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

82.1

82.1

How do you fill the emptiness, the feeling that never goes away? 

How do you face the day, the world? 

How do you get out of bed? 

How do you continue on? 

How do you keep it to yourself?

How do you hide it?

How do you act normal?

How do you communicate with others?

How do you face yourself?

How do you explain it to others?

How do you do you?

How do you feel normal?

How do you do it?

on average 82.1 people commit suicide each day…RIP RW

Two eternities...

“In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present moment; to toe that line.” ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Lately I have been dealing the world better. I have eliminated some of my stressors and have tapered myself off my anxiety medication. I have experienced stress and at times have felt my blood pressure rise. I have had some poor sleeping patterns. But it’s manageable. I need to feel. I have had the opportunity to put myself in several new and uncomfortable situations the last few weeks. I have experienced a range of emotions, most of which included nervousness. I was told many years ago being nervous is a healthy emotion to experience. To take a deep breath and reflect inward. When I am nervous I know that I am not over confident. I can identify the disconnect between my heart and mind. I can humble myself, submit, let go. Many of the situations I become nervous about I have little to no control over. I have to identify how I fit into them, to deal with them. If I do not follow this process, resistance begins to take root. The immediate response to the situation becomes: I can’t deal with this, I don’t want to deal with this, I won’t deal with this. This is the seed of anger, frustration. This is a disconnect. For me this is an unhealthy scenario. A place I work to avoid. Stress, Anxiety, and nervousness are natural. I continue to work on my relationship with them because I know that I continue to grow in these relationships. I continue to feel.
B

Why I went to the woods

“what is joy without sorrow? what is success without failure? what is a win without a loss? what is health without illness? you have to experience each if you are to appreciate the other. there is always going to be suffering. it’s how you look at your suffering, how you deal with it, that will define you.” ― Mark Twain

The past week has been very difficult for me to navigate. Things have been very out of balance, very overwhelming, and very hard to keep myself on course. I have been subject to some highly stressful situations and at times wanted to scream, cry, and disappear. Luckily I know how my cycle feels and I have different techniques to help myself. I am able to work through, to stay the course. But what is the cost? I want the world to pause for a minute. To let me catch my breath. I considered a self-imposed time out from the world and this is always an option. But how do I surrender to that? How do I do what needs to be. Knowing helps. Talking to others helps. I have to remember to go into the woods, close my eyes, breath, and be mindful…this too shall pass

B

Who am I and why am I here?

Who am I and why am I here is a question that I ask myself daily. I was asked to address a conference for mental health recovery and this was the title of my speech. I believed the committee assumed I would be bringing answers to this questions not spend my hour discussing why I continue to ask myself this question. I have always longed for a different “version” of myself. 
     I have never felt comfortable with myself. When I look in the mirror, I sometimes don’t know the person reflected there. Most days I struggle through feeling scared. Not scared of the world, but scared of how I am reacting to it. Many people have observed and commented on my “laid back” demeanor. This has taken years of self-reflection and practice to keep my emotional state on a level plane. I know at times I project a “stand offish”, intimidating, mean expression on my face. I do this not by choice. This is part of my natural self-defense mechanism- (insert fight or flight). I do not want to mean or thought of as someone who is a jerk or scary. I really am not. One of the saddest and meanest things anyone has ever said to me is, “no matter how hard you work on recreating who you are, people will always know the true you by the expression you carry on your face and in your eyes.” This was told to me over twenty years ago and it haunts me. It’s not like I am trying to be someone I am not. I was given an opportunity through recovery to change the way my story ends. This is what I call the “gift and curse” of recovery. I believe that if I or anyone else wanted to write the story of my life, I have been given the ability to affect the outcome of how that story ends. This is what I am doing. 
To be continued...
B

I didn't want to die but I didn't want to live-by request and censored by request

The first time I cut my wrists,
a great light came over me,
not only had I found a way to release my sadness but I also found the perfect way to illustrate my emotions. I had this mark on my body that conveyed a message for all to see. A message that could only be interpreted one way, I was hurting. My self harm was a perfect complement to my substance abuse, I could intoxicate myself, cut on myself to amplify the high, release my sadness, and send a message to those around me that my life was spiraling out of control and that I had deep rooted emotional issues. I wore the cuts on my body like huge billboards, “I’M HURTING”. I never wanted to kill myself but romanticized the idea that I could cut deeper, more, bigger and come close to death. In fact the closer I came, the better it felt.

The more I cut, the better I felt.

What started as an experiment with emotions and pain quickly developed into an obsession.
I cut on myself everyday; designing patterns of marks that somehow exemplified the number of times I had felt pain. The only problem is I didn't have enough skin. I cut on cuts, I cut on scabs, and I cut and cut. The group of people I hung around were impressed with my cutting. Other kids at my high school, with whom I had never spoken, came forward to compare their cutting to mine, an exchange of desires, dreams, and shared pain; a somewhat intimate exchange. Finally they must have thought someone we can relate to and someone who needs us. I never wanted to gain any relationships from my self-harm, only bring attention and resolve to the destructive nature of my own existence. I became obsessed with using different instruments to cut with razor blades, utility knife blades, broken glass, pins, and needles. As the sensation of cutting began to numb, new ways became a last option. I began to burn “blue circles” into my wrists using a cigarette. I would lie in bed and choke myself. I would punch myself repeatedly in the face and stomach. I didn't want to die but I knew I didn't want to live.
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

By Request (2) dko

I was recently asked to write about what books I am reading and why. I attempt to read often and when I was in college (and without 4 children), I was much more disciplined in my reading habit. I enjoy reading and read a range of nonfiction. For the past year I have really focused on books dealing and about substance abuse, spirituality, and recovery. My choice for reading these types of books is varied in selection. I read some for self-improvement, maintenance of myself, strategies and understanding for working with others, and some I read for a ways to improve my own writing. Since I began to write and talk about my own emotions, thoughts and processes, I have found it hard to put into words the range of things I experience. Reading how others write helps…

1. Currently reading this book as it is a first hand account of Depression and the Author William Styron has done an amazing job of putting into words the feelings and thoughts experienced by someone with Depression.

Favorite Excerpt (thus far), "Death, as I have said, was now a daily presence, blowing over me in cold gusts. I had not conceived precisely how my end would come. In short, I was still keeping the idea of suicide at bay. But plainly the possibility was around the corner, I would soon meet it face to face" page 50

Purchase

2. Currently reading this book also. The Author David Kennedy is co founder of "Cease Fire". He has spent decades studying Youth Violence and so far does an amazing job at detailing the complex issues surrounding youth and why they are involved in violence and how to address and possibly change the culture.

Favorite excerpt (thus far), "Nearly all of the worst violence and crime in America's most troubled neighborhoods is driven by a small, super-heated world of gangs and drug crews and drug markets. It is a world with its own rules, its own standards, its own understandings. It is a community, make no mistake; it is a community where men will kill for their brothers, die for their brothers, where being a thug is a good and honorable thing, where thug love means having your brothers' backs, no matter what the cost. It is world in which young men stand against a powerful, malevolent world and say to themselves and to each other, Prison's no big thing; I'm going to be dead by the time I'm twenty-five, so nothing really matters; if a man  is disrespected, he has to return violence or he's not a man; the enemy of my friend is my enemy; I'm a victim, so I'm justified in what I do." page 20

Purchase

B

resiliency, trauma, and a history of violence

Sometimes I attend training's to improve my work skills and more often than not, leave learning something about myself and why I do certain things. This week I attended a training session on trauma informed care, one the current “buzz” words in the treatment profession at the moment and learned a lot about who I use to be. One of the sessions addressed how to work with someone who is “flooding” or having adrenaline overload. This really hit home as I used to be pre-wired with a high level of adrenaline, a way to keep vigilant and be on my best defense to protect myself. Many people inquire about my apparent calm, laid back disposition and I have never been able to explain it in a clinical way. This has taken an immense amount of work on myself, to let go of those things which trigger adrenaline flooding, conflict in any way.  The most upset or adrenaline charged I have felt was a couple years ago when someone confronted me in a parking lot, he thumped me on the chest when he was talking in a “put down” way. I was able to defuse myself and walk away. The adrenaline rushed through my body so strongly that my hands were shaking. I was threatened, I felt unsafe, and I wanted to put my hands around his neck. This is one of the greatest things I have accomplished through my recovery, letting go of conflict and the ability to diffuse myself. I was not always like this even in recovery. I recall many times getting into physical altercations, as a result of escalating verbal disagreements. Confronting others unnecessarily because I felt disrespected, challenged, or had my feelings hurt. I have a history of violence and I was raised in an environment full of conflict, violence, and trauma. This is how I was built. This is not something I am proud of and something that I work on and manage on a daily basis.

B

http://conflictunraveled.com/vt_wp/?page_id=887

Who am I and Why am I here.

"When feeling sympathy and compassion for those in temptation, a condition I sometimes experience, I have a responsibility toward them. Sympathy always includes responsibility. When I am moved with compassion, I should go to the one in need and bind up his or her wounds as best I can."-unknown

"...when you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight"… " the deeper sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain" (The Prophet) by Khalil Gibran page 29

This week has been tough. I have experienced a whirlwind of emotion. I find myself feeling in a way that as I use to describe as “the world moving so fast I can’t keep up”. I have had several people notice the stress, anxiety, maybe panic on my face and in my character. There is not enough hours or minutes for me to catch up, to stop the world around me. I find myself reassuring myself, I am doing well, I am keeping it together.  I spent time discussing everything with someone this week and the question of when am I going to reach my “tipping point” and what will happen when I do? 

Where is my tipping point? How much can I endure? 

I often feel that I am fragile; I look at myself in the mirror and think how will I make it through the day? I see pain, sorrow, and sadness in my eyes. I pray and meditate for strength, compassion, understanding, balance, and peace. I am far from a perfect person. I am a work in progress.  I know my character defects.  I have tried to put myself around others who understand the complexities of my “condition”, who I believe are looking out for me.

This blog has become a place for to share. I know many of you visit and read. I often wonder what you want me to discuss or share here. I really wonder what you think or feel about this. I sometimes feel like I am in a bubble, writing, and posting with no feedback.  If you feel inclined please respond in some way, let me know you are there…

My name is Brad and I have a history of self harm

I want to share with you one of my darkest secrets. A behavior, an emotion, a "thing" that for many years I wanted to believe was not something I had done to myself. Something so embarrassing to admit that I attempted to bury it forever. I didn't know how to talk about it, didn't know how to explain it. It has been many, many years since I harmed myself. In fact I engaged in this between the ages of 15-17. 

I wrote this a couple of years ago after attending a conference session on women who harm themselves. Afterwards I spent some time with the presenter describing some of my self harm and she challenged me to come out of my self imposed darkness and be willing to admit it and someday discuss it. I want you to know this comes with much hesitation and that I will post links to sites where help can be sought. 

The first time I cut my wrists,

a great light came over me,

not only had I found a way to release my sadness but I also found the perfect way to illustrate my emotions. I had this mark on my body that conveyed a message for all to see. A message that could only be interpreted one way, I was hurting. My self harm was a perfect compliment to my substance abuse, I could intoxicate myself, cut on my self to amplify the high, release my sadness, and send a message to those around me that my life was spiraling out of control and that I had deep rooted emotional issues. I wore the cuts on my body like huge billboards, “I’M HURTING”. I never wanted to kill myself but romanticized the idea that I could cut deeper, more, bigger and come close to death. In fact the closer I came, the better it felt.

The more I cut, the better I felt.

What started as an experiment with emotions and pain quickly developed into an obsession.

I cut on myself everyday; designing patterns of marks that somehow exemplified the number of times I had felt pain. The only problem is I didn’t have enough skin. I cut on cuts, I cut on scabs, and I cut and cut. The group of people I hung around were impressed with my cutting. Other kids at my high school, with whom I had never spoken, came forward to compare their cutting to mine, an exchange of desires, dreams, and shared pain; a somewhat intimate exchange. Finally they must have thought someone we can relate to and someone who needs us. I never wanted to gain any relationships from my self-harm, only bring attention and resolve to the destructive nature of my own existence. I became obsessed with using different instruments to cut with razor blades, utility knife blades, broken glass, pins, and needles. As the sensation of cutting began to numb, new ways became a last option. I began to burn “blue circles” into my wrists using a cigarette. I would lie in bed and choke myself. I would punch myself repeatedly in the face and stomach. 

I didn’t want to die but I knew I didn’t want to live. 

B

http://www.selfinjury.com/

https://www.facebook.com/SHAwareness
http://www.twloha.com/

Surrender, 25 years later

25 years ago a 17 year old boy, under the influence, committing a crime consumed alcohol for the last time.

There was a moment during my life when complete truth never felt more real. Sure I had been experiencing truth constantly and these were the things that I wanted to escape, ignore, avoid, and run from forever. The onset of knowing that I did not know how to deal with day to day existence as a human being, nor did I want to. The truth that I was severely depressed and never sadder, and I found myself grounded in the idea that this is who I was and I could not change it. On December 27, 1987, the owner of the business had caught me inside his building. Technically I had broken in even though I had previously stolen the keys to the business, and let myself in. He was angry and threatened to shot me. He had his arm around my neck and a handgun pointed to the side of my head. This had little effect on me, not only had I been under the aim of a gun previously, but I had been living to die. The thought of this unknown person threatening to shoot me in the head had a calming effect on me. Not because I had been subdued, but the thought of a stranger completing the task of ending my pathetic existence seemed unfair and out of line. I was angry and sad. A stranger had placed himself into a position that I had been for so long. He probably never knew the value of this position. 

I was blessed with the understanding that I wanted and was going to die. I could have struggled, I could have fought back, I could have asked him to do it. But I surrendered myself to fate, to the world, to the consequences, to the rebuilding, to the suffering, to the unknown, to everything...I surrendered.

On this day 25 years ago the haze of insanity began to lift...

He is I

He is I

For a long time he has been with me.

I don’t remember how we met.

I was told he was here.

I see him occasionally

But I don’t look for him.

When I look into other’s eyes

Sometimes he is there.

We never speak

A simple acknowledgement only

But I don’t look for him.

He will always be with me

They say He is very complicated

I don’t want him

He would have you believe he is I

And I am he

But I don’t look for him

We wake up together some mornings

We walk together some days

We keep each other up through the nights

But I don’t look for him

We used to fight

I wanted him to go away

And there he would stay

He hates me some days

And wishes I would go away

We both give

And we both take

But I don’t look for him

Who would I be without him

And who would he be without me

They say we can have a meaningful relationship

Because he is I

And I am he.

 

 

How do we stop the Bleeding?

In my job I encounter, experience the toll of mental health on people, families, communities, and systems. As a society, through policy, we have systematically turned metal health into someone else’s problem. More times than not we have put it, shoved it, back on to the sufferer. We have national instances of violence, unfathomable violence, and we collectively respond with “what’s wrong with people”, “how could someone do this”, “that person must have been crazy”. Our chickens have come home to roost. We have created this scenario, as a society. We own this. Mental Health is a national healthcare crisis. How do we stop the bleeding?  

Things I make...

I haven't  posted for a couple of weeks as I have been spending much of my free time (which is very little) drawing. I have been creating a type of Mandala that really is about many issues including mental health, spirituality, discipline, anxiety. So I wanted to start posting some of these...

Breath, 60"x60", ink on paper

That “thing” and why I hate it, sometimes

That “thing” and why I hate it, sometimes

So the past week has been somewhat turbulent for me, which really means I have beat myself up over some things I have no control over. I tend to take some things very hard and feel they are somehow a critique of my character. My tendency is to really internalize these types of feelings and let them grow and rot inside my head. I call this processing; which is really using a clinical excuse to continue to beat myself up.  Luckily I am aware of this cycle and can call it like I see (feel) it. So the process for me looks like this, something happens, I get upset, I internalize it, I don’t tell anyone how upset I am, It’s constantly  on my mind (that’s that processing thing), I begin to lose sleep, I become more irritable, I quit eating, I isolate myself more from others, and within days, I feel like a disaster. I have a good set of tools for which I have learned and practiced throughout my recovery. Of all those tools is one for which I despise when in this cycle of self-inflicted misery. The Serenity Prayer. I really despise that short, well versed prayer! We who are in recovery have been beaten over the head time and again by counselors, therapists, mental health workers, 12 step members, sponsors, family members,  and everyone who knows when we are struggling reminds us to remember, recite, chant, yell to the heavens, this simple prayer. I hate it sometimes! (I feel like I should have it tattooed on my forehead, so every time I look in the mirror, I am reminded of its inherent power.)

That’s right… I said that I hate the Serenity Prayer.

How could I hate a prayer? This prayer really unlocks the one of the mysteries of my personal defects. If you look at the process at this beginning of my post, you will see that something has triggered a chain of events that has led me into a process of self-destruction. This event really is beyond my control. I have taken something, which affects me but is not my doing, and I turned it, spun it, and used it to feel bad about myself. That’s weird. Why would I do that? This is one of the “great” mysteries of addiction (and for another post and or profession to examine and unlock the “great” mysteries). For me it has a whole lot to do with mental health issues I deal with on a daily basis (which can be addressed another time). I have to focus on how I could hate a prayer!   So I know it’s there, I think about it whether I want to or not, and suddenly everything begins to become less cloudy. I begin to understand and more importantly feel that all of this really was out of my control and I can begin to rid myself of all the negativity I have created from it. I have developed tools that help me get myself back together; these include walking, making art, spending time with my kids and wife, and writing.

Today I feel better about last week. I still have some reservations about my love/hate relationship with The Serenity Prayer...

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

B