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reconciliationproject · 5 years ago

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WHY THIS PRESIDENT CAN’T

This President can’t. You see, he only has one tool. When you only have one tool, say a screwdriver, and a problem presents requiring multiple tools then you must decide what else to do, because just one tool will not fix the problem. A crisis is created when there are multiple issues requiring a variety of tools and he only has the one tool.

In my 27 years as a psychotherapist, I have come to believe that fear underlies everything that creates an issue for us. At the bottom of all uncomfortable issues, I think we will always discover an aspect of fear. If we have an awareness of that fear and learn to acknowledge and honor its presence, we can begin to apply tools that enable us to deal with and heal the fear. We learn at a young age that fears are uncomfortable and that we don’t like the painful discomfort that is part of that experience. One of the first coping skills we learn in our early years is to suppress what we do not know how to deal with. We learn to shove the discomfort down inside, where it remains until we learn how to honor the truths they hold and allow them to be released. However, what we shove down continues expressing in some way, the words and feelings that were part of their creation. We learn to live with that inside. We devise ways of living that allow us to ignore the presence of such discomfort and fears and function in this world using behaviors and reactions that tend to hide those truths from others and ourselves. This is a coping skill I believe we all learn and is part of who and what we are. The defensive mechanisms and coping skills we use cover up the uncomfortable, the frightening and becomes part of the load pushed through our lives using the autopilot process.

Like all of us, this President began creating habitual reactions, behaviors and responses to life’s challenges early in his life. That creation process continued into adulthood and after repeating the same responses to life’s situations over and over those responses became habits, subconscious reactions that required little thought. By our adolescent years, in so many ways, we shift into autopilot mode. Once we are in autopilot mode it can become a challenge to change our auto-habits, since our comfort zones count on the familiarity of continually recycling the old stuff. Changing those old, known habits entails doing something new and anything new involving change tends to create discomfort—from a little to a lot. Often that means we end up staying the same in our cozy and usual comfort zone, rather than choosing to experience the discomfort that can come with the new and the process of change. The irony is that staying the same often means we consent to retain any old discomfort staying the same entails. The difference being that a known and familiar discomfort we are accustomed to having in our lives is familiar and we are used to dealing with what’s familiar. In my opinion and personal experience, the main factor that motivates change is pain and each of us decides how much it takes to start on that process. In my case, prior to becoming a psychotherapist, it seemed to take a good amount of pain to grab my awareness and motivate my efforts to engage the process of change and any associated discomfort.

For so long, I have stood on the sidelines while political rhetoric has become a poisonous condiment that now seems to accompany our daily vision, hearing and experiences. This vitriolic, blaming and accusing behavior seems to scatter unending amounts of anger, sadness, fear, uncertainty and frustration in every direction. It has created separation and barriers among our country’s citizens. I have concerns about the direction of our Republic and the democracy that is our country’s foundation and heritage. We also have a President that seems to only have one gear, only sees in one direction and does not appear to have the ability to shift that gear, alter his direction or respond to a country now in great need. You see, he only has one tool. He has failed to provide the results and changes we so long for and desire. There’s a reason for that. This President can’t.

My opinions about this president have formed out of his words, watching his actions and behaviors and drawing conclusions based on my profession as a psychotherapist. I have worked with a broad range of people in a variety of settings and entered this profession after seeking counseling for myself at the age of thirty-five. I have gone through my own therapeutic experiences and it has served me well, as I assist and walk through journeys others have taken in the work we have done together. What I have concluded is this President is incapable of change, It’s like he is walking through life equipped with a tool belt that only holds one tool. When he encounters a situation that requires a different tool, he will employ his habitual responses and try to ignore the fact he only has one, inadequate tool. He will attempt to somehow go around the situation by creating distraction and blame or accuse others by making excuses or denying the situation exists. If he only has a screwdriver in his tool belt and encounters a situation demanding a wrench, he will do whatever is necessary to hide lack or helplessness. He will conceal the truth and a smoke screen of distraction will create a different focus.

I believe early experiences encountering new and perceived threatening situations induces the need to suppress what is uncomfortable or somehow frightening. That process, which I believe we all go through, necessitates the creation of an outward facing mask that attempts to hide what is uncomfortable inside. It requires we use our own energy to support and maintain that protective mask, which can be pulled up whenever life’s situations require. It demands energy to both maintain and keep the uncomfortable situation suppressed. Once we have created our habitual reactions to the many situations we experience growing up, and once we become used to reacting in the same way over and over, we just continue on autopilot along those long stretches of life’s road.

For me, it has become uncomfortable to stay on the today’s sidelines. I have serious concerns about this country’s direction and the President’s leadership. I have also come to believe this President presents with classic characteristics and behavior of a narcissist. He appears to have a great need for admiration and attention, along with a lack of empathy for others and a grandiose sense of self-importance. He seems to exaggerate his achievements and abilities and seems to have an intense need to be viewed as superior. He appears to verbalize fantasies of unlimited successes, power and brilliance. Anecdotal stories are told by others around him of a need for excessive admiration, along with a sense of entitlement and an expectation of automatic compliance with his expectations. People have written about him taking advantage of others, through the years, in order to achieve his own ends.

This President appears to lack empathy and seems unable to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others. He shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes toward others. He seems to need to be the center of attention and repeatedly schedules speeches and rallies with those who provide the adoration he needs. This probably becomes a way to convince himself of the truth of his inner fantasies. Most of the time he seems to display shallow expressions of emotion and uses a style of speaking that lacks many details. He likes to use theatrical self-dramatization and a sometimes exaggerated expression of emotion. His thinking, emotions, relationships and impulse control are all viewed through the lens of his narcissism, which he may have developed as a means to feel safe and to survive the fears that underlie narcissism. It allows him to feel secure and without that he would likely feel very uncomfortable. His focus and concern, it seems, is only for himself, not others.

Allow me to go back to the idea of fear as underlying every issue we tend to have in this life. If he has a fear of failure, which he has discussed before, and can only accept a sense of winning in all situations, then what happens to that inner fear of being inept, not intelligent enough or not liked and adored by everyone and being ignorant of some knowledge? Those fears have to be hidden and masked over so others will not know. This President seems incapable of admitting he is ever wrong, to not knowing or understanding something. He seems unable and unwilling to apologize for anything. If he ever did, that would be acknowledging or admitting he did something wrong. Being blamed, accused or criticized, especially with facts, is probably a somewhat terrifying situation for him. He responds with the only habitual tools he has developed that allow him to remain in his comfort zone. He falls back on the old habits over and over. He uses inappropriate intense anger, frequent displays of temper, bullying, intimidation and irrationally blaming and accusing others or things. These seem to be habitual behaviors he has used in his businesses. However, it appears he has now found himself in his current position where those tools are less effective and produce undesired and uncomfortable consequences. Used to being the supreme power in his business life, he is left helpless when these usual habitual behaviors do not produce the end results he is accustomed to creating. With a sense of not being all powerful and all commanding, he keeps going back to his single screwdriver, in a situation that demands a whole toolbox of helpful and useful implements. I think this may create a sense of helplessness and fear because the usual, the one way of working--the one tool--no longer achieves what he expects and the rest of his toolbelt is empty.

In working with clients dealing with narcissism, I have heard descriptions of their having moments, like the peaceful moments between awake and asleep, when the defenses are down. During those moments, they describe being able to sense and feel the wonderful and peaceful possibilities within. They may glimpse something desirable but the powerful inner fears can make it feel impossible to experience. They talk of having hopes and dreams, along with the fears and, in daily life, the fears usually win.

Sometimes the painful reactions created by feeling ineffectual and having to be ever wary and emotionally defensive can wear them out and create a need for nurturing, which can be scary for them. A look at the toolbelt continues to show only one tool and resolve is increased that insists that one tool will take care of all their needs and help them to survive. I believe that can create a sense of emptiness inside and a need to be taken care of and loved. I think this President has an inability to care for and nurture himself in beneficial ways and instead chooses what many of us choose as nurturance, or what I term the Feel Goods. What do we tend to do when we feel down, sad, angry, frustrated, scared or irritated? How many choose a certain food, sweet, pasta, bread, drugs, alcohol, sex, over-exercising or over-working to keep the discomfort, the fear, at bay? We all have ways to feel better when we feel bad. Perhaps golfing is the only thing that provides this President with a sense of nurturing and he catches flack for the time he dedicates to that activity.

There are other characteristics that seem to be a part of this President. Deceitfulness, repeated lying or conning others for personal profit or pleasure. Sometimes hurting others can provide someone with a sense of power or control. This President seems to show a lack of remorse by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt or mistreated someone, or some group. Suspecting others of exploiting or deceiving him, having unjustified doubts about loyalty or trustworthiness of associates or friends, persistently bearing grudges and being unforgiving of insults or perceived slights and reacting angrily or counterattacking when he feels attacked are other reactions and characteristics of some personality disorders.

Taking all of this into consideration, I have developed a strong reaction to what the possible consequences of this President’s words, behaviors and actions have upon this country, it’s citizens and the world. Through my years as a psychotherapist and through the counseling and training I have received, I know that change is only created by a desire for such. There have been calls for this President to be the Comforter-in-Chief, in order to guide us through the powerful and emotionally uncomfortable changes we find ourselves currently experiencing. We have a need for a vision we can hold onto and believe in for this country. We have a desire for guidance, understanding and hope people can coalesce around. We do not need the turmoil, attacks, projecting, blaming, accusing and separations this President continues to induce. We do not need the reactions created by this President’s lack of respect and knowledge about this country’s history and Constitution, which is the foundation of our Republic. We crave someone who can bring together the many factions and groups that have felt abused, ignored, forgotten and disrespected. This President cannot do that. He cannot offer genuine care for us because, I believe, he does not know how to effectively care for himself, outside of the Feel Goods like food, sex, the need for power and to scapegoat others. His role modeling has shown his inability to acknowledge he feels lost at times and doesn’t have all the answers. Through narcissistic eyes he sees his own needs as primary and others’ secondary. He doesn’t seem to have the skills and tools necessary to take nurturing care of himself and because of that I think he is totally incapable so doing so for this country. You see, this President can’t and he only has the one set of behaviors, the single tool, and, for him, changing might feel too scary.

I feel comfortable thinking of him as exhibiting classic narcissistic characteristics. However, I am only diagnosing from afar based on his statements, behaviors, actions and anecdotal material. I am concerned and worried about the dangers this President potentially brings to this country’s present and future. I think this President’s behavior and words have seemed to allow people with similar underlying feelings to more willingly express the anger, prejudices, discrimination, bullying and intimidations role modeled by the President. As I said, I can no longer stand on the sidelines without expressing my concerns and a willingness to be part of the healing and reconciliation this country is headed toward. In addition, I offer any assistance I might in developing an inclusive vision beneficial to all the citizens of this wonderful land. I want to remind others that we are all better together--not bickering, blaming and disrespecting. When we offer our ideas in a respectful and intentional manner toward healing and when we are capable and willing to truly listen to others, especially those of differing opinions, I think we are then fully capable of creating wonders. I know we are capable of constructing a path for all of us to tread, as one people and one nation, respecting and happy for the strength of our differences and our similarities.

I am completing a book titled, Heavenly Changes. Chris, the young main character, begins to have magical and mystical experiences in his nightly dreams. In his dream-state, he begins to see three points of light and these lights eventually speak to him. The points of light emerge as angels and begin to provide Chris with many experiences and lessons about life and living. They begin to talk about the light that is at the center of each person. The angelic presences guide Chris on nightly journeys, and he experiences the multiple layers that comprise a person. He begins to realize and experience the powerful light at the center of each person, each animal and this universe. In some people, their light is more easily perceived and seems to be closer, while buried deeper within others—but always present. Just as a lamp’s light can be dimmed by placing successive layers of material over the lamp and eventually hiding the inner glow from sight. Removing those outer layers brings the glow steadily into view and awareness and what at first appeared dark reveals a glowing light. Through his mystical adventurers he begins to understand there is a light always present within each person and that the layers covering the inner light are the result and consequences of choices, actions and thoughts. Some aspect of fear always seems to be around that center and exacts a toll, usually perceived as some level of physical, emotional, or mental discomfort or pain.

One night the three angel lights took Chris on what seemed a long dream-journey, flying across this world. The destination was an inmate in a prison. As had been his experience previously, the angels took him on a journey inside this prisoner, through all the layers. Chris expressed what he was perceiving more darkness than previously experienced. On previous journeys, he would see the familiar glow ahead that became a powerful inner light at a person’s center. The angels knew of his questions and began to communicate with him. They told him again that there is a light at the center of each person, each living animal and plant and within all of creation. They taught him there is only One, One Light, from which all the creative light in the universe proceeds and the name of that light is Love. Chris began to intuit the meaning and sense of that and had a powerful emotional experience of this universe as one beautiful and ever present Light.

We are truly, I believe, all One, one human family, and each of us is on an individual journey to realize and understand this meaning. The fear that I believe underlies every problem and challenging issue contains a positive purpose. That purpose is to eventually encourage us to explore and seek the answers that lie within each of us and to reach an understanding of our Oneness. Along that journey, I believe we each have experiences with such things as narcissism and the multitude of other life issues. Each of us has a bit of narcissism and other challenging issues inside. When we become aware of that, I think that awareness guides us on to the next step, the next potential growth experience and the wonderful journeys that lie ahead for each and all of us.

I think we find ourselves in the current state of experience that offers us an opportunity to chart new courses, for ourselves, our country and as a model for this world. All the fears, pain and discomfort, joys, hopes and awarenesses we have experienced have guided us to this place. The ability to demand and elect strong, caring, intelligent, inclusive and good people, to positions of responsibility and leadership, is ours--yours and mine. It is up to us to set the direction to proceed ahead. The concerns and experiences I have had in my life have helped me to honor and release my painful discomforts and fears and honor the truths appropriate for me in this time. The future is up to us. As Chris eventually discovers, there are no truly bad people, for though some may have done some bad things, each has a powerful inner Light that is one with the creative Light of this universe. This President cannot comfort or take care of us, and I have given you my thoughts about why he can’t. I do not think he is capable of, nor desires, to make changes to himself or to his life. I think that is too frightening and uncomfortable and he only has the one tool.

I do know that we are all better together and I have faith that the road ahead is wide and can accommodate all of us. Together we can learn to take care of ourselves and each other and create a vision that will call us ahead. Don’t ever doubt the Light. Not only is it at the end of the journey but also lights the entire way. Isn’t that what all the major religions teach? I look forward to seeing you along the road. Take good care and know you are in safe Hands.

#writers #writeblr #politics #psychotherapy #psychology #spiritualjourney #mentalhealth #mental disorder #writers on tumblr

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reconciliationproject · 5 years ago

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A VIEW BEYOND

A VIEW BEYOND These are new and unexplored times, Where are we headed as individuals, countries and as a human family? Dust off your crystal ball and put on your Futurist hat. Share your thoughts, fears and hopes.

Just as the Great Depression, spanning the years from 1929-1933, was a catastrophic catalyst that changed the lives of those who endured it, the effects of Covid-19 appear to have the potential to create a similar experience. The Great Depression reframed the lives of those alive in that period and created a new normal that became part of the fabric of habits, losses, fears and hopes people…

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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Red pine needles...

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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The path...

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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Had a snow shower yesterday..

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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Molly and Jake mirror image. Jackson was on patrol, or else there would have been three.

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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The setting sun highlights the Fall colors in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley.

#nature #photoart #natural #landscape #light

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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The setting sun highlights the Fall colors in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley.

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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WE HAVE BEEN SO EASILY MANIPULATED INTO POLITICAL AND SOCIAL SEPARATION

With our tacit agreement, we have willingly allowed ourselves to be gradually manipulated into a state of separation, with one half of our country seemingly hating, blaming, accusing and not trusting the other half. It has occurred over time and we have been numbed and force fed a steady cacophony of unrelenting, loud mouthed and shameful stream of focused diatribes, the effect of which has gradually and unerringly driven us, with our tacit consent, into separate camps that comprise our current political and social systems. Congratulations upon being herded into outcomes I don’t think any of us really desired and few of us enjoy. There are, however, means of breaking the spells that have been cast upon us and it’s not too late to remember who we are, remember what’s important and save our democracy so dangerously close to tripping off the precipice of ignorance on which we stand. What is at stake is nothing short of the democratic republic we love so much, the remembrance of who we are, the power we hold, our ability to manifest dreams and to again become aware of the inherent and intentional ability we have to realize we are all better together, not separate, and to do what is necessary to accomplish this essential task.

We have lost much of our inquisitiveness, desire and ability to define the meanings of words and labels designed to separate us into different perceived camps so there can be someone to blame and accuse for the misery and difficulties each of us has been told is present in our daily lives and in our country. We have gradually, over the years, been separated by so many so-called pundits on both the left and the right of the political spectrum. I believe this separation is for their own financial gains, with all of us acting as movable and gullible pieces on some game board. The constancy of their noisy racket, over time, has led us to believe half of our wonderful country is our enemy and think the opposite of what we believe. I don’t think this was the original goal, when the racket began, but upon realization of what effect their noise was creating led to an awareness among these self-absorbed commentators of the power their words had to disburse ideas, create loyal followers and a divided political country. Instead of offering solutions that held possibilities for a win-win for all involved, two separate camps were created in a miasma of self-indulgence, increasing riches for the mouths that sowed division while wearing down a public already worn down by over-work, parenting and trying to cope with the challenges of life itself. Along with the commentators, there has also been deafening and continuous noise from the far left and right public and congressional political groups, who only want things their way, neglecting compromise and also working to drown out reasonable thoughts that strive for win-win outcomes. As a result, so many people have forfeited their ability to think for themselves and to determine their own beliefs and values in the multiple roles each plays in life. In a world-weary and worn-out state, the words of blaming and accusing gradually began to inform us that our misery was caused by those who do not fully agree with us. The manipulation was gradual, constant and perpetuated for the developing greed and power that resulted.

The belief that half of our country is our enemy and think the opposite of what we believe began with the assignment of labels designed to create an enemies list and someone on whom blame can be placed. Labels like conservatives, liberals, independents, socialists, libertarians, communists, far-left, far-right, and others, have been applied to very large swaths of the population and our beliefs in how those labels are defined, as well as what spews forth from the divisive commentators’ mouths, serves to illustrate the idiocy and ignorance of our own reactions and beliefs. Yet so many have taken these selfish assertions as truths and then spout them out of their own mouths, while our numbed-out ability to think on our own and discern truths from fiction have reduced so many to being on some kind of thinking auto-pilot function. We have Democrats blaming Republicans, Republicans blaming Democrats, Independents laughing at and blaming both and all creating a recycling whirlpool of blame. Also in the mix are those who are angry and blame everyone else for their discomfort, while seeking to align with others of similar thoughts, for security and validation, while showing little interest in solutions. Expressing anger can provide some temporary relief from stress, as the energy required to express anger serves to reduce high levels of inner stress a bit. However, the relief is short lived and is only a dysfunctional form of self-care, as it does little to deal with the core of suppressed anger. In my personal and professional experience, I have found that there are two primary emotions underlying, sadness and fear. Those emotions, which so many are uncomfortable acknowledging, honoring and expressing, remain silent and propel the outward coverup and expression of anger, which is in great supply these days.

In spite of the loud verbal assaults thrown back and forth, there are very few who actually reside on the far left and far right political extremes, though their volumes turn up to shout are heard and cause a loud reaction from the opposite extreme. The shouts are duly picked up and sensationalized by the media, who are seemingly so interested in creating sensational stimulation that only adds to the confusing, mind and soul numbing noise that enters our ears and surrounds us on a 24-hour basis. All of this crap is conveyed by different mouths and intents, as a supposed component and illustration of truth, which furthers ignorance, perpetuates resistance and looks for someone to blame for all of the political excrement in which we find ourselves walking, listening and existing, while yearning for peace, calm and wisdom. We are beaten into submission by this constant chatter and surrender our abilities to reason and think for ourselves, as we find ourselves spouting the lines fed to us by commentators. Our surrender, acquiescence and parroting vocabulary is the reward these selfish, self-absorbed dividers seek and the corresponding and horrible cycle set on the repeat mode keeps their words flowing in a recurring pattern and cycle that always produces the same, numbing results. This is what happens when we allow ourselves to be hammered verbally and visually with the blaming and accusing verbiage that goes back and forth like a ping pong ball and eventually leaves us with the sense of mental numbness and fatigue, an induced state for us so sought after by those who profit from our divide. What is being created is a state of fear, with the hope we will stop thinking for ourselves and simply allow them to think for us and have us parrot their self-purported wisdom.

By far, what perpetuates this constant flow of dung is the financial reward the commentators, networks and media have amassed and seek to increase. In this process, which often creates a sense of anger, hopelessness, helplessness, sadness and resentment, we seem to forget our own fervent beliefs about life, what we think is important and the ethical, spiritual and moral values we have developed for ourselves from whatever spiritual and religious tenets-- most of which speak of love, and the importance it might play in our time in life--and place them on hold, or in the background, as the garbage of separation and fear takes over out thoughts, behaviors and responses. In this mental, emotional and physical turmoil, the one thing that seldom appears are real solutions to problems that offer win-win outcomes. The lack of solutions continues to keep the commentators’ pockets lined with financial riches and perpetuates the cycles that enrich misery and themselves, in turn. We ALL have something to contribute and our country has become powerful because we have allowed and counted upon that for ideas and wisdom. Let’s get our thoughts, beliefs, hearts and democracy refurbished, refilled and into play. We ALL have something to contribute. Let’s work to make sure everybody gets to make their own contribution and all are able to participate.

The simple truth is, again, that very few of us are in the political far-right or far-left. Those who reside in those factions are often called activists or radicals and their shouts tend to get a lot of media attention and thrives on sensational and stimulating. Their voices can drown out voices of moderation and compromise. However, there are important roles for activists and radicals to play. Often there are worthy thoughts in their ideas. Indeed, this country was helped along in its creation by such radicals as Samuel Adams and others. Most of us find ourselves on a political continuum floating back and forth between the extremes of conservative and liberal beliefs, depending on the issues. Some are more conservative financially and then may be more liberal regarding some social issues. We slide back and forth along the long line that stretches between the extremes, depending on the issue, yet these separating and dividing pundits want to offer only the idea that we are either/or on all issues. That is a lie! Don’t fall into that trap. If we can be convinced that half of the country is our enemy, then discussion with the other side is made to seem wrong, or weak, and moderation, on any issue, is labeled a betrayal or traitorous just to keep us in line. Demanding a single line of thought or philosophy does not describe a democracy, but rather a dictatorship or an autocracy.

in listening effectively. Our democracy was built on the idea of talking, listening and negotiation, which seems to have broken down on so many levels at this time. Sharing and discussing ideas is what leads to negotiating, creating multi-partisan support and crafting win-win outcome. It is important to revive that result. Without it we have no democracy and we do disservice and dishonor to any responsible role we might play in creating win-win outcomes that work for all.

Let’s bring civility and kindness into fashion, role model it ourselves then expect and demand our leader do the same. Let’s discuss changes for the good that can include ideas of all political persuasions and serve the common good, not just the good of a few. Let’s work to re-introduce self-responsibility and honor back into our own lives, into our country and into this wonderful world we share with so many others. Let’s begin to think for ourselves, with our heads and our hearts and from the seat of spiritual and Divine Loving Kindness we each are at the center of our being. When you listen to talk that is not centered there, and offers no loving and win-win solutions, ask yourself is any of it produces loving kindness outcomes. If not, change the channel or turn it off. Begin to also be aware of how uncomfortable it might feel to begin to think and talk in terms of Love and Loving Kindness. Is there anything in those terms that might be bad, as part of any thoughts, input, ideas or solutions that might be proposed or adopted? Remember, OUR BELIEFS ARE WHAT WE DO. THEY ARE OUR BEHAVIORS, OUR ACTIONS, OUR WORDS. Observe your behaviors and speech and determine whether or not those beliefs are in line with what you truly believe and value. If not, take ideas that seem appealing and put them into practice in your life. If you continue to repeat them then they can eventually become true beliefs. Get off auto-pilot and begin to be consciously aware of your behaviors and your speech and present yourself in the present moment as a reflection of your intentional values and beliefs. Your true wisdom is within, not without. Together let’s create a better place in which we live and make intentional changes that benefit all. Let’s give up living in fear, anger, resentment, blaming and accusing others. Begin to clear the air and remember WE ARE ALL BETTER TOGETHER, NOT SEPARATE. Take good care and let’s begin to create and demand intentional good in ourselves and our leaders.

For more thoughts, go to my blog: TheReconciliationProject.net

#politics #loving kindness #selfimprovement #better together blogger writer

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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Suicide Rate For Girls Has Been Rising Faster Than For Boys, Study Finds https://n.pr/2w1hq5U

Serious issue...

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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“One small crack doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you were put to the test and you didn’t fall apart.”

— Linda Poindexter

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reconciliationproject · 6 years ago

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A CHILD’S INNER SCREAM

August 11, 2018

“So, what’s my position now,” he asked, leaning half forward and half toward me. We were sitting in two soft rocking chairs, facing the same direction, with a round oak table between.

“What do you mean what’s your position now?”, I asked, though I knew what he was asking.

His wife of forty-four years, my mother of almost thirty-eight years had been buried earlier this day. The day-bed, where she had lain for most of the last year, was across from my chair. The mattress was still stained and painful memories still attached.

It had been her wish to die, to stop trying. A breast lost to cancer two years before and weight down to eighty pounds had left skin and bones to surround her declining spirit. Dad told me she had made him promise no more hospitals. He took care of her the last year, helped by women from a visiting nurses service.

The morning he found her lifeless and unresponsive, on the day-bed, he did some strange things. The manager of the visiting nurses office told me he came by there, talking crazy, saying something about Pat, my mother, then left hurriedly. Several other people told me they had seen him that morning, acting and talking strangely.

When the visiting nurse came to the house, she found Mom dead and called for an ambulance. One of the paramedics called me and I talked with him briefly, then handed the phone to my wife, before I broke into tears.

I later talked with my dad, asked him how he was doing and told him I was on my way. There were friends at the house and I felt better knowing he had company.

When I drove up to the house, the whole place seemed emptier than ever before. An old white frame house, with pillars on the front porch, that my grandfather had built around 1920. The house was surrounded by huge oak trees, magnolias, pear, peach and plums. Dogwoods were set among the larger oaks and the remnants of a winter garden lay behind the trees, next to a small vineyard.

Normally I loved the sight but today it seemed lonely and sad. It seemed as though all the living things knew the lady of the house, who loved them all, would not walk again among them. Nor would she walk and smile among us. Reluctantly I parked the car.

Dad rose when I came in and we embraced, awkwardly, at first. This was the first time I could ever remember hugging him. The visiting nurse was standing up, at the end of the room, in the doorway between the den and kitchen, both long rectangular rooms. Dad had a somewhat confused, vacant look and I helped him back into his chair. He was no longer the six foot two and one half inches of his prime. He now seemed closer to my 5′ 10 1/2″ inches and he looked like all of his seventy-six years.

I introduced myself to the nurse, who was not really a nurse but someone the visiting nurses sent to the house to clean, cook lunch and take care of home-bound patients’ hygienic needs. She told me her name and recounted the story of finding my Mom dead and calling the ambulance. Later, before she left, she told me there were some potatoes and onions in the pantry that were about to go bad and some meat and left-overs that needed to be cleared out of the refrigerator. The way she spoke, I knew she was asking for them. It was easy to tell she was poor and I told her to go ahead and take the things she was talking about. Over the course of that day, and the next, she asked for more and more things–a real scavenger. Her services ended.

Dad and I sat down and he told me which funeral company he had directed Mom’s body be sent. I contacted the owner and discussed needs, dates, services, etc. I was having a tough time with the subject so I told him I would be down later.

I asked Dad for names of people to act as pallbearers. He could not think of any so I asked about people I had heard he and Mom speak about. I did not know many people there, in the small town where he grew up and where they had moved after he retired. I asked who the man was that took their cattle to auction, etc. Finally I had some names and I started making phone calls, wishing at that moment that I had siblings who could help with what had to be done. But I was an only child and it was up to me. I called other people for names and came up needing two.

I went to the funeral home and sat down with the owner. We discussed prices, quality of caskets, clothes, markers and services. I would do fine, for a while, then have to control my suddenly appearing tears and emotions. I finally left to go back home and see what clothes Mom had there, appropriate for her last public occasion.

Dad was still sitting in his rocker, where I had left him, the room growing dark as the sun set behind the trees. I told him about the arrangements I had made, so far, and started looking for mom’s clothes. Dad was quiet and I asked him to try to come up with more names for pallbearers. He couldn’t. He didn’t. I was getting frustrated with him and could not find any appropriate clothes. Part of me wanted to sit there like him but the other part knew things had to be done. God, I was sad and Dad was no help! I left to select a gown from the funeral home’s selection of appropriate apparel.

Dad’s lack of help was stressful. I wanted to yell, scream and cry, to try and relieve the hurt, sadness and sudden unwanted responsibilities that had been placed upon me. I picked out the gown and casket then stopped by to meet the young minister. I told him about Mom’s life and gave him a poem I had written for her, as a birthday present. I held together and completed the arrangements.

We made it through the funeral and burial. When the minister read my poem, it almost did me in. Back at the house, there were friends, food and conversation. Dad told a friend of mine that I was trying to get all of his money and control of his affairs. The friend told me and old feelings returned.

Dad and I had had a love/hate relationship for most of my remembered life. He and Mom had spent many weekends partying and drinking, when I was young. All of their emotions bubbled to a drunken surface, many times, and erupted into violence.

I remember sitting in my bed, about seven years old, looking down a long hall, into the living room, and hearing the loud talk, screams and shouts. I saw hitting, both her and him. He was much larger than her but she fought back–it was in her nature. Dad had been a heavyweight fighter during college. She played tennis in college and grew up as a cowgirl in Eastern New Mexico, doing a man’s job on various ranches.

Sometimes, during the violence I was subjected to, there were yells for help. sometimes I could see him pushing her across the small area of the living room I could see, while sitting in the middle of my bed. I would sit there watching, wanting to scream but too afraid and holding that sound inside. Eventually, when I was in the third grade, my stomach erupted, from all the terror I shoved down there. I would wake up screaming in pain, holding my stomach. The only place I could eventually fall asleep was lying crossways in Mom’s padded rocking chair.

Mom took me to local doctors, then, on referral, to a large Galveston hospital. The doctors never found anything wrong and came up with a diagnosis of ‘migraine stomach’. That diagnosis was otherwise termed, ‘we don’t know’. Years later I diagnosed the cause myself. Whenever I was around violence, of any kind, my stomach tied up in knots and I was able to relate the feelings together with the drunken violence I had witnessed and been subject to.

The drinking and fighting episodes continued to flare up every so often. Some were witnessed by my friends and really embarrassed me. As I grew older, about fifth grade, I started to run into the living room, or whatever room the sparks were coming from, to try and separate them.

I remember one such episode in the kitchen. I ran between them screaming, “Stop it!”, tears covering my face and nerves wracked by fear and sadness. My Dad looked at me and said, “What are we doing to our son? What have we done?”, his words slurred, sloppy and wet. He then made us all hold hands, in a circle, and drop to our knees while he said a drunken prayer and asked for God’s forgiveness, as tears rolled down all of our faces. There were no lasting effects, though. The drinking and violence continued.

During these years, the love/hate relationship developed between Dad and I. Everything would be all right, until the drinking. Sometimes things would turn out ok and sometimes not. I got to the point where I hated to see them drink at all and I would turn off to them, acting hateful, staying distant and holding my twisting, painful stomach.

There were times when I would try and break up fights and , unable to do so, would run to neighbors’ houses. The neighbors would never do anything to help, never wanting to interfere, afraid for themselves. They would talk to me then I would have to walk back down the dark sidewalk to the house. I would return to our house, listen at each window and at the front door, to see if the violence was still going on and eventually would go back inside, only because I had no other choices. I would tell Mom and Dad that I had told the neighbors, hoping that would, somehow, have some kind of positive effect. It didn’t. Sometimes there would be flashing lights from police cars, because of the yelling going on inside my house. Police cars were never called to anyone else’s house on our block.

Eventually, after a severe period, Mom and Dad separated and Mom filed for divorce. I was in Junior High and I put a loaded shotgun in my closet. Dad suddenly moved back in one day and no one had told me that was going to happen. I didn’t know they had reconciled. I found him in my room one day holding the shotgun. He looked at me and said, “I found this in your closet. It’s loaded. What was it doing there?”

I felt strange, uneasy. It was so easy to hate this man when he was drinking, drunk, yelling at, pushing, cursing or hitting Mom or me. Yet, when he was normal, I did not feel the same feelings toward him. I was young and confused about love and hate. I knew that I felt both and I only wanted the love feeling to stay. But the hate was so powerful. Besides, I had plenty of memories that supplied the answer to his question.

“I wasn’t going to let you hurt Mom anymore,” I said, looking him in he eyes then dropping my eyes toward my shuffling feet. It was so hard to imagine shooting him, when he was not drunk, scary and dangerous but the memories provided the conviction.

My words and feelings struck him and he said, “Well, I’ll put it back in the storeroom”, as he walked out of my room with the gun, not looking at me. His words were spoken softly and I got the feeling, somehow, that I had hurt him.

My parents did not drink and get drunk every day. Their violence nearly always erupted on weekends, after parties and on holidays. Sometimes there would be weeks, or even months, between episodes. Sometimes there were only days.

My natural sympathy was for my Mom, smaller and weaker than him. Sometimes she would sleep with me after their fighting. The alcohol breath became familiar to me and I hated the smell. Her cough was the only normal sound she made. Everything else sounded drunken. I went to sleep holding her hand. How I loved the peace, the quiet, after the fighting. Still, I held what had passed, what I had experienced, inside.

I was too young to understand that there were two sides to every argument. Pent up anger and frustration were unknown to me then, at least intellectually. As I grew older, and apart, I began to understand some of these things but was never able to relax around my parents when they drank.

My dad only really hit me once, on a Christmas night when I tried to break up one of their fights. Dad had pushed Mom back on the bed in their room and was wrestling and slapping her. I jumped on him and he slapped me, sending me backward landing against the door frame. He and Mom were as stunned as I was. I moved first and bolted out the front door, to the next door neighbor’s house. Different city, different neighbors, same results. Fifth grade.

I always dreaded Christmas alone with Mom and Dad. As long as family was around, things would be all right. But Christmas always involved drinking and drinking always brought up bitterness and resentment toward Dad. Thank goodness we were not alone but a few Christmases.

The question, “So, what’s my position now,” came from a seventy-five year old man, guarded and suspicious, who had lost his wife who had been his strength for forty years. “Your position is the same as always, Dad. I’m not here to take your money, or land, or your house. You are still in control of that,” I tried to reassure him. I felt myself becoming, more and more, the parent.

He leaned back, somewhat reassured, but not totally. He had given me money many times in the past. Some of it I spent foolishly. I had not completed college in four straight years, had bounced around several jobs and done a few things he did not consider to be great life achievements, or advancements.

He had always been successful and always did his best, at whatever he did. A first rate athlete, rough, tough and self-assured. He had been handsome, big in stature and worked for one company for over thirty years. He had also been in a single profession his whole adult life. He always succeeded and could not understand the lace of success, or consistency in my life.

Our views were different in many ways but we had grown somewhat closer over the years. There had, however, always been a barrier. I wanted to hug him several times over the years but could not, until Mom died. Many times I wanted to tell him I loved him but could not speak the words. Neither could he.

Dad eventually went into a nursing home a few months after Mom’s death. His mind was fading. When Mom left, his anchor, his strength and wisdom deserted him. In the nursing home, he lived in the past. Sometimes he knew me and my family and sometimes he did not. He always knew that he knew me, he just was not always sure exactly who I was. Sometimes he introduced me to his nurses as his brother, father, or his cousin.

There were times he would ask about Mom, or tell me I needed to see her, but he could not find her right then. He forgot she had passed and his dream world reality was the only way he could continue to exist without her, I guess.

Mom and Dad had a sum of money in the bank and received payments on land they had sold. Financially, Dad was all right. I paid his bills, invested part of his money and used some of it to further a dream I had had for a long time. I wanted to be a writer. The money financed my first book and gave me a year to spend writing and thinking. When the book was published, by me, I took a copy with me to visit Dad. It so happened that it was one of his more lucid moments.

We talked about the weather, about whether or not anyone had been to see him and how the food was. I told him what his two grandchildren were up to and how my wife was doing. I told him I had written a book. He looked at me without changing expressions and I wondered whether or not the words were penetrating all of the layers leading to understanding and comprehending.

My local newspaper had done a front page story about me and there was a photo of me holding my book. I showed him the paper and the book. He was interested in the newspaper article and he tried to reach for it so he could see it better.

Strokes had left him bent and crippled, with little arm or hand movement. I got his glasses, put them on him and held the paper so he could read the article. His concentration was good, for a while, but I could see it waiver. I do not think he finished the article, but he stared at the picture. I showed him the book and opened it to the dedication, one of which was to him and Mom. I was not sure how much of this was getting inside of him. I talked about the book, thanked him for making it possible for me to have done what I did, the way I did.

Shortly thereafter, it was time to go. I got up, thanked him again and leaned over to kiss his forehead. I started walking toward the end of his bed. He said, “Gary”, and I turned and looked at him. He had not called me by my name in months. He said, “I love you”, and his big, long face broke up in tears and love.

I was stunned and my emotions were caving in. Barriers that had been erected and strengthened for years, for decades, started crumbling. I looked at him and said, “I love you, too”, through tears and a tight throat. I walked back around to the side of his bed and leaned over and hugged the thin, frail body, my cheek on his. He looked up at me and continued, “And I am so proud of you.”

It was almost more that I could stand. For months I did not know whether or not he knew me, when I visited. He could rarely remember my name. But he knew! Today he knew and he loved me and was proud of me. I had wanted to hear and know those things for years.

Since he had become so dependent, I had grown so used to touching him, rubbing his shoulders and fixing his hair. During his decline, I had diapered him, showered him, dressed him and cleaned him after his messes. The child turned parent. I had grown used to touching him but the emotional barriers were still there, even in his helplessness. I stayed a little longer, filling myself with the moment. He loved me, he was proud of me and I loved him. All the words spoken face to face.

Through the years, I had grown to understand that my parents’ drinking, fighting, cursing, screams and violence had not been directed toward me, though I was the one who suffered the most. Intellectually I understood. But the tears, terror, screams and fears, held inside by the helplessness of a terrified young boy, sitting in his bed, looking down a long hall, watching his parents fight and scream, were beyond intellectual understanding. The memories and experiences were fortified and buttressed by repetition and anger, hate, fear and sadness were shoved inside. They were guarded and protected by masks of anger, humor and cockiness, protecting the tender feelings inside. They were difficult feelings to release.

My dad started those walls crumbling and I am still working through them. That may have been his last lucid act. The last time I saw him, he introduced me to a nurse as his cousin Peanuts, whoever that is.

But I remember the good times, too, and there were many. Maybe all of this is why Mom went first, so Dad and I could get together before he joined her. There were things I wish I could have said to Mom before she died, but that will not be the same with Dad. We talked. He loves me and is proud of me. And I love him.

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