Hospitalization - Now?

Today I watched the movie, "What About Bob," starring Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss.  This is a must see for people who need a good laugh and a prescription requirement for people with mental illness.  It puts into perspective what a lot of us deal with but hide from everyone or what we deal with that others see when we wish they didn't.

For a few months I've been having this feeling that I should check myself into the behavioral health hospital.  I feel a little lost inside, like I need some refreshers in the direction I should be going.  I picture myself in the hospital group room with a therapist who is teaching us how to make good choices in managing our mental illness.

I'm among other sufferers from all kinds of backgrounds.  They help draw me out of my shell and rebuild my self confidence.  They get me.  They are my people.  We share from the gut because the gut is all we have left.  We are safe with each other.  Some struggle with addictions.  There are no self injury or food issues in this unit.  I would feel very at home like I did two years ago before I was moved to the self injury unit where I belonged at the time.

In my mind, I can see the nurse's station, the hallways with the rooms, the group/tv room, the exits and where the towels are kept.  I can see the shower bins where all of your supplies are stored under lock and key for safety.  I can even remember some of the staff...safe people amid the noise and busyness.

The only thing I have to get myself through is the body check.
I'd have to remove all of my clothing, not all at once.
They have to make sure I'm not smuggling in a razor blade or other weapon.

As you can imagine, a victim of sexual abuse does not bode well with this mandatory procedure.  Thankfully, the staff was very kind and patient.  They were the exact same the second time I was admitted.  I have no reason to doubt anything contrary the third time.

My mom reminded me that I spoke to her about checking myself in a few months ago.  If I'm still feeling that way but I haven't done it, I wonder what that means?  Do I keep doing what I'm doing?  Do I make some changes and hope for the best?  Or do I talk to my therapist and ask her what she thinks?

My psychiatrist is fully supportive of whichever decision I make.

I guess I'm not ready -

Yet.

Seasons, Beginnings, What Works

Photo by Amy Endler

Fall.
The changing of seasons.
Foliage from green to yellow and orange and red.
Leaves falling from the trees to blanket the ground.
Fall.

Temperatures in the 70's with blue skies and sunshine.
The air is crisp and clean and the wind blows softly.

The squirrels are scurrying about collecting their winter stash.
The birds are building their nests in hidden places.
Tempertures heading toward cold, other animals prepare for winter.

New Beginnings.
A new school year.  A new ministry season.  A new fiscal year.
Children excited about learning new academics from new faculty.
Churches excited about preaching the Good News and discipling believers.
Profits and Not-For-Profits starting with a clean slate, new budget and new goals.
New Beginnings.

Doing What Works.
Having quiet time some point during the day to settle the mind.
Reading something that will stimulate and challenge the mind.
Writing something that is from the heart and the mind.
Walking so that endorphins can be released into the mind.
Keeping What Works.

Doing More of What Works.
Attending an AA meeting once a week.
Participating in therapy once a week.
Taking medications as directed daily and refilling pill case every week.
Talking to family members once a week.
Doing More of What Works.

Still, There's More...
Keeping the house clean each day so clutter/dirt doesn't pile up.
Going to the Friends of the Library volunteer meetings.
Grocery shopping and purchasing healthy foods as needed.
Stay on budget all month with the goal of having money left at the end.
Still, There's More...

Paralysis of Analysis

In twelve groups, we are encouraged to work the steps (in order) with our sponsor.  I can't tell you how many times I've been through the steps.  Each sponsor I've chosen lived a strong recovery program.  I was very selective.  I watched them for awhile before I asked them to sponsor me.  I had huge trust issues.  I asked women who were moms, tender hearted, showed warmth to me through kind words and hugs and I enjoyed what they shared in our group.  I could see the steps of the program being lived out in the choices they were making and the relationship they had with their Higher Power. Each of them brought me through the steps and did so in a way that was signature to their own recovery.

Being an introvert (someone who's energy get refilled by being alone) and highly intellectual, I am one of those people who process almost everything inside my head. Problem solving, feelings, creativity and dissecting technical data.  My brain is my primary source of self worth.

When I transitioned from Alateen (age 14) into Al-Anon (age 17), I kept hearing this phrase:  Paralysis of Analysis.  I understood what each word meant so I thought the phrase meant, "Stop thinking," but I later learned it was taken to the extreme.

Paralysis of analysis is used to describe those of us who tend to go overboard when resolving our issues or defects of character.  It means getting so tied up in the "resolving" of problems that you actually end up "preventing" yourself from moving on AND creating more work than is actually necessary.

Over-thinking them can cause too much stress.  It can literally stop you from finishing the process of thinking the problem through, from beginning to end, by leaving you stuck somewhere in between.  I am one of many, when confronted with my shortcomings, who gets stuck.

I'm one of those people who have above average intentions of wanting to erase my defects of character or issue residue but I get overly analytical and then I get stuck.  I have to back up to the previous steps and start again.

My goal in life has changed.  It used to be to achieve perfection so that I would no longer get hurt or be hurt or hurt others.  It used to be to exist to please others so they would like me and not get mad at me.  It used to be to do for others so they would see how nice of a person I am and be my friend.

I have a new focus and it's not a goal.

I have a life plan.  "To write my story to bring hope and healing to those who are still suffering."

It's based on God's plan.  I don't need any one's approval.  I'm not obsessing about it.  I have some concerns but I have women I trust that I can turn to.

I'm not alone.

There's no need to be stopped in analyzing anything anymore.  Nothing is that important.  When I slow down and let God guide the process, everything works out so much better.

And who better than God to be my guide?

Talking and Shaking

It's still difficult for me to talk.

To talk when I'm angry or

Disappointed or

Scared or

Sad or

Anxious or

Vulnerable or

Unsure of how I'm feeling.

Feelings are elusive at times for reasons unknown to me.

I can be having a conversation with someone when all of a sudden I hear my voice shaking.  I feel my body shaking.  I feel my foot bouncing on my knee.  

My eyes are not looking at the person I'm talking to.  They are looking at the ground or across from me or at the person for a brief second then quickly away.  I try to look okay but then comes the question.

"Amy, what's wrong?"  

"Oh, it's nothing.  Sometimes I shake when I talk."

I down play it. 

I down play the fear I'm feeling inside so that they don't feel uncomfortable.

I down play the fear I'm feeling inside so that they don't feel responsible.

I down play the fear I'm feeling inside so that I don't need to take a closer look at what's really going on.

I'd rather not focus on myself.  I don't know what I've been up to.  I don't know how I've been doing.  I don't know how I've been feeling.  I don't know why you ask me these questions but I wish you'd stop it.  

No....don't stop it.  

(Pause)

How am I supposed to have friends if I can't answer their basic questions without shaking?  Does anyone know the answer to that one?  Do I do it and keep shaking no matter how uncomfortable it makes me?

For now, that's the only way I know how to do it.

My Inner Fuel Tank

I feel myself slipping into a funk.
A funk is a place of silence, isolation and sensitivity to external noises.
I live near a busy road.
There are people who walk by talking on their cell phones and use cuss words.

I have a noisy neighbor who talks outside on his cell phone.
He likes to use the "f" word a lot.
Sometimes his voice gets loud.
I wish people knew how easy it is to hear them.

I live in a mobile home park.
Our park is very clean with no riff raff.
Management makes sure each property is well kept.
For the most part, everyone complies.

On days like today, I wish I lived at an Embassy Suites in Scottsdale, AZ.
The sunshine, warm weather and brilliant stars would fill my empty soul.
I'd ride an elevator to my air conditioned room.
Unpack my suitcases and stretch out on the king size bed for a long nap.

Room service would deliver lunch and dinner.
I'd ride downstairs and order my special breakfast.
I'd thumb through the newspaper that was outside my door.
Then I'd sit in the shaded area on a lounge chair and read a book.

Sometimes I'd look up to watch the children swimming.
Moms and Dads taking turns getting some sun.
The whirlpool would be filled with muscle-achers.
It's time to order a glass of tea with lemon.

Now that I'm relaxed, I get up from my spot and make my way upstairs.
It's nice and cool in my room, refreshing cold air.
I take off my flip flops and toss my sun hat onto the chair.
Then I settle into my bed once more, into the quiet, I've craved.

I stay there as long as I want, I have no agenda.
No return flight is booked, as long as I need to rest, I take it.
When I reach "full" and my body and mind are well,
I hop onto that shuttle bus, Sky Harbor International Airport.

I'm back home to my dwelling place, God's place He gave to me.
I can still hear the traffic, my neighbor and others chatting on their phones.
I guess it doesn't really make a difference where I am.
I have to keep my inner fuel tank filled as much as I can.

Panic Attack In Grocery Store

It was a day of rest.
No running around, no house chores, no place to go.
Well, no place but one.
I needed to pick up my prescriptions.

It was a familiar drive.
A familiar store.
Familiar staff.
Nothing our of the ordinary.

Until I was leaving the pharmacy.
I started to feel a twinge in my stomach.
Then some racing thoughts in my head.
I tried to push them aside but that didn't work.

I used the SASHET feelings list:
Sad, Angry, Scared, Happy, Excited or Tender.
I felt sad and scared.
I couldn't identify where these feelings were coming from.

I noticed food entering my thoughts.
Foods to squelch those feelings.
Potato chips, mostly.
The closer I got to the exit doors, the stronger the panic.

I stopped.  I had to have those potato chips.
Again I checked in with my feelings.
I still felt sad and scared.
I decided to make the purchase anyway.

One canister was all I needed.
A flavor I enjoyed.
I paid for them and bagged them.
The panic went away.

I did not eat them until I got home.
I ate them while watching a JFK documentary.
I fell asleep for three hours.
Then I got up and went to bed.

I don't know what was going on.
I don't know where the sadness and fear were coming from.
I do know I eat when I feel those feelings.
Maybe I'll talk about it in therapy.

If My Childhood Were Different, Who Would I Be?

If my childhood were different,
who would I be?
A girl more proper who didn't skin her knees?
Or perhaps the pretty one in dresses and bows?
Surely I would have been more popular,
or so the story goes.


If my childhood were different, would I still be afraid?
Of people being too close to me, friends or first aid.
Loud noises that startle me so I jump out of my skin,
Surely I wouldn't be so sensitive, just wanting to fit in.

If my childhood were different, would I drive as well as I do?
To be taught by someone sober, not at age 8 but 15 will do.
The throwing out of beer bottles as I drove many miles,
I only thought of getting home, no laughter, no smiles.

If my childhood were different, would I be thin not fat?
To be misled by dysfunctional messages, too many years, at that.
Eating for comfort, out of sadness and more,
I thought food was my friend, not now, not anymore.

If my childhood were different, would I be married to a man?
Someone who loved me and I him, as best as we can?
Trust is shattered when physical and sexual abuse are repeated,
While it was once a dream to have that love, that dream died defeated.

If my childhood were different, who would I be?
Not the person in the mirror, reflected back at me.
The person I see is a survivor, she fights to stay alive,
I am a strong woman, Praise God, my childhood I did survive.