Miscellaneous Archives | FRIENDSWITHTHEMONSTER

March 8, 2021March 8, 2021

A Full Year of Anxiety for All

Plague. Recession. Riot. Chaos. Nationwide political, mental and emotional division and strife.

International crises. Watching huge swatches of the world burn. And freeze. And drown.

Cancelled plans. Messed up schedules. Lost jobs. Empty shelves.

Isolation. Stress, anxiety and uncertainty at every turn.

Death and hospitalizations in numbers truly incomprehensible to most of us.

For the past year, life has been challenging in almost every way imaginable. And it has spread anxiety in a completely indiscriminate manner.

Those of us who suffer from diagnosed anxiety disorders have found our symptoms spiraling – while those who never before endured the constant internal monologue of doom that we have lived with have suddenly found themselves facing its never-ending echoes.

It’s all too much. Panic has become the norm. The many faces of anxiety show themselves in unpredictable bouts of anger, irritability, hypersensitivity, and fear.

Suddenly, all any of us can do is our best – and try to face each day as it comes. Sometimes, simply making it through seems overwhelming.

In these trying times, it is more important than ever to be kind to yourself – and to others. To understand that the world has truly changed, and everyone is struggling on some level.

I have been using a mantra that I cling to, dropping it as an anchor to right myself when the weight of the world triggers one of the many manifestations of my own anxiety.

It reflects not the countless things I can’t do and have no control over, but the little bit I CAN do and choose as often as possible.

Be nice. Be kind. Be generous. Because you can.

Maybe, with the help of this mantra, I can help to make the next year just a bit better.

December 9, 2019December 9, 2019

Life As A Series of Catastrophes

Growing up, a mistake was always a catastrophe. Stains on your clothes? Careless and unappreciative. A tear or rip? Irresponsible and inexcusable. A lost item? Thoughtless and unforgiveable. And this was not a calm judgement. No, this was a screaming, yelling and cursing tirade. I literally remember my mother raging at me over spilled milk.

This wasn’t because we were incredibly poor – even though we were. Or because we had a strict budget – which we definitely did not, because my mother had no concept of how managing money worked. It was simply because my mother was, to use the proper term, batshit crazy.

Growing up like that led to all sorts of complex psychological issues. Not the least of which is the fact that to this day, I berate myself over any sort of mistake that wastes or ruins anything. I remember being absolutely hysterical in college because I had spilled a bottle of eye-makeup remover. It was so ingrained in me that a mistake or a misstep was actually a crisis – and wastefulness was a crime. I still have to talk myself out of obsessing over the nail polish that got spilled on a new pair of shoes, or the glass I broke or the necklace I lost. Of course, where the line between my childhood misraising and my GAD and OCD meet is ever tenuous and uncertain. I strongly suspect, however, that I know which one came first. After all, I have clear memories stretching back to toddlerhood.

I used to think I just had an unusually good memory, but as I began researching and reading on my various monsters, it occurred to me that the truth was that I was experiencing extreme emotions from an early age – the kind that enhance attention and perception while triggering stress hormones like cortisol and adrenalin which entrench memories. I sometimes think my entire childhood was one big long train of stressful events that irrevocably fixed painful emotional experiences in my psyche.

Interestingly, an actual injury was never a big deal. You were using your sister as a soccer ball and kicked her into an air conditioning unit, cracking her head open and now she has to go to the hospital for stiches? All in good fun. You swung a golf club into your sister’s head and caused a bloody lump? An understandable mistake. Jumped barefoot into a pile of dirt at a construction site where you were playing and cut your foot on glass? Kids will be kids! Almost drowned your sister holding her down in the pool? Clearly, she’s overreacting.

Life was a series of catastrophes – except when real danger or damage was introduced, and then it was swept under the rug. My sense of what was actually a disaster vs what was really no big deal was pretty confused for a very long time. And even as I slowly realized what more “normal” responses and attitudes were, the fact that I had to fight for every penny I ever had left me ultra-concerned with making things last and not wasting even an ounce of anything. Those habits remain, even if I have learned to laugh off the spills, losses and breaks. And I do take physical injury or risk – both mine and others’ – a bit more seriously than my parent ever did.

There is, however, an upside. When a real calamity strikes, I am able to remain calm and focused under pressure. After all, practice makes perfect.

October 24, 2019October 25, 2019

The Value of Forgiveness

My mother was a certifiable train-wreck who was both verbally and emotionally abusive, and in today’s would have lost her children due to neglect. She also allowed her two daughters to be sexually abused: she not only set up the situation initially, but continued actively encouraging unsupervised interactions that any sane parent would avoid. Who tries to FORCE their 7 and 10 year old daughters to go on a camping trip with an adult male relative and a few of his adult, male friends? My mother.

Then, when I finally came clean about the abuse as an adult, her initial reaction was, “Oh, poor John.” As if HE was the one abused and not the abuser.

Her cursing me up and down for LITERALLY spilling milk; calling my father every name in the book and his girlfriend a whore while she was having an affair with a married man who wasn’t separated; never once putting her children’s needs over her own desires; and lying to her children (NOT to protect them, but to protect herself – and continuing long after they were adults) on far too many occasions to count was status quo. The list goes on and on.

Naturally, there came a point when, as an adult, I felt I deserved an apology. Actually, many apologies, but I would have settled for one sincere, “I was a horrible mother and I’m so sorry.”

Of course, I didn’t get it. I even went as far as to totally stop all communication with her. Her response?

“What do you want from me? An apology? Okay, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For whatever you seem to think I did wrong.”

Shaking. My. Head.

It finally dawned on me. The problem with expecting someone to apologize is that YOU are expecting it of them. A true apology has to start with them, not you. They have to actually see the things they did wrong and truly feel bad about it. This is why making amends is the ninth, essential step for AA. It takes eight previous steps for an alcoholic or addict to be ready to truthfully understand and fully acknowledge how their actions and behaviors negatively impacted others – and honestly regret it.

My mother never did. And she never will.

At the age of 80, she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. She was suddenly this frail, crippled old woman who told me honestly, “I don’t remember much anymore.”

So, I decided to accept an apology. One I never got. I let go of my anger, and I forgave her. And you know what?

I won. The burden that was lifted from my spirit and soul was simply incredible. And when she passes, I won’t have to worry about having any guilt for leaving things between us as they were.

Now, I hug her when I see her and tell her I love her. I reach out on holidays. And I’m the one who feels better. And sleeps better. And, I think, is even a nicer, kinder person.

You aren’t always going to get the apologies you deserve. In fact, most of the time you probably won’t. But holding on to that grudge? It eats you alive. And you suffer far more than whoever you are angry with.

To paraphrase the Buddhaghoṣa, “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal to strike another; you are the one who gets burned.”