Spring, A Time For Work

A little over a week ago we had a snow storm but this week the temperatures have risen and nearly all of the snow is gone. Today it's reached 70 degrees. I haven't opened a window or stepped outside. There's a hawk in the area and most of the birds have gone even though I continue to feed them. I miss the raucous bluejays. So Spring may be here and it's time to switch from hibernation mode into awake and motivated mode. My depression still lingers even though I've gone out several times this week. I have to give myself a few days to readjust to warmer weather and then I have to get myself to sit outside. All this makes me think of the bear I saw at the end of last summer. I wonder where she is now and if she's fully awake after months of resting. Or is it still too soon? Is there another snow storm on the way? I'll enjoy the warm weather while remaining skeptical for another couple of weeks but really Spring is just about here. The hundreds of daffodils my brother planted a couple of years ago are pushing up from the earth and I feel hopeful. Time for new beginnings. Will I have the courage to rise above my circumstances this year?

I've begun my Spring cleaning in the kitchen. Washed and scrubbed the counters and dishes but there's a lot more to do. I start and stop and start again. It's hard for me to put in continuous effort towards anything. I resist labelling myself as lazy and know this is the result of a low level depression. It's up to me to have the courage to change myself a little at a time. I know there is nothing really holding me back from housework and creative work and yet I fall into a kind of inertia, a numb state. I get overwhelmed by how much there is to do and how little there is of my desire to do it. I'm still caught in a childish pursuit of instant gratification when in my heart I know that hard work is much more satisfying. I think the core of the problem is low self esteem. I don't yet have the confidence I need to succeed. I look back on my life and see so many opportunities dismissed. Instead of having the courage to face life, I've usually withdrawn.

After college, I didn't get a job, instead I took art classes. Then I moved to the country and got involved with an abusive alcoholic, still no job, no external focus, little responsibility. Then I returned to taking art classes. Then psychosis. I got my art degree but still no work experience. I've always been ashamed that I haven't worked. This shame has held me back. I need to be part of a program for the mentally ill that can prepare me for work but there is no program near me. And so, what I think I will do in the next month is find some volunteer work. If I can successfully fullfill that responsibility maybe I will be ready for part time work. God, I hope so. You have no idea what it would mean to me to earn a paycheck. Right now I feel foolish and impotent because I'm unable to do what most people take for granted. But if I can commit to a volunteer work schedule I might be able to strengthen my confidence in myself, so that I can push on.

I have so much and so little at the same time. My family's money has saved me from an abusive relationship and allowed me to live independently through my psychosis and I will always be grateful but it has robbed me of a sense of true independence and personal purpose. I am a spoiled individual but not irretrievably so. I still believe I can change. In fact, I know I have to change or I will be forever stuck in immobility and depression.

A Residual Delusion

I can pinpoint entering into psychosis to a few days after I mailed an audiocassette of myself singing a few of my songs and then talking to a somewhat famous rock singer/musician/songwriter. It was the end of May 1998. Before that moment I may have been withdrawn, still suffering from the aftershock of abuse, but not psychotic. The psychosis came upon me quickly in the form of a pleasant (at first) paranoia which led to the formation of my most enduring delusion: that this famous person was attracted to me and either having me followed or following me himself. I ignored the fact that this was extremely unlikely since I sent the tape with no return address, not even my first name.

But why did I send a tape to this person in the first place? I first heard him singing his songs seven years earlier when I was a couple of years into my relationship with Brendan. Brendan played the band's first album over and over again, often when he was drunk. I responded to the music and to the singer. During the abuse I found myself thinking about this man. He seemed like someone who would protect me if he could and that was a comfort to me. Over the years I listened to his songs. He often wrote about his conflicted relationship with his long time girlfriend (and later wife). It sounded like an abusive relationship to me and I sympathized with his situation. After I left Brendan I began writing songs and recording them on an 8 track cassette recorder. That's how I kept busy the first year I was free and during this time I fantasized about sending this songwriter a few of my songs and maybe talking to him about the abusive relationship I had been in. It was a passing fantasy.

I tried to get my life in order, so I began taking a few classes. Then I started work on a portfolio and applied to an art school nearby. I was accepted. Then I went to school the next year and really enjoyed myself. I thought of the songwriter off and on. I was still attracted to him but I didn't take the attraction seriously, it was too superficial. A year went by and I had a crush on my painting teacher who was happily married. So I tried to distance myself from him. I did this by turning my focus back on this songwriter. I had been making up songs all along. Singing had given me a release that I badly needed but I didn't share my songs with anyone. So I had this not so brilliant idea that I should make up a tape to send to him and after the second semester ended that's what I set about doing. It only took me a couple of days and it felt good to make it and it felt good that this person might hear it.

For years I had heard voices but they were barely conscious and when I was aware of them, they were like friends and even teachers. Perhaps I was psychotic and I didn't even know it because the psychosis was not yet delusional and paranoid, that is, not negatively interfering in my life. But after I sent the tape one voice came forward and identified itself as a being called Darius. This had never happened before, the voices had always remained anonymous, barely visible. This voice began telling me that the songwriter had heard the tape and responded strongly to it and that we would get married some day and have a son together named Christian. At the time I thought this was ridiculous and I fought against it. But then the paranoia took hold and I thought I was being followed and spied on. This was oddly flattering but also very disturbing. I knew that if this man was following me,etc... that it was bad behavior on his part and that I should detach but I found myself unable to do so and got pulled deeper and deeper into a proliferating delusion.

The delusion quickly became elaborate and I was quite lost in it. I thought this man and I were telepathically connected against both our wills. Gradually he morphed from a deranged Gnostic cult leader to a serial killer. That was when the paranoia was at its worst. I lived with this shadow who seemed to want to rape, torture and kill me for a couple of years. It was like not only being in an abusive relationship but totally living inside one with no escape. All day, all night, every day, every night. It was horrible. I had three psychotic breaks during this time and after the last one in December 2001, I began taking the anti-psychotic meds every day. At some point I stopped believing in the delusion and the paranoia faded away. I fell into a deep depression but got through it as my psychiatrist kept increasing the anti-psychotic meds. After that I avoided listening to the songwriter's music. Meanwhile he got divorced, he got remarried, his wife had a child and life went on. I was so grateful that I never did anything to interfere in this man's life.

But every now and then I fall into thinking about him again. I no longer see him as a serial killer which is such a relief but I can't help but wonder who this man really is and why I became so obsessed with him. This Monday I slipped and watched him on VH1 at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductions. I had a mixed reaction to him, moderate attraction to near indifference. I taped him giving his speech even so but then didn't look at it. I felt disturbed again and knew intellectually that I should avoid anything to do with this man, but emotionally I still felt this ambivalence. I went online and read an article about him. Then I stopped and reflected. Should I be doing this? The answer was still no.

Yesterday I talked with my therapist about it and told her that it felt almost like an addiction. Something I nearly felt I had to do but knew without a doubt that I shouldn't. My problem and my responsibility. Though the experience left me unsettled, it also showed me how far I had come that I could identify the problem and could resist getting embroiled in it. And lately I've been remembering my initial delusions and have been able to see more clearly than ever that they had no basis in reality. For years I wasn't able to do that, I really believed the delusions. So, while I'm not happy with the fact that I'm still mentally ill, I am happy with the other fact that I have the ability to get better through my own self-awareness and perseverance.

Loneliness

I grew up priviledged. I had my own room on the top floor of a three story brownstone in Park Slope Brooklyn. From the age of four on I could always withdraw from my family and retreat into my room. As the years passed I got used to relying on myself to take care of myself. Yes, I would talk with my mother and brother and yes, I would have friends over but I also spent a lot of time alone in that room. High school was emotionally stressful and each day when I got home I would fall asleep for two to three hours till it was time for dinner. Then when I was seventeen I found myself with a boyfriend and he began living with me in my parents' house. Over the next five years we adapted to each other. I studied at Barnard and Columbia and he studied at Columbia and we lived in my parents' house. He became a part of my family. Now I was in a relationship and couldn't just retreat to my room when I felt like being alone. For a while it worked. Then when college ended for us we went our separate ways and I began, once again, spending a lot of time alone in my room.

For me solitude is both a blessing and a bit of a curse. On the one hand, it allows me a feeling of freedom and gives me a good environment to be creative but, on the other hand, it naturally isolates me. I've been noticing this this week while I've been trying to pull up memories so that I can work on starting a memoir. First of all it's hard for me to claim my memories and then when I do it's painful to relive my life. Lately the memories are of childhood but they come from different ages. There is no neat linear progression to the memories instead they're scattered. It's like seeing my life spread all over the place and in effect that is where I'm at, unsettled and tentatively striving to organize my life, to make sense out of the chaos. So I'm discovering that it takes a certain amount of courage to face one's life and try to order it and share it. A certain amount of solitude is necessary for this process to unfold. But I have to be careful because I already have a tendency to isolate myself and too much isolation leads to depression and imbalance.

Today I went to the second writing workshop class, so I did spend a couple of hours around people but I knew that I wouldn't say much. So I listened and did the three writing exercises. This week our teacher had laid out another 18" x 24" paper with a circle in the center. She had us write our name in the center of the circle and then write the names of the people who have been closest to us in circles around the main circle. The farther away from the center the more distant the connection. And these people can also be people we've never met like a writer or singer. So, again, this is another way to visualize and organize our characters and our thoughts about them.

While I was doing this I realized that I had trouble after a little while thinking of people who have affected me. I came face to face with my own isolated life. I've mostly lived alone since I left Brendan. That was 1995 when I was 33 years old. It's going on 12 years now, the years most women settle down and have a couple of children or develop their careers. Me, no marriage, no kids, no career. Mental illness has taken a lot from me. Tonight I realized that I was lonely. It may sound strange but because I spend so much time alone I can't always identify when I'm feeling lonely or rather loneliness is just a part of who I am. I haven't had a close female friend since high school and after Brendan, no boyfriends. I decided soon after I became psychotic that I couldn't be in a relationship with a man until I got through the worst of it. Well, I think I have and I'm still not ready, but I'm getting closer to it. First, I need to find a friend.

Finding a friend means reaching out. This does not come naturally to me. I'm so used to hiding myself from others, so used to taking care of myself by myself (and not so well unfortunately). All through the worst of the psychosis I mostly lived alone and dealt with it by myself. That's what I know, so that's what I do. But I know it's not healthy and that I have to change. So I will continue with this writing course and take the next one they offer and I will go to Al-Anon (which I missed these last two weeks) and I will keep a look out for any potential friend. And then I'll do some rehearsing and call someone and ask to go out together for lunch or a movie. I haven't done that in such a long time.

The easy way is to not reach out to people but I'm finding that that is not really so easy. The deeper I dig my hole, the harder it is to get out of it. But there is still light visible and the first step is to call out for help and maybe start to dig out some steps to take me back up to the light. One step at a time. So, one goal is to keep writing my memoirs and another is to cultivate at least one friendship in the next 6 months. Spring is coming and that will help a great deal. Tomorrow is Daylight Savings Time thank goodness, a whole extra hour of light means I can go to my support group meeting in daylight. It's such a small thing but it means a lot to me.

Writing Workshop

Yesterday I went to the first of five autobiographical writing workshop classes. The instructor, a woman in her mid fifties, is named Linda Underhill and she's written a collection of essays (which I have not yet read) called The Unequal Hours: Moments of Being in the Natural World (1999). She was also the director of the creative writing program at the University of Pittsburgh for 12 years and has taught many creative writing classes. For this class she neatly arranged about 13 writing desks in a semi-circle. On each desk was an 18" x 24" piece of white drawing paper with line drawn horizontally down the length of it. There was also a standard sized sheet of paper with a list of what she plans to cover during each of the five classes. For yesterday's class she listed: "Timetables / Great Beginnings / Sense/Memory Exercises". The large piece of drawing paper was for the timetable.

Truly a great idea and I reccommend it to anyone who wants to write a memoir. At the beginning of the line you put your birthdate and at the end of the line you put the present date, then you divide the line into decades of your life. Above the line you list important facts and/or memories of your life during that particular decade and below the line you put list important historical/cultural/social facts for that same time period. So far I've found making these lists this way is visually pleasing and motivational. When I got home I continued working on this personalized timeline and did some research on the time period using my computer encyclopedia. I just never made the connection before between my life and the world at large, so this procedure is opening my eyes, drawing my interest and placing my life in a greater context all at once. And I thought about it some more that, of course, you'd need a large sheet of paper to do this. So simple yet quite effective. So this is my first thank you to Ms. Underhill.

The class is made up of 12 women (myself included) and 1 man. I'd say most of the women are in their fifties or older and the man is around that age as well. Ms. Underhill had us each tell the class our name, where we were from and what we want to get out of the workshop. I was the first one to do this and I was brief but many of the women were quite forthcoming about themselves and their writing experiences and hopes for the future. Several of them had done writing for children and wanted to write for their children and grandchildren the stories of their lives.

After our introductions, our teacher said that she would welcome people reading their work but that it wasn't a requirement. I know if I do read any of my work I will have to push myself because my tendency now is to hold back, especially in group situations. The class is just large enough though that there is not enough time for everyone to read their work and do the in class exercises at the same time. And I wondered, who will be willing to read? Well, we did two writing exercises and when the time came for people to share there were several woman who had no problems reading what they had written. One woman in particular wrote quite well about a particular memory and in such a sort time. I was fumbling with my own words and had little desire to share and so I didn't, but I was pleased that others were willing and I found what they had to say interesting.

Going to this writing class made me think of another writing class I took in my town about ten years ago before I became psychotic. It was much smaller (maybe six people) and more intimate and we each got to read our work aloud for others to respond to and critique. The teacher, also a published writer, was great and I had felt welcomed and comfortable. Of course, this class was held over the span of three months instead of just one which allowed us all to relax and become familiar with each other. In this workshop the dynamics will necessarily be different and I know I'll only get out of it what I put into it.

The teacher had recommended that we come with loose leaf paper, binder and pencils (or pens) which I did. This is the first time I've used an old fashioned loose leaf notebook in a very long time and I'm really enjoying it so far. It has two side pockets (where I put the three handouts she gave us) and it has a smooth hard writing surface like a clip board. What's cool about the loose leaf binder is that I can remove or add pages at will, something I can't do in a spiral notebook (which is what I have been using for years now). So the two new things, the timeline and the new notebook, are making an impression on me and I feel ready to continue working.

I did some writing today and began remembering people from my past who I haven't thought of for years. The process is not painless though because in retrospect I see where I made my mistakes and I feel some regret along with the pleasure. But now I have a lot of material to work with whereas when I was young I was sort of lost and inexperienced with life. The trick will be getting the memories down and trying to organize them. Ms. Underhill says that it's fine to start from anytime in your life, instead of the traditional start from the very beginning and work to the present. It's too soon to know which approach I'll ultimately take but it's good to know that there's no strict procedure.

All in all, a good first class.

The Weight Issue

When I was a kid I was skinny. At adolescence I became average weight and stayed that way until I became psychotic at age 36. I put on 70 pounds. Now I'm about 40 pounds overweight. Yesterday I decided to lose 20 of the 40 pounds within the next four months through diet and exercise. The deadline is a doctor's appointment at the end of June. If I succeed I'll be halfway to average weight again and then I'll work on the final 20 pounds. The last time I lost weight without exercising was four years ago. I ate one meal a day for four months and yes, I lost a chunk of weight. Not healthy and if I continued in that pattern I would have become anorexic.

It was my voices that warned me against self starvation as a means to weight loss. The implication was that it would change me in a negative way and that it would be hard to stop once I started. And so I got myself a treadmill, continued to eat and exercised 90 minutes four to five times a week and I lost 20 pounds. Then I stopped exercising and began to put weight back on, not a lot but enough to make me want to get back on the horse and try again. And that's where I'm at now. But there's still that temptation to drastically cut back on what I eat, to, in effect, take a shortcut. Intellectually I know that puts extra stress on my body and on myself. I know it is unhealthy. I know that is a paradox because what I really want is to be healthy. Emotionally I want fast results without having to work at it, just like a little child. I want that miraculous pill just like many other people. And emotionally I am also repelled by the idea of a diet pill because at the same time I don't want to work, I also want to earn what I get. I want my life to be meaningful rather than easy.

So there's this psychological struggle in me between action and inaction, between doing what's challenging and doing what's easy. But why should moderate eating and exercising be such a challenge to me? When I stick to it, I enjoy it. Then inevitably I fall victim to my own gradual lack of discipline and I slide back into a kind of inertia and from there I slide back into a low level depression that reinforces itself each time I decide to eat a little extra and skip exercising for the day. I can see why people go to training coaches a couple of times a month as a necessary kick in the ass, the motivational push to persevere. But I live alone and can change my daily standards at will and so I have to just push myself a little harder and keep going.

I'm minimally aware that I hide behind my weight. It reinforces my self isolation. I accept myself in all my middle aged lack of beauty by myself, for myself but avoid pursuing friendship and any potential lover. Again, intellectually, I know this is foolish and unproductive. Just because I'm overweight doesn't mean that I don't deserve friends and a lover. And really it's just an excuse to remain alone. I feel safe with myself and after all the pain I've been through loving an abuser when I was not psychotic and then the pain of psychosis just makes me settle into myself and not venture too far outside of myself. Again, it's easy and so that's what I do.

Eating. I'm not really an overeater, though I probably eat a bit more than I should each day, but I watch what I eat and avoid the usual suspects: pizza, wings, cake, ice cream, etc... I don't binge and I've never intentionally purged. I do enjoy eating. I say a prayer before I eat for those who are hungry, especially the children, that they be fed. This prayer gives me permission to enjoy my food without feeling guilty. I used to thank God for the main ingredients of what I was about to eat, it was sort of a Buddhist meditation practice for me. It's amazing how that pause before eating really does something to me. Deepens my gratitude, slows me down, makes me think of others instead of taking the food for granted. Food like water is precious and I want to remember that when I eat.

It's not food that such a problem for me, it's the lack of exercise. I am aging, my metabolism is slowing down, like many middle aged people I don't stay active as I did when I was younger and therefore I put on weight. I believe if I could again commit to daily exercise that that would be more than half the battle for me. I'm very fortunate that I do not have an eating disorder and should take advantage of that window of opportunity to get back on track. But many people are not so fortunate.

Pam was the first one to wake me up to the palpable reality of eating disorders. In her blog she openly discusses her struggle with anorexia. I feel protective of her and of all people who are starving themselves after they hit their healthy weight. There's so much media peer pressure to become emaciated like some models and there are so many famous women (and I'm sure some men) who are anorexic or bulimic. It is a serious social problem. And I admit, I have trouble understanding it. In my overweight condition I would be perfectly happy to be only ten pounds overweight. I have trouble imagining being underweight because that just hasn't been my adult (or adolescent) experience. Except for those four months of semi-starvation, I do eat and don't have a problem eating. So how do I relate to someone who either has no appetite for eating or who willfully won't eat, someone who has a deeply rooted fear of gaining weight? I'm an example of what they fear most. I am a fat woman.

I can understand why women (though I know eating disorders affect some men too) do not want to become fat. Of course I understand. I don't want to be fat either. Not only is it unhealthy but it is unattractive. And many of us have this horror about being unattractive because somehow it translates into being unloveable. But really, this fear of being unattractive and therefore unloveable is an illusion. Take a good look at the people passing by you on a street or in a supermarket and you'll notice most are not beautiful and yet they love and are loved. Standards of perfection are naturally imperfect and should be. It is not what you look like on the outside but who you are on the inside that is important. Most of us know this, we live this. If people were rejected based on appearance we would have a civil war on our hands.

I'm in the midst of reading a book called [ Appetites ] by Caroline Knapp. I bought it in response to learning about Pam's anorexia. The author describes her struggle with anorexia and goes on to analyze the reasons for it that are spurred by society. The book came out in 2003 and was a national bestseller. The shocking thing is that Ms. Knapp died at the age of 42 from complications of anorexia before the book was published. And I think about wonderful Pam and I don't want her to extinguish her own light through the not so simple act of not eating. I'm going to finish the book and write something about it and then send it to Pam. I'm hoping that it will help her in some way that I'm unable to.

So Pam and I are coming from opposites directions, she's underweight and I'm overweight. Either way our health is being compromised and we both need to do something to change our situations. Well, I'm on day two of my diet and exercise program and I'll keep posting about my progress during the next four months. Pam, the ball's in your court. It's time to take some action.

No Shame, But Endurance

Just about two weeks till Daylight Savings Time and I am looking forward to it. It's almost a quarter after six now and the light is almost gone. That extra hour will mean that I can go to my Al-Anon meeting in daylight which will help so much since I'm not that happy anymore driving at night. But mostly it will help to lift this lingering winter depression. I stopped exercising again which is foolish because it improves my mood as well as takes care of my body. I haven't been cleaning the house though I've made a date with myself to clean all the dishes on Tuesday. I did get out yesterday with my brother. He treated my to lunch at a Chinese restaurant and then I took him shopping. I held back from doing too much shopping because I'm a little tight on cash right now but I did manage to get bird seed and suet cakes so I have enough for this week to keep the birds fed and happy. I felt good yesterday. Good to be around my brother, good to get out of the house and good that it was a beautiful though cold day.

Tomorrow I go to a new general doctor for a preliminary visit. It's been over four years since I've been to one, so, at my age, it's long overdue. Even so, I'm not going to have myself thoroughly checked out until June. I'm going to use that as an incentive to lose weight. I won't be able to get to an ideal weight by then but I'll get a lot closer. I know I'm at risk for having diabetes because my mother and brother have borderline diabetes and also because I took the anti-psychotic drug Zyprexa for several years. Zyprexa which is known to cause people to put on a lot of weight (and I did) is also now known to be a possible factor in causing diabetes. Of course, I'm praying that I don't have it but ignoring the possibility is just plain dumb. For now, I'll see this new doctor, get a referral for my therapist so my insurance will cover my visits with her and make an appointment for mid June for a thorough exam. I'm a bit nervous about going but that's pretty normal with first visits. I will be open with this doctor about my schizophrenia not only because I need a referral but so that he can have some understanding of me.

I'm not ashamed or embarrassed about my illness anymore. I know that it is not my fault and I believe that I should be treated with a certain amount of compassion because of it. I told the Al-Anon group that I suffer from schizophrenia and instead of people pulling away from me one woman said her daughter also suffers from it and another said her mother was in and out of psychiatric hospitals suffering from bi-polar while she was growing up. That two people out of such a small group could have been personally affected by someone with mental illness made me feel less isolated and I was grateful to them for sharing. It helps me to look at schizophrenia as a biological disease, there's less stigma attached to it that way. I know it's not quite as simple as all of that but it's a good base to work from. And when it comes to dealing with doctors, it's the best way to approach it.

Christina has said that she does not like being called a schizophrenic because that implies that her identity is somehow diseased perhaps and I've been careful not to call people schizophrenics because of that but really, for now, I don't mind. This illness is a major part of why I am the way I am. I used to feel ashamed and now I'm strangely proud of the fact. Proud that I survived, proud that I still have a lot of hope for myself and grateful that I didn't succumb to negativity. I want people to know that I suffer from schizophrenia because I believe that's my way of fighting what stigma remains against the illness. I believe I am an essentially good person and I have worked hard to reach towards recovery and people should know that the mentally ill are not "freaks". We look just like "normal" people and mostly act just like "normal" people. If anything our insights might be just a bit more insightful because we know what it's like to be out of control or overtaken and we know what it's like to struggle back towards reality.

I am amazed at the endurance of the human species and deeply respectful towards anyone who struggles with mental illness. Most people have little idea how hellish it can get and that hell is hard to describe. The closest I can come to it is that it is like a waking dream/nightmare. An alter reality within reality. For me everything became more symbolic--signs, images and people's attitudes and actions, all layered with additional meaning, fraught with it. Along with this is this feeling of being watched, listened to, talked at constantly with no break, not even in dreams. Too many people take mental privacy for granted but imagine if one day it was just gone. Of course people begin to speak and act strangely. I found that in some ways I had more privacy when I talked aloud to myself than when I remained silent listening to the voices overtake me. At least I had a choice as to what I wanted to say and no voice had the power to take that away from me.

Now that I've adjusted to the medications and lost most of my delusional thinking and all of my paranoia, I rarely speak aloud. Now though the voices are still with me there's a kind of buffer that protects me from them. I can hear them during my waking hours but I am not longer threatened by them. I've come to accept them and even love them but if that buffer were removed I don't know if I'd have so much strength. And so I continue to take the meds and might for the rest of my life.
But if I were to return to the madness I believe my hard won experience would guide me in my weakness through it yet again.
Without the shame, I would reach out for more help and with the endurance, I would continue to survive.

Intimate Subjugation

Last night I went to an Al-Anon meeting. One of the readings for the day was about domestic violence and whether an Al-Anon member should give advice. The Al-Anon policy is to never give advice. You can share your "experience, strength and hope" but you should not tell another person what they should or shouldn't do. The ultimate decision is up to the individual. In afterthought that sounds sensible but my initial response to the reading was disagreement. I thought that violence should never be acceptable as part of an intimate relationship. Once it is accepted, the dynamics of the relationship changes. It is no longer one person being controlling of another, it becomes one person dominating the other, one person taking away basic inalienable rights from another. The right to privacy, the right to free speech, the right to free movement, the right to free association with others, and especially the right to personal safety. The violence and injustice of the world is brought inside the home. Over time this creates an incredible emotional, mental and spiritual malaise over the victim to the point where rational judgment is not freely available.

But most people don't realize this, that domestic violence is torture. I don't use that word lightly. It is not enough to turn the other cheek, to love your abuser. In order to return to reason you must detach from the torturer because if you don't the abuse spirals out of control even to the point of death. The abuser must take responsibility for his actions if there's going to be any positive change. If he (she) doesn't, then there is no relationship just a drastic imbalance of power. So, when is it okay to intervene? If someone came to me and confessed that he/she was being tortured by his/her lover, I don't know if I could just stand by and say "Do what your heart tells you to do." I would probably say call a hotline, find a shelter, get legal advice, do something to give yourself more options. Don't despair, believe in your goodness, believe in your right to exist.

At the same time I believe there should be options available for those who are abusive. They, too, should have somewhere to turn to get help, to salvage their relationships if possible. But when it comes to healing domestic violence, the very first step to my mind is separation along with individual counseling and support groups. It takes time for a victim to heal and time for an abuser to realize he/she needs help. For those abusers who refuse to get help there is little hope, all the more reason to support those who admit to their faults and get help. They set a good example. Just as victims who take back their autonomy set a good example for other abuse victims.

I don't mean to imply that any of this is easy. I was fortunate in that I had no children with my abuser and had my family's financial and emotional support. But many have children and are not financially independent. They may not have the support of their families. They may be so isolated that they have no friends to turn to for help. If they are to get the help they need, they have to take the risk and reach out for it and this reaching can be very hard in itself. All the more reason when someone comes to a meeting and admits abuse to stand by that person in whatever way possible. It may just be a phone number and a place to keep extra keys and money for an emergency or a temporary place to stay. It may be the use of a phone or a computer. Something, anything that allows the victim a sense of extra options and security, a sense of community support, an end to the isolation.

Too often, people withdraw from abuse victims instead of embracing them. I believe if more abuse victims were welcomed into other people's lives, there would be a substantial drop in the violence against them mainly because they'd have more choices as to how to handle the situation. More people to call, more places to go, more ways out instead of back. And why shouldn't the community provide ways out for victims of domestic violence?
And I don't just mean the police or domestic violence shelters but anyone who knows anything about the situation. If people joined together to intervene wouldn't it send a message out to abusers everywhere that abuse is everyone's concern, that you can't hide it anymore and continue the abuse. And wouldn't it give the victim the kind of support he/she deserves?

I wish someone had intervened in my case, not only because it may have saved me a whole lot of suffering but also because it may have given my abuser (who I did love) an opportunity for change as well. An intervention would show the abuser (in a non abusive way) that the secret is out and that is half the battle. Put a stop to the isolation and to the shame of it all and the negative dynamic will begin to change towards the positive. Support both the victim and the abuser (together, then separately) for both are suffering from mental illness and deserve guidance and compassion.

Having said all this I still question myself. The Al-Anon program stresses self-responsibility and self care because many spouses, lovers, friends, family, etc... try to control the problem and keep their focus on the alcoholic/addict--judging and blaming them while trying to take care of them. And I believe there is much truth in this. When in doubt, keep the focus on yourself, work your own program, if possible, detach with love from your alcoholic abuser. But still there is this big BUT in me that says once a line has been crossed it's time to prepare to take some action. As an individual, to take care of yourself and as members of a community to take care of that community.

Judge Not

I am not a Christian and yet when I recently read a critical comment it is Jesus' words that came to me: Judge not lest you be judged, turn the other cheek, love your enemies, and you who is without sin, cast the first stone. It's ironic but it is precisely those who use words as weapons that rouse my compassion. And I wonder, what pain are they going through or what pain have they lived through to get them to this point? I feel sadness. And I feel hurt and also annoyed. But I fight the annoyance, the desire to shoot an arrow in return. The person who tries to start a fight wants a fight in return, so turn the other cheek. The person who hates wants hate in return, so love. It is so simple and yet can be so hard to do.

Why do people balk at the truth that we all share in the same humanity? All of us have laughed and cried, felt love and fear, all of us have made mistakes. We are brothers and sisters and yet many of us are like Cain to Abel. Or more like Cain to Cain. We resent each other for one reason out of many and will not forgive. Until one day we go too far. From minor resentments brews hatred from hatred, violence and from violence to war. Everything escalates from small beginnings such as an insult thrown casually at an easy target.

Jesus councils on how to stop the cycle, through love and generosity, through focusing on our own faults rather than those of others: "first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." Don't point the finger, work on yourself. Buddhists work on themselves by following what they call The Noble Eightfold Path. Three of those paths fall under Right Thought, Right Speech and Right Action. To change anything one must go to the source and the source of the contention here is in the thoughts. So, in this instance, I have been working on my thoughts, thoughts that want to strike out instead of understand. I encounter hostility in another and I want to respond in kind, but I don't. I work with my thoughts. I water the seeds of understanding instead of the seeds of anger. I stop being a mirror and begin to change my position. Only through Right Thought can you get to Right Speech and Right Speech is so important because words can be cutting and therefore destructively powerful. Words should not be spoken or written casually but with some forethought, with a sense of personal responsibility. And as we become more responsible about the quality and direction of our thoughts and speech there is the hope that this will begin to guide our actions.

And Jesus says to those that want to stone a woman to death for her adultery: "If any of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." One by one the men leave until it is just Jesus standing before the woman. And Jesus says to the woman: "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" She responds "No one, sir" So he says "Then neither do I condemn you, go now and leave your life of sin." Jesus' Right Thought: Judge Not. Jesus' Right Speech: "If any of you is without sin..." And Jesus' Right Action: To not throw a stone. If anyone could have thrown a stone, it would have presumably been Jesus, and even he didn't. His thought and his speech set a good example and others followed him on to Right Action by walking away from judgement and condemnation.

But not all will walk away as is so clearly shown by the crucifixion of Jesus and is shown all over the world still in violence and war. Even dying on the cross Jesus asked God to forgive those who participated in his crucifixion: "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." To the end, he practiced what he preached. Forgiveness is more than just good, it is essential, a powerful medicine.

A Stranger In Town

I got a phone call from my brother early in the morning after Superbowl Sunday. He called to tell me about a stranger who had been in one of the town bars, a seemingly sociopathic stranger. He said this man was "creeping out" everyone in the bar. At first not drinking, then drinking heavily, hovering over people, acting inappropriately, becoming incoherent, spending a lot of money. At first my brother and his friends thought the man was coming on to the college girls but then the man turned his attention on my brother. This definitely unsettled him and made him cautious.

Turns out this man might be a pedophile. Someone said they saw him on the internet. He's moved into a local hotel but has been kicked out of two bars, a coffee shop and a unimart. The local police have been alerted but everyone is now nervous. My brother stayed away from the bars Monday night and will stay home tonight as well. Hopefully, this man is just passing through. But what if he's not?

While I'm unsettled by his presence in our safe little town (I've locked all the doors...), I also can't help but wonder: what can people do to help a man who is a social pariah? The man sounds isolated and psychotic and I know what that feels like. I've been very fortunate that my illness never led me towards hurting others but I can see how it could happen. Don't potentially violent people need therapy and support groups, even more than those who are ill but not violent? Don't we owe it to our society to take care of those who threaten it? Prison doesn't work, it just creates more of a problem, it strengthens a subculture and doesn't address the humanitarian issue of underlying mental illness.

But few people want to deal with sociopaths or psychopaths. I can't blame them for that because these sick individuals are manipulative and potentially dangerous. Regardless of that, they need to be helped. But I have trouble envisioning a Sociopath/Psychopath Anonymous group starting to spring up across the country. And I have trouble imagining my therapist treating this man...but she did treat me when I was deeply psychotic and I bet she could. I don't know the answer. But there needs to be an alternative to prison. I could see closed therapeutic communities but there's got to be therapy, individual and group therapy. Which means there needs to be trained therapists and support group facilitators along with rules and restrictions.

But what to do about the stranger in town? Though I had an impulse to find the man, I will probably steer clear of him and keep in closer touch with my brother to make sure he and his friends are okay. But I have started to pray for the man. And why not? Why shouldn't I pray for a sick man to be healed? Why shouldn't I pray that he harms noone and gets help? I do believe in Jesus' command to love your enemies. How else will the world eventually heal unless we stop all this fighting and start going to work on healthy solutions? But the truth is, the man will probably be arrested for one thing or another but I don't think that will stop him from being psychotic or change his behavior much or even keep him locked up forever. His problem won't just go away unless someone actually deals with him as mentally ill.

I know it's hard for many people to understand but wouldn't it be better if people surrounded the man with concern rather than with fear and resentment. Fear rules too often and often sets up conditions conducive to violence. I've had the fantasy before of what it would have been like if I was a member of some Native American tribe a century ago or so. How did they treat mental illness, violent or otherwise? Did they shun and exile the individual or did they find a place for him or her within the group? In my ignorance, I do not know but I imagine that the tribe would shelter their own.

No one wants to claim this man, not even me but I'm not proud of the fact. And if there were a group willing to deal with the man, I think I would join in. On my own and with my own psychotic residue lingering I'm not strong enough to help this man. Maybe someday that will change.

Al-Anon

I'm going to an Al-Anon meeting in a few hours...if the group still meets. I'm surprised to say that it's been at least two years maybe more since I went to a meeting. I used to go to this meeting and sometimes another meeting on Wednesday nights (which I might also go to this week or next). The group I'm hoping to go to tonight was the first group I ever went to and so I gravitate towards it. The people there were warm and bright and always treated me with kindness. Because there were no groups that I knew of for mental illness other than AA and Al-Anon, I went to Al-Anon when I was deeply psychotic. Once I was almost having a psychotic break when the voices ordered me to go to the Al-Anon meeting. I went while I was in so much pain and the people there were supportive and I felt safe. Unfortunately, I knew they weren't capable of addressing my schizophrenia and I rarely talked about it. I wish I could have but everywhere I went, except with my therapist, it didn't seem an appropriate environment.

But Al-Anon and especially the daily readers for it that I bought (there are now three of them) helped me so much when I was psychotic and not taking the anti-psychotic meds. It wasn't a perfect fit but there was enough to benefit me and keep me heading in a good direction. Now I aspire to start a Schizophrenics Anonymous group in my area, so that I can help other people suffering from schizophrenia and so I can find friends who understand where I'm coming from. I wish there had been a group like that for me early on in my illness. That would have been heaven sent. But maybe I can make a difference. Now, all I need is the courage to form the group by calling the Schizophrenics Anonymous headquarters. It sucks, but I have real problems using the phone. I have to prepare before I make a call to a stranger. Even so, I can do this. I want to do this.

What support groups address is one of the most pervasive problems for those suffering from mental illness: isolation. Whatever problems we face, we need to have contact with others who are struggling with the same problems. We need to know that we're not alone. I did reach out to people but rarely for help with my schizophrenia. Being around other people and being supportive of them kept me afloat but it really wasn't enough. I needed to talk to someone about my delusions and paranoia. Someone who wouldn't just think I was crazy and leave it at that. So I talked to my therapist and that helped. I talked a bit to a young friend who also suffered from mental illness but we never truly bonded and we went our separate ways. And that was it for human contact dealing with schizophrenia, except for the internet.

This past year the internet has helped to ease me out of my self-imposed withdrawal.

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I went to the meeting, same place, different room and recognized two people there. It was a comfort to see and hear them again; they both had wisdom to offer the rest of us. It was all familiar to me: The Serenity Prayer, the introductions, the 12 steps, the daily reading from the readers, the discussion. What was different was me. I had changed. I was no longer deluded and desperate. And yet I knew that I was still sick just not as sick as I once was. And I knew I had more hope now and could once again be there for other people. And I felt a strong respect for those two people who had stayed with this meeting for all those years and were still dedicated to it. Gentle, kind, warm and sensible. People I can learn from and enjoy. By the end of the meeting I felt very welcome and determined to return next Monday.

There was one woman there who was really hurting and I thought, too late, why didn't I write down her number? I guess I was just getting my bearings again. I also didn't want to come on too strongly my first time there in years. But I am praying that she returns next week because then I will be prepared.

Part of the preparation is just reading the Al-Anon daily readers, just as I hope she's doing. It was taking the time to read my books and reflect a little each day that got me through some hard, hard times. What goes in conjunction with the reading is the opening of my heart. The more I can connect with the practical yet spiritual aspect of this literature, the more I can connect with other people using the literature as a kind of bridge between two perspectives. I think I'm ready now to start taking on some more responsibility. And that can be as simple as calling members of Al-Anon between meetings just to see how their day is going. That's what I used to do when I was deeply psychotic and if I could do it then, I sure as hell can do it now. A simple act of kindness can lift a person up and I want to start making those acts a part of my life. I want to start believing that I can make a difference in my community. Withdrawal may be safe but it is not challenging or inspiring, it's people who are challenging and inspiring whenever I get to know them. So now I will.

Friendship, Solitude and Internal Stigma

Elizabeth's gentle challenge that I should cultivate off line friendships has got me thinking for the past couple of days. I've tried several times to post but wound up deleting what I'd written. The truth is that I haven't had a close adult friendship. I've had boyfriends and I've had friendships that never developed into something closer. Since I became ill over eight years ago, I've spent huge chunks of time alone. Unlike many people who suffer from schizophrenia, I neither lived with my family or at a halfway house or in a hospital. Much of what I've gone through has been in solitude with few witnesses.

In the beginning of my illness surprisingly it was my tormenting voices that made me reach out to other people and also help other people. The reaching out and helping weren't the problem; the problem was the way in which the voices badgered me to stop my natural tendency to withdraw when wounded. Luckily the people I encountered, those who helped me and who I helped, were all good and kind people. So I made the transition from being out of my mind and alone to being still sick but balanced by being around other people.

I went first to Al-Anon meetings and then to meetings for victims of domestic violence because I had experience with both. I found people to help and be friends with there. Except for one young friend, I didn't admit that I suffered from schizophrenia to anyone. I just put on a brave and willing face and did what I could under the circumstances to support my new found friends and their families. The voices had called me evil but through being with others, I knew that I was not and that was an important lesson. Still, in most often putting to focus on other people I was neglecting myself. There was still unfinished business between me and my psychosis.

I decided to go back to art school and finish my degree. And so I did go back but suffered from another psychotic break. That's when I began to start taking the anti-psychotic medication regularly. I struggled through school and major depression for a while. I believe it was the depression that caused me to stop seeing people outside of school. That plus I started to put on a lot of weight and I felt unattractive and self-conscious. And so I did my work but I withdrew into my self. I'm sure if there had been a support group for mental illness on campus that I would have gone to it but there were none. Even so, the depression began to lift some and I did finish school.

That was a year and eight months ago. Though I was proud of myself for getting that degree, I was also relieved when I no longer had to go to school. But then my contact with people dropped dramatically. No school, no therapist, no support group meetings, no friendship. And that was all my own decision. I was not forced into solitude. I chose it. And despite the lack of a support system I was starting to feel better. I was enjoying being alone. I was free of any major responsibilities and for a time that has been good.

But time doesn't stand still and change is inevitable. It is not surprising to me that the depression has returned. I can be without people for a time with no ill consequence but only for a time. So now I'm back to seeing my therapist and I've decided to return to Al-Anon. I've found support groups a wonderful place to meet people. Many people meet other people in bars but I just don't have the stomach for alcohol anymore. I only wish there were more support groups available where I live. A goal of mine in to start a group either for mental illness in general or for schizophrenics in particular by the end of the Spring.

When I was in school I told several of my teachers that I suffered from schizophrenia and depression. It was awkward telling them but I wanted to dispel any stigma that is attached to the illness. I wanted to show that, in some way, I could contribute too despite having a handicap. But I also wanted that handicap to be acknowledged. If I didn't measure up to the rest of the class, I wanted the teachers to understand that it wasn't mere laziness on my part. Still, I carried within me an internal stigma and part of why that stayed in tact was because I didn't know anyone in my community who suffered from schizophrenia. I didn't know others who were like me. The isolation left a mark on me.

Now I have a desire to get beyond that internal stigma and a way to do that is to be open with everyone about my illness, to disperse the residue of the shame that I've internalized. Another way is to meet other people who suffer from schizophrenia and befriend them. The truth is that I'm curious to meet other people with schizophrenia. I really want to hear their stories and learn from them. And I want to realize that I'm really not living in a bubble.