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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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

I hurt myself today to see if I still feel

I spend a lot of time in prisons talking to men and women about a life of recovery, a life of freedom. Free from the bondage of addiction. Many assume my own journey correlates and in some instances it does, however the link between them and I is a shared experience of pain. It’s looking someone in the eyes, the soul and sharing in a unified experience of pain and suffering. I have my own history and hold it close to my heart as a reminder of the distance I have come. The journey I am on. To never want to hurt; to not impose suffering on myself. Prisons, jails, and institutions are full of suffering, and in the perplexity of addiction, much of this suffering has been created by the sufferer through a series of poor decisions. I understand self imposed suffering. I try to be an example of someone who has struggled through parts of my life and who has made conscious effort to stop make decisions which cause me to suffer. Many do not understand why I would spend time with those incarcerated and what good this may have, and that’s okay. Much of what I do is for me also. To help me understand the distance I have come. The changes I have made. The hurt and suffering which exists. 

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I Hurt myself today

to see if I still feel

I focus on the pain 

The only thing that's real 

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting 

Try to kill it all away 

But I remember everything 

being scared

That day in 1988, the last time I used drugs, I was scared. I didn't understand what I was doing or what I was going to do. I knew and had learned that being in hand cuffs and living in jail cells was something I didn't want to continue doing. I literally had nothing except some drawings, some letters and a few photographs others had sent me. There is very little more demoralizing than being treated like an animal. I hated every second of it. I despised the world and wondered every minute what others where doing. I knew I wanted to try something different and made no promises to anyone. I wanted to disappear from my life. I wanted to start again. I wanted take control of writing the story of my life. I was sick to my stomach listening and reading what others had authored about my character. I had made a plethora of terrible decisions but I wanted to believe I was not a terrible person. I wanted to change my life so people would leave me alone and stop saying negative things about me; I had no clue what that meant or how I was going to do that. 

I have the opportunity to speak to many about recovery, change, and motivation. I get to re-live this moment. To go to a place deep inside myself and remember the fear, the uncomfortableness of my life. I get to feel humbled about my journey. Its easy with the business of my daily life to forget how vulnerable, scared, and fragile I feel at times. I still feel uncomfortable with the world and myself at times. I have come a long way from that person in 1988. And it has not been without mistakes, there has never been any perfection in any of this. I continue to author the story of my life. I am continually surprised when  others say nice things about me. 

I hope this story is a good one for someone to read…

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“it's harder to make the glass than break the glass"

this week was filled with me making speaking to others. I was invited for my rotation at a prison where I conducted 5 groups with 40-50 inmates in each. that’s a lot of guys, and a lot of me talking. I spoke about learning, listening, coping skills, utilizing skills learned while in prison to have a life in recovery, a life free of the consequences of addiction and institutions…FREE. I was asked dozens of questions of how to make it, how did I make it. People looking for an answer, the answer. Unfortunately answers that a person must find on their own path. Generally I fond most people want the straight, honest answer even when it hurts. Somehow I have been blessed with the opportunity to be the bearer of this type of truth. A truth that means it’s hard, it hurts, it’s hard work. I don't believe that others don't know this, I believe that we want the easier softer way to deal with ourselves and the world.  Some people in prisons want the easier softer way, they want the answer, the fix. 

I ended my week speaking to a group of high school students about my life. That’s always a personal challenge, a place to grow. During that presentation I have to scrape the dirt off of graves I dug many years ago, expose my imperfections, admit my faults, stand in front of strangers and tell some of my secrets. Honestly admit that I am imperfect. Acknowledge my blessings and the belief that I don't know why. I loved speaking with the high school kids and they asked great questions…some of which I had no answer…which is okay.

In both speaking situations I was humbled, I admitted I do not have the answers, but I explained that the it’s harder to make the glass that break the glass…this is my life.

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Everyone has a story...

I have several speaking engagements coming up and sometimes I am amazed anyone would want to hear me talk. I never considered myself a “public” speaker and really have spent much of my life very shy and somewhat reserved. I learned that to accomplish anything I would need to step out of my comfort zone and engage others. I was asked several years ago to tell “my story” at a private luncheon and I had never spoken open and honestly with a room of strangers about the person who I used to be and the journey I have been on. I believed my recovery, my story were things I should be ashamed of, to hide, to only share in the company of others with similar stories. I have challenged myself to make my recovery, my journey a source of pride. If I were a survivor of any other disease I would wear my pride on my sleeve. There are many things I don't understand about myself, but I have faith and hope. I don't understand why I have been blessed with the opportunity to have an audience to listen to me. My story is not that different than others’, but it’s my story…everyone has story.
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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.
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Thanksgiving- the act of giving thanks

“You cannot do a kindness too soon because you never know how soon it will be too late”. Ralph Waldo Emerson

This week is thanksgiving and many people will gather with family and others to share a meal and time together. Many will travel great distances to be with others, physically and emotionally. For me this is the holiday specific to being grateful, kind, and thankful. I try to acknowledge my gratitude daily. If you are a reader of this blog or you know me personally, you know that I have much to be grateful for. Our daily schedules sometimes supersede our ability to reflect and be grateful. I spend time every day looking into the sky. I enjoy the beauty of the clouds. I find comfort in looking to them, acknowledging them, watching as they change. This is something I am grateful for; they represent something much larger than myself and my life.

I will take my children on thanksgiving to a local food pantry and work, serving those in need. This is practicing gratitude. This is teaching my children to be thankful. This is teaching my children that the needs of others are more important. This teaches my children to understand the practice of thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving- the act of giving thanks

During the holiday take a moment to live in the moment, be silent, listen, look, be grateful, and say thank you!
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A light that shines from within

“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.” Buddha

I recently had the privilege to spend some time with someone new to recovery. A humbling experience for me to see her joy, her excitement, her undeniable happiness. She discussed the early parts of her journey, her desires, her plan, her commitment. She talked about her challenges, the hard parts. And joy flowed from her like a light shining from her soul. A light which will continue to grow, be stronger, and brighter. 

And as I reflect on our conversation I begin to understand why I need her. I need to be reminded that I am no different, that my light continues to shine. That I deserve joy and happiness. She is a version of myself. A version that is easily forgotten. It becomes easy to obsess over the defects. It’s hard sometimes to sit back and take in everything, to let that light shine...and I am blessed that she reminded me of this!

Thank You N!
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Violence. Where does it start, where does it end.

This week I have spent much time dealing with, talking about, and processing violence. I was asked to do an antiviolence workshop with inmates in prison. A daunting task. To discuss, educate, and motivate some men with severe histories of violent behavior. I spent some one on one time with a person resorting to threats to attempt to get his way. I talked to someone whose family is being victimized by another family member. I attended a victim impact panel for DUI offenders and allowed tears to run down my face when listening, and tragically a young man at our local high school committed suicide…reportedly a victim of bullying. I am by no means an expert on violence but I did understand the complexities of how it plants its roots and grows. Some acts of violence are never understood and some acts are never acceptable no matter the reasoning. I believe if a person does not address their feelings, does not clear their conscience, those corrupted emotions can grow like a weed, a parasite that takes over and destroys its host.

I do have a history of anger and violence. I have invested relentlessly to address these issues. To make amends for harm I have caused. To be aware, mindful of my emotions. To take care of myself. To ask for help, talk to others. The effects of violence are like a rock thrown into the center of a pond. It creates ripples that have an effect far reaching. Many perpetrators of violence fail to acknowledge the true harm that has been caused. They believe this is an act between themselves and a victim. Sometimes never acknowledging there is a victim (“they deserved it” mentality). No one wants to be a victim. As many perpetrators of violence were once victims themselves. 

The world is full of violence which is hard to fathom or even begin to understand, however I believe that we as citizens of our communities, our world must invest in helping to address the needs of others. To hold out a hand, to comfort, to listen, to show compassion and empathy. To believe in repairing harm, to giving back.

I’m trying… 

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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

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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. 

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No instructions?

In 1998 I decided to make a decision that I would do one of the scariest hardest things in my life. I have experienced many scary things and I have worked through many hard things in my life. But the decision I would ponder and eventually make was one of the hardest. I wanted to become a parent. But I wasn't for sure what that meant or if I was capable. I felt very unsure of myself, I felt scared, I felt inferior. I knew that I had gotten to place with myself that I was confident I knew how to take care of myself. This maybe was a prerequisite; how could I care for a child when I wasn't caring for myself. In my relationship with my wife I had been experiencing love, empathy, compassion, care and I began to learn how to give those things back. I knew that there were plenty of examples of parenting out there that I was not interested in. I watched other parents, the way they interacted with their children, the way the talked to them, the way they touched them or didn't. I had an idea of the parent I wanted to be, but was I capable. In 1999 we had our first child and my world changed. I loved her unconditionally. I held her, I played with her, I talked with her, I held her, I cared for her. I experienced emotions that were so foreign to me. I at times was so confused, so vulnerable. At times I had no idea what I was doing or if was even close to being right or wrong, or if that even mattered.
14 years and 3 more children later, I still am not sure what I’m doing. I am by no means a great parent. I miss things that my children do or tell me. Sometimes I don’t notice their cues that they need something from me. Sometimes I make mistakes. I think I have good kids and I hope that reflects on me as a parent. I know that my children, wife, and my decision to become a parent has helped me become a better person even though sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing.
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When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.-Henri Nouwen

This week I have been reflecting on my understanding of pain. I encounter many people who are experiencing, dealing with, and healing from different forms of pain. I have always thought I could see peoples’ pains through their eyes, and I believed that this is how I am able to share compassion and empathy with others. 

A unified experience of pain. 

This week I spent some time with someone experiencing an amount of pain that he has chosen to alter the course of his life and as we talked I could see the pain in his eyes.   And I acknowledged his pain, I empathized with his pain. It was pain that I can relate to. I told him I cared about his well-being and replied, “I know you do, I can see it in your eyes.” The hard part about pain is that we sometimes think we know how another experiences pain. We imprint our on pain experiences on the person and sometimes believe that what they are experiencing is maybe not the big deal they think it is. We discredit, minimize, and undervalue what the other person is experiencing. Why? I think for many it easier; to not share in another human being’s pain. And maybe this is okay for many. Maybe everyone is incapable of compassion and empathy. At times I am exhausted by practicing my own empathy and compassion. But the more I use these, the more I am able to use these. For a long time I did not want to live my life like this; I didn't want to hear or experience other people’s pain. I had my own to deal with. I had to learn to understand my own pain before I was ready to show empathy to others. I still experience pain; I still have hurt feelings, anger, stress, rejection, poor self-esteem and self-worth. But I am able to  better understand these things and take care of myself.  Please don’t assume you understand another person’s pain…I don't

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Hope...

This morning I have been contemplating HOPE and what it means, where it comes from and my relationship with it. Much has been written, studied, discussed about hope. All the great “smart” and “important” people in history have had an opinion about it, both good and bad. But what is it? Where is it? Where does it go? And how do you have a relationship with it? When I think of hope I instantly think of desire and then dream. But are these the same and how are they related? And how does wants and needs effect hope? I started this line of thought thinking I would find an easy answer and yet I continue to discover more questions. What is it that people hope for? Is this what people pray for? How are small hopes different from large hopes? Has hope become undervalued because of our quickness to use it? Can Hope be taught? Is hope only inspired? Are their people who do not hope?

1: the feeling of wanting something to happen and thinking that it could happen: a feeling that something good will happen or be true,
2: the chance that something good will happen
3: someone or something that may be able to provide help: someone or something that gives you a reason for hoping
These are the three general definitions found online. It seems so simple when I read the definitions...

The nature of the work I do has me involved in the third definition on a daily basis. I want to inspire others to have hope. Hope for a different kind of life. A hope that motivated me into recovery. A hope that I think most who suffer from any kind of illness hope for. Anyone who is sick will normally tell you that their hope is to get better. But what if they can’t get better? How does hope change? What if you are told you are going to die? How would your hopes change? What if you were condemned to prison or an institution for the rest of your life? How would you have hope? Is it possible to inspire hope when someone has given up hope?
I don’t know the answers to all these questions but I am certain I will continue to assess my personal hopes and my relationship with hope…and I hope you do to!

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I want to be loved...

“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

I want to be loved. I want to be cared for. I want to be liked, respected. I want to matter. I want others to think I’m okay. Often times I think about my funeral. I imagine what people may say about me in my passing. I think about the ending of the story of my life and does it end well or in tragedy. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. Probably better to not be perfect as I need a reminder where I need to grow as a person.  I want to be okay with me. I want to look in the mirror and know and be comfortable with the person I see. I want to smile more, laugh more. I want to let down my guard more. I want to feel safe more. I want to be less scared; scared of myself and the world.
For those who take a minute out of your days to read this please know it means the world to me. I find it strange that anyone cares what comes out of my mouth.

I’m glad you’re listening…makes me feel like it matters and that you care.
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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...
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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.
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25 years of change

"If you do not change your direction, you may end up where you are heading" Lao Tzu

This weekend was the summation of an eventful week for me; I attended my 25^th High School reunion. I have never attended one before and had many reservations about being there; I could have easily skipped it. I was asked by a friend and former classmate to attend and after some pandering by him and few others, I got up the courage to go. I was not “popular” in high school, I wasn’t in any clubs, didn’t play sports, and really struggled through the whole process. I was constantly in trouble, multiple suspensions, expelled my junior year, and dropping out my senior year. I was under the care of a psychiatrist beginning my sophomore year for suicidal ideation and self-harm. I was heavily medicated and had developed a severe substance abuse problem. I was involved in the criminal justice system and was constantly in trouble outside of school. The last two years of high school are truly a blur. I remember very little about any of it, by design. I was incarcerated at the age of 17, my senior year of high school. After some time away from the world I made a decision to never return to the place where so much harm existed for me and others. While my classmates finished school and graduated, I was beginning to author a new ending to the story of my life.  I had no idea what this story would read like and was very scared that any moment by book would end. I knew that redefining myself would be a huge undertaking. I call this the “gift and the curse” of recovery. While my classmates walked across the stage receiving their diplomas I intoxicated myself for the last time. While they dreamed of college, families, careers, I dreamed of the same. 
Together we dreamed of our future, our change. 
While we celebrated 25 years since graduation, I carried with me in my pocket, my 25 year coin from Alcoholics Anonymous.  I am glad I attended the event this weekend it was wonderful to see so many people. Many have changed so much, I know I have.
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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!
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