What I Want is to be Myself Again

I’m learning that when we lose faith in our feelings, we lose faith in ourselves and become outer-directed. That is, we look to the world to tell us how to feel and what to do.  We seek approval and love from others so we can prove to ourselves that we are worthy.  Paradoxically, to be outer-directed is to be self-absorbed. How can this be?  We feel so unsure of who we are , that we cannot let go, be spontaneous or real.

We can reclaim ourselves by becoming inner-directed.  This means looking within ourselves for the direction we need.  When we’re just beginning to learn to trust our feelings, this can seem to be truly agonizing.  It means trusting the reality of our needs and our right to express them.  Only then can we find the faith in ourselves and in life, that we have lacked.

Becoming inner-directed takes self-acceptance and self-love.  It also takes time. Until then, there will be no real peace because it is the only way to find ourselves.

Defying Gravity From the Broadway Musical “Wicked”

Defying Gravity

GLINDA

(Spoken)

Elphaba - why couldn't you have stayed calm for

once, instead of flying off the handle!

(Sung)

I hope you're happy!

I hope you're happy now

I hope you're happy how you

Hurt your cause forever

I hope you think you're clever!

ELPHABA

I hope you're happy

I hope you're happy, too

I hope you're proud how you

Would grovel in submission

To feed your own ambition

BOTH

So though I can't imagine how

I hope you're happy right now

GLINDA

(Spoken)

Elphie, listen to me. Just say you're sorry:

(Sung)

You can still be with the Wizard

What you've worked and waited for

You can have all you ever wanted:

ELPHABA

(Spoken)

I know:

(Sung)

But I don't want it -

No - I can't want it

Anymore:

Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of someone else's game

Too late for second-guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It's time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes: and leap!

It's time to try

Defying gravity

I think I'll try

Defying gravity

And you can't pull me down!

GLINDA

Can't I make you understand?

You're having delusions of grandeur:

ELPHABA

I'm through accepting limits

'Cuz someone says they're so

Some things I cannot change

But till I try, I'll never know!

Too long I've been afraid of

Losing love I guess I've lost

Well, if that's love

It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy

Defying gravity

Kiss me goodbye

I'm defying gravity

And you can't pull me down:

(Spoken)

Glinda - come with me. Think of what we could

do: together.

(Sung)

Unlimited

Together we're unlimited

Together we'll be the greatest team

There's ever been

Glinda -

Dreams, the way we planned 'em

GLINDA

If we work in tandem:

BOTH

There's no fight we cannot win

Just you and I

Defying gravity

With you and I

Defying gravity

ELPHABA

They'll never bring us down!

(Spoken) Well? Are you coming?

GLINDA

I hope you're happy

Now that you're choosing this

ELPHABA

(Spoken)

You too

(Sung)

I  hope it brings you bliss

BOTH

I really hope you get it

And you don't live to regret it

I hope you're happy in the end

I hope you're happy, my friend:

ELPHABA

So if you care to find me

Look to the western sky!

As someone told me lately:

"Everyone deserves the chance to fly!"

And if I'm flying solo

At least I'm flying free

To those who'd ground me

Take a message back from me

Tell them how I am

Defying gravity

I'm flying high

Defying gravity

And soon I'll match them in renown

And nobody in all of Oz

No Wizard that there is or was

Is ever gonna bring me down!

GLINDA

I hope you're happy!

CITIZENS OF OZ

Look at her, she's wicked!

Get her!

ELPHABA

:Bring me down!

CITIZENS OF OZ

No one mourns the wicked

So we've got to bring her

ELPHABA

Ahhh!

CITIZENS OF OZ

Down!

Art is Meant to Disturb

The Mask of Mental Illness – By Christopher Dale Eshenbaugh

I can see that my new life will be full of the unknown, but that is what can make it exciting and creative.

Many great artists were neglected or even abused during their lifetime because their work was considered too provocative.  Painters like Van Gogh, poets like Blake or Poe, and novelists like James Joyce were pushed out to the margins of society because their vision was too disturbing.

Most of us like a comfortable life, and those of us who are addicted to one high or another may not want to be troubled by new ways of seeing and imagining the world.  Yet, the day comes when our addiction no longer satisfies us and we begin to long for a new vision and version of our lives.  Art can help us in our recovery. 

Art allows us to change our way of looking and living, even if at first the change is disturbing.  Like artists, we can create new images and new patterns for our lives.  At first, it may be painful.  Old, comfortable habits die hard!  But, as we move forward, taking our little baby steps, by baby steps, we come to see that it’s exciting to be on the move and even at the frontier of new, creative endeavors.  Creativity, after all, comes from loving ourselves and others. 

The Power of Art

The Mask of Domestic Violence – By Artist, Christopher Eshenbaugh

 

“Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world (our own), we see it multiplied.”  -- Marcel Proust

 

I’ve been looking at the therapeutic nature of art to one’s recovery lately.  In our active addiction, we tended to have a single, narrow view of ourselves and the world we live in.  We thought that everyone was obsessed by using, fantasies and erotic images; we saw others perhaps as mere doubles of ourselves. 

One of the great joys I find in reading is the ability to enter other people’s lives.  We often come to know fictional characters even better than our friends because a novelist can give us the illusion of being all-powerful and all-knowing.  So we get a special “inside view,” and many people in books become familiar and very dear to us.

Reading can take us out of ourselves and expand our views of other people.  We learn that, indeed, “it takes all sorts to make up a community in this world of ours,” and our lives become less isolated through contact with others.  The power of art is to deepen and enrich this perception of ourselves in relationship to the world.  Through reading, watching plays and films, or exploring a painter’s world, we begin.

Let Your Creativity Emerge!

 

“It is the creative potential itself in human beings that is the image of God.”  -- Mary Daly

Within each of us is a creative person.  Getting comfortable with our creativity often means letting go of tight, rigid thinking so that the spontaneous, artistic side of ourselves  can emerge. 

Whether or not we think of ourselves as artistic, we are.  To be artistic is to create , an instinct that we all possess as human beings.  Each day, as we make our way along this path toward personal growth, we find the courage to create ourselves anew.  One way to encourage our creativity is to find an outlet for it.  I love learning to play the organ, digital photography and editing, writing short stories for children and poetry.  My friend Albert enjoys beading and Native American dance.  In my last two posts you’ve enjoyed the art of Christopher Eshenbaugh.  For you perhaps you’ll find your creative self through embroidery, furniture refinishing or gardening.  Most anything that allows us to create something outside ourselves can be good. 

The joy of working with our body, spirit, mind and feelings is truly a joyful experience with an amazing reward at the end: we have finally created something new, and in it, we can see ourselves.

Onward and Sideways

I am bipolar and within the last year or so, have begun to experience severe anxiety and panic. In late December I had meltdown of incredible proportions. The extreme anxiety disorder is new for me; haunting me for a little more than a year now. Anxiety so strong, and triggered by the actions of my partner. For several years, he has promulgated a new behavior, "Babe, I’m just running up to the 7 Eleven to get some cigarettes; I’ll be back in twenty-five minutes." As he walks out the door I always say, "Take your cell phone with you," which he already has in hand.

That promised "twenty-five minutes" turns out to be days that he is away from home, not answering his cell phone or even calling. I refer to it as my partner "going missing." My reaction begins with worry. Then I may happen upon something on the computer exposing the person he would be meeting and what they would be doing. A friend of mine has a husband who has nearly identical behavior. She calls this type a "player" explaining that these types of men want to still run the streets, cheat on their partners or spouses. The "player" behavior is incongruent with the committed relationship my partner and I have. This friend’s advice to me was to be proud that it is me he eventually comes home to, giving me parts of himself his hookups never see. To this I say, "bullshit."

Player my ass. My worry then turns to anger. I can’t sleep. I start calling my partner’s phone over and over again. He calls it "psycho dialing." The anger then turns to tears. I cry as I wander through the house, "What did I do wrong? I didn’t do anything wrong." My speech becomes so slurred and difficult to understand that it has been described as though I had a stroke. Lately, I noticed a pain in my chest along with a rapid and what I describe as "fluttering" heart. Irritability for me is a sign that I am swinging toward the maniacal part of bipolar. Then deep depression, laced with that wicked anxiety and panic. I began taking a prescribed anti-anxiety medication called Ativan. I was eating it like candy.

This most recent December meltdown grew so out of control I felt as though the only way to be free of it would come through ending my life. I have been in this cold place before and placed a call to the behavioral health crisis line associated with my health insurance. I was referred to the Maricopa County Hospital. There I was checked out and cleared medically and it was suggested I sign myself in to St. Luke’s Behavioral Health. I’ve been there before too. St. Luke’s worked for me before. Back in 2005 I nearly ended my life with a mantra in my head, "I hate my life, I hate my life." After two months they helped me see the world differently and I left there with a new mantra, "I love my life, I love my life!" I felt safe returning there.

I worked hard over the next three weeks, finding that each time I told my story, I felt more at ease and could see the flaws in my relationship. I realize the degree of my co-dependency and made a commitment to attend CODA (a twelve step group for co-dependents). I was placed under the care of the psychiatrist who followed me last admission. He wanted to take my treatment further than I agreed to last time. In my first admission, he suggested ECT (Electro Convulsive Treatment.) I refused it then because of the loss of one’s short term memory as a side effect of the treatment. But this time felt different to me and I agreed to begin the treatment.

Yes! I Can Play the Pipe Organ!

From the time I was a small child, I always felt as though if given the opportunity, I could sit down at a pipe organ, and instinctively know how to play, how to utilize the stops; all of it. I was never given that opportunity as a child, and it wasn’t until five years ago that I even began the process of learning. As a child, I somehow managed to keep that burning desire somewhat satisfied by listening to albums that featured “The Mighty Wurlitzer” or church music. As a teen, Rod Argent from Argent/Nexus and Rick Wakeman were popular for surrounding themselves in the recording studio or on stage with keyboards and various organs. One of my favorite albums still today is Rick Wakeman’s “Wives of Henry VIII”. I would put on my stereo headphones and imagine me making the music! I could get lost in that type of fantasy for hours. As an adult I have been to many organ recitals at various churches, and have even been to San Diego's huge outdoor pipe organ.

It must be at least five years now since Joel and I found a Hammond Elegante at an auction house in Mesa. When the auctioneer got around to its turn on the block, no one bid! I looked at Joel. This was a $20,000 organ when it was new in 1985. All of the original paperwork from the sale was still with it. The organ itself was huge, and in beautiful condition. He said, “Do it”! And I got that organ for just $300. Because of the many features on an Elegante, to me it was nearly as good as owning a pipe organ. Hell, I could get it to sound a bit like one. At least to my ears anyway. I gradually learned to play. And yes, it did come very easily to me. That sense of how to play was there, inside me.

When Joel ended our relationship, I went to live with my sister Christine for awhile after I got out of the hospital and from there to a small one bedroom apartment. I couldn’t keep my beloved Hammond Elegante. I listed it on eBay, and it sold for around $2000. I was heartbroken. My organ was gone.

I listen to classical organ music quite a bit. I used to be somewhat ashamed of my love for the sound of a pipe organ. But not anymore. In fact, Christopher enjoys sitting with me as we relax and enjoy the music of Bach. Just like when I was a kid, I close my eyes and lay my head on Christopher’s chest and make believe it’s me playing. Instinctively I know which fingers need to be on which keys; I know what pedals to push with my feet.

This counts as one of those unfulfilled lifetime dreams doesn’t it? I look on craigslist almost every day at the organs that are for sale. I would love to have one. I’m not giving up on this dream. I am putting it out to the Universe, that I still wish to play the organ and that I am opening up opportunity and space in my life if it is meant to be.

Age is Just a Number

Age is just a number, isn’t it? I’m turning 47 this month, on the 26th (Memorial Day). What does my age tell you about me? Other than the fact that you now know I have spent 47 years in this life, it hasn’t told you a goddamn thing about me, has it?

I’m told I look and act much younger than my age. How is a 47 year old person supposed to look or behave? I am simply being me; living my life as best I can. I do my best to live by the “golden rule” of treating those the way I wish to be treated. I’ve learned so much already in this life and know that I have so much more to learn. I’ve experienced some amazing highs and some incredibly sinking (or do I really mean stinking) lows. I’ve loved, and hated. Laughed and cried. I’ve experienced tremendous gain, only to see it all vanish from my grasp. I’ve lived my life thus far both cautiously and taken risks that I myself find hard to believe.

What I miss most are some traditions, one in particular, which my Mom started on our birthdays. As children still living at home, her tradition began with her reminiscing about the events that occurred on the day we were born. As adults, she turned to the phone. On the exact day - and time no less, of birth, she would begin to place phone calls throughout the day. Her calls typically went something like this: “Hi Son, its 4:30 and only a few hours now until you were born. I was getting nervous waiting for your father to get home,” or “Mark this is Mom and now its 6:15 and my water broke.” Finally, every birthday until she passed away seven years ago, at exactly 8:08 pm every May 26, wherever I was, I’d get this phone call, “My first born Son, you have arrived in this world! You are born! You have made me so happy and I’m proud of you and I love you Son. Happy Birthday. A Mother’s relationship with her first born is always special and unique and so is ours.”

My mother never looked her age nor did she adhere to someone’s idea of how a person of a particular age is supposed to act. She set such a good example for me. Not one single day goes by without me thinking about her; there are times when something “big” happens in my life and without thinking I’ll reach for the phone catching myself saying, “I’ve got to call Mom and tell her…” Does that ever change? Does that kind of impulse ever stop? I hope not.

My mom did the best she could when it came to raising me and my three siblings. Was she perfect? Not at all. Was our family dysfunctional? At times, yes. But I grew up and learned, going on and raising my own son, hopefully as good as, or better than I was raised. This birthday finds me feeling lonely. I miss having family around. My mother was the “glue” that kept our family of four siblings talking to one another. Once she was gone, we really did become unglued. My father and I have barely spoken to one another since her death. My sister, who moved from Milwaukee to Phoenix to be close to me chooses not to be in relationship with me at this time. No birthday calls from Mom or anyone in my family again this year. Instead, my partner and I will make the day ours. He always has some surprises for me and does his best to fill that void he knows exists in my heart. I love him for that and am grateful…

There. Now you know something about me! I’m 47 years old and oh so much more!