the palm of God's hand and that, regardless of present circumstances, He forgets no one, leaves no prayer unanswered...
Iran, Baha'u'llah promised that you have a very high destiny. Right now, though... I don't even know what to say. Only that hatred and ignorance and willful disobedience to the eternal commandments of the All-Merciful are not without their consequences, and hate and conscious ignorance of this sort are a cancer. You have to fight cancer, or one day you fall down and disintegrate. I will try to fight the desire to see you fall hard, but I won't lie. It's there.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
something I wrote a long time ago
Lord, i will give You this year of my life.
i will get up at 5:00am 5 days a week and drag my tired body and rebellious heart, kicking and screaming and whining, up Your mountain, through the dirt and the cats and the cold and the rain and the heat and the hamseen
the hamseen... i will breathe this dusty, polluted, foul-smelling air for a year, when i'm used to the fresh smell of the South Carolina morning by the pond with a tint of cow manure... i will drink more and more of this nasty water...
You will give me the glorious rose perfume of the Shrines... and those beautiful little white flowers that sit on the Threshold and beg me to prostrate my nose into them and breathe so deeply... until i cannot... hold... any ... more... until the perfume drives away the thoughts of any other thing that has ever filled my lungs... and my heart... and my soul... You will allow me to get lost in the warm light of the Shrine lamps, the soft, palpable flow that comes from hard, cold stone illuminated by Your light...
Lord, for You i will bite my tongue over... and over... and over again, until it hurts to be misunderstood and undervalued, because i know that the only value worth having is that which comes from forgetting myself and what i might "deserve" and moving and serving and working and striving until i ache... and it feels good...
You will give me people to hold me up, people to defend me against myself and encourage me... people to cry with me and feel this ache of wanting to give up, and the ache of knowing that the bruises will heal and we will be stronger to serve You better... people to test me and my reliance on You and forgetfulness of self, or lack thereof... people to enrich my mind with ideas i'd never conceived and places i've never been and experiences i've never dreamed of... people to love me when i don't love myself... through my mistakes, my inadequacies, my frustration, my joy...
i will give this year of should-haves, would-haves... i will do everything that i think i can... and many things that i think i can't... i will carry this ridiculous thing up those stairs... i will mop this floor that we could already eat on... i will pick up that ball of fluff, straighten that fringe, and walk back up those stairs to put the mats and the keys back where they belong...
You will put me to work on the best crew, with a schedule with no time to spare, with the strongest and most determined people so that i can become strong and determined to do... You know what... someday... i will do those pointless things for you... i'll put my cell phone on vibrate... i'll mop the spotless Council Chambre... i'll sweep the car parks... i'll hang from a rope on scaffolding, praying that You'll make it hold, while i swing into a column to get that last invisible line off the side...
You will let me see January 16th and the last week of May and the service areas on Your Arc and the Council Chambers and the offices and the terraces and the gardens and even the hairs of Your Blessed Head... i will look at the little things... that flower... that smile... that ray of light that falls just so through those windows so that my floor... Your floor... shines like the mirror on my wall... You will teach me that i can... You will give me the strength...
You will teach me that i am not responsible for how others treat me, but i am responsible for my behavior, my feelings, my actions... i will beg you to give me patience, give me love, give me strength, make me beautiful, make me smart, make me a better servant, make my hair behave, make my mind behave, purify my motives... You will give me everything i need... and even some of the stupid things...
i will thank You for a family that taught me about Your love, reliance on You, laundry, cooking stir fry, being teach-able, following instructions, communication, serving Your servants... You will further test these skills... over... and over... and over...
i will clean for 1 year of my life and pray that You will accept it... even through the grumbling... hear my soul, not my words...
You'll know what my limits are.. and You'll stretch them...and the stretching will make me give You the rest of my years...
(farewell message to the Bahá'í World Centre, June 2001 )
i will get up at 5:00am 5 days a week and drag my tired body and rebellious heart, kicking and screaming and whining, up Your mountain, through the dirt and the cats and the cold and the rain and the heat and the hamseen
the hamseen... i will breathe this dusty, polluted, foul-smelling air for a year, when i'm used to the fresh smell of the South Carolina morning by the pond with a tint of cow manure... i will drink more and more of this nasty water...
You will give me the glorious rose perfume of the Shrines... and those beautiful little white flowers that sit on the Threshold and beg me to prostrate my nose into them and breathe so deeply... until i cannot... hold... any ... more... until the perfume drives away the thoughts of any other thing that has ever filled my lungs... and my heart... and my soul... You will allow me to get lost in the warm light of the Shrine lamps, the soft, palpable flow that comes from hard, cold stone illuminated by Your light...
Lord, for You i will bite my tongue over... and over... and over again, until it hurts to be misunderstood and undervalued, because i know that the only value worth having is that which comes from forgetting myself and what i might "deserve" and moving and serving and working and striving until i ache... and it feels good...
You will give me people to hold me up, people to defend me against myself and encourage me... people to cry with me and feel this ache of wanting to give up, and the ache of knowing that the bruises will heal and we will be stronger to serve You better... people to test me and my reliance on You and forgetfulness of self, or lack thereof... people to enrich my mind with ideas i'd never conceived and places i've never been and experiences i've never dreamed of... people to love me when i don't love myself... through my mistakes, my inadequacies, my frustration, my joy...
i will give this year of should-haves, would-haves... i will do everything that i think i can... and many things that i think i can't... i will carry this ridiculous thing up those stairs... i will mop this floor that we could already eat on... i will pick up that ball of fluff, straighten that fringe, and walk back up those stairs to put the mats and the keys back where they belong...
You will put me to work on the best crew, with a schedule with no time to spare, with the strongest and most determined people so that i can become strong and determined to do... You know what... someday... i will do those pointless things for you... i'll put my cell phone on vibrate... i'll mop the spotless Council Chambre... i'll sweep the car parks... i'll hang from a rope on scaffolding, praying that You'll make it hold, while i swing into a column to get that last invisible line off the side...
You will let me see January 16th and the last week of May and the service areas on Your Arc and the Council Chambers and the offices and the terraces and the gardens and even the hairs of Your Blessed Head... i will look at the little things... that flower... that smile... that ray of light that falls just so through those windows so that my floor... Your floor... shines like the mirror on my wall... You will teach me that i can... You will give me the strength...
You will teach me that i am not responsible for how others treat me, but i am responsible for my behavior, my feelings, my actions... i will beg you to give me patience, give me love, give me strength, make me beautiful, make me smart, make me a better servant, make my hair behave, make my mind behave, purify my motives... You will give me everything i need... and even some of the stupid things...
i will thank You for a family that taught me about Your love, reliance on You, laundry, cooking stir fry, being teach-able, following instructions, communication, serving Your servants... You will further test these skills... over... and over... and over...
i will clean for 1 year of my life and pray that You will accept it... even through the grumbling... hear my soul, not my words...
You'll know what my limits are.. and You'll stretch them...and the stretching will make me give You the rest of my years...
(farewell message to the Bahá'í World Centre, June 2001 )
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
bits of bucket list
--- kayak the Nantahala River again
--- dance at my sisters' weddings
--- ride a gondola through Venice
--- be part of a neighborhood that pulls together to improve in some way
--- have the star in my tattoo filled in with something like the flowers in The Lotus Merchant
--- visit Toyeme and family in New Caledonia/Vanuatu
--- visit Nur in Argentina
--- sing in all Baha'i Houses of Worship
--- summer in Alaska
--- dance to steel drums at sunset on the beach in the Caribbean
--- live in the mountains
--- learn to make Hollandaise sauce
--- adopt
--- grow and birth a baby naturally
--- paint my own shutters
--- plant a garden that feeds people
--- grow marigolds in my own yard
--- sleep in a redwood forest
--- "make you banana pancakes/ pretend like it's the weekend"
--- knit a scarf for each of my grandmothers
--- see a show on Broadway
--- see an opera at the Sydney Opera House
--- make a mug and drink tea from that mug on my porch in the morning mist
--- eat really good food in Italy
--- sew a dress and wear it
--- give this to someone
--- take a road trip in a fun car with a good camera and someone I love
--- journal every day for the first year of my childrens' lives
--- create and maintain a family scrapbook
--- paint something I would be proud to see hanging on my parents' wall
--- be home base
--- dance at my sisters' weddings
--- ride a gondola through Venice
--- be part of a neighborhood that pulls together to improve in some way
--- have the star in my tattoo filled in with something like the flowers in The Lotus Merchant
--- visit Toyeme and family in New Caledonia/Vanuatu
--- visit Nur in Argentina
--- sing in all Baha'i Houses of Worship
--- summer in Alaska
--- dance to steel drums at sunset on the beach in the Caribbean
--- live in the mountains
--- learn to make Hollandaise sauce
--- adopt
--- grow and birth a baby naturally
--- paint my own shutters
--- plant a garden that feeds people
--- grow marigolds in my own yard
--- sleep in a redwood forest
--- "make you banana pancakes/ pretend like it's the weekend"
--- knit a scarf for each of my grandmothers
--- see a show on Broadway
--- see an opera at the Sydney Opera House
--- make a mug and drink tea from that mug on my porch in the morning mist
--- eat really good food in Italy
--- sew a dress and wear it
--- give this to someone
--- take a road trip in a fun car with a good camera and someone I love
--- journal every day for the first year of my childrens' lives
--- create and maintain a family scrapbook
--- paint something I would be proud to see hanging on my parents' wall
--- be home base
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
love
Someone reminded me of this the other day, and I had to go find it...
I was reading The Diary of Juliet Thompson just now, and I came across this little bit that reminded me of our conversation. She was a Baha'i who lived during the time of 'Abdu'l-Baha, and she spent a good deal of time with Him, talking with him, learning from his example of selfless service and love for humanity... Juliet was in love with a Christian preacher called Percy Graves who wasn't the best of men. Abdu'l-Baha told her that she should endeavour to give her heart to God, and she said that she would, and then this happened later... and "'Abdu'l-Baha" is the title He chose for Himself. It means literally "Servant of Baha" ("Baha" meaning "glory", refering to Baha'u'llah), but Baha'u'llah called him "The Master", so He is refered to in both ways.
*
That night the Master had a supper for all who had been with Him at the Mission. It was held in His suite at the Ansonia and He took me and two of the Persians, Valiyu'llah Khan and Ahmad, in His own taxi to the hotel.
As we drove up Broadway, glittering with its electric signs, He spoke of them smiling, apparently much amused. Then He told us that Bahá'u'lláh had loved light. "He could never get enough light. He taught us," the Master said, "to economize in everything else but to use light freely."
"It is marvellous," I said, "to be driving through all this light by the side of the Light of lights."
"This is nothing," the Master answered. "This is only the beginning. We will be together in all the worlds of God. You cannot realize here what that means. You cannot imagine it. You can form no conception here in this elemental world of what it is to be with Me in the Eternal Worlds."
"Oh," I cried, "with such a future before me how could my heart cling to any earthly object?"
The Master turned suddenly to me. "Will you do this thing?" He asked. "Will you take your heart from this other and give it wholly to God?"
"Oh, I will try!"
He laughed heartily at this. "First you say you will and then that you will try!"
"That is because I have learned my own weakness. What can I do with my heart?"
And now the Master spoke gravely. "I am very much pleased with that answer, Juliet."
-- from The Diary of Juliet Thompson
I was reading The Diary of Juliet Thompson just now, and I came across this little bit that reminded me of our conversation. She was a Baha'i who lived during the time of 'Abdu'l-Baha, and she spent a good deal of time with Him, talking with him, learning from his example of selfless service and love for humanity... Juliet was in love with a Christian preacher called Percy Graves who wasn't the best of men. Abdu'l-Baha told her that she should endeavour to give her heart to God, and she said that she would, and then this happened later... and "'Abdu'l-Baha" is the title He chose for Himself. It means literally "Servant of Baha" ("Baha" meaning "glory", refering to Baha'u'llah), but Baha'u'llah called him "The Master", so He is refered to in both ways.
*
That night the Master had a supper for all who had been with Him at the Mission. It was held in His suite at the Ansonia and He took me and two of the Persians, Valiyu'llah Khan and Ahmad, in His own taxi to the hotel.
As we drove up Broadway, glittering with its electric signs, He spoke of them smiling, apparently much amused. Then He told us that Bahá'u'lláh had loved light. "He could never get enough light. He taught us," the Master said, "to economize in everything else but to use light freely."
"It is marvellous," I said, "to be driving through all this light by the side of the Light of lights."
"This is nothing," the Master answered. "This is only the beginning. We will be together in all the worlds of God. You cannot realize here what that means. You cannot imagine it. You can form no conception here in this elemental world of what it is to be with Me in the Eternal Worlds."
"Oh," I cried, "with such a future before me how could my heart cling to any earthly object?"
The Master turned suddenly to me. "Will you do this thing?" He asked. "Will you take your heart from this other and give it wholly to God?"
"Oh, I will try!"
He laughed heartily at this. "First you say you will and then that you will try!"
"That is because I have learned my own weakness. What can I do with my heart?"
And now the Master spoke gravely. "I am very much pleased with that answer, Juliet."
-- from The Diary of Juliet Thompson
Thursday, April 1, 2010
peanutbutterjellytime
Dear Small-On-The-Inside-BIG-On-The-Outside,
I saw a picture today.
Strange... it was accompanied by your height and weight. It was labeled with your name and something called DOB... the date listed was your birth day. Funny, right? Despite the fact that the picture looked exactly like you, the hair color and eye color were both listed as "brown". I knew then that it couldn't be you. Your hair is dark ash. It sticks up all over your head, especially in the back where it is nearly impossible to cut in a way which doesn't cause it to stick out funny, and they didn't mention that. The description would have said that because that's important. Your eyes are something like "brown", but they're a lot more like transparent. What's in there clearly doesn't have a color... or if it does, it's hurtandfightandfearandfuckyouandhugme... but it's not called "brown". Anyone who looked into them would know that. I knew it the first time I looked you full in the face.
That's a lie. I felt it the first time I watched you from behind, struttin down the road, back straight, shoulders squared, head tilted a little higher than necessary on what could only be a newly very tall frame so that nearly everyone would have to ask to permission to see those eyes.
Anyway, he had to be someone else's kid. If he'd been you they would have mentioned that smile that just don't quit with the under-bite and the way you look down a little when you're half-embarassed/half-proud when I'm laughing at how funny you are and how bad I'm beating you at Scrabble.
He wasn't smiling, but he reminded me of you a little.
There are a couple of bruises on that kid's face and neck. I'm curious as to where they came from... it's my nature. You know I always wanna know where things come from... always have 2.5 million questions. Remember that time you were fighting this kid, and he threw that mug at you? Poor white kid, you got that big purple bruise on your arm with that big knot under the surface. You said it didn't hurt, but you flinched a little when I felt the knot. I bet if I touched that kid's face, something sore would be on the surface. I wonder if he would flinch... I wonder if he would let me...
Remember that time you got too angry to be still? Remember how that man called you "son" and something snapped and it was all you could do to leave the room to avoid fighting him? Remember how I put you in the car and we didn't speak and we went to breakfast because I was out of ideas... and we ate pancakes and you spoke about the people whose son you are... and you experimented with syrups and I thought about how close you were to... well, to the mess that kid in the picture's in? How close you were to falling off an edge that would be the fulfillment of everything these people whose son you are had taught you?
I know that you don't remember how badly I wanted to get into that car and drive so far away...
drive until we were in a place with no cell phone reception
where none of your home boys could find you
where DSS stood for "Damn Silly Story" (or something equally descriptive)
a magical place where we could go back in time
and you could magically be 5 years old again
and I could pick you up
sit you on my lap
and hold you
while you told me all about the flowers you destroyed and where the stains on your shirt came from and how you wanted to be Superman and how slippery the tadpoles in the pond are...
where I could make sure that your hair didn't stick up in the back,
and your dreams weren't nightmares faced alone,
and you could play basketball in the yard with friends who didn't know what weed was unless we were talking about dandelions,
and I could make you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
and you would get at least some more time before you knew what it felt like to be punched and hurt and dismally disappointed,
and I could take a bat to anyone who even looked like they might make you feel like that.
A place where someone would be able to show you what a real man looks like and how he goes about protecting and defending and representing and providing and loving.
A place where you could grow from that chubby little boy you told me you were into the very tall, strong, generous, smart, affectionate, defender of younger kids I always knew you to be.
A place where there would be pictures of that chubby little boy doing things chubby little boys do so that you didn't forget him when you grew tall like the trees.
Where your smoking of cigarettes and love of curse words really would be my biggest worries.
Where the facial hair that still hasn't grown in would be the biggest of yours.
(That kid doesn't have hair on his face either. See? It takes some people a while.)
I don't know where you are right now. I haven't really heard from you since they put you out for being so mad that you couldn't stop punching someone and too mad to talk and too big for that to be safe... except that time we went to take the SAT in hopes of leaving the college option open for some time in the future when you felt like you could take on a project other than staying alive and then had lunch and you threw bread at pigeons and laughed like someone half your size.
I think about you every day... I think about you like there's some big, dumb hole in my brain/heart the shape of your big, dumb head. I still expect to see you at the library or walking around the neighborhood or asleep on the chairs in my office. You come to mind unbidden at night when I talk to God before attempting sleep. I think about you every day in the breath just before I think about how I'd be out of a job if we could all get the love we need and everyone thought a little more about justice and hugs and education and prayer and training and respect and affection and pancakes and Superman and people who hold you hand when you're scared and a little less about blame and punishment and lessons and entitlement... forget back-flips on the tightrope, wouldn't THAT be MAGICAL. Bring me a circus filled with THAT.
I'm wondering if the people wherever you are know that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are code for "I love you, and it's safe to stop acting like a time bomb." I wonder if that kid is as disarmed by peanut butter and jelly as you were. I wonder if anyone even tried that.
He really did look a lot like you.
His eyes called my name and "help" and "maybe it's too late" all at the same time, and I had to sit down outside where there was air in a hurry.
Call me. Let's start driving...
Love Always,
I saw a picture today.
Strange... it was accompanied by your height and weight. It was labeled with your name and something called DOB... the date listed was your birth day. Funny, right? Despite the fact that the picture looked exactly like you, the hair color and eye color were both listed as "brown". I knew then that it couldn't be you. Your hair is dark ash. It sticks up all over your head, especially in the back where it is nearly impossible to cut in a way which doesn't cause it to stick out funny, and they didn't mention that. The description would have said that because that's important. Your eyes are something like "brown", but they're a lot more like transparent. What's in there clearly doesn't have a color... or if it does, it's hurtandfightandfearandfuckyouandhugme... but it's not called "brown". Anyone who looked into them would know that. I knew it the first time I looked you full in the face.
That's a lie. I felt it the first time I watched you from behind, struttin down the road, back straight, shoulders squared, head tilted a little higher than necessary on what could only be a newly very tall frame so that nearly everyone would have to ask to permission to see those eyes.
Anyway, he had to be someone else's kid. If he'd been you they would have mentioned that smile that just don't quit with the under-bite and the way you look down a little when you're half-embarassed/half-proud when I'm laughing at how funny you are and how bad I'm beating you at Scrabble.
He wasn't smiling, but he reminded me of you a little.
There are a couple of bruises on that kid's face and neck. I'm curious as to where they came from... it's my nature. You know I always wanna know where things come from... always have 2.5 million questions. Remember that time you were fighting this kid, and he threw that mug at you? Poor white kid, you got that big purple bruise on your arm with that big knot under the surface. You said it didn't hurt, but you flinched a little when I felt the knot. I bet if I touched that kid's face, something sore would be on the surface. I wonder if he would flinch... I wonder if he would let me...
Remember that time you got too angry to be still? Remember how that man called you "son" and something snapped and it was all you could do to leave the room to avoid fighting him? Remember how I put you in the car and we didn't speak and we went to breakfast because I was out of ideas... and we ate pancakes and you spoke about the people whose son you are... and you experimented with syrups and I thought about how close you were to... well, to the mess that kid in the picture's in? How close you were to falling off an edge that would be the fulfillment of everything these people whose son you are had taught you?
I know that you don't remember how badly I wanted to get into that car and drive so far away...
drive until we were in a place with no cell phone reception
where none of your home boys could find you
where DSS stood for "Damn Silly Story" (or something equally descriptive)
a magical place where we could go back in time
and you could magically be 5 years old again
and I could pick you up
sit you on my lap
and hold you
while you told me all about the flowers you destroyed and where the stains on your shirt came from and how you wanted to be Superman and how slippery the tadpoles in the pond are...
where I could make sure that your hair didn't stick up in the back,
and your dreams weren't nightmares faced alone,
and you could play basketball in the yard with friends who didn't know what weed was unless we were talking about dandelions,
and I could make you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
and you would get at least some more time before you knew what it felt like to be punched and hurt and dismally disappointed,
and I could take a bat to anyone who even looked like they might make you feel like that.
A place where someone would be able to show you what a real man looks like and how he goes about protecting and defending and representing and providing and loving.
A place where you could grow from that chubby little boy you told me you were into the very tall, strong, generous, smart, affectionate, defender of younger kids I always knew you to be.
A place where there would be pictures of that chubby little boy doing things chubby little boys do so that you didn't forget him when you grew tall like the trees.
Where your smoking of cigarettes and love of curse words really would be my biggest worries.
Where the facial hair that still hasn't grown in would be the biggest of yours.
(That kid doesn't have hair on his face either. See? It takes some people a while.)
I don't know where you are right now. I haven't really heard from you since they put you out for being so mad that you couldn't stop punching someone and too mad to talk and too big for that to be safe... except that time we went to take the SAT in hopes of leaving the college option open for some time in the future when you felt like you could take on a project other than staying alive and then had lunch and you threw bread at pigeons and laughed like someone half your size.
I think about you every day... I think about you like there's some big, dumb hole in my brain/heart the shape of your big, dumb head. I still expect to see you at the library or walking around the neighborhood or asleep on the chairs in my office. You come to mind unbidden at night when I talk to God before attempting sleep. I think about you every day in the breath just before I think about how I'd be out of a job if we could all get the love we need and everyone thought a little more about justice and hugs and education and prayer and training and respect and affection and pancakes and Superman and people who hold you hand when you're scared and a little less about blame and punishment and lessons and entitlement... forget back-flips on the tightrope, wouldn't THAT be MAGICAL. Bring me a circus filled with THAT.
I'm wondering if the people wherever you are know that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are code for "I love you, and it's safe to stop acting like a time bomb." I wonder if that kid is as disarmed by peanut butter and jelly as you were. I wonder if anyone even tried that.
He really did look a lot like you.
His eyes called my name and "help" and "maybe it's too late" all at the same time, and I had to sit down outside where there was air in a hurry.
Call me. Let's start driving...
Love Always,
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Welcome Back, Campers! :)
So long between posts... are they even called "posts" if they come so far in between? I feel like they're snap-shots taken along the way... like maybe a series of shots taken from the car as the photographer drives way too fast so some of them are a little blurry.
I have a bit of something to say, something which I am less comfortable putting out on the internet, but I think that maybe it would be good for me to go ahead and say it in the interest of alerting others who might struggle with similar issues and need maybe to go get help like I finally ended up doing. I also realize that a lot of the judgement would probably come from people who are ignorant of disorders in the depression spectrum and don't understand me anyway. Those people are welcome not to read the following.
A year and some change ago (oh, stop it with the puns, Blue, seriously. ;) ), I began seeing a counselor. I was in yet another job I hated with a similar set of issues I had faced in my past much-hated jobs, so I finally reached the conclusion that either I didn't know how to pick a job that didn't put me into a victim position, I didn't know how to quit when I realized I was being victimized, I was imagining the entire thing and had no idea why I would do such a thing, or God hated me and wanted me to be profoundly miserable for the rest of my life. Realizing that I also tend towards the more dramatic end of the spectrum, I had been putting off dealing with this for some time, convinced that if I could just make up my mind, move, decide to "follow my dreams", think more positive thoughts, etc., I could just "snap out of it". Snapping was seeming increasingly impossible. Additionally, I had thought for years about becoming a counselor, thought I was getting close to starting the process, and couldn't stomach the idea of offering these services to another soul without trying it out myself first. After realizing that my life was poo, at an absolute stand-still, and, dramatic or not, my mind was going into increasingly depressing places, I finally, with the help of a friend/angel, made an appointment and went in.
It was a cold and rainy day (Actually I can't remember, but I've always wanted to use that line!). I found myself in a room with a white man in his 50's with profound eyebrows. Pictures of hunting dogs and grandchildren scattered the room. He sat on a wooden rocking chair and asked me why I was there. I explained that I had recognized that I had a problem. I told him that I realized that I was not struggling with something debilitating (this was a lie), that I was not in any real danger (also a lie), and that I felt like I was over-reacting a little (yet one more lie, although I still feel the need to defend this more often than not). I told him that I wanted to address the problem directly. I told him that I needed concrete assistance and that if he even suggested anything that bore a slight resemblance to bullshit, I would get up off the couch and leave immediately... something I once brought up in a session, saying that I was not sure that I would have had the courage. "You?" he responded. "Nope. You would have been gone."
Four nearly interrogation-like sessions later, the man clicked the light on. Turns out there's a word for this. Ladies and gentlemen, meet dysthymia...
The main symptom of dysthymia is low, dark, or sad mood nearly every day for at least 2 years. The symptoms are less severe than in patients with major depression, but people with this condition can still struggle with:
Feelings of hopelessness
Insomnia or hypersomnia
Low energy or fatigue
Low self-esteem
Poor appetite or overeating
Poor concentration
(https://health.google.com/health/ref/Dysthymia)
Dude, I can't tell you what happened that day. I was suddenly not crazy. I was not imagining things, not lazy, not wallowing, and not a useless chunk of human being. I had a name for the never-ending inertia... a word to refer to the constant feeling that everything was going to suck forever, that I was never going to be good enough... there's a reason I feel that I, a perfectly decent human being with a number of sterling qualities, have, beyond reason, felt like utter crap about myself every day for as long as I can remember... a reason that I felt like part of me was standing outside looking at the mopey, indecisive, underachieving me and shaking her head... simply having a name for all of this was more freeing than I can explain. Despite the fact that nearly everyone I knew would probably never have guessed it, I had been sad, stressed, and immobile for years. Perhaps that's the real tragedy--they had simply gotten used to my constant slight sadness.
Oddly enough, I had also been anti-diagnosis for years. I felt that a diagnosis made it ok to give up and stop trying to overcome something... a diagnosis was something which defined a person and made the person weak and able to make excuses for that weakness... something people did and received as an excuse for their inability to get up like the rest of us (HAHA) and accomplish what we do (HAHAAAA!). Geeeez, the air got thin up on that pedestal.
The problem with NOT having a diagnosis is that then there is nothing to deal with. I don't know how other people feel, but I felt (and still feel) that the diagnosis gave me focus. My tendency towards inertia and half-empty thinking is something which has a name. It's no longer an all-encompassing personality flaw of which I must be ashamed.
Here comes some science...
The high level of stress and transition in my life as I grew up never allowed my brain to develop steady levels of serotonin. Serotonin is the chemical in the brain which allows all of us to feel calm, safe, and like everything is generally ok. Without the regulating, one goes up and down, never feeling really safe, really calm, or really ok. Stress and mild sadness are constant. I read dysthymia described once as "an invisible Nerf bat pounding on the inside of my brain." It's not debilitating, but it makes doing anything nearly impossible. It's always in the way. Whether I had a genetic predisposition to this or not, the theory is that my brain doesn't know how to keep serotonin levels stable. Although it is possible for dysthymia to become clinical depression and require medication, the most effective route to go here is counseling. Get this-- because the brain can grow and change and all of that, I can literally re-train my brain to regulate the serotonin. It's kind of amazing to me... the brain can change behavior, and behavior can change the brain. The feelings and thoughts we have are not just ethereal things floating in the atmosphere... they are also chemical pathways at work in our brains. If I work to make my thought processes change, my brain will adapt. It's super-cool. It's actually the preferred method for dysthymia. Meds tend not to be as effective as they can be with clinical depression, but I will take the pills if someday it becomes necessary. Life is too damn short to be so sad. If it means counseling forever, then so be it. I will not lay down and be conquered by this. This is the only life on this earth I get. I'm going to do what I have to do to be able to enjoy it and make use of it.
There has been a lot of get-up-and-go in the course of my own counseling journey. I have been pushed to apply to school, pushed to make some changes in my job and personal life, pushed to analyze my family and friends and the forces at work there, pushed to address my spirituality and how it and the ways in which I choose to express and experience, pushed to look clearly at how I see my body and choose to live in it... it's so far from easy, but I'm a believer in counseling. It turns out I'm not weak. It's not a character flaw, and I'm not Debbie Downer. I'm not doomed to a dead-end and disappointing life, and God loves the hell out of me. I just need help seeing that through the now occasional brain fog. My counselor doesn't have all of the answers, but, mumbo-jumbo as it may sound, he sees me. He sees me as I've never been able to see myself, and it makes me feel like I could climb mountains. We all need that from time to time, sometimes more intensively than others... but we all have those moments in which it's just too dark, and we can't see. It's really helpful not to be alone.
My parents have each faced major health issues this year, graduate school (suprise, surprise) has it's own set of issues, work is no picnic, I'm still pretty poor, and my hormonal cycle continues to be challenging, but I feel MUCH better. My life is in motion now. I can honestly say that I have more good days than blah, and I actually like my life the vast majority of the time. I may get tired and fall into old traps of complaining, but I currently work one of my dream jobs, I am going to school to get certified to do something I know I'm my soul I was made for, and in many ways I have healthier relationships than ever before.
It's not all cotton candy... but cotton candy is unrealistic anyway. I'm just happy the Nerf bat seems to be at least taking a breather more often than not. I can't tell you how relieved I am. It's mighty peaceful in here...
I have a bit of something to say, something which I am less comfortable putting out on the internet, but I think that maybe it would be good for me to go ahead and say it in the interest of alerting others who might struggle with similar issues and need maybe to go get help like I finally ended up doing. I also realize that a lot of the judgement would probably come from people who are ignorant of disorders in the depression spectrum and don't understand me anyway. Those people are welcome not to read the following.
A year and some change ago (oh, stop it with the puns, Blue, seriously. ;) ), I began seeing a counselor. I was in yet another job I hated with a similar set of issues I had faced in my past much-hated jobs, so I finally reached the conclusion that either I didn't know how to pick a job that didn't put me into a victim position, I didn't know how to quit when I realized I was being victimized, I was imagining the entire thing and had no idea why I would do such a thing, or God hated me and wanted me to be profoundly miserable for the rest of my life. Realizing that I also tend towards the more dramatic end of the spectrum, I had been putting off dealing with this for some time, convinced that if I could just make up my mind, move, decide to "follow my dreams", think more positive thoughts, etc., I could just "snap out of it". Snapping was seeming increasingly impossible. Additionally, I had thought for years about becoming a counselor, thought I was getting close to starting the process, and couldn't stomach the idea of offering these services to another soul without trying it out myself first. After realizing that my life was poo, at an absolute stand-still, and, dramatic or not, my mind was going into increasingly depressing places, I finally, with the help of a friend/angel, made an appointment and went in.
It was a cold and rainy day (Actually I can't remember, but I've always wanted to use that line!). I found myself in a room with a white man in his 50's with profound eyebrows. Pictures of hunting dogs and grandchildren scattered the room. He sat on a wooden rocking chair and asked me why I was there. I explained that I had recognized that I had a problem. I told him that I realized that I was not struggling with something debilitating (this was a lie), that I was not in any real danger (also a lie), and that I felt like I was over-reacting a little (yet one more lie, although I still feel the need to defend this more often than not). I told him that I wanted to address the problem directly. I told him that I needed concrete assistance and that if he even suggested anything that bore a slight resemblance to bullshit, I would get up off the couch and leave immediately... something I once brought up in a session, saying that I was not sure that I would have had the courage. "You?" he responded. "Nope. You would have been gone."
Four nearly interrogation-like sessions later, the man clicked the light on. Turns out there's a word for this. Ladies and gentlemen, meet dysthymia...
The main symptom of dysthymia is low, dark, or sad mood nearly every day for at least 2 years. The symptoms are less severe than in patients with major depression, but people with this condition can still struggle with:
Feelings of hopelessness
Insomnia or hypersomnia
Low energy or fatigue
Low self-esteem
Poor appetite or overeating
Poor concentration
(https://health.google.com/health/ref/Dysthymia)
Dude, I can't tell you what happened that day. I was suddenly not crazy. I was not imagining things, not lazy, not wallowing, and not a useless chunk of human being. I had a name for the never-ending inertia... a word to refer to the constant feeling that everything was going to suck forever, that I was never going to be good enough... there's a reason I feel that I, a perfectly decent human being with a number of sterling qualities, have, beyond reason, felt like utter crap about myself every day for as long as I can remember... a reason that I felt like part of me was standing outside looking at the mopey, indecisive, underachieving me and shaking her head... simply having a name for all of this was more freeing than I can explain. Despite the fact that nearly everyone I knew would probably never have guessed it, I had been sad, stressed, and immobile for years. Perhaps that's the real tragedy--they had simply gotten used to my constant slight sadness.
Oddly enough, I had also been anti-diagnosis for years. I felt that a diagnosis made it ok to give up and stop trying to overcome something... a diagnosis was something which defined a person and made the person weak and able to make excuses for that weakness... something people did and received as an excuse for their inability to get up like the rest of us (HAHA) and accomplish what we do (HAHAAAA!). Geeeez, the air got thin up on that pedestal.
The problem with NOT having a diagnosis is that then there is nothing to deal with. I don't know how other people feel, but I felt (and still feel) that the diagnosis gave me focus. My tendency towards inertia and half-empty thinking is something which has a name. It's no longer an all-encompassing personality flaw of which I must be ashamed.
Here comes some science...
The high level of stress and transition in my life as I grew up never allowed my brain to develop steady levels of serotonin. Serotonin is the chemical in the brain which allows all of us to feel calm, safe, and like everything is generally ok. Without the regulating, one goes up and down, never feeling really safe, really calm, or really ok. Stress and mild sadness are constant. I read dysthymia described once as "an invisible Nerf bat pounding on the inside of my brain." It's not debilitating, but it makes doing anything nearly impossible. It's always in the way. Whether I had a genetic predisposition to this or not, the theory is that my brain doesn't know how to keep serotonin levels stable. Although it is possible for dysthymia to become clinical depression and require medication, the most effective route to go here is counseling. Get this-- because the brain can grow and change and all of that, I can literally re-train my brain to regulate the serotonin. It's kind of amazing to me... the brain can change behavior, and behavior can change the brain. The feelings and thoughts we have are not just ethereal things floating in the atmosphere... they are also chemical pathways at work in our brains. If I work to make my thought processes change, my brain will adapt. It's super-cool. It's actually the preferred method for dysthymia. Meds tend not to be as effective as they can be with clinical depression, but I will take the pills if someday it becomes necessary. Life is too damn short to be so sad. If it means counseling forever, then so be it. I will not lay down and be conquered by this. This is the only life on this earth I get. I'm going to do what I have to do to be able to enjoy it and make use of it.
There has been a lot of get-up-and-go in the course of my own counseling journey. I have been pushed to apply to school, pushed to make some changes in my job and personal life, pushed to analyze my family and friends and the forces at work there, pushed to address my spirituality and how it and the ways in which I choose to express and experience, pushed to look clearly at how I see my body and choose to live in it... it's so far from easy, but I'm a believer in counseling. It turns out I'm not weak. It's not a character flaw, and I'm not Debbie Downer. I'm not doomed to a dead-end and disappointing life, and God loves the hell out of me. I just need help seeing that through the now occasional brain fog. My counselor doesn't have all of the answers, but, mumbo-jumbo as it may sound, he sees me. He sees me as I've never been able to see myself, and it makes me feel like I could climb mountains. We all need that from time to time, sometimes more intensively than others... but we all have those moments in which it's just too dark, and we can't see. It's really helpful not to be alone.
My parents have each faced major health issues this year, graduate school (suprise, surprise) has it's own set of issues, work is no picnic, I'm still pretty poor, and my hormonal cycle continues to be challenging, but I feel MUCH better. My life is in motion now. I can honestly say that I have more good days than blah, and I actually like my life the vast majority of the time. I may get tired and fall into old traps of complaining, but I currently work one of my dream jobs, I am going to school to get certified to do something I know I'm my soul I was made for, and in many ways I have healthier relationships than ever before.
It's not all cotton candy... but cotton candy is unrealistic anyway. I'm just happy the Nerf bat seems to be at least taking a breather more often than not. I can't tell you how relieved I am. It's mighty peaceful in here...
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