Integrating Life's Experiences

Forty-six years ago, when I was 11 years old, I lost my left eye. It got injured in an accident and I had it replaced with a prosthesis. I started the 6th grade shortly after it happened, and it was a difficult time. It takes a while to get used to monocular vision after having binocular vision - depth perception is all but gone, and bumping into things becomes much easier. And if I couldn't play baseball and basketball all too well previously, I sure couldn't now!  Insult was added to injury when I became the class freak. Little kids are mean, vicious bastards, and will pick on anyone who doesn't fit into a fairly narrow version of what a 'normal' kid should be. I became acutely aware that I now had one eye, both from my own perspective and the perspective of those around me.

Eventually, I learned to integrate my experience - that is, I wasn't always conscious that I had only one working eye, and when brought up, it wasn't something about me from which I wanted to hide. And by 'eventually', I don't mean 3 or 4 months - try 6 years plus. (I was mostly cool with it as an adult, until I had occasion in a therapy group to talk about it, and I realized by the sweat pouring out of my armpits that I might still have some anxiety surrounding the issue. I learned at that time, in 2002, that I had held a resentment against God all that time for not giving me the healing I wanted. But that's another post). In high school I learned to drive, and discovered that I could drive decently with one eye - decent enough to get my driver's license. I'm not sure exactly how I handle the whole depth perception thing, but my brain has found a way to calculate distance while driving that works well, except when it's nighttime and rainy (or when I've been drinking, but even people with two eyes shouldn't drink and drive).

That's what I mean about integrating a life experience - being able to accept that I am a whole human being despite something 'bad' happening to me and being able to live well with a, frailty, for lack of a better word right now. Or maybe that is a good word. Yes, that's a good word.

Enough about the eye - this post isn't about body parts, it's about personal integration. 

So at work, my new job, 4 or 5 people have asked how I came to live in the little town in which I now reside. I've told the truth, to each person - I've stated matter-of-factly that I was having problems with alcoholism and depression, and went into the treatment facility in this small town, and I live here now (for a while, anyway, but I don't say that at work). Telling the truth, especially in this instance, is a whole lot easier than making up a story that I'd have to remember and might bring on more questions. The truth has been received matter-of-factly as well; here's a person who had an issue and came here to do something about it, much like a person with a physical illness might visit the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN.

Had I made up a story, the worst thing wouldn't have been having to maintain the story; the worst thing would have been the damage done to my soul and psyche (maybe the same thing) by covering up an essential piece of who I really am. When I lie about myself and cover things up, I'm reinforcing the belief that I'm not good enough just as I am. I generate more shame when I try to pretend I'm somebody that I'm not. Now, I can walk through shame and guilt - I've done it before, a lot, and I'm pretty good at it - for a minute. Loading more stuff onto the shame I already carry pushes me closer to my next relapse.

Another life experience came up at work. One of the guys with whom I work has mentioned a couple of times that he's done time (spent time in prison). Ok, cool, whatever. So we're working the other day, and he asks me, "You ever been to prison?" This caught me by surprise, but I still responded with, "Yes." Then he asks where, and I tell him the Wisconsin prisons I've stayed at (I left out Kansas, because I didn't think he was talking about Kansas). Then he asks when, and it turns out we were at the same correctional facility for a time. Now, I don't know this guy from Adam, but he must have remembered my face, because he remembered that I was a tutor who helped inmates get their GED. And I'm thinking, what the hell? What are the chances of working with a guy with whom I was in prison 17 years ago? It turns out that we've both been able to avoid going back since that time, so it's all good.

A faithful reader of this blog might think that I've bared my soul through this blog enough to be rid of any shame I might have harbored. Nope - it's just the tip of the iceberg, but it really does help. It's not necessary for me to tell everyone I meet my whole life story, but it's evident to me that it is necessary for me to be able to share my experience with others when it does come up.

I want to be authentic and integrated. More than want to, it is necessary for my continued mental health and sobriety. Integrated means pieces put together and whole. It's like a jigsaw puzzle - when the pieces are put where they fit, and they're all there, the puzzle makes a beautiful picture. If pieces are missing, or in the wrong place, it detracts from the picture.

Nothing happens, nothing could happen, in life without the Universe's permission. This is not to say that every experience every human has is good - far from it! There's lots of pain and suffering in life, along with joy and beauty. I certainly don't know the why behind everything. I do know that a lot of the bad that happens in this world is the natural consequence of unskillful thinking. Another portion of the bad that happens, at least in my life, comes from trying to cover up - it comes from straight up dishonesty and the ego's desire to show the world a different face than what's really going on. And covering something up guarantees that it's going to happen again.

Let's take an easy example. Say I went out drinking last night (I didn't, but let's just say I did); in the morning, in addition to remorse and a hangover, I've got people around me asking what the hell I was up to last night. If I tell the truth as best I can, I'm allowing Light to shine on the subject, and I've a better chance of being led to a solution. If I'm dishonest, I'm keeping my actions and my motives in the dark. Now I've just added a shovelful of guilt and shame onto myself. How does an alcoholic live with guilt and shame? This one doesn't - he drinks again to cover it up, which adds yet more guilt and shame.

So a part, maybe most or all, of being authentic and integrated is rigorous honesty. It's not easy, but it's necessary. Honesty allows the light to shine on a problem, which then can yield a solution, and the problem doesn't have to repeat itself. Healing can take place.

That's a major part of what I'm doing at this time in my life - learning and taking the risk to be vulnerable, to be honest, so that I might reconcile my past with who I am today and live this life joyously without shame. 

The Universe just spoke through the librarian at the library where I'm writing this to let me know I've got just a few minutes left, so I'll wrap this sucker up. If you're still with me, thank you!

There are 3 or 4 people in the world who know me, and who still think I'm a pretty neat guy. Yeah, I know, there's no accounting for taste! But I am beginning to accept that every experience, good or bad, has led me to this point today, to being the person I am today. My thoughts, feelings, and actions have shaped me into the person I am today, so even if I've had some less than desirable experiences, the ultimate result for a lot of them has been a better Ken. So my goal is to shine the Light on the stuff that still lurks in the darkness, so that I may come to love myself more, to love life more, and to become even more useful to this world.

I'll keep you apprised.

Namasté,

Ken

Keeping My Chin Up (I'm Still Here)

Since my last post, I've stayed sober (and relatively sane), let my Certified Peer Specialist certification lapse, gotten a job in a plastics factory as an inspector, re-connected with my therapist and begun work on discovering those subconscious tidbits that continually trip me up, successfully completed treatment, and moved into sober living.  Other than that, it's been kind of slow.

Today I'm going to write about what's foremost in my mind, which isn't (at this point, anyway) a happy topic. I like to put things nicely, but I don't know how in this instance - so, here it is: there has been a lot of relapse and death around me lately.  First, my roommate from the halfway house moved into sober living - we were going to be roommates there as well - and he relapsed in a big way about the time I was moving into sober living. He's not doing well. Some other people with whom I shared the treatment journey have relapsed as well. Two people I know in recovery have passed recently. I also found out one of my cousins' sons passed away two years ago at age 25. I didn't know him, but it's one of those things that makes me wonder and makes me sad. And I found out today from the person with whom I've been riding to work that their oldest child died some years ago from a heroin overdose. And then today at work, the person I was working with today told me that his sister passed away 2 weeks ago, and my coworker is now raising their niece and nephew, and they found out today that a friend of theirs died by suicide two days ago.

It's sad. I feel sad about all the suffering going on. I also feel a bit dismayed - what the heck is going on? There have been a lot of deaths this past year by suicide and relapse. When I was still sick, in my active addiction and depression, I used this as an excuse to not get better. I was giving up. Now I recognize it as a part of the territory I'm in - I know a lot of people in recovery from addiction and a fair number of people living with mental health conditions. What's happening now is, unfortunately, not all that unusual; I'm simply acutely aware of it right now, 'it' being people suffering and sometimes dying.

My response today was to get a little down in the dumps about it all. Writing about it helps; talking to the right person about it would help, too, except that I don't have phone service again until the day after tomorrow and it's a bit difficult to get hold of the person with whom I'd like to talk. But whatever. My overall response is one of gratitude. I look at each individual that has relapsed and each individual that has passed away and say, "That could have been me." My gratitude is that I am still here to enjoy this life and contribute what I can. 

And then I focus on the living. I've been told, and I believe, that 'Why?' isn't a spiritual question - that when I ask 'Why?', I'm not looking for a reason, I'm looking for an argument. I can't do anything for those that have passed on. I can do little for those who have relapsed until they become ready again to get back into recovery. I can do a lot for the survivors.

I listen, and, when warranted, I share my experience. No, I can't bring your loved one back to life, nor can I make anyone recover. But I can listen and let you share your sadness, hurt, grief, and dismay with me. I can make myself available so your pain might ease for just a bit. I don't like the subjects of grief and loss and relapse anymore than most people; but I am equipped to walk with someone a little bit so that they aren't completely alone in their suffering. I can even give a little hope around the possibility that things will get better, because I've been where their loved one has been and I'm getting better. Recovery is possible so long as we're still breathing.

One thing I know today and pretty much accept is that I can't feel the joy of life if I avoid the suffering. I don't like that fact, but it seems to be true, so I work on accepting it. This means when suffering comes from my own thoughts and actions, I endeavor to embrace it, so I can learn from it and let it go. If I try to escape or avoid it, it just comes at me from a different route. Today I'd rather face stuff head-on. And I don't attempt to avoid the real suffering of others either. I figure that if it comes to me, it must be mine to deal with in some way, through listening, sharing, and prayer. 

Through it all, I'm still here, and I'm in a good place - I'm sane and sober, I've got everything I need materially today, and I have purpose. I can't tell you what next week will look like, but I can say that if I continue to do what's mine in front of me to do, I'll still be doing well.  And I'm grateful today for the journey.

By the way, thank you to Anonymous for the comment on my last post - I really appreciate it! And if anyone else feels like commenting, please do so.

Namasté,

Ken