Are you familiar with the term 'geographic cure'? It's when you believe that a change of residence will 'cure' your addiction to any substance, or your poor lifestyle choices, or your out-of-control gambling/spending/shopping/eating/sex/whatever habits, and instantly give you new, much better for you friends and a new life.
In all fairness, sometimes a move can certainly help the situation, especially if you move to a place where you have few, if any, ties, and you are utterly committed to changing what brought you down in the first place.
But most of the time it doesn't work very well.
Because the issues you want to escape are internal ones, perhaps manifested outwardly by your choice of friends, your habits, your living situation. Change the scenery you may, but changing the interior issues is not as easy, and it is often lonely and discouraging (at first) work.
No matter where you go, there you are.
That appears to be the case with R, alas. The geography change wasn't very far, in the first place,and within a week of her move, she has invited a friend back into her life who is herself struggling with several issues and has a following of questionable friends. Evidence appearing this week seems to indicate that R's 'fresh start' is little more than a change in residence and furnishings.
So it's a reminder that I can save only one life: my own. It's a reminder that I cannot fix anyone except myself. It's a reminder that I need to work my own program, one day at a time, focusing on 'what is' rather than 'what I would like it to be' or even 'what I am afraid it is.'
Our minds are powerful: I can imagine scenarios and create fear and generate worry with nothing more than a handful of observations. I can cause sleepless nights and churning stomach and lump-in-the-throat anxiety.
But I can also focus on the here and now, one moment at a time, and on what is in my own life: a beautiful day, an engaging book, a good yoga workout, a few good friends who listen and soothe, and remember that I am powerless over people, places, and things. I do not have to live with imagined consequences of another's choices.
My daughter has her own path, her own journey, to take care of, and I have mine. I have no responsibility for hers, and I will not sacrifice my own life and my journey. That is a choice I make daily, and that is the most loving thing I can do for both of us. God is not finished with her yet, and she is stronger than she may think she is.
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Reverb 13: Day 9 -- Inspired surprises
1. Who inspired you in 2013? And why?
What gifts did they give you? And how will you carry these forward in to 2014?
2. Surprise | What surprised you the most this year?
1. I was inspired most this year by the generosity of friends who brought food while I was convalescing from surgery, who called to see how I was, who visited or sent cards. It really made a difference that I had not expected at all.
My lesson in this was to find that kindness and caring in myself to respond to friends who are ill or convalescing or otherwise needing a boost -- and while I have done that a few times this year, it has not been consistent enough. I want to carry that resolve to help forward into 2014.
2. Not much really surprises me anymore, good or bad.
I confessI have been surprised by how nasty and evil people really can be as I've listened to tales about some of the people surrounding my daughter, but it's more of a despairing, horrified shocking surprise, really, to hear the stories of the squatters who have taken over her house, threatening her, stealing her phone and her car repeatedly. That she seems unable to extract herself from this situation is even more awful, and something I am powerless to do anything about.
I do not understand how someone can so deliberately take things that do not belong to them, deliberately injure or bully someone, and take what seems to be pleasure in doing so. I have never believed that people were truly bad to the core, but it appears I am wrong.
I will not be surprised when things get worse, unfortunately.
My lesson in this was to find that kindness and caring in myself to respond to friends who are ill or convalescing or otherwise needing a boost -- and while I have done that a few times this year, it has not been consistent enough. I want to carry that resolve to help forward into 2014.
2. Not much really surprises me anymore, good or bad.
I confessI have been surprised by how nasty and evil people really can be as I've listened to tales about some of the people surrounding my daughter, but it's more of a despairing, horrified shocking surprise, really, to hear the stories of the squatters who have taken over her house, threatening her, stealing her phone and her car repeatedly. That she seems unable to extract herself from this situation is even more awful, and something I am powerless to do anything about.
I do not understand how someone can so deliberately take things that do not belong to them, deliberately injure or bully someone, and take what seems to be pleasure in doing so. I have never believed that people were truly bad to the core, but it appears I am wrong.
I will not be surprised when things get worse, unfortunately.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Scintilla#13, Day 13
The choices:
1. Post a photo of yourself from before age 10. Write about what you remember of the day the photo was taken. It may not be a full story—it may just be flashes of event and emotion—but tap into the child you were as much as you can.
2. The saying goes What you don't know won't hurt you, but sometimes the opposite is true. Talk about a time when you were hurt by something you didn't know.
**************************
Two things I didn't know about: drug addiction and molestation.
Not mine. The repercussions of both impact me still today, however, and changed the life of my loved ones forever.
I didn't know about either when they first happened. It took some time and a lot of denial to believe the former. The abuse came to light years after it took place, but the true extent of it didn't surface until years later, and the two are definitely intertwined.
How they've hurt me: Shock. Tears, oh, so many tears. Denial. Accusations. Loss of trust. Complete loss of trust. Dislike. Distance. Hours spent searching for help; more (futile) hours in 'detective' work. Grief for what might have been. Grief for the pain and suffering my loved ones have had. Grief for my hopes for their future. Grief for their hopes and potential. And So. Much. Anger.
Oddly enough, guilt was not a factor, although I'm usually very good (and quick) at it. But I didn't even suspect the abuse and therefore could not take steps to end it. I wish with all my heart that I could have stopped it -- but the authority of a child molester over his victim can be more powerful than the victim's desire to speak. The molester still lives, free today from a way-too-brief prison sentence for molesting another child. We know of many more victims for which he was not tried. I believe that what goes around comes around; I hope with every molecule of my black, revengeful Scorpio heart that it will. And that I will be around to see it.
The drug addiction was never mine to fix and it is always a choice to use or not to use, regardless of the circumstances. It took me years to truly, deeply understand that you cannot love someone clean. It will take many more years to trust again, and to stop feeling angry that this dear person has chosen such a horrible, destructive path. And the grief over the losses will probably never go away completely. I have learned that mine is the only life I can save. And I pray every day that my loved one will be able to save their own.
1. Post a photo of yourself from before age 10. Write about what you remember of the day the photo was taken. It may not be a full story—it may just be flashes of event and emotion—but tap into the child you were as much as you can.
2. The saying goes What you don't know won't hurt you, but sometimes the opposite is true. Talk about a time when you were hurt by something you didn't know.
**************************
Two things I didn't know about: drug addiction and molestation.
Not mine. The repercussions of both impact me still today, however, and changed the life of my loved ones forever.
I didn't know about either when they first happened. It took some time and a lot of denial to believe the former. The abuse came to light years after it took place, but the true extent of it didn't surface until years later, and the two are definitely intertwined.
How they've hurt me: Shock. Tears, oh, so many tears. Denial. Accusations. Loss of trust. Complete loss of trust. Dislike. Distance. Hours spent searching for help; more (futile) hours in 'detective' work. Grief for what might have been. Grief for the pain and suffering my loved ones have had. Grief for my hopes for their future. Grief for their hopes and potential. And So. Much. Anger.
Oddly enough, guilt was not a factor, although I'm usually very good (and quick) at it. But I didn't even suspect the abuse and therefore could not take steps to end it. I wish with all my heart that I could have stopped it -- but the authority of a child molester over his victim can be more powerful than the victim's desire to speak. The molester still lives, free today from a way-too-brief prison sentence for molesting another child. We know of many more victims for which he was not tried. I believe that what goes around comes around; I hope with every molecule of my black, revengeful Scorpio heart that it will. And that I will be around to see it.
The drug addiction was never mine to fix and it is always a choice to use or not to use, regardless of the circumstances. It took me years to truly, deeply understand that you cannot love someone clean. It will take many more years to trust again, and to stop feeling angry that this dear person has chosen such a horrible, destructive path. And the grief over the losses will probably never go away completely. I have learned that mine is the only life I can save. And I pray every day that my loved one will be able to save their own.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Saving the only life I can
Like many whose nature it is to take care of others, I have an almost overwhelming need to make things 'all right' when I know a friend or relative is having problems, sometimes to the point of obsession and to the detriment of my own sleep and daily life.
I want to 'fix' it. I want to offer advice and care. I want their issues to be resolved and for them not to be troubled with whatever it is.
I've done this all my life.
Over the years I've learned to (mostly) shut up and only offer advice if I'm asked, although I still sometimes venture an opinion if I think it will be received as it was meant -- to be helpful. I don't leap in anymore (hardly ever) with my superwoman cape bearing food, money, or tangible 'help' that might ease the pain of whatever issue it is for the individual.
I am especially guilty of asking too many questions, mostly of my daughters, although I have curbed that urge significantly in the last year or two -- admittedly probably not to their satisfaction. I try not to offer unsolicited advice very often, at least.
But I have mom-radar that works overtime and picks up little things here and there that sometimes can feed my obsessive mind and fertile imagination. Sometimes I'm wrong and everything is pretty much okay. And I hate it when I'm right and things start crashing down.
I want my children (and friends) to be okay, to have lives that are satisfying and reasonably calm and with enough of everything to keep them healthy, safe, fed, clothed, warm, and housed.
But I also understand with everything in me that is rational that I cannot live their lives and make their choices for them. I must be okay with watching them fail sometimes and without trying to fix anything.
(I'll admit that both Tony and I have, in the past, 'fixed' things, at least somewhat: Made it easier to get to a goal, or offered support when maybe it would have been better to stand back, lovingly. But we've worked on reasonable boundaries for our behavior and for their expectations, and it has succeeded fairly well, although not without some occasional pain and angst on both sides.)
When someone you love makes choices that appear to be dangerous either to their health or well-being, setting boundaries becomes far more difficult, and yet even more essential.
I've invested much time and money and worry in our girls, especially as some issues have proven to be so huge and ongoing, even a matter of survival. It's taken a toll on me that I've realized more clearly in recent months, and I've been working on relinquishing control, whether by giving my opinion or taking charge of getting things done, or checking in (asking questions).
I got smacked upside the head last week, though, when I was reading through the new O Magazine issue. It was one of our recently frequent stormy, windy nights with rain and very strong gusts howling outside, and I was reading in bed, just prior to turning off the light (as I do every night).
The issue is about poetry and the importance it has for so many of us, how it's shaped our actions or given us touchstones to live by. (I've especially loved Robert Frost since I first read him so many decades ago and still can recite several, for instance. )
On this night, though, I was reading Maria Shriver's interview with poet Mary Oliver. Shriver had included her favorite of Oliver's poems, "The Journey," which I read after I'd finished the article.
And it said exactly what I've needed to hear in exactly the words that would resonate so deeply that I couldn't rationalize my behavior and feelings anymore.
I've read it every day since, (puddling up every time) repeating the last words over and over to myself: "...determined to do the only thing you could do--determined to save the only life you could save."
That would be mine.
And that's my new mantra. It's making things easier for me, actually. It's on the order of the old 12-step saying, "I am powerless over people, places and things" -- but somehow it has been especially meaningful for me right now.
There is more of my life behind me than is ahead of me. I will not abdicate that in favor of someone else's life, no matter how much I love them and want to make things better.
I still have hopes and dreams and plans to achieve for myself. And nobody else can do that for me except me. No one WILL do that for me except me. And I must allow those I care about to do the same for their own lives, regardless of what I might think about it. It is not mine to live.
So I'm finally moving ahead with my own life: taking care of me first, doing things I want to do, living more in the moment -- my moment, not someone else's moment.
And I'm keeping my head up, watching for the stars to break through the clouds. Because they will. They are.
I want to 'fix' it. I want to offer advice and care. I want their issues to be resolved and for them not to be troubled with whatever it is.
I've done this all my life.
Over the years I've learned to (mostly) shut up and only offer advice if I'm asked, although I still sometimes venture an opinion if I think it will be received as it was meant -- to be helpful. I don't leap in anymore (hardly ever) with my superwoman cape bearing food, money, or tangible 'help' that might ease the pain of whatever issue it is for the individual.
I am especially guilty of asking too many questions, mostly of my daughters, although I have curbed that urge significantly in the last year or two -- admittedly probably not to their satisfaction. I try not to offer unsolicited advice very often, at least.
But I have mom-radar that works overtime and picks up little things here and there that sometimes can feed my obsessive mind and fertile imagination. Sometimes I'm wrong and everything is pretty much okay. And I hate it when I'm right and things start crashing down.
I want my children (and friends) to be okay, to have lives that are satisfying and reasonably calm and with enough of everything to keep them healthy, safe, fed, clothed, warm, and housed.
But I also understand with everything in me that is rational that I cannot live their lives and make their choices for them. I must be okay with watching them fail sometimes and without trying to fix anything.
(I'll admit that both Tony and I have, in the past, 'fixed' things, at least somewhat: Made it easier to get to a goal, or offered support when maybe it would have been better to stand back, lovingly. But we've worked on reasonable boundaries for our behavior and for their expectations, and it has succeeded fairly well, although not without some occasional pain and angst on both sides.)
When someone you love makes choices that appear to be dangerous either to their health or well-being, setting boundaries becomes far more difficult, and yet even more essential.
I've invested much time and money and worry in our girls, especially as some issues have proven to be so huge and ongoing, even a matter of survival. It's taken a toll on me that I've realized more clearly in recent months, and I've been working on relinquishing control, whether by giving my opinion or taking charge of getting things done, or checking in (asking questions).
I got smacked upside the head last week, though, when I was reading through the new O Magazine issue. It was one of our recently frequent stormy, windy nights with rain and very strong gusts howling outside, and I was reading in bed, just prior to turning off the light (as I do every night).
The issue is about poetry and the importance it has for so many of us, how it's shaped our actions or given us touchstones to live by. (I've especially loved Robert Frost since I first read him so many decades ago and still can recite several, for instance. )
On this night, though, I was reading Maria Shriver's interview with poet Mary Oliver. Shriver had included her favorite of Oliver's poems, "The Journey," which I read after I'd finished the article.
And it said exactly what I've needed to hear in exactly the words that would resonate so deeply that I couldn't rationalize my behavior and feelings anymore.
I've read it every day since, (puddling up every time) repeating the last words over and over to myself: "...determined to do the only thing you could do--determined to save the only life you could save."
That would be mine.
And that's my new mantra. It's making things easier for me, actually. It's on the order of the old 12-step saying, "I am powerless over people, places and things" -- but somehow it has been especially meaningful for me right now.
There is more of my life behind me than is ahead of me. I will not abdicate that in favor of someone else's life, no matter how much I love them and want to make things better.
I still have hopes and dreams and plans to achieve for myself. And nobody else can do that for me except me. No one WILL do that for me except me. And I must allow those I care about to do the same for their own lives, regardless of what I might think about it. It is not mine to live.
So I'm finally moving ahead with my own life: taking care of me first, doing things I want to do, living more in the moment -- my moment, not someone else's moment.
And I'm keeping my head up, watching for the stars to break through the clouds. Because they will. They are.
Friday, May 07, 2010
A night in the ER
...not another accident for me, but R was deep in hallucinations and a bad reaction to Wellbutrin, yet another drug to help ease her depression and mental issues. She'd been taking it a couple of weeks but was increasingly agitated and seeing or hearing things daily. Of course the goal with all the psych meds she's taking is to reduce those effects.
So off we went after seeking advice from Mental Health, and she effectively breathed into the hospital equivalent of a brown paper bag for a while and the breathing eased somewhat. She's off the drug, of course, but it takes awhile to get out of the system.
If it's not one thing with her, it's another. We go to regular doc today about migraines, then back to ER to treat two MRSA infections that have popped up. Seems like once you get one, you get them more frequently -- and she wipes everything at least weekly with bleach and antibacterial soap, so go figure.
So I left the little supper gathering we'd had here of several fellow photographers and went off to deal with medical issues. The group is understanding and supportive, and that helps a lot.
And then I wonder why I'm stressed and having my own issues, eh.
It's a new day, though, and will begin a weekend of friends and fellowship and some good food, and lots of time with my honey. That works for me.
So off we went after seeking advice from Mental Health, and she effectively breathed into the hospital equivalent of a brown paper bag for a while and the breathing eased somewhat. She's off the drug, of course, but it takes awhile to get out of the system.
If it's not one thing with her, it's another. We go to regular doc today about migraines, then back to ER to treat two MRSA infections that have popped up. Seems like once you get one, you get them more frequently -- and she wipes everything at least weekly with bleach and antibacterial soap, so go figure.
So I left the little supper gathering we'd had here of several fellow photographers and went off to deal with medical issues. The group is understanding and supportive, and that helps a lot.
And then I wonder why I'm stressed and having my own issues, eh.
It's a new day, though, and will begin a weekend of friends and fellowship and some good food, and lots of time with my honey. That works for me.
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