Anguish, but Hope

“Opportunities to find deeper powers within ourselves come when life seems most challenging.” Joseph Campbell

  Lately, I haven’t been as consistent as I’d like with my blogging. I debated with myself about this post. I don’t want pity, and I don’t want to whine. I just want to be honest about where my head has been. And perhaps there are others out there who are going through similar upsets or who can relate and know they are not alone.

As you know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, I experienced a jolt to my emotional and mental sense of well-being this summer. My mother attempted suicide, and my reaction to her act was like an emotional explosion.

I began remembering things that I haven’t thought about in years, memories of my childhood and teen years, memories of my mother. I began thinking of familiar memories from a different perspective.

I made the decision to not have a relationship with my mother, at least right now

As a result of all of this, I feel like I have been peeled down to my core and have been left wondering, who am I?

My mother taught me certain things: I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t creative, I was lazy, I was selfish, I was like “a lump on a log.” If others knew what I was really like, she’d say, they wouldn’t like me.

Who am I if I don’t view myself through my mother’s eyes? If I don’t believe what my mother said I was, who am I?

It has been a difficult time. I have done a myriad of things to soothe my soul. The bedtime anger has lessened. Probably someone seeing me in my daily life would note no difference in my demeanor.

But just the other day, while I was taking a shower, I became infused with anger. It felt like it was burning me, like my heart was going to burst from it.

I cried because I didn’t know what to do with the anger. There’s no one to foist it upon. No one deserves it. Certainly no one wants to hear all of it.

One thing I’ve been doing to deal with it is journaling, some by hand in a lovely book Larry gave me, and some on the computer.

When I’m angry or upset or very anxious, writing on the computer suits me better: it’s faster, and the sound of the keys clicking helps to calm me.

Much of what goes in my journal is for my eyes only. But here’s a bit of what I’ve written lately.

It’s personal. It’s embarrassing. But it’s a way to show what I’m thinking:

I am stuck. I am sad. I am depressed. I am lazy. I am immobile. I do what I have to do, absolutely have to do, and a little of what I want to do, and then it’s sleep. It’s nothing. I have a nothing life. I have a small life. And I don’t know how to get a big one. I want a reason to get up in the morning. I need something to push me through life. Oh, God, have mercy on me, please.

And then later:

My past is over. I am 51 years old and it’s time to do what I want to do with my life. Not selfishly. But I need to stop adding that. “Not selfishly.” I am not a selfish person usually. It’s OK that I want to do something with my life that makes me happy and content and in the flow. I want to be in the flow. I want a good life, a big life.

What is a big life to me? I’m not yet sure. But it’s more than I’m living now. It’s doing what I want. Doing. Things. I. Want. To. Do. Loving others. Being honest. Being compassionate. Helping to make the world better. Being in the flow. Being in the flow. Not letting fear and fatigue stop me. Not letting depression or OCD or anxiety stop me. Living in spite them. Living a big life in spite of them. In spite of my past. Living a big life.

Yes, I’m struggling. But I have hope. Things will get better. I am putting one foot in front of the other, every day. I will get better.

I will learn more about who I am and how to be in this world so that I have a positive effect on those around me.

Part of my journey is rethinking how I’m spending my time and what I’m writing. With that in mind, I’ll be starting a new posting schedule, changing to two times a week, Mondays and Thursdays. I won’t post again this week, so I’ll be back here on Monday, Sept. 8.

I’d like to devote Bringing Along OCD to the subjects that I originally started out with. I want to use this blog as a form of mental health advocacy.

Words of Thomas Merton

“Only the man who has had to face despair is really convinced that he needs mercy. Those who do not want mercy never seek it. It is better to find God on the threshold of despair than to risk our lives in a complacency that has never felt the need of forgiveness. A life that is without problems may literally be more hopeless than one that always verges on despair.” Thomas Merton

Your thoughts on this?

Lesson in empathy

The writer of the great blog ocdtalk recently wrote a post called “The Nicest People.” The post was thoughtful and raised an interesting question: do people with obsessive-compulsive disorder tend to be nice people?

She described her son who has OCD as “thoughtful, gentle, sensitive, and kind,” and said others she knew with the disorder were the same way.

She suggested that perhaps nice people who were predisposed to have OCD were more likely to develop the disorder than others with the predisposition, because they would give more credence to horrifying thoughts and fixate on them.

This post gave me pause. After thinking about it, I commented. Part of my comment was the following:

All people suffer, all people have burdens. But I think when people suffer so much inside, and many people can’t even tell that anything is “wrong,” they end up sensitive to and empathic with others because they know there’s more to people than what’s on the surface.

I’ve had plenty of experience with people telling me that they never knew I was depressed or had OCD. The pain inside does not always show on the outside.

I don’t think I’ve suffered more than most people. There are many people who have had much more difficult, traumatic and tragic lives than I have.

I do think that having suffered great despair and loneliness, I feel a kinship with others who are suffering. It hurts to know that other people are feeling as bad or worse than I have.

I try to empathize with others and give them the benefit of the doubt.

But, oh, how I can fail at that.

Yesterday, after I read the ocdtalk post, I was out with my husband in a customer service venue. We had a curious response from a person whom we thought worked for the establishment. She gave us what we considered to be poor customer service.

We didn’t say anything to her or anyone else. We just looked at each other and I leaned towards him and mouthed to him something like, “That was rude.”

A few minutes later, we found out she wasn’t an employee, just a customer who was helping out. She was married to an acquaintance of my husband.. After he arrived, she and I chatted a bit while the men talked.

It became obvious that she had some physical problems, similar to a person who has had a stroke.

It was also obvious that she had a hard time getting around, but she was still trying to help out the employees.

I felt horrible.

Out in the parking lot, I told my husband how badly I felt, and he, too, had a different perspective.

I thought about how I had just written about my empathy for others, and my understanding that what’s on the inside doesn’t necessarily reflect what’s on the inside. And then I thoughtlessly judged another person.

And what if she had just been rude? Did that give me the right to judge her? No, I don’t believe it did. People act certain ways for their own reasons. I don’t know what those reasons are. It wasn’t like she was aggressive towards us or mean in a way that called for being defensive. So what if she seemed rude?

This is another lesson for me that actions are more important than feelings. I may feel empathic, but acting with empathy is more important.

I can’t be perfect. I won’t always act with empathy. But I hope this lesson helps make me stronger in that respect.

Thanks to the writer of ocdtalk for starting the discussion and making me think more deeply about my own actions.

Do you think your capacity for empathy has increased because of your battle with OCD, other anxiety disorders or depression, or because of suffering caused by other things? Does it affect how you treat people?