This is the second part of my continuing series on silence:
We arrived at the Oregon coast, at Cannon Beach, on a partly sunny Monday afternoon. We were quickly greeted by our very long-term dear friend from Arizona, June and her ten-year love interest, Michael (are you ever getting married?). After checking into our hotel rooms, and getting geared up for a walk, we headed out to the beach, to walk northward up the coast, past Haystack Rock. We engaged in our normal conversations, catching up on June and Michael’s activities, as well as giving them a brief download on what has been happening in our own lives.
As the walk progressed, we separated a bit into two groups, the guys and the girls, though we did not create a huge distance between the two groups in our walk. We continued to enjoy the scenery, the clearing blue skies above us, the seagulls swooping and gliding, the watching of and engaging with the other tourists and their dogs, while being continuously soothed by the constant breaking of the waves upon the sandy shore. Small talk continued between both groups, until I had to remove my shoes, due to extreme pain in my right foot.
The pain in my foot was accompanied by another unidentified discomfort, deep within my heart, which continued to trouble me. I looked at Michael, and I began to relate the experience of my friend’s very recent death, and how the notice of my own father’s death coincidentally occurred at the moment that I was helping to place my friend’s body into the hearse. I wanted to talk about the disturbing appearance of insanity in the marriage of my deceased friend, and it’s impact on my friend’s final days, and its impact upon my own being.
Michael looked up at the nearby mountains, appearing not too interested in what I was trying to say. He attempted to redirect my attention away from myself, and the view away from the ocean. Suddenly, a strangely uncomfortable, unidentified feeling came over me, and I also felt like my heart was starting to beat harder. The skin on my face, and on the front of my body started to tingle, and I felt light-headed. I attempted to breathe deeper and slower, thinking that I had somehow lost my breathing cycle rhythm, yet a deepening, sickening feeling continued to creep through my mind, and through my body.
I sped up my pace, so that I could join up with my wife, who was ahead of us with June. I started to shudder a bit, and shake as if I was cold (there was a breeze, though it was sixty-five degrees, and not extraordinarily chilly). My condition continued to deteriorate, yet all that I felt comfortable with sharing with the group was about my sore foot, which was aching horribly. This foot would eventually need surgery, and I had delayed such surgery for quite a while, but it was not the only source for the pain that I was presently experiencing. Yet, in this group, it was the only pain that I could safely talk about.
We neared our hotel room, and the anxiety reaction that I was experiencing (yes, I finally named it ANXIETY) was threatening to overwhelm me. It was dinner time, so we walked over to the Mo’s restaurant that was connected to our hotel, and ordered dinner. Sharon was very light, and happy, and introduced a “spinner” to the dinner table, to try to keep lightness going, and bring humor and delight to our group. Yet I had lost my sense of delight, and humor, and my appetite, and I knew that I could not even eat dinner, even though I had already ordered a meal with the rest of the group. June commented that I looked like I had turned a gray color, and that I looked ill, and ill I was. I had to leave the table immediately.
I went back to our hotel room, took off my clothes, and lay down in our bed. The world felt like it was spinning around me, and my heart beat so loudly that it sounded like a drum was being bashed in my ears. I continued to try controlled breathing patterns, thinking that this was an anxiety reaction, but I really felt extremely ill, and I felt like a visit to the hospital may be in order. I became so concerned that I got my tablet and went to a medical portal to ask a doctor some questions about what was happening, and ask if I should be hospitalized. I was not sure if I was having an adverse neurological response to something toxic, preparing for a stroke or seizure, having the beginning of a migraine headache, or if I was losing my mind.
The response from the doctor brought some temporary relief to me, when he stated that I was having a stress induced anxiety reaction. OK, that sounded like something I might be able to manage, so I prepared myself to go back to dinner, and finish the evening with our friends. I felt much better, and looked forward to eating, as my appetite had returned from the dead, as well.
Everyone had already finished their meal, so I shared dessert with everybody. I felt good for a while, as we finished our evening together, and headed back to our individual units. But something was still active in my mind, and I began to again feel nauseous, with my heart beating wildly again, and, now, my body started shuddering like I was frozen. Sharon crawled into bed and held me close, I was shaking so violently, and her warmth, and presence, brought some comfort to me. Yet my foot ached like I had never experienced pain before, and I was definitely anxious about that pain, as well as something a bit more undefined, up to that point.
After two hours of holding me, Sharon had fallen asleep, yet I was so wired by my anxiety that I could not sleep, so I left the bed to lay on the couch, and listen to some meditation music. I felt like I might still be “losing my mind”, whatever that meant, or that I was having some sort of nervous breakdown. While meditating on what was happening to me, I came to realize that I really needed to communicate around the absolute insanity of the family activity revolving around the life and death of my dear friend, and, to a lesser extent, that of my father, as well. Michael had shut me down at the moment that I needed to talk most, thinking that by redirecting me away from talking about death, he was doing me a favor. Instead, by not communicating with him and the group what was troubling me, the anxiety reaction launched me off of the pad into outer space, and brought upon me a sickness, and a pain, that I had never experienced before in my life. Oh, that blessed pain and suffering, for it would lead me further down the path to my own ‘liberation’.
As I was awake all night, I attempted meditation upon my own source of pain and suffering, and what came to me was how most of what I know about myself, and my reactions to the world, was created by my fundamental relationship to my parents. I had never developed a complete sense of self in my early years (I will not call it Asperger’s Syndrome, or Autism, though it manifested similarly to ADHD) and my sense of self revolved around internalizing what my mother and father expected from me, what I could or could not give back to them to attempt to please them, and my defense mechanisms for managing the fallout when I failed to either please them, or protect them, or myself, from the results of the conflict that arose in our house when I either made yet another mistake, or when father overreacted to any situation that brought a sense of fear or threat into the home environment. There was also that aspect where I felt a need to “balance” whatever energy was being over expressed at any particular moment, which certainly added to my “passive-aggressive component” of self-expression. It was as if I had two extra self-organizing personalities occupying my ego mind, my creations of who I thought my father and mother were, which was crowding out the “real me”, whoever or whatever that might be (if anyone, maybe there was never a real “me” present, only some sort of complex verbal construct?).
With the death of my father, it ended the era of subservience to his needs, and the need to “protect” my mother from my perception of his aggression towards her.. It also ended the era of incomplete grieving for my own mother’s death, as I had to immediately support my mentally deteriorating father when mother died, and I never completely worked through my own grieving process. I was finally an “orphan”, and all of the entanglements that kept me wound around their lives were now physically removed. My fathers’ spirit no longer needed to overshadow my own life, and now I was allowed to live fully into whatever, or whoever I am, or was supposed to be.
For me this is an extraordinary release, because my “ego” formed much differently that most of the rest of humanity due to unusual parental bonding issues just after birth, and through my first 4-5 years. Being placed on “formula” right after birth, and being placed in a chilly car in the garage at night so that my father could sleep better (I was just another “damned crying baby”) left me as a young being feeling abandoned, and lonely, from the beginning. Though I loved my parents, I certainly did not want to grow up and be like them. Yet, I was not able to offer to my developing self a viable alternative to being like my father, being extremely limited creatively, and my resultant dull, though at times insightful, personality reflected that darkness.
Up to this most recent point in my life, I have perceived the collective impact of toxic male consciousness upon my individual existence, with some insight into my own father’s sometimes toxic involvement in my own mind’s formation. I saw that I had two Tricksters roaming through the inner recesses of my heart and soul, and their continued presence, though they kept me from being lonely as a young being, kept me from developing into my greater good as an independent, free human being. In our world, there are countless examples of “self organizing systems”, and all creatures, and the minds of those creatures, are examples of that miracle in action. The bodies appear to be primarily organized through the pattern created by the history of that species, and it’s interactions with its earthly environment. DNA appears to carry that pattern within our very cells.
Yet the mind appears to have an extra self-organizing principle attached to it, as it organizes itself into a personal sense of being. That little mystery revolves around how well the organism feels accepted by, and connected to the environment that the body travels through. Thus, healthier senses of self arise, and are supported, by myriads of “successful” interactions with its social and physical environment. First and foremost is the beings’ acceptance and integration into the primary family cell, or group. If the young being does not get the requisite positive feedback early on, it faces tremendous odds against forming a happy, well-adjusted self organizing principle, or ego. My first 31 years of life reflected the internalized horror of a life suppressed by the “conspiracy of silence” created by my subservience to a damaged image of self, and other. My own true nature had been masked over, or silenced, through that process.
Who, or what, am I now? I am a mystery, even to myself. I need not be anxious, though the transition times from what I thought I was to who I am predestined to become does create intense anxiety. I am to be forever walking into the unknowable present moment. Living into the Truth of what that is now is the new story of my life. There is but One Mind, but it is only experienced in the Unknown.
That next day at the beach, on Tuesday, I experienced the most beautiful perfect peace, and sense of wholeness, that I can recall. The rest of our shared day was characterized by a strong sense of the sacred, and I felt a deepening connection with everybody, and everything. The beauty of the ocean and it’s scenery, the beauty of our friendships, the taste of our food, even the continuing pain in my foot, all felt to me like lyrics of a heavenly song that was connected together by the rhythm of Love.
The conspiracy of silence has to be broken, again and again if necessary, and the silencing of my true identity through adherence to old, worn out patterns of behavior inculcated into me by our culture, our religions, our so-called teachers and teachings, and our misunderstandings of our parents, our God and creator, and our outdated sense of self have to end, for this present moment healing event to have any hope of transforming the heart and soul.
In this moment, I am no longer anxious, I am free. I will find a way to manage future moments, if they bring anxiousness back to me.
“I” will not be denied. I will not deny your own excellence, and your own potential for greatness. Our shared sense of self, and our stories will support and highlight the rest of our continued existence on this plane of being.
May all sentient beings remain free from suffering.
May my own sentience guide me away from all temptations to bring suffering to self, and other.
Please, save yourself.
Depression, Anxiety, and Panic Attacks
I never chose this uneven life path of recovery from trauma, life chose it for me. I choose how to deal with the sights along the way, however.
The amygdala in our brains under duress from trauma creates new paths, leading in unhealthy directions, when these issues that arise through trauma are not promptly dealt with honestly and openly. For me, my number one intention for facilitating healing of myself is to avoid situations or people where poor communication and suppression of human emotions has become ‘normalized’. There are guaranteed negative outcomes associated with those interactions which have resulted in secondary damage and the potential for profound anxiety attacks.
I began to experience the “BIG THREE” of depression, anxiety, and the occasional panic attack, in the latter part of 2017, beginning about two weeks after the death of my father, and three weeks after the death of my friend Marty.
I grapple with (and sometimes continue to contemplate):
1). the care for, and eventual death of my father, and the difficulties in the management of his estate,
2). the challenges in supporting the protracted dying process, and the eventual death of my good friend Marty in the week prior to my fathers’ death
3). dealing with the insanity of the wife of my deceased friend, and her ongoing spiritual dementia,
4). a crippling foot problem characterized by the highest possible pain intensity,
5). cancelling a lifetime “friendship” with a high school best friend who had become physically, spiritually, and emotionally unavailable through the past 40 years,
6). becoming alienated last year from an alcoholic/bipolar nephew, and his family which we had been spending much time with, and not being able to talk to them about the issues, after a vicious divorce cycle,
7). an ongoing issue of dealing with and managing the health and safety of my elderly aunt (dad’s sister) who is disabled, and abandoned by the rest of her family, including her own daughter, and
8) TREASON (Trump Related Extreme Anxiety Striking Our Nation)
I now have intimate knowledge of depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, and I now consider myself a personal expert in these matters, albeit a reluctant one. It is inappropriate to keep these issues “secret”, as I tend to be as sick as the secrets that I attempt to keep. Remaining unconscious and victimized by these conditions is not a helpful option for me now, or anytime.
The following have been found to be helpful for me:
1). Seeking “professional help” from therapists or physicians/surgeons as required,
2). exercise (such as yoga, with emphasis on proper breathing techniques),
3). immersion in Nature (walks through parks, forests, deserts, etc. as available),
4). meditation (listening to relaxing music is useful, if the mind will not quiet on its own),
5). getting plenty of rest/sleep (not automatic or easy when in anxious states. Use of melatonin and non-caffeinated relaxation tea prior to bed is helpful),
6). honest and open communication with friends and family (hanging around people with positive, loving attitudes and behaviors is important),
7). insight (and taking my inventory, to use the parlance of 12 step groups),
8). prayer (focused intention/thought energy for personal and collective change, for those so inclined),
9). service to others who are less fortunate, and
10). medication (if necessary) can be helpful. Ibuprofen is effective for anxiety, as well as (in the short term) some “heavier hitters” such as Ativan and Xanax, or anti-depressants (FYI, I can’t stand Xanax).
11). avoiding obvious anxiety producing behaviors, like excess coffee consumption, eating sugar or high carbohydrate mix foods excessively, or over booking my day-to-day life,
12). continue to allow feelings to naturally arise, with no judgement.
13). continue without shame and guilt any unfinished emotional business, such as grieving for the loss of loved ones.
14). watch a few good comedies, or go see a good comedian (lighten up!)
15). Go to live music performances, and enjoy the presence of powerful positive group energy.
Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a name given to one powerful variation of related symptoms, and therapy and techniques developed for its healing may be appropriate, as well (a form of acupressure called the “tapping” technique is quite helpful).
Writing into a personal journal or blog can be helpful. Posting to Facebook, with the hope or expectation that somebody who cares might read a posting and give meaningful feedback, is unrealistic, and can potentially be dangerous, depending on the state of mind of the writer at the time of posting. It is best to have friends and connections who respond directly, preferably in person, where our humanity shines the brightest and has the most healing potential. Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter, or whatever other media vehicle that one may employ for communication in isolation just cannot get the job done, PERIOD. Just passing time without helping myself would never have allowed for sufficient healing either.
It really is distressing to experience the fear of losing my mind and sanity, the light-headed spacy-ness, extra fear around health issues, and the all around sense of discomfort and disease of being in a disturbed state of mind, and being. It comes to me in cycles now, with about two to three weeks of reprieve, followed by two or three troubling days. This coming from a man who knew perfect peace and harmony for most of the last 30 years of my life.
As I move toward healing, compassion towards myself and others is one of the intended outcomes. The absence of this only perpetuates the anxiety cycle.
For those who still suffer, please save yourself.
