Essays, Articles & Stories
I am alive now
I have spent many years of my life not living in the present. My $64,000 question isn’t so much “Who am I?” as it is “When am I?” Am I in 2009, fully aware of being a capable, competent adult? Am I conscious of the individuals, choices, and opportunities that surround me in the present? Or am I living out my life mired in a painful past and a frightening future rather than right here, right now?
Ever since my toddler self discovered my imagination, I became more focused on my interior world than on the people and events swirling around outside me. The imaginary world seemed far more real, and often safer. I dissociated to protect myself, and paradoxically, the inner world I created entranced me more and more as I grew older, even when I no longer needed that kind of escape.
I slip into memory without realizing it, replaying conversation after conversation, reviewing scene after scene, until I have lost track of what is happening to me now. My feelings are often responses to my memories or my fears. Ironically, I don’t always know I am doing this. I think I am in the present; I believe I am responding to current experiences, but I’m not.
For example, I might be driving home from work, and begin thinking about a current problem at my job. I start to replay a conversation with one of my bosses, and soon I have begun to add the things I wish I could say to him. Within a few minutes I am thinking about a conversation he and I had a year ago. I begin to imagine that scene. I get angrier and angrier as I revise and rehearse my lines, and before long, my heart is pounding and I am crying. This happens again and again.
What good does that do me? If re-writing the conversation would empower me and allow me to let go of the helplessness I feel, that would be good. But the scenes I imagine usually do the opposite; they re-traumatize me by awakening my powerless childhood.
Sometimes my imagining the future is just another version of memories. Of course, I don’t know what will happen in the future, so I begin to create variations on a past theme. People will not like me. I will lose what I care about most. I will be alone, afraid, helpless, and victimized in untold ways. I will not be happy because I do not deserve to be. Ugh. Why would I want to engage in life with that kind of future?
Last year I had breast cancer. It is in remission and the prognosis is very good, according to my oncologist. Still, I imagine myself hearing the news that the cancer has returned. I envision myself as a Hospice patient (I’m sure this is reinforced by the fact that my mother and two brothers died of cancer and Hospice cared for them). This fear creeps in without my noticing, however, and I find myself crying.
The intensity of this struggle between then and now connects directly to PTSD and the bipolar disorder which have frequently upended my life. My brain chemistry takes charge and I sink into a depression that is fueled by hurtful memories and bolstered by my destructive beliefs about myself. Shifting hormones intensify my shifting moods. Grief over past losses, racing thoughts about a future catastrophe, mounting anxiety, tearfulness, self-pity, feelings of superiority, coupled with fear of failure – these come and go unexpectedly. Feelings of helplessness wash over me, and the unbidden thought comes, “I wish I were dead.” Thankfully, medication can even out my moods and lift the depression, but I still have to make choices to make my life more livable.
One of those choices is to keep taking my prescribed medication even when I feel better. Another is to answer my negative thoughts with kindness toward myself and others. Much of the work of my therapy, however, is to recognize that I am alive now. It takes concentration to do this, to catch myself slipping into the past or future and to interrupt the script of my imagined conversations and daydreams. The more I can do this, the more I will remember that I deserve to be here, and I can live a happier, healthier life.
Often people ask how therapy can be helpful to them. Recently a woman wrote this
heartfelt tribute to the people in her therapy group. It describes her personal
experience, yet, echoes the personal experience of many.
A Story of Healing and Hope
Once upon a. time, not very long ago, a small circle of strangers gathered to seek solace for their broken hearts and wandering souls. Fractured in mind and in spirit they sought to justify all of the ways they had found to comfort and to protect themselves from pain and disappointment.
Some had turned to drink and drugs. Some had sought the security of relationships. Some. had spun hopelessly out-of-control under the spell of the drive for power and control over others. Some had sought solace for their deep shame by trying to be perfect. Some had sought shiny objects to fill the empty places in their hearts. Some had learned to leave first so they would not be left. Some had learned to fail so they could remain invisible. All had learned to fear the darkness that lived deep within their souls.
As they gathered over the years, guided by the wise counsel of those who had already made similar journeys, they told their stories. And as they did, miracles began to happen. As tears washed through their souls, their hearts began to heal. They began to reclaim all of their feelings. They began to see their relationships with a new set of eyes. They learned to find comfort in new ways. They learned to embrace their story, with all of its chapters, and all of its mysteries.
As they told and retold their stories, they learned they were not alone. They found connection. They learned to trust themselves and others, and they learned when not to trust. They sought and found discernment. They reclaimed their birthrights: the right to be, to grow, to hurt & heal, to give and receive, to disappoint and to forgive, to comfort and to be comforted, to seek joy and challenge, to love & be loved, and to listen to that still, quiet voice which brought the truth.
They knew as they told their stories, the time would come when they would leave their hearts new home to continue their journey along separate paths. Their hearts were sad when they thought of leaving those they had come to love and to call family. But as the tears of parting washed through their souls, their hearts were filled with joy. For they knew they could now venture forth to seek their separate destinies. They knew they would always be rich for the many gifts they had received. They knew they would not journey alone, for they would carry with them the lessons from these strangers who had forever and always become their truest family. And what were the lessons they had learned?
That "life is meant to be embraced, not just endured; treasured, not just tolerated, savored, not just survived, advertised, not just avoided, illuminated, not just ignored, and most of all, that life is meant to be celebrated"* not just dreamed.
*Adapted from American Greetings card.
The writer is a Professor of Nursing and has been a professional Nurse throughout her work career. She wants others to know that it is essential to remove the stigma from therapy. In her own experience she has found by working through her personal issues, it has given her the freedom to work more creatively and be a active role model to her patients and students.
Marlene Hunter's "President's Message" in the ISSD NEWS (International Society for the Study of Dissociation) -- a thoughtful and informative letter in support of clients and therapists