Chris Hoke- Wanted

Finished this book last week (5 days of reading) and it is absolutely great! Chris puts into words many of the emotions and thoughts I routinely have doing my work. I would encourage you to take moment to learn more about Chris and the work he is involved in!
http://chris-hoke.com/info/
http://coffee.newearthworks.org/
https://www.facebook.com/chris.hoke.988

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If Normal were a color- An open letter to young readers

Painting a picture of normal 

If normal were a color it would have many profound shades. Many struggle with the palette of normal and believe to their core they are not. However who claims normal to be a pure consistent hue of certainty? We know young people struggle with personal identification and normalcy. We know many adults model what they believe to be a normal persona in thought and action. Young people are particularly susceptible to decision making which may have an immediate effect on their current situation. Most who suffer from behavioral health issues seek a life of pure consistent normalcy. This innate drive is fostered by internal and external factors alike. Young people want to feel, be normal to others. They seek concrete reinforcement form their immediate surroundings. I was never comfortable with myself as an adolescent. I never felt as though I fit in. I surrounded myself with others who didn't fit in. I engaged in behaviors which made me numb to the uncomfortableness. I felt lost, trapped, hopeless. I put myself in the position to allow others to define me, my character. No matter how hard I tried I could not find normal…or at least what I thought normal should be. As I have grown older I still struggle with the socially acceptable “normal”. I still do not know what that means and I somehow have found comfort in understanding that there are many shades of normal. 

In my painting of normal there are many colors and shades, on most days my painting looks completely different then it did the day before. And I find comfort in that.

if you struggle with normal please know you are not alone, if you cannot find someone to talk to out of fear of judgement, please know I understand. 

B

Secondary Traumatic Stress, When do we quit helping others in need, Four rigs with cocaine residue

This week I have been in several situations where I have been mindful of an underlying conflict, a question, a debate. I have visited someone in jail, participated in a group debate, and helped someone begin to understand. All three situations were very different but contained a question, a desire, resistance, hope, confusion. All three shared a common thought, emotion, and question; when do we quit helping someone in need? What if we encounter someone who has been given every opportunity to make adjustments to their lives, to themselves and they continue to make decisions and behave in a way that is counter to the desired positive outcome? Do we stop helping, do we give up, do we turn away, and do we no longer help? What if the person is incapable of doing what is necessary? What if the person is incapable of seeing? What if they are unable to see themselves in their lives? What if they can’t bear to look at their lives and themselves? What if the guilt and shame are unbearable? Do we give up?

 I have previously written about pain, suffering, compassion and empathy and I don’t want to restate something that I have already touched on in previous post. I want to talk about Secondary Traumatic Stress or “the cost of caring”. I believe the current that runs through all of these questions is a person’s threshold for compassion and empathy. Expressing these can try on a person; they can become a weight on your shoulders, on your mind, your spirit, and your heart. When we experience someone else’s pain we can reach our “limit” and look for an option to break ties. We want that break up to be the other’s fault. We are done, and we shut the door. We want to bury the situation, the person, in a grave of blame filled with shame, disgust, and anger. We are suffering from compassion fatigue. We have reached our limit with the person. This is the easy way out…detachment.

How do we prevent this? Through self-care. We need to relieve our stress; we need to share with others the burden we experience. We need to laugh. We need to feel safe, understood, we need “cosigners”. We need to separate ourselves at times to let go of the attachment, the emotions. We need others to help us. We need to self-reflect. We need to be mindful. We need to seek positive healthy ways to alleviate our stress, our pain.

We need to be reminded that we should not give up on anyone. 

B   

one of America's saddest secrets...

“I want to see firsthand the mental health unit”

She was involved in an argument, her body language yelled intensity, anger

She moves her hands to illustrate the point

She doesn't notice me or the sweat that drips from my forehead

I watch quietly, she gets louder and more animated.

There is no denying the importance of her position.

A tear dripped from the corner of my eye and mixed with the sweat running down the side of my face.

She never noticed me 

and her wall never told its side of the story

My undershirt stuck to my back. The heat was sweltering and the air was still and stale.

Coloring book pages hung on the walls like fliers for lost daughters, mothers, sisters.

  I left the unit with a level of discomfort, sadness and anger. I am not naive to the understanding that some of these women have possibly done things which warrant their removal from society, however housing the mentally ill in a prison has unfortunately become acceptable practice. I have heard and understand both sides of the argument. I know with out a doubt they are in an environment which is possibly safer than the one they came from; safer for others and most importantly safer for them. As society continues to slash funding for community based mental health services, more and more individuals with mental health disorders are being processed into jails and prisons.

How are we providing appropriate treatment and services?

Or does anyone care?   

The Mentally Ill in Jail: Whose Problem Is It Anyway? [Satellite/Internet Broadcast]

for my friend Sheri and all the treatment professionals who work inside prisons and jails...thank you for everything you do!
B

Maintaining sobriety through fasting-Where am I going and can I find happiness.

“The most dangerous person in recovery I have ever met”

“My name is Brad and I am an alcoholic and addict”

“Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path…” The first time I set foot into a 12 step self help group I was 17 years old. I look back and still don’t fully understand why I was there I simply knew I needed to be there. The meeting room was full of mostly older men, some women, and the few residents of treatment who had also received passes to attend. I had little in common with those who attended and shared. Their stories of losing jobs, wives, husbands, homes, and everything, was nothing like my story. I had nothing to lose. I was here to build something, to get something. They shared their stories and I listened carefully. I shared very little, I had not lost everything. I observed men share the same story over and over, I suppose their retelling of this moment was a reminder of what waited for them outside the walls of the meeting. Stories of waking up in alleys and jail cells. Told and retold. The same story. Over and over. I was encouraged by my counselor to complete a 30/30. 30 meetings in 30 days. I went everyday, sometimes two times per day. I could not get enough. Of what I did not know. I just knew I needed to be there and going felt right. I immersed myself in all their publications, read all their books, and observed the comings and goings of every member of the group. I completed my 30 meetings and challenged myself to complete a 90/90. Challenge may not be the correct word as going became an obsession and missing was unthinkable. I got my first job while still at the residential facility. The management and coworkers were supportive of what I was trying to accomplice. My work schedule was made to fit around my meeting schedule. I got two sponsors and began the process of working on my steps. One sponsor was an old timer who helped with the step process and the other was a college student who would teach me how to be a 17 year old recovering addict.

I remember being very confused. Very unsure, very nervous, very scared. I didn't know who I was, how I was to act, who I would spend time with, what I would do.

Most days I still feel this way.

I had something to look forward to. A glimmer of hope. What was I getting? “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path” Failure, I had tasted that and knew I didn’t want to return, at least not right now. I enjoyed my freedom too much. But what did success look like? I would find comfort in my days of sobriety, a true mark of success. I knew that the statistics were against me, I was expected to fail. I had built a foundation for the rest of my life and no matter how bad a day was, or how stupid of a decision I had made, I had tomorrow, the promise of another day. The coins I collected for sobriety anniversary dates became evidence of this success. Proof of the promise I never showed my coins to anyone, but carried them in my pocket as though they were worth more than gold. Protected. Proof. Success. And my 12-step family celebrated my accomplishments like a true family. People were genuinely proud of me, concerned and compassionate. 

I will always consider myself part of the 12 step family, much like the child they help raise, I will forever be indebted to the people of 12 step groups for helping me become a better person.

B 

Where I Need to Be.

Today I broke one of my cardinal rules. “Don’t ask a question if you don’t want to know the answer”. This is really not about not wanting to know the answer or using this as an excuse to not ask questions. This is really a warning, an error on the side of caution statement. It’s really about if you ask the question being ready to deal with the answer. Today I was interviewing someone who had tested positive for THC. When I inquired about why he was using marijuana, he replied I am having a hard time out here. I inquired what was going on that he was having a hard time dealing with. He stated, I did a lot of time in prison.  Upon further conversation (which was light hearted) he stated that he had spent the last 13 years in prison for killing his son. He admitted to “beating” him but stated repeatedly “I didn't kill him”.  He was 17 when this incident occurred. And here we were and “light hearted vanished”. I asked the questions, he gave me the answers, and I thought “oh no”.

I find myself in this position often. Maybe it’s my neutral disposition, my willingness to jump in a “hole” with someone and share in their pain. Maybe others see me as stoic, the one who can handle the pain.  I feel blessed. I feel privileged. I feel like this part of purpose in life. I feel like this is part of the fundamental reason behind my higher power choosing me to be in recovery. To be a receptacle of others’ pain. To have the ability to open my heart and show compassion, understanding, and love for those who suffer. To not judge.  This is part of my spiritual development. We discuss this in the field of addiction and recovery and we know that for a person to recover they must develop some kind of spiritual growth. We know this to be true however this is something that is immeasurable. I have often wondered how and why so many are unable to recover. And when I look at the entire picture I have found that many are incapable of investing in a spiritual plan, journey, etc. So the question becomes why? Why are so many spiritually “bankrupted”? Is it guilt? Does a person know that in order to let go of all of those things which they have used to make poor decisions lie in the fact that they believe that things they have done, people they have harmed, and the guilt from those actions is unbearable, unforgivable  In my addiction cycle, I harmed many people, my community, and myself. I have acknowledged these things and have committed myself to making amends every day of my life. I do this not to make myself a better person. I am committed to this so I can contribute to the betterment of others, my community, and the world. If I continue to grow as a person, that is a residual effect. 

I know that if I get that moment, that vulnerable, honest, sad, guilty moment with a person, I am exactly where I need to be. 

"And there was a kid with a head full of doubt"- AB

This week I had the opportunity to visit a medium security prison and spend the day not only speaking to about 100 guys, but spent individual time with many of them. The prison is about an hour and half from my house and I had to be at the gate house between 8 and 830a.m. (which meant an early morning for me). During the drive I attempted to clear my head and focus on what I would say to them. This can be overwhelming as I usually walk into a gymnasium or commons area and they are there waiting for me to walk in and start talking. One of the ways I try to get myself focused and centered is through music. My music interests span many genres and time frames. However I recently have been listening to the Avett Brothers for my long drives at work and to relax when at home. There is one specific song “Head full of doubt/Road full of promise” which I found to be appropriate for this mornings commute and preparation. The lyrics of the song are:

 "Head Full Of Doubt / Road Full Of Promise"

 There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light

 In the fine print they tell me what's wrong and what's right

 And it comes in black and it comes in white

 And I'm frightened by those that don't see it

 

When nothing is owed or deserved or expected

 And your life doesn't change by the man that's elected

 If you're loved by someone, you're never rejected

 Decide what to be and go be it

 

There was a dream and one day I could see it

Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it

And there was a kid with a head full of doubt

So I'll scream til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

I met many men who have spent 20 or more years locked up, many of which are murderers. They shared the same nervous anticipation that any person would have in their position. A scared of what the world is like after 20 years disposition. They shared stories of their children who were toddlers when they went away, who have grown up, got married, had their own children, and continued on with their lives. And I reflected on my last 20 years being in recovery, being free, and having a life. During the speaking part of my day I was in a gymnasium with about 100 men sitting in the bleachers, all dressed in the same state issued blue uniform (made by prisoners, wore by prisoners) and I talked about  many things including dreams and doubts. I know many of them will not make it once released. The burden of life on the outside is too much. The problems that lead them to incarceration remain, some have continued to grow. And I talked about it. I discussed what it means to be part of a community and the debt they must someday payback to their towns, their families. I talked about the responsibility they have to themselves, their children, their mothers, and their community. A shared responsibility we all have to be citizens.  We discussed plans, goals and more importantly I discussed dreams. I challenged them all to look inside themselves and find their dreams and use those desires to succeed, accomplish, conquer motivate and guide them to make better choices.  And I talked about a desire for something different
B