Category Archives: anxiety

Day 8 – August 18, 2017 (Moxie Man)

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Day 8 – Friday, August 18, 2017 (Moxie Man)

5:24 a.m. – Charley’s early walk was lovely. More so than usual, there is a very light rain falling, and the scent of rain in the air reaches the center my heart. I’ve loved the scent since I was a  boy. Had the scent somehow washed over me when I was a baby, then my love for it started then. I kissed Charley on the top of his velvety head, and then let him make his morning contributions.

I treasure moments like this morning’s early walk with Charley, in August more than any other month. August has not been much of a friend. My Dad died on the 16th, my mother committed suicide on the 12th, and I was held-up and shot in the head on the 24th. That said, an enchanting woman called me Moxie Man this month, and that’s just about as lovely as the scent of rain, and embeds a beautiful moment in August.

It just started pouring rain outside! This could me my first real rain walk. I am smiling. I want as much of my life back as I can get. Remember, because you feel hopeless doesn’t mean there’s no hope; it simply means you’ve lost contact with it; it’s still there; promise.

8:44 a.m. – Back home. A walk in a soft rain, the earlier downpour had calmed by the time I entered the morning. I hope it rains the same way tomorrow morning. When I was a boy we lived in an area filled with woods and a nice wide stream me and my friends viewed as our own private river. Walking in the rain reminded me of all the beauty and peace I found in the woods. I think it is still there.

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For Anne Marie

 

Break for Freedom – Day 7 (Measured fury)

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Day 7 – August 17, 2017 (Measured fury)

8:01 a.m. – Back home after my walk.

I have mixed feelings about allowing myself much credit for completing this morning’s walk. It was easier than the others because it was fueled by a measured fury, a fury that was part of every stride, every movement.

Where does the fury come from? My father and uncle and many of my friend’s fathers and uncles fought in World War II against the Nazis. My father was in the 20th Armored Division, one of three divisions that liberated the Dachau Concentration Camp. The president of my country is the Nazi’s ally. He an ally of White Nationalists, and he is an ally of the KKK. When I hear some talking heads ask each other why the president is behaving like this. I want to snatch them up by the nape of the neck and, in a loud voice, say: “You guys just graduate the Rhetorical Questions Workshop? Because he is a racist! Because he is a Nazi! Wake the fuck up!”

I did the uphill walk again today. It was no match for me. Let me right-size that. It was no match for fury.

Break for Freedom – Day 5 (Puddle jumping)

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Day 5 – August 15, 2017 (Puddle jumping)

6:20 a.m. – It is raining. A steady rain. When I was a boy I couldn’t wait to go outside and play in the rain. Jump-stomping into the biggest puddle I could find was as much fun as a roller coaster. While my hands tremble a bit while I tap away here, I am smiling. Puddle jumping was a blast.

About hands trembling. It’s fear. Free floating anxiety some call it. Right. Fear.  Like some of you, I have a relationship with the fear, with the PTSD, with the agoraphobia, with, in my case, a brain injury. The bad news is, these things are present. The good news  is — and I’m dead serious — the good news is, you have a say in your relationship with them. The challenge is relieving these demons of their decision-making power.

Consider this for a moment. The rain is beautiful. It’s sound, the angle of its fall. Why should any demon gets much decision-making power it stops me from walking in the rain? Important to remember. On the days you can’t get out, it does not mean you’re weak, nor does it mean, you failed. It means these demons are no-nonsense tough opponents. Nothing more, nothing less.

7:10 a.m. – I’m out the door.

9:24 a.m. – The walk, followed by a trip to the store, is over. I am glad I am alive. Yes, another drenched shirt, but that’s okay; I’ve got a fresh cup of coffee.

 

The anxiety, PTSD, & brain injury wars

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One thing the trio of anxiety, PTSD, and brain injuries have in common is this; they are all in constant motion. None are fixed realities. Managing them is a task rife with unwanted undulations.   Managing them can also be exhausting not to mention, at times, heartbreaking.

My struggle with this trio stems from being shot in the head at point blank range in 1984, escaping from being held under gunpoint for several hours, a couple of years of homelessness, and the loss of five loved ones to suicide.

It would be lovely if willpower alone were enough to overpower this trio. It isn’t. Lord knows you need as much willpower as you can get too manage them. Don’t think for a minute I’m saying there is no place for willpower. There is. It’s a great ally. But it is not enough to win the day every day. The notion that we ought to be able to do so is flawed because no human being has total control over every aspect of their life. That is not how we are designed, and it sure as hell is not how life is designed.

From time to time when I have talked about my battle with this trio I’ll encounter some who seem to think I should just pull myself up by my bootstraps and get on with it. There is nothing unique about this experience. Many who face one or all members of this trio get the same response from time to time. Sometimes the response is genuinely well-intended. Sometimes the response comes from a kind of know-it-all arrogance (and ignorance), usually from people, who, upon closer examination, have some formidable challenges of their own in life and are deserving of compassion, though at the time they’re inflicting their judgment on you, compassion can be hard to come by.

Lately this trio has been all over me. Freezing me in place inside my home. Making the thought of leaving my home feel like I am walking into a blaze of gunfire without protection. It has been worse of late in large part, I think, because I know I have to leave the home I’m in and don’t know where I’ll be living next.

What I do know and am grateful for is the simple yet salient fact that I have accepted the presence of this trio as a reality. And because I’ve accepted their presence, I am better equipped to identify ways of managing them. Changes in meds, disappearing into a good book or a good movie, usually a foreign film, conversation with new and old friends, and my two dogs.

And then there is this, when I wake up each morning there is always a sense of joy at having made it to another day. That early morning hour with my first cup of coffee sitting by the fire in the woodstove is a gift that is never lost on me. It is also moment I hold fast too with deep appreciation when, in the worst of it, I am shaking like a leaf and waiting for the horrors to pass.