This Sucks, I know (Blog #727)

Recently my therapist recommended the book If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him!–The Pilgrimage of Psychotherapy Patients by Sheldon B. Kopp. I started it last night and read more this afternoon and evening. And whereas I’m only about a third of the way through (55 pages), I adore it. Through the use of personal stories, metaphors, and myth, Kopp perfectly describes the journey of therapy, a journey he says often begins because a person is struggling or in pain and wants something more, something better. He relates this to the hero’s journey of all time. It’s fabulous. But beware, he says, “Everything good is costly, and the development of your personality is one of the most costly of all things. It will cost you your innocence, your illusions, your certainty.”

I know what you must be thinking–Where do I sign up?

That final sentence–it will cost you your innocence, your illusions, your certainty–was the last thing I read before falling asleep early this morning, and it’s been on my mind since I woke up. I think because it’s true. You go to therapy wanting someone else to take care of you, but you find out you have to take care of yourself. You go to therapy wanting to feel better, but also wanting your life and relationships to stay the same. (This isn’t possible.) You go to therapy wanting answers, but end up with more questions. Because nothing in life is for-sure.

This sucks, I know.

In terms of illusions, Kopp says that at some point patients (pilgrims, seekers) must give up the idea that they’re special. This is a tough one for me. Maybe for anyone in America, since we’re so focused on the individual and-the-aptly named social ME-dia is all about ME, ME, ME. But as a specific personal example, once when I was telling my therapist about a breakup, she said part of the problem I had in that relationship was that I thought I was special. That is, I saw that my ex lied to a number of people in his life, but I didn’t think he would lie TO ME. (He did.) Because I’m different somehow. Because no one else understood or cared for him like I did. Whatever. It was all bullshit. Liars lie to everyone. Even me. Even you.

This sucks, I know.

Another illusion Kopp says we must give up is the idea that we’re going to live forever. Said another way, we must accept the fact that we’re going to die. Because nothing here is permanent–not your age, not your beauty. He uses the therapy hour as a template for impermanence. Mine lasts fifty minutes, but the point is the same. For an agreed-upon amount of time, my therapist and I sit down and discuss what-the-hell-ever. Then the alarm goes off, and that’s pretty much it. Maybe we drag it out a little, but more often than not, I leave with items still on my list of things to talk about. Time’s up. We did the best we could. All good things must come to an end.

This used to really bother me, when my therapist and I weren’t able to talk about everything on my list. Now I know anything can wait. There will be other sessions. And even if they’re aren’t–because at some point our relationship will end–I know I have myself. That’s another point that Kopp makes, that ultimately we are our own teachers. Other people can help us, but nobody else can really DO anything FOR another person. That is, I can take your physical trash out to the curb, but I can’t take your mental trash out. I can show you how I cha-cha, but not how you should. Because they’re your feet, your hips, and they don’t move like mine. So each of us is responsible for himself/herself/themselves.

Pronouns are so confusing these days.

But back to not finishing things on the list and all things coming to an end. I could start crying right now if I thought I’d never see my therapist again. Not because I NEED her, but because she’s taught me that I don’t, that–honestly–I don’t need anybody. I don’t mean that to sound cold. I love you, and I enjoy our time together, just like I do with my therapist. But I know I’ll be OKAY if we never talk again because I have myself to come back to. That’s why I think I’ll cry after my last session with my therapist, whenever that is. Because I’m grateful for the work we’ve done together. I’ll be sad, sure, just like I’ll be sad when I write my last blog post. Yes, one day it will be time’s up for this project. One day it will be time’s up for EVERYTHING in life–our lovers, our health, our waistlines.

This sucks, I know.

This afternoon my dad and I took my aunt to see her dermatologist. As I read my book in the waiting room, Dad asked about the title. And whereas I haven’t gotten to that chapter in the book, I told him I think it means that if you think anyone else, including your therapist, is your savior (if you see the Buddha on the road), kill him. Said less violently, take him/her/them off the pedestal you’ve put them on. Because only you can save you. (The Buddha isn’t OUT THERE, he’s IN HERE.) Only you can take out your mental garbage, only you can clean up the relationships in your life, and only you can do anything about anything else that’s bothering you. This is YOUR life, and this is YOUR journey. So you have to take responsibility for it. You have to grow up.

This sucks, I know.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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An Abundantly Good Day (Blog #719)

I know I keep going back and forth on this topic, but after a week of sinus infection ups and downs, I woke up dramatically better this morning. Actually, as it they are wont to do, my sinuses improved in the middle of the night. That is, I received a sudden jolt of energy just as I was going to bed, so I lay wide-awake for three hours, just twiddling my thumbs. Later when I told my dad about this he said, “You could have gotten up and cleaned the house.”

“Well, I might have woken you up,” I said.

“Oh, don’t ever worry about that,” he replied.

I think I finally fell asleep about four, which means I got about four hours of sleep, since my alarm went off at eight. And whereas I’d normally be ever-not-so happy about my lack of rest, it hasn’t bothered me today because my health has been so much better than it was yesterday. Seriously, I still can’t get over how quickly the body can turn something around when it either has a mind to or gets the right support (or both). I’ve been in the best mood all day. Even my other health concerns (which, on the grand scale of things, aren’t that concerning) haven’t brought me down today. I have too much hope that they too will–one day–disappear.

Our imperfections make us relatable.

Today really has been the best day. This morning I saw my therapist, and she’s always encouraging (it’s kind of her gig) and makes me laugh. Why somebody wouldn’t want this type of relationship, I’ll never know. Talk about a shot in the arm. Later this week marks five years since my first appointment with my therapist, and I’m eternally grateful for the path my life has taken since that fateful day. Anyway, to “celebrate,” I read my therapist a post I wrote last year called “Why Me and My Therapist Are Successful,” in which I talked about–in part–the fact that my therapist is a normal damn human being like anyone else. My therapist said this was important, for me (or any client) to recognize that she’s a flawed person. “But that doesn’t mean healing can’t happen,” she said. “In fact, it means I can better understand and help someone else–because I’ve been there.” This is huge, that you don’t have to be perfect in order to be effective. Indeed, our imperfections make us relatable.

One of the things I mentioned in that previous post is that–I think–my therapist and I are a good match. Again, my therapist said this was important. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” she said. “I offend a lot of people.” (This next part is simply for your consideration.) Then she said, “Well, I don’t really offend them; they offend themselves. They choose to be offended.”

Before she’s said, “People choose their reactions.”

One of the big topics my therapist and I have circled back to over and over these last five years is abundance. Or, if you want to look at the other side of the coin, scarcity. That’s my problem, apparently, is that I often want to (or have a least had a lot of practice at) looking at the scarcity side of the coin. That is, I’m plagued with feelings of I’m not enough, my knowledge and abilities aren’t enough, there’s not enough money, and the world’s not enough (to support me). Well, today my therapist said this was IRONIC, one of the universe’s little ha-ha’s, since I actually have an ABUNDANCE of talent, even if I don’t always recognize it. It reminded me of that story of the guy who searched the world over for riches and eventually discovered one of the world’s largest diamond mines on his own property. Like, Whoops, I forgot to look right here. So I’m going to keep working at recognizing those places in my life where good is overflowing this very moment.

The last two things I’m sharing from today’s therapy session are just for fun. First, at one point my therapist referred to someone as “gayer than a Judy Garland matinée.” I almost fell out of my chair. Then later when she mentioned a(n apparently fabulous) song called Carry On by Martha Wash and I said I hadn’t heard of it, she said, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get your homosexual card revoked.” Then she paused and added, “But don’t worry; I won’t report you to the gay mafia.” Is that hilarious or what? A Judy Garland matinée. The gay mafia.

The rest of the day has been just as delightful. This afternoon I had physical therapy, and I continue to be (abundantly) taken care of and see (abundant) progress. Then I spent this evening with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and we ate (an abundance of) ice cream. But we also walked a(n abundantly) long distance to get it, so I figure it all evened out. (Balance is important.) Now it’s eleven at night, and I’m ready to call it a(n abundantly good) day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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Lickety-Split (Blog #655)

It’s 10:47 at night, and I spent most of the day–over eight hours–on the road home from Nashville. As I’m exhausted and still need to do my knee rehab exercises, my intent is to keep tonight’s blog simple and knock it out lickety-split. Here we go.

1. On me and my body

Last night before I fell asleep, I had a chat with my body. In short, I told it that 1) I knew it was doing the best it could, 2) I wanted to stop criticizing it, 3) I’d like for us to work together, and 4) I’d try to not only listen to it more, but also try to believe in its wisdom and ability to heal. Anyway, who’s to say what causes what, but I’ve felt ever-so slightly better today. Not like my skin issues cleared up overnight or I woke up full of energy, but I did wake up more–what’s the word?–hopeful. Anyway, I imagine I need to have this conversation with my body a few (hundred) more times, and I’m willing to do this. Regardless of what’s going on with me physically or how I actually feel, me and my body need to be friends.

2. On being nice

This morning for breakfast Bonnie and I ate at a crepe shop in Nashville, and there was a sign–an arrow that pointed toward the counter where you place your order–that said, “Nice People.” Cute, right? Well, it made me think of something my therapist has told me a million times–“Nice is a strategy.” And whereas I know I’ve quoted her on this matter before, I’m not sure I’ve really fleshed it out.

Personally, I know my default way of being in the world–for years–has been to be “nice.” I was raised in the south, after all. So often I’ve thought I’ve had to reply to every text message, right away, or not stand up for myself, in the interest of being “polite.” You know, What will people think? But my therapist says, “Nice is something you are when you want something,” even if it’s just for people to like you or believe you’re a good person. “It’s very different than being kind.”

Is being nice wrong? Of course not. My therapist says she’s nice to secretaries and doormen (because you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar). But again, she’s clear that being nice is a strategy, just like being passive aggressive or even aggressive is a strategy.

3. On grounding

During the ride home today (my friend Bonnie drove), while I was reading a self-help book, I learned a grounding exercise to help relax you body and calm your nerves. Basically, it helps pull you out of your anxious thoughts and into the present moment. First, you FEEL your feet on the floor. Then you notice three things–the sound of your friend singing, the heat coming through the air vents, the headlights in front of you (or whatever).

Normally my go-to thought with these methods is, Shit like this doesn’t work for me, but I’m working on believing that it can, that if shit like this can work for other people, it can work for me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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The Ten-Cent Turnaround (Blog #653)

A couple weeks ago I started a new medication for my upset stomach. However, I forgot to pack it (the medication, not my stomach) for my trip to Nashville, where I am now. No big deal, I thought, I don’t think it’s done much good anyway. Well, I was wrong. Last night (after eating pizza), I got the worst case of acid reflux, and it woke me up several times during the night. Between that and my knee that I recently had surgery on, I slept like shit. I was achy, nauseated, all the things. Still, I made it through the night.

This morning I got up early to do my knee rehab exercises. I’m seriously sick of them. It’s not a big deal to do them two or three times, but two or three times a day for two weeks has begun to take its toll. And it’s not like this routine is going to get any better. It’s going to be my life for a while–sleep (sort of), eat, rehab. Rinse and repeat.

I realize I’m whining.

A big part of my problem is not the fact that my life has been turned up side down. I’m perfectly capable of doing knee rehab two or three times a day for the foreseeable future. However, doing so takes almost all the energy I have. Almost everything does. Yesterday after I packed for Nashville and this morning after I got dressed, I felt like I’d run a marathon. And the day had just started. Today my friend Bonnie, her son Tim, and I met their family for brunch (today is Bonnie’s daughter-in-law Mallory’s birthday), and whereas I really wanted to be awake, alert, and lively, it was all I could do to just be present. I hate that, not being able to focus on anything other than my aching leg, my sore tummy.

Every party has a pooper, that’s why they invited me?

When we got to the restaurant, our party of seven was seated in a booth made for six. I was on the end, my left leg (and butt cheek) hanging off the side. But then the folks at the larger booth next to us left and suggested we take their table. So we did. And whereas it confused the hell out of the hostess and our waitress, we used my leg as an excuse. “He just had surgery,” one of Bonnie’s in-laws said. So that’s one good thing that came out of this damn situation. We got a bigger table. Happy Birthday, Mallory!

After brunch, Bonnie, Tim, and I came back to Tim’s place and all fell asleep. Talk about a good idea. Y’all, I crashed hard for a couple hours. Then I woke up and had a talk with myself. Okay, I said, it’s time to do rehab exercises. “Again?!” I replied. Yes, again, I said. This is the deal, I’m just working off willpower right now, trusting that as I do as I’ve been instructed, things will eventually improve.

I repeat–things will eventually improve.

Now I’m obviously blogging. I need to wrap up, since in an hour we’re going out to eat (again) for Mallory’s birthday. This time, I believe, there will be a big crowd, forty of fifty people, so I’m going to try to turn it on. Also, I’m going to try to get some antacids or something to hold me over until I get back to Arkansas. Anyway, I don’t mean to be a gloom merchant. It wasn’t my intent to kvetch. But sometimes life is an uphill climb, and that’s the truth. Recently my therapist said, “Given your background, I know it’s really difficult for you to believe that things can get better, but I’m telling you they can. Things can turn around on a dime.” So I’m trying to believe her and I’m trying to hope. I’m trying to hang in for the ten-cent turnaround.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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On Cognitive Distortions and Feeling Good (Blog #650)

Yesterday, upon the recommendation of my physical therapist, I joined a gym–Planet Fitness. It’s like fifty cents a day, so that’s not bad. Anyway, my physical therapist said if I got hooked up with a gym and could exercise/rehab more on my own, I wouldn’t need to be in their office as often. Well, I spent all day today intimidated about going. You know how it is when you haven’t been to the gym in a while. Yesterday while I was touring the place, it was like everyone there had way bigger muscles than me. I guess I got–what do they call it?–the imposter complex.

Like, I don’t belong here.

This afternoon I did my rehab exercises twice at home, at least the exercises I could do without equipment. In between I took a nap, finished reading one book, and started another. Well, sort of started. Over four years ago, shortly after I began therapy, my therapist gave me a book about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), a psychological approach that (like The Work of Byron Katie) suggests that our suffering is directly related to the thoughts we think. And whereas I read about a third of it way back when, for some reason I never finished it. But then I pulled it off the shelf today as a prop for one of my exercises and decided to pick up where I left off.

This ended up being the perfect thing, as I applied some of the book’s techniques to my hesitation about going to the gym. For example, in addition to my rehab exercises, I’ve been wanting to try some resistance band exercises for my upper body, some stuff I saw online, but I didn’t really know where to start. I thought, If I can’t do this perfectly, I don’t want to do it at all. The book calls this All or Nothing Thinking, and, like the other Cognitive Distortions it lists, always leads to suffering and not Feeling Good. (The book is called The Feeling Good Handbook by David D. Burns.) Also, I thought, Other people will think I’m weird because I walk funny. The book calls this Jumping to Conclusions, which includes Mind Reading (assuming you know what other people will think) and Fortune Telling (assuming things will turn out badly).

Simply identifying these thoughts as Cognitive Distortions was enough for me to “snap out of it” and remind myself that 1) I’m no stranger to a gym and am capable of asking for help if I need it, 2) I’m going for my health and not for anyone else’s approval, 3) any progress is good progress, and 4) what other people think of me is none of my business, and besides, if they’re anything like me, they’re probably mostly worried about themselves.

So I went. Granted, I waited until this evening so they’d be fewer people (and more parking spaces), but I went. And get this shit–it was fine. For a little over and hour, I did my knee rehab exercises and even used the stair machine and stationary bicycle. (The only cardio machine I’m not cleared to use is the elliptical.) Plus, I did a couple sets of resistance band exercises. Part of me thinks, Yeah, but it was only twenty repetitions, but the book says that’s Discounting the Positive, the way you might brush off a compliment about how good you look by saying, “Ugh, I still have five more pounds to lose.” Never mind the fact that’s you’ve already lost thirteen.

So I’m not going to do that. Going to the gym is going to the gym. Twenty repetitions is twenty repetitions.

Before I left the gym, I realized I was actually having a good time, moving my body, learning new things, listening to my headphones. It was even nice to be around other people, even though I didn’t talk to anyone except the folks at the front desk. But I did see one girl who had a prosthetic leg, and that helped put things in perspective. I thought, I just injured a leg; I didn’t lose one. As much as anything, I’m proud of myself for going, for not only stepping outside of my comfort zone, but also for pushing myself ever so slightly.

Now it’s after midnight, and despite my nap this afternoon, I’m ready for bed. My body really wants to sleep. My brain, however, is thinking that I NEED to come up with a really great ending. The book would call this a Should Statement, as in, I should deprive myself of sleep and come up with something better than “the end.” But again, that line of thinking doesn’t lead to Feeling Good, so I want to recognize it for what it is–an imposter–a thought that doesn’t belong here. Or is at least one that’s no longer welcome. In it’s place I’m thinking, This doesn’t have to be perfect. You’ve done enough today. Give yourself a break.

The end.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

That’s Not Too Far Away (Blog #629)

Things that happened today–

1. I did a knee thing

This afternoon I had my first physical therapy appointment for my injured knee. It was a short deal, maybe fifteen minutes, to go over exercises that I’ll do post-operation, on my own, until officially starting physical therapy two weeks after surgery (which is one week from today). Anyway, it went well, and it occurred to me later that I’m racking up quite the number of “my therapists.” Me and My Mental Health Therapist, Me and My Massage Therapist, Me and My Physical Therapist.

Clearly I need a lot of help.

2. I said goodnight to my nephews

This evening my sister, brother-in-law, and my nephews arrived for the holidays. Ugh. Talk about cuteness overload. They give the best hugs. Granted, when they wake me up at seven-thirty in the morning, I may not think they’re so great.

3. I said goodnight to the world

Since the boys clocked out, my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, and I have been visiting. There’s nothing quite like family. Now it’s almost eleven, and everyone is worn out. My sister because she has two children, and me because my body has been through the ringer lately. At the moment, I don’t have a lot to offer. All I want to do is wind down and go to bed. I really didn’t sleep well last night. You know how some nights you toss and turn. Still, it’s been a good day. The physical therapist said that two months after surgery, if all goes as planned, I’ll be cleared for “light jogging” on flat surfaces, and that six months after surgery I’ll be “back to normal.” At that point, they said, I’ll be no more likely to tear my (new) ACL than I was before my accident. So two months–six months–that’s not too far away. That’s something to look forward to.

I can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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Me and the Universe (Blog #627)

It’s eleven-thirty at night, and I’d rather be doing something else. Watching TV, reading a book, sleeping, you name it. Anything but writing. Fuck this daily practice. Talking about my emotions on the internet! What a dumb idea that was. (I take it back.) And did I mention I’m still limping around like someone with a war injury? I guess it’s gonna be like this for a while. I did sever my ACL. Ugh. Life is a lot sometimes.

Pass the chocolate cake.

This morning I saw my therapist. I’m sure that’s largely why I’m emotionally up in arms. Not that our session didn’t go well. It did. But everything gets stirred up in there. My damned feelings, I mean. Then I have to walk out and do something with them. Or at least wait for them to settle back down. I don’t know, my therapist says it’s always worse around the holidays, that this time of year is when everyone’s crazy comes out. Additionally, today she said that the universe has clearly dumped a lot in my lap lately. And whereas she said she believes it will let up at some point, she also suggested getting used to the idea that the universe will always be presenting me with new challenges until I’m “six feet under or ashes in a jar” because that’s the way the universe rocks.

In other words, when it comes to personal growth, the universe is a real hard ass.

In light of this idea that “there’s always more to do,” my therapist suggested that I back off the self-help shit for a while. This came up because I recently read a book about inherited family trauma (and did all the exercises it suggested) during a short period of time. “I did something similar once, but it was over a couple of years,” she said. “Suffice it to say, you’ve opened a lot of doors in your subconscious. I’d consider giving it a damn rest while everything bubbles up.”

This is a tough thing for me to do, to not rush-rush-rush to the finish line of mental health. I know, I know–there is no finish line; life is a game that never ends (woo). Again, what a dumb idea. But really, I am going to give this some thought. My therapist said today that she really believed my leg injury had to do with my learning to slow down and graciously accept help. She said, “Accepting help doesn’t diminish you as a person; it makes you MORE of a real person.”

So fine. This is me slowing down. This is me accepting help.

Graciously.

(Insert smile here.)

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m pretty much done for the day. My sister and her family are coming to visit this week, and we’re having the carpets cleaned in the morning in preparation for their arrival. All this to say that I won’t be able to sleep in tomorrow, nor will I be able to sleep in once they get here. My nephews are beautiful, but they’re not quiet. (We all have our spiritual gifts.) Anyway, I’m ready to go to bed. Maybe I’ll watch TV first. Regardless, hopefully I’ll nod off soon, and my emotions can bubble up and magically sort themselves out while I snore. Then I can wake up, and the universe and I can try again. Because I do intend to try again, just like I intend to walk without limping again and keep writing every day.

I’m a hard ass too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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On Being Disrupted (Blog #623)

After twelve days of being on crutches, I’m officially over this one-legged life. Granted, at my parents’ house, it hasn’t been that bad; they’ve been awesome about helping me out. Dad, will you bring me breakfast? Mom, will you plug in my phone? But now that I’m house sitting for some friends, I’m all alone and have to do everything for myself. (Harrumph.) And whereas it’s going well–last night I managed to successfully get into and out of their hot tub AND shower AND navigate their stairs–everything from bringing in the morning paper to transporting my coffee cup from the counter to the kitchen table is a big damn effort. You should have seen me moving their trash can from the street to their garage this afternoon.

Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

This afternoon I went to the hospital to get a copy of the MRI I had done earlier this week on my knee. This should probably be a daily requirement for me, to get out of the house, since it forces me to get dressed, interact with others, and not feel sorry for myself. And y’all, interacting with others is EASY when you’re on crutches that have been decorated with holiday tinsel. (The ones in the photo above are the ones I use INSIDE, since the decorated ones are kind of “messy.”) But seriously, all sorts of strangers talked to me today. Oh, I love your crutches. How festive! Now THAT’S making the best of a bad situation.

That’s me–always looking on the bright side.

Along with the MRI images (which came on a CD), I got a copy of the radiologist’s report, which described my ACL has having been “disrupted.” I assume this is the medical term for “fucked up,” and a quick Google search seems to confirm this. When I first read the report, I thought, Oh good, that’s better than a tear, but no–I don’t think so now. Disruption is apparently a serious separation. Like, think earthquake.

Think my life.

Here’s a random picture from the MRI images. Naturally, I have no idea what I’m looking at here, other than some part of my knee. But I picked this image to share because I think it looks like the face of an old man–see the two eyeballs? Also, I think it looks like something from outer space, like two black holes, an entire mysterious universe just below my left thigh. Granted, it’s an entire universe that’s currently–um–disrupted, but hopefully we can get things put back together soon.

Fingers crossed.

Another thing the report said was that I’d been experiencing constant pain since the time of my injury. This isn’t true at all, and I assume it’s just a medical “hiccup.” My chart at my primary care physician’s says I have “anxiety” even though I don’t, I guess because I see a therapist. Oh well, shit happens. But my point is–yippee–I haven’t actually been in pain. All this disruption, and yet it’s not AWFUL. Granted, it’s inconvenient, and earlier when I misstepped on the stairs and came “this close” to tumbling all the way down, it was terrifying. But mostly this ordeal is simply causing me to slow down, take better care of myself, and reconnect with the good humans around me (and that includes my parents). And that’s a good thing.

To be clear, I’m worn out by this disruption. The last fourteen months have been FILLED with sickness and disappointment, and my knee injury is just one more thing. But I do feel supported–if not by my leg, by my friends, family, and my therapist. The last time my therapist and I talked, she said, “Everyone who goes through this process of personal and spiritual growth walks through hell–and by that I mean every circle of Dante’s Inferno. But the reward for walking through hell is a level of generalized contentment that most people never experience.” And whereas I have some proof of this being true based on my personal experience, I’m largely trusting her experience that things are going to get better. (She hasn’t steered me wrong yet.) This, I think, is a reason to keep going, the idea that entire universes may fall apart, but they can also come back together again. Perhaps even better than before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

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Your Feelings Won’t Kill You (Blog #622)

Currently it’s just before midnight, and I’m house sitting for friends. Me, with the bum leg, on crutches. You should have seen me moving my things from my car, Tom Collins, into the house. It took two trips. The first one was easy enough, since all I had to do was strap my backpack and my man-bag around my neck, then crutch my way inside. Granted, navigating two screen doors (my friends have a porch) and five concrete steps was difficult. But I was determined and made it. The second trip was the real challenge, since I had to move my luggage (on rollers), my walker, and me. It looked like this–

Move my walker two feet, move my luggage two feet, move myself two feet.
Move my walker, move my luggage, move myself.
Move my walker, move my luggage, move myself.
Over and over again.

On the second trip, I figured out that it’s easier for me to go up stairs BACKWARDS instead of FORWARDS. Like, if I turn around and leave my crutches on the bottom step, I can hop backwards on to the one above it. Not that this isn’t challenging, but it’s less challenging than either putting my crutches on the higher step and pulling myself up or leaving my crutches on the lower step and hopping forwards. Anyway, every day I spend on crutches gets better and better, and this new technique is seriously a game changer, especially considering the fact that my friends not only have steps GOING INTO their house, but also have a staircase INSIDE their house leading to the room where I’ll be sleeping.

Their advice: be careful and take your time.

I’m glad I’m here. The last few days have been stressful and overwhelming. This leg situation, on top of every other situation in my life, has simply been too difficult. And whereas I won’t have as much help here as I’ve had at home (my parents have been super), I will have time to myself–time to get quiet and hear myself think, time to process, time to heal.

Yes–now that I’m inside–this is perfect. It’s been a long day. This afternoon I saw my therapist, and it was one of our tougher sessions. Mostly because I actually lay back on her couch and let myself fall apart. This was by design–my design. So often I grit my teeth and push my way through when life gets hard, despite the fact that everything in me wants to fall apart. My therapist says I cover a lot up with humor. (I’m pretty funny.) Anyway, after blogging yesterday about welcoming my emotions, I figured it was time to let my defenses down and talk about how fucking overwhelmed I’ve felt lately. To be clear, by “lately” I mean the last twenty-five years.

Give or take.

I guess you could say our talk went well. I mean, I cried. My therapist says it’s always good anytime you empty out “the poison pot.” Plus, my therapist said today was THE WORST she’s seen me since our first meeting over four-and-a-half years ago. I know that sounds like a bad thing, but my therapist actually seemed delighted about it. Maybe delighted is too strong a word. What I mean is that she really believes that things are darkest before the dawn, so the fact that I’ve hit my emotional rock bottom makes her think that things are about to start improving for me. Talk about optimism. Like that kid who gets excited when he sees a roomful of shit. Jumping up and down in the manure, he says, “There’s GOTTA BE a pony in here somewhere!”

When my therapist saw that I wasn’t on board with her positive outlook for my life, she said, “You can tell me to go fuck off if you want to.” This is a thing with her. Like, she gets excited when clients tell her to go screw herself. I guess because it means they’ve empowered themselves in some way. So I said, “Fuck you,” but she said it sounded wimpy. “Try again,” she said.

I sat up on the couch. “FUCK YOU!”

“Okay, that’s better,” she said.

Leaving therapy, I still felt less than optimistic. “It’s okay if you don’t believe things will get better,” my therapist said. “I believe it enough for the both of us.” So that’s something, a sliver of hope between two people.

Ugh, so many emotions.

Lately I’ve been reading a book called It Didn’t Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle by Mark Wolynn. Honestly, it’s one of the most profound and helpful self-help/psychology books I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a few (hundred) of them. The basic idea is that often our emotional and even physical problems begin long before we’re born. Said another way, our problems, rather than simply belonging to us as individuals, more rightly belong to us as families. For example, for a long time I’ve had a hangup around money. Well, my grandpa on one side went through the Depression. My grandmother on the other side had a father who wouldn’t give her a quarter (a quarter!) for a library card (but he WOULD bail her alcoholic brother out of jail). My parents essentially lost everything twice, once in a fire, once when my dad went to prison. So scarcity is a pattern of thinking that’s–um–pervasive in my family.

The book says that we often adopt not-so-helpful beliefs and even physical illnesses as a way of bonding with our family members, or in an effort to take their pain away. However, when we do this, we get confused about “what belongs to whom.” So one of the exercises the author suggests is to make a family tree of trauma, a list of family members with notes about who died, who lied, who cheated, who mistreated, who blamed, who felt shamed, etc. My parents have been gracious enough to help me do this. Last week my mom and I discussed her side of the family, and tonight my dad and I discussed his. And whereas both conversations were truly helpful, they were also A LOT. Not that I imagine our family is all that different from anyone else’s, but suffice it to say there’s no small amount of grief, disappointment, fear, and sadness in my family tree.

Personally, I think this is why–in addition to my screwing up my knee–this last week and this afternoon have been so challenging. That is, I’ve given myself permission to feel the weight of my family history in an effort to not only honor my lineage but also put some of our traumas to rest. This is not fun; I don’t recommend it. But seriously, I do, since I don’t believe we’re meant to carry our pain indefinitely. At some point, it’s gotta come up, and SOMEONE’S gotta feel whatever it is. (Might as well be you.) In my case, if it takes an injured leg, a confrontational therapist, and some tough conversations for that to happen, then so be it. As one of my friend says, “Your feelings won’t kill you.” But as I’ve felt lighter this evening than I have in a long time, they might just set you free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There's a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace. We forget that we too are like the planets, part of a larger universe that is always proceeding one step at time, never in the wrong place, everything always right where it belongs.

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Go Eff Yourself, 2018 (Blog #616)

Okay. Phew. It’s five in the evening, I’m at home with my bum knee, and I’ve got an hour before I need to get myself up, get myself together, and get to the theater for our holiday variety show. It’s opening night. Woo. I’ll let you know how it goes. Really, if I can get my pants on, things should be fine. If I can’t–well–the audience may get more than they’ve bargained for.

Earlier today I went to see my therapist, and when I walked in on crutches, her receptionist said, “WHAT did you do?” After I explained, she told me how she once tore her ACL while playing Fantasy Football. No kidding, apparently she got excited while watching a game, jumped up from the couch to hoot and holler, and her leg just gave out. So you know–shit happens, you’re never alone in your challenges, and all that.

Merry Christmas.

When my therapist walked into the waiting room and saw me, she did a double take and literally took a step back. After a brief pause she said, “I can see you have A LOT going on today.” Then as I stood up and grabbed my crutches–which are decorated with tinsel and a Christmas stocking because of the theater show I’m in–my therapist disappeared. Reemerging from wherever she went, she dropped a handful of candy into my stocking. “Candy for Tiny Tim–No!–TALL Tim,” she said. Later she added, “Hopefully everyone else will take the hint, and that thing will be overflowing by Christmas.”

Fingers crossed.

About my injury and how frustrating it’s been for me (because this year has been one damn thing after another), my therapist reminded me that “not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.” This is something she’s said before and comes from a story about a small bird whose wings froze one winter. There this little fella was, stuck on the ground shivering to death, and a cow came by and took a dump on him. Well, the heat from the manure thawed the bird out, and he was saved! (Cute, right?) Anyway–“The universe has taken a shit on you,” she said, “but we don’t know WHY. We don’t know what GOOD could come from this or what DOORS this may open.”

Then she said, “And it’s okay to be pissed off and tell 2018 to go fuck itself.”

Go fuck yourself, 2018.

The other thing my therapist said about my current situation is that it’s always darkest before the dawn. Well, she said that it’s always darkest before things turn around, but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “The myths are full of stories about how things get worse before they get better,” she said, “and that’s because myths mirror real life.” (Personally, I have the getting worse part down and am waiting on the getting better part.) Then when I told her that several people are taking my injuring myself as an opportunity to remind me that I’m no longer a spring chicken (aren’t people great?), she said, “You’re ONLY 27! How old do they want you to be–17?!”

This is why I give her all my money.

All right, I’m wrapping this up and am going to TRY to wiggle into my jeans, my dress shoes, and my slightly undersized sweater that says, “Ho Ho Ho.” And to be clear, that’s something Santa says, not a reference to my moral character or what I act like on the weekends.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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