So I’ve written a lot of blogs and the focus often revolves around my crap and what I’ve done to try to get out of it, but that seems to be just a little too much about me. Let’s do something a little different. Why don’t we talk about what would happen if we truly, every day tried to make a little change for good. I’ve written ‘Do+ Good’ recently. I’ve talked about ‘Getting Up’, and I’ve talked about the things that make me tick and help me to be motivated to face each day. But what if it doesn’t take some big gesture, or some message from above, or some scripture that you may or may not believe in. What if making a difference comes from doing one good deed? Every day. For a week, a month, or year. What if we could take a moment and just think outside ourselves? What if we could say to ourselves “you know what, there’s a bigger world than my depression, than my alcoholism, than my codependent behaviors”?
Back in 2002 I saw the movie “Pay it Forward”. Helen Hunt, Kevin Spacey and that little kid who got a ton of work around that time, you know the one from “the Sixth Sense”. And I cried as I watched the community rally behind what started as a small gesture – and saw it grow into a movement that was televised in the film across the nation. I don’t know that we need something that big. And I can’t fathom accomplishing something as big as the movie portrays. But I think I can do one good thing each day. And hope that my small gesture helps.
So here’s my challenge… I am seriously asking each and every one of you (all four of you that read this blog)… Go tomorrow and keep your eyes aware… Find something that speaks to you, from someone that needs help, or an animal that needs rescuing, or maybe it’s just simply serving somewhere when you really would rather just go home and take a nap. Do one good deed. This isn’t about faith or about religion or about a higher calling, it’s just being part of a bigger community. Some say it takes a village, but I’m just asking you to remind yourself that it’s not about us and our families. It’s not all about “me”. That the opportunity to reach down and give a helping hand to someone makes us better. It makes us grow. It allows us to not wallow. And I know I’ve done a damn lot of wallowing. Too much damn wallowing!
Without realizing it I started this about three weeks ago. It wasn’t every day, but I found that I was hearing subtle leadings that led me to do something. And maybe that’s all it takes. But I think it’s deeper than that. I’m asking you to do this for a week. Find something good that speaks to your heart. It may be hard at first, but I guarantee you they will be there.
Today we were on a bike ride on the silver comet trail out in West Georgia. At around 2 miles into the ride one of the ladies in our group fell hard and hit her head on the concrete, scraped up her knee and arm, and was out. Not passed out, but she was done riding for the day, slightly dizzy, shaken. Instead of us canceling the ride, two of us took the time to get her back on her feet. I walked her back to her car and made sure was safe and OK to drive. I also managed to not run over her head after she went down, considering I was right behind her when it happened. That would’ve been a little bad (though it has been stated that in group outings with the AOC there is an unofficial 10% attrition rate).
Over the last three weeks I’ve been able to give grocery money, to help someone get back to real life from a pretty hard place, to help my parents move, to see the smile of appreciation from someone who lit up when I handed her one of my prized ukuleles. A musician friend, who has done so much for me that I felt like I should give back to her. We don’t know when we’re going to touch someone’s life. But unless you try it’s never going to happen.
So take my challenge!
For the next week, look for one thing each day. Be intent on going outside your comfort zone. It’s amazing. Instead of focusing on myself, I’m looking for that right person who might need someone to talk to, help with directions, or need a hot meal.
One week.
One good deed.
Each and every day.
What breeds inside you? And how do we sometimes unknowingly help those diseases of the body and mind continue to spread? Why can’t we just be ‘normal’? Why the hell is it so hard to just get up in the morning?
Those questions radiate within me. They are sometimes soft echoes and other days are torrential storms that keep me inside my own head. Storm clouds on the horizon. And without some serious intent (followed by action) each day, I succumb. I dive. I fall. And the meds just aren’t enough. They buffer and help contain, but it still takes my own self, in various ways to push me out of bed. Does this resonate with any of you?
I’m not sayin that you HAVE to have these struggles. But if you do, you’ll get it. If you don’t, I’d like to share my own insights on the mind of the mentally ‘challenged’. And aren’t we all a little f*cked up at times?
I have a pattern I fall into on good days. Eyes open. Music playing in my head (anything from Taylor Swift to Peter Gabriel to Foo Fighters). I get up, fix my coffee, and if you know me a little then you know I don’t really like to SPEAK to anyone, for fear of ripping them a new one, until I’ve had my coffee. Just a sip to know that there is something good and caffeinated in the universe!
Then I settle down to take a few minutes – what I’ve started to realize is a reflection of where I’m at and what the day holds. Sometimes faith, sometimes just the plan for the day. Sometimes the haze takes a little longer to wear off. But if I get those moments, then I seem to find a better focus. A better understanding of me, the day, and purpose. And it varies, but the days I take the time are precious and seem to have more certainty and movement.
On not-so-good days I ache. Not necessarily a physical ache, but an ache of my spirit battling the demons inside and my own wishes to not have to do this again. Not wanting to try. To bury my head in the pillow and wallow. I wallow for a while. But I don’t want to be this way. I want to be what others call normal. But this is my normal. My attempts to be like those who easily get out of bed and face each day often fail. I realize my normal consists of a struggle within, a mental and spiritual one that is painful to talk with around those who don’t know my life. That even those close to me sometimes quietly cringe when I mention it took me THREE HOURS to get going. Not wanting to comprehend the mind of the depressed, the “sick”.
It’s not every day. I have found that there are specific actions I can take to see more good days than the bad, painful ones.
Call it prayer, meditation, thoughtfulness, whatever – but the moments that I spend in the morning are echoed at night. I try to go to sleep with a few moments without the ‘noise’. And each night, I embrace ONE GOOD THING that I hope to do the next day. Something outside myself, because let’s face it, it’s easy to get so caught up on me, me, me, that I can’t even see anything beyond my own path. But we’re here to commune with others. But that doesn’t always mean within the walls of our man-made cathedrals of brick, mortar and steel. We need to help others. To DO GOOD (see previous blog). And in getting my head out of my ass and thinking beyond me, I am able to care, to hope, to love, instead of sinking more into my own grief and pain.
I have hope for each day.
Because whether or not my morning is hard or easy, without a little hope, what’s it all really about?
You see Christ. I see a skeptic.
You see lights and sounds, a show. I see a small church with aged pews and mildewing seats.
You see a crowd of excited people, looking, longing. I see a man sitting alone. Pondering God from the perspective of a homeless wanderer.
My belief, in the midst of my disbelief, is very real.
You perform on a stage. I sit in the real. Tired of trying to fit in with a culture that raised, bruised and almost buried me.
You see a savior. I see a man sitting in your church. All too aware that my thoughts might scare some, surprise others, yet still wondering if there is ONE here who might really want to know…
…me.
We build walls.
We build them to protect ourselves from the elements, we build them to keep us safe from attacks from enemies, but we also build walls to hide.
I wonder sometimes if we shouldn’t be building more fences than walls.
I want to be safe just like everyone else does, but I’ve noticed that my walls can be so high that no one, no living creature can surmount them. Not even Superman.
Maybe if we spent more time building fences, we could use some of that effort used to build walls and build some fucking bridges!
“We, as people, very much like our walls.
It’s safe. But lonely.”
~ K. Holder
I’m not always safe. I’m never dangerous, but I may not always do things the “appropriate” way. I don’t want to be lonely. I want to thrive, and live, and surround myself with really incredible people!
Once you get inside the walls, you’re trusted. You’re one of my ‘people’. And that’s a place that not many will ever know or experience. But sometimes I just push those I am closest to outside and lock the gate. An extremely extroverted introvert, I want to hide behind those walls in the hardest times. When I’m licking my wounds or just in pain from a little boy being absent again.
I find myself sitting here alone, walls all intact.
But in a few short days someone comes in and refuses to go away. They knock at the gate. I hesitate, but realize what I’ve been waiting for may have just shown up.
And hope to knock down a few walls.
So, a serial killer with the penchant for killing other serial killers. Even if you have seen the TV show, you’re probably sitting there going “where the hell is he going with this?” But that’s what’s been on my mind over the last week or so. Not the desire to start hunting down really bad people and carve them up. I’ll leave that to the main character of the show. But the inner monologue that really is the heart of the development of the show. SPOILER ALERT – I may spill a few secrets about the show in this…
So, I have within me an inner dialogue. It’s the small conversations that I keep inside that guide me, frustrate me, give me creative ideas or just burst forth with song lyrics at the most inappropriate times. And it’s a part of me that has probably helped me tough out some very hard times. That voice has seen me at my best, my worst. It knows me. Maybe the only place I’ve ever been truly honest. Truly vulnerable. I don’t go around living in lies, but there are always walls. Castles I’ve built, had destroyed, built up again, that guard the most precious parts of me.
In the show, Dexter is his own narrator. His voice, his internal paranoia, and sometimes clarity are oftentimes as fascinating as the action that’s happening on the screen. And in a sick, twisted way you see him grow. His reality changes as he starts to grow in his relationships, but never fully able to tell those around him, those that he loves (if he’s capable of love) that he’s a FREAKIN’ SERIAL KILLER!!!!
Fear. Of course, his fear is that of jail, death, being known in the world he works in – the Miami Police department. Isn’t that funny? He hides in plain sight amongst the same people who would have him locked up forever if they knew him, really knew him. And more than that, he HELPS them to find killers. Whoever came up with the idea for this show is genius. Pure F**King Genius!
I hide. I am scared. I had the realization in my counseling session this week that even in that incredibly safe place, I don’t feel completely safe. My counselor was actually slightly saddened by this. Not shocked, but with everything we’ve walked through, years of pain, Lee, Jenelle, I think he hoped that I had found a refuge. And in many ways, I have. But I am still afraid. I know me. I’m damn incredible at times. I’m also a handful. But if I told you everything I’ve experienced, everything I know, I still fear that you’d run. Run far away. I’m not a sicko, but I don’t have a cookie-cutter, everything easily lines up in neat rows past. I have a dirty, ugly, “oh-my-god we’ll pray for him” (while secretly judging him) past.
And those same prayers, though meant to be a help, are often one of the biggest triggers to hide a little more. To submerge deeper into safety. I know there’s a God out there that loves me, and I even hide from him. Funny, but true. How do you hide from a God that’s everywhere, if you believe in that? Honestly, I don’t know anything other than to try to be the best person I can be, be myself, as long as you can handle a little disruption (I’ve been told I enjoy ‘stirring’ things).
And that’s what these blogs are often about. They are my inner monologue trying to find voice. They’re not everything I think, but they allow me to see my life. Look at where I’m at and try to work through the places that hurt, struggle, or even the good thoughts and feelings. It is a safe place. And if you’re reading this, I’m allowing you to see a little of me inside. Yes, there are many areas that I still hide, but I continue to grow, like my favorite serial killer.
My counselor knows me. And I’m going to keep opening up there. My “village” knows me better than just about anyone. My best friend seems to sense things without words. He kills me with his quirky ability to time things when they are really needed. It’s almost eerie.
And I hope to one day have the one person who will allow me to speak. Without judgement. Without fear. With sincerity, and a lot of sass!
In the end, I don’t want to be sitting in a room, alone. Even if it is the way my serial killer hero ended it. (MAJOR SPOILER)
