How I ended up in therapy.

I thought I was “okay,” for years, for decades…until I realized that I wasn’t. And that had to be okay.

My grandfather had a nervous breakdown in 1962 from exposure to polishes and solvents he was working with and from badly-handled grief from losing his 18-year-old son in 1944. I was born in 1963, and I never got to know the man who raised my mother and aunt. He spent time in the state hospital and underwent electroshock therapy. Afterwards he was on drugs to manage his mental state for the rest of his life. He spent some time years later in a psych ward. I was 9 or 10, I think. Then he had to go back in for a while a few years later.

The idea I got from seeing those places was that I never wanted to end up there, and along with that, I thought that psychiatrists (I didn’t know about psychologists then) were the people who put you there. That there might be a reason for it was something that I didn’t spend a lot of time considering. As a result, my thoughts on therapy, for most of my life, were “HARD PASS.” I thought that I’d say the wrong thing and end up somewhere, and not be able to get out. So I developed the idea that I was in good shape mentally and didn’t need counseling.

Enter 1983 and Christianity, and an episode of the 700 Club (I watched this I kind of stuff early on) where Pat Robertson had some “expert” on who said that psychologists, by profession, were serving evil, and Pat threw in a 2¢ summary that a Christian psychologist was the same as a Christian witch-doctor. I now felt justified in my aversion to therapy. And that stayed with me for the rest of my time in the church.

As a Christian when I would struggle with something, people would verse-vomit and tell me to rely on dubious, and very badly explained things like the “Mind of Christ” and the comfort of the Holy Spirit. I never trusted that because I did not understand how it was supposed to work.

Being laid off from a job I had held for over 17 years placed me in some rather uncertain work situations, then selling my house and moving compounded the stress that I was dealing with. After a few episodes of rage at pretty manageable things, a friend pointed out that my problem had to do with stress and not the things in front me. So late in 2017 I found a therapist. There’s a lot to unpack, and losing my dad in June of 2018 only added more.

Your brain is an organ. It processes information. And when too much bad information overwhelms it, there are effects that you may not notice or be able to simply bounce off of like they’re of no regard. Recognizing that and seeking help for it is not a sign of weakness.

Pretending nothing is wrong is the weak move.

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Choices and consequences

As a former election judge in Austin during the 2000 General Election, I can state from my own observation that voters can be stupid. It was November. It was raining and the temperature was around 48-52. My poling place was an apartment complex office/club house. We had 200 people in the space wrapped around twice. It was taking over an hour to get people through the line. I locked the door at 7pm and announced to the room that the polls were closed and anyone outside the building was not allowed to vote. We got everyone voted and out by 8pm. About 8:30 a guy who I had seen leave the place came knocking on the door. I told him the polls were closed and he couldn’t vote. He said he went to another precinct and they wouldn’t let him vote. I said I was sorry about that but each location is by precinct and the polls closed at 7pm. He got pissed and started yammering about “rights” and threatened to call my superiors the next day. I said, “That’s fine,” and he left.

All that was ever missing was the cheesy houndstooth coat

Sometime in ’83 after I said the prayer, someone asked me if I wanted the people I was talking with about Christ to have a good understanding of “the message,” or to just hear it. Since I was new to all of this and was trying to defer to “the experts” (people raised in the church or who had more experience with this evangelism crap) I asked someone the same question. They said, “Well, I think they just need to hear it. There’s too much at stake. And the lord could come at any moment.”

Well 35 years have come and gone and still no ‘lord.’

If there’s really that much ‘at stake,’ a loving god would want you to have a good understanding of what you’re committing your life to. A loving god would not want to just ram it through like a high-pressure, door-to-door sale. And the more I think about the years before I converted, when I was dealing with the Campus Crusade guys, that’s what it feels like.

Like I said, it’s been over 35 years. And a couple of years ago I decided I don’t want the vacuum cleaner anymore. It never worked very well, and I’d rather just pick up a broom and a dustpan, and sweep.

The blood-dimmed tide

The Second Coming

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Grief sucks: An encore performance

Image: Screenshot from ScienceAlert.com

The planet hunters found an earth-like exoplanet orbiting the star 40 Eridani A, which is written into some of the original Star Trek novels (Suck it, J. J. Abrams) as the star orbited by the planet Vulcan. And after posting the link several places, I realized that I can’t come home and tell Dad, who I watched the show with first, nearly 50 years ago.

#griefisabitch