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

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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

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B

By Request.

Every day starts differently and the same. The nightlight glows constant so that count can be conducted throughout the night.  At seven a.m. the lights turn brighter and the door makes a loud click and begins opening. The sound of dozens of doors slam into their open position, the general day room lights are bright. Time for breakfast. Never before has the saying “you snooze, you lose” mattered so much. Here, if you are not making your way into the day room, you are not going to eat. No exceptions. Your food goes to the most senior member of your housing unit. When I say most senior, I do not mean the oldest. I am speaking of the person who has been here the longest. Being the most senior person comes with privileges, most importantly is cell choice. Or house as we called it. When you’re new, you are given what no one else wants. Seniority moves you up in the neighborhood. The best houses are the ones with a view. Which seems funny considering the best view is that of the control room. This is the best because there is movement, people moving. Any kind of movement is a reminder of humanity. I stood for hours, day after day starring at the second hand on the clock in the control room, movement. Time doesn’t stop, the world keeps moving. Life continues without you. The majority of any given day includes reading, playing games such as spades, sitting around telling stories, exercising, cleaning cells, watching TV, and writing and receiving letters. I spent a lot of time drawing pictures and making functional artwork. I learned that I could make a glue like substance using coffee creamer. I would get magazines and construct objects from their pages. I once made a table using this method of construction. It was seized as contraband shortly after, it was nice. I would have requests for cards (Birthday, Mother’s Day, etc.) from others and I would be paid in what I wanted, candy bars, cigarettes, and stamps.  I would draw roses and hearts, bouquets of flowers, lots of flames and banners.

Breakfast was usually toast and coffee; lunch was a lunch meat sandwich with a fruit or vegetable and kool aid. Dinner was usually a soy based ground beef served a million different ways, a vegetable side, butter bread, and Tea.  For those who passed through who had been on the streets or who had simply not had food, this was eating at its finest. It was three meals, served every day at the same time.
The evenings were filled with TV watching. I think I saw every episode of Three’s Company and MASH ever made. At 10p.m. it was lock down time. We went to our cells, the doors closed automatically and the lights dimmed.

The second hand on the clock continued to sweep around, to move.

Alcohol the most seductive lie ever told.

The past two weeks I have been inundated with discussions about the use of alcohol. Discussions about the culture of alcohol, the acceptance of alcohol use, the infinite number of reasons to drink alcohol, and the never ending excuses as to why someone doesn't have a “problem” with alcohol. I've sat with inmates and listened to their desire and plans to have a “cold one” when released from prison. I've sat across the desk from someone with early stage cirrhosis of the liver who continues to drink alcohol. I've heard the seductive telling of story after story, I've heard the errors in thinking and reasoning, I have heard a million explanations of why consuming alcohol is okay.  
Now I understand that there are those out there who can consume alcohol in a responsible way and by no means am I inferring that they have a “problem”.  Maybe it’s the nature of the work I am involved in or my natural observation of others, or my own corrupted opinion, I see and encounter many people who have issues around the use of alcohol. I observe others test themselves and their ability to control their use. I watch as some completely destroy themselves to drink. I had someone suggest to me that I probably was not an alcoholic. An interesting thing to say to someone who meets the DSM IV criteria for alcohol dependence. And maybe I’m not, but what if I am? The last drink of alcohol I had was December 27^th, 1987. That night ended with me in a jail cell with multiple felony arrests. For me it’s not just the out of control behavior that being under the influence allows me to engage in, but the emotional turmoil that was triggered when in my addiction cycle. I know with all my heart that if I were to take a drink of alcohol I would be thrust into complete and utter emotional chaos. I have a hard enough time dealing with myself sober. I don’t want to drink, haven’t wanted to in long time. Have way too much to lose, the work I have invested in my life is worth the world to me; it’s definitely worth more to me than a drink. I feel blessed to know and understand that alcohol is the most seductive lie ever told.

B

Tear drops of self control

I found myself on the receiving end of a violent tirade this week. The person was so angry he was unwilling and truly unable to hear anything that came from mouth, including an apology for a misunderstanding. He confronted me in an exhibit of pure rage including threats of harm to my wellbeing. I sat in my chair, and without hesitation, didn’t move. My hands placed securely on the arms of the chair, my body relaxed, and my face void of emotion. And I sat, and I received his yelling and threats, and I absorbed his emotion, and I resisted the urge to respond, and I refused to engage, escalate, enrage. And when he finished or maybe realized I was not going to respond, he left. This is the most desirable less likely outcome. This could have had many endings, which no doubt would have included me returning to a version of myself for which I have so worked to control. I understand these situations are as much about myself as they are the perpetrator. The work I have invested into making myself a “kinder gentler” version of myself has been a lifelong process. To understand and adhere to a strict doctrine of conflict resolution that is based on nonviolence. I believe this is part of my destiny, to restore some type of balance in my life and the community.  

After he left I was consumed with emotion. . I took a deep breath and began the process of de-escalating myself.  My hands shook, my face was flush, adrenaline rushed through my body, and tears ran out of the corner of eyes. Tear drops of self control.

 

Have a Blessed week, I have...

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The person I was...

So I haven’t written in two weeks as I have had a lot going on in my day to day life. Spring brings a whole bunch of projects that have been put off all winter, yard work, etc.

 I had the privilege to read through my probation record, which one of my good friends was able to get out of storage for me to look through. It was hard to read. It tells the story of a young man trying in every way to destroy himself. A story that if read aloud, the narrator and audience would surely believe that the main character would not make it, doomed to either spend his entire life in institutions or death. To read what professionals thought of my wellbeing, my behavior, my attitude, repeated arrests, failed treatment episodes and interventions, to read what people outside of my world tried to put the pieces together of what I can only describe in reflection as pure inner and outer chaos. My prognosis was not good. I was not going to make it. And yet here I am. And if I think about, which I do daily, I don’t understand why. Why did I get so lucky? Why did my higher power pick me to save? I know that I am truly blessed. The majority of those with my background rarely make it. I knew that then. I knew that the odds, statistics, the professionals, didn’t believe I would make it, that I would come out the other side. At the very core of my soul I wanted a different life, I am still motivated by this. I am still working on making myself a better person, and a better life. There is little perfection in this. If I am honest with myself and others I can and am able to recognize when I stray from the course and correct it. I thank God daily for my existence. I hope when this journey comes to end that others will reflect on my life and be proud of where I have come from and what I have achieved. Although I sometimes have to be reminded, I know that I am.

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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.

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