Tomorrow evening, I will be attending a viewing of the documentary "My Ascension." It chronicles the inspiring journey of Emma Benoit, a young woman from Louisiana, who survived a suicide attempt and her subsequent recovery (My Ascension). I am going primarily because I like inspiring mental health stories of hope (after all, I am one!), but also because I desire to become more involved in mental health recovery support. Previously, I had seen Kevin Hines' story (Kevin Hines); he is one of the few people who have survived jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge.
For the purposes of this post, the terms mental illness, mental health, and recovery include both mental health disorders as well as substance use disorders, because the trip toward relapse is the same - a degradation of our mental health to the point that we act out in unwise and often dangerous ways.
Talking about suicide is uncomfortable. Having a real conversation about mental illness is uncomfortable. Talking with someone about what is going on in their mind is uncomfortable. In the 1960's, there was so much stigma surrounding drug addiction, alcoholism, and mental health that it was rarely discussed - it was swept under the carpet. In the 1970's, the topics were treated with Valium and trips to the hospital for 'exhaustion'. Mental illness and mental health were not discussed, for the most part. It was a taboo topic - everybody's mental health was their own business. Mental health topics did not appear in schools.
For years and years and years, I sat with my dark thoughts about suicide and self-loathing without discussing them with anyone because I thought I was alone in thinking and feeling the way I did. Even when I was involved in alcoholism recovery programs, I felt alone; the people I listened to talked about how bad they felt while in the depths of their drinking, and how great they felt now being sober. I did not understand, because alcohol allowed me to escape the way I felt when I wasn't drinking. Today I know I wasn't alone; I only thought and felt I was. I can look back on my membership in a 12-step recovery program and recall several people who took their own lives while sober - some even after decades of sobriety. And we'd go to the funerals and say, "Ain't that a shame." I remember one comment at a funeral from another 12-step program member: "Well, at least he died sober." (wtf?)
I began sharing my story with others on a public basis several years ago because I realized it helped me. I share in this blog, I've shared in front of church groups, law enforcement groups, mental health professionals groups, and with patients on behavioral health units. I come across to people who don't know me as an average, everyday human being, fairly normal. (Nowadays, I come across to people who do know me as that way as well. Well, maybe not 'normal,' but well within acceptable limits.) So a secondary reason for sharing my story with others developed: I want to 'normalize' mental illness and mental health. I want others who suffer to be encouraged to seek help. I want others who live with mental health disorders to be treated the same by law enforcement and medical professionals as people who live with heart disorders, diabetes, lung disorders, kidney disorders, arthritis, blood infections - in other words, I'd like people to be able to speak without shame about what is going on with them.
Sometimes I play 'what if' and I imagine what life would be like in different scenarios. Here's one: What if in school, even starting in kindergarten or elementary school, students were taught that if they feel like or think about harming themselves or another individual, that there's something going on that they need to talk with someone about? Again, in other words, what if we treated some of the signs of mental illness like we treat the signs of physical illness - "Bobby, you're bleeding all over the place; go to the school nurse." Would things begin to turn out differently if children were encouraged to talk about their 'bad' thoughts and feelings?
Listening to people share difficult thoughts, feelings, and experiences is difficult. We often want to avoid our own pain; why should we want to engage in someone else's?
It's part of the human experience, that's why. 7 or so months ago, I made the commitment to develop real connections with other people. I didn't do it because I thought it'd be fun or because I'm a good human being; I made this commitment because it was (hopefully) the last thing I hadn't done to try to stay in recovery. I did it because I became convinced that I needed to do so to not only stay alive (survive), but to enjoy living (thrive).
I'm a listener. I've known that for a long time. I've had people over the years feel safe talking to me about stuff they've never talked about with anyone. I didn't really like my role as a listener because it made me feel uncomfortable. Now that I have an active commitment to connect with others, I know why I didn't want to be a listener - because truly listening to another human being share their fear, their shame, their regret, their grief triggers in me my fear, shame, regret and grief. But the flip side is this: in allowing this compassionate practice (listening and sharing), I allow healing to take place within me and another. Many of us have heard, "We're only as sick as our secrets." Truth! Real hell, real suffering, is living alone with our own painful thoughts and feelings. In listening to others, and in sharing my own suffering, I allow light to shine upon that suffering, and it begins to disappear.
I live in Oxford House, which is a sober living house. I knew when I agreed to do that that I was making a big move in my life, because a good part of me didn't want to do it. I've lived with a bunch of men on a number of different throughout my life, and I prefer living alone. Living alone may be more comfortable, but it is not healthy for me. In Recovery Dharma, we learn to sit with discomfort, whether it be mental, emotional, spiritual, or physical. Sitting with my discomfort, rather than trying to avoid, escape, or change it, allows me to see it for what it is: an object of consciousness that will disappear if I let it. So I took living in Oxford House as an opportunity to learn to live with my discomfort of living with and relating to men. And it is working.
I am the oldest resident of this house - by 30-40 years. And what I first noticed after moving in was everything that was wrong with everybody else. The second thing that I noticed was that everything that was wrong with everyone else was also wrong with me. Hmph! The third thing I began noticing was that, for the most part, everyone is fairly comfortable living with their imperfect human selves. And I began to get comfortable living with these imperfect human beings, and now I'm beginning to get comfortable living with my imperfect human self. One of the things we endeavor to do here is to support each other by wisely and compassionately talking about behaviors and things we see that might interfere with our primary goal, which is staying clean and sober. Being assertive is challenging! But in the world of addiction, ignoring another persons relapse warning signs can enable their death. So by learning to speak up in a loving way, we're saving lives.
I've also been learning since I made the connection commitment to share with someone I trust my own thoughts and feelings that are causing my suffering. I've found it helpful to develop trusting relationships with more than one person, in case the single sole solitary person in whom I trust is out at sea and can't be contacted when I need them. As I mentioned before, I've spent the majority of this life keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself, and struggling with them on my own. I don't have to do that anymore (I never did); I've had several occasions in the past few months where I gathered up the courage to share with someone I trust what is going on inside, and I can faithfully say that doing this has saved my life.
The upshot of all of this is that I don't have to be afraid of another human being's thoughts and feelings. I can listen to them about their real experience of life, and when I do, I'm doing them a service as well as enriching my life. I know on the surface I only want 'good' things in my life, but when I avoid the 'bad' things, my life is shallow and empty. There is more to life than perfection and success.
It is important for the person reading this to know that effective listening is non-judgmental, and it allows another person to share their thoughts and feelings without having the listener try to 'fix' them. An effective listener, if responding, can guide a person to find their own solutions to whatever is going on. Sometimes a solution isn't needed; sometimes a person just needs to be heard. Being heard compassionately is a huge factor in good mental health. It can wipe away that terrible feeling of being alone in the universe.
I appreciate your reading this post, and I hope I've left you with some hope and things to think about, and maybe even some inspiration.
Namasté,
Ken
