Then again, of course, this is the real world. And of course, no one wants to talk about the obvious problems. No one wants to talk about the elephant in the room. No one wants to mention the unfortunate truths, or perhaps, maybe if we turn our heads or avert our eyes, maybe the truth can go away. I’d like this idea too, if it worked, or if it were true.
Nothing goes away.
Nothing stops, just because we don’t like it or if we are scared or sad. Although we can look to hide from the truths, the fact is, this is life and no one gets out alive.
Right?
This is all real.
The monsters under the bed might not be real, or they might only be as real as our imagination, but the secrets that we keep with the skeletons in the closet, although silent, they can be equally deadly.
Or as I prefer to say, they are as silent as a screaming whisper; whereas, this is all we hear.
There is an exercise that is taught in mental health first aid which I use and discuss in my presentations and groups.
Aside from a few lectures at a university with a professor whom I consider dear to me, life has changed and so has the business aspect of my work in the mental health field.
To put this plainly, divorce is a bitch too.
So is life, sometimes, right?
Life happens and therefore, divorce happens just as well. This is all too real, and perhaps unfortunate, but no amount of pretending or denying can hide or change truth, nor can this recreate fact, or adjust our stories to suit our needs or better our emotional outcome.
Right or wrong. Life happens. Therefore, I am human.
So are you.
We might not have the same ideas or experience sensation the same way. However, no one among us is so crystal clear, nor is anyone around us able to say how they are always innocent, not in my case. Although I am guilty of some things, I am not guilty of everything and again, for every action, there is a reaction, and for every unanswered question or request, or for every time we are ignored or unheard or whenever our needs are unmet and our desires become secondary, or otherwise, our dreams become or seem unimportant to our so-called other half, or partner, — or when we talk about the same thing yet the same things keep happening and they chop away or degrade the dignity of our heart, — or they simply diminish our spirit, — then I say yes, it does take two to tango and it does take two people to make things work.
But go unheard and go unsatisfied, or be told that “this is all you,” or despite our challenges, or the facts of our chemistry, whether we are in need of help or support, being told that “this is all your fault,” and I submit that this can not only change the way we see the levels of intimacy in someone else, but this can weigh on us, and literally destroy our own spirit. So, yes, in all fairness, there is a mood before there is an action, and life without communication becomes a response, or an act that happens in regards to a voice that goes uncared for.
I am not a fair person. However, I am not particularly unfair.
I am human. I am someone who has wants and needs and, as well, I am a real person with faults and flaws, and I am someone who often fails to see the better side.
I have my own challenges. Some of them are emotional. Some of my challenges are educational, and some are social and interpersonal.
I can see why unaddressed traumas can lead to subconscious acts or behaviors. I can understand how and why unaddressed ideas, thoughts, or feelings lead us to self-harm or self-defeating behaviors and self-deprecating talk.
I can see why we sabotage ourselves or what happens when we try to avoid the truth, or bury feelings and stuff them down as deep as the dungeons in our soul can allow.
I can also understand the theory of 10lbs of shit, stuffed in a 5lb bag, and how eventually anything overstuffed or overheated can combust and burst and explode. After a while, the mind can’t take it. The heart can’t take it, and like that kettle about to blow, we are the result of our unaddressed symptoms — and so, we blow our top.
I say this because symptoms are symptoms. They are not the problem. Therefore, I have been trying to address my problems for the last two years; meanwhile, the symptoms have been unthinkable in the easier times and unbearable at the worst.
But again, this is life and this is the result of unaddressed item and this is the product of life unsatisfied. Therefore, I moved away from my work to help my community because I need to help myself first.
And now, with that being out of the way, I go back to one of the exercises that I share in some of my lectures.
The exercise comes from a mental health first aid lesson which is intended to help people understand what people experience who have audible hallucinations or hear voices that aren’t real.
First of all, despite how real the sounds of voices are to us, if you hear something, then it becomes real.
The exercise is simple.
This takes three people. One person rolls a sheet of paper-longways, almost to create a small megaphone shaped funnel. One person sits in a chair across from another person who is instructed to talk about their day or tell a brief story.
The person who is instructed to listen sits in the chair across from the story teller and while the person tells their story, another person stands beside the listener, bending down, slightly to whisper through the funneled sheet of paper with an honest whisper and sincere tone.
No fake voices or laughing.
Now, when dealing with paranoid schizophrenia, the person whispering in the funnel might whisper things like, “Why are they looking at you like this?
“You are in danger. Why are they talking to you about this?”
“Why is everybody noticing you?”
“You have to get away!”
“RUN!”
“You are in danger”
The whispers are scripted and the whisperer does their job, and as the exercise continues, the whispering stops, and the story teller finished their story.
Next, the person who had the whisper in their ears is asked, “What was the story about?” or “what was the person across from you talking about?”
This is a very interesting exercise because usually, and almost every time, the person who has the whisper in their ears will say, “I don’t know” and how they couldn’t pay attention because of the whispers in their ear.
I appreciate this lesson because while I do not suffer from audio hallucinations nor do I hear voices; I can understand the distraction of insecure thinking and fear. I can understand the voices in our head, so-to-speak.
I can understand how hard it is to hear the purity and beauty of simple and amazing things when there is an internal voice or a self-talk that decays and destroys our sanity. Hence, I can understand how simple it is to achieve a state of temporary hysterics. I can also understand why we slip away, or fall deeper into ourselves, and yes, this is how we think ourselves into a stir of crazy echoes and find ourselves insane on the other side.
I am thinking about this to make sense of my recent loss. I am explaining to myself, the hurt and the pain and the internal voice and self-talk of a friend of mine who laid himself to rest. Then again, I am basing this on an assumption that he couldn’t get rid of the rage or the whispers of resentment and pain.
I explain this, out loud, and for myself to realize why we move in self-destructive ways.
If we feel alone, or hurt, or when fears come that the person we love doesn’t care enough, or when we need to feel wanted or desired, and each time we try to have those needs met, we are met with an unenthused response or rejection; I say that this can tear us apart.
I say that this can cause us to slip away. While I understand that no one wants to talk about problems or be a burden, and no one wants to be the sick one or the one who is depressed, or anxious, and since pride and ego are a bitch; no one wants to be the flawed one — and the fact is, unaddressed items and challenges do not go away.
I relate this to a leak that turned into an expensive flood. I remember it happening in my daily work environment and yes, I remember reporting this problem to a supervisor and explained how the problem is only going to be worse, not better. I explained leaks do not fix themselves and slowly but surely, the evidence became more and more apparent, until one day, “BOOM!” the pipe burst and the flood damage was both unfortunate and expensive.
So is insurance too, and so are the cost of raised premiums that were a result of something called, “Contributory negligence,” I would assume.
Now, I get it.
This is life.
Everyone is entitled to go crazy once or twice. We all make mistakes. We all fuck up. And there are times when some of the things we say are unthinkable and some of the things we do are unacceptable.
I am no different nor higher, above, or holier than anyone else.
Hence, the last year or more have been symptoms of divorce, pain, betrayal, loss, and more than the financial loss, which was brutal, there are other losses as well that seemed irretrievable to me, and next, life can appear to be unfixable.
No one can fix me. No one can change the past. No one can help me unless I take their hand and no one can improve my position except for me.
I have done inexcusable things and equally, I have said hurtful things. I have acted out of emotion or simply, I have acted alongside and in accordance with my insecurities or the whispers they leave behind and yes — I am the result of my own self-talk.
So, I write this now to expose the depths of my secrets and to expose my silly or embarrassing truths.
I do not want to be selfish ever again. But this does not change the wreckage of my past or the facts of my history. So, the symptoms of my previous life remain.
I understand this.
And dig it—
I get that no one wants to talk about their problems, but like that leak that never got better—leave a problem unaddressed, and “Boom” the flood and the expense of the aftermath can and will be brutal.
I have seen this firsthand in both my personal and professional life.
You can’t turn your head, just so you won’t see the problem.
However, deal with the problems, and while the symptoms might be tough — they can and will get better after the problem is solved or eventually, enough time has passed, and finally—
we can move on.
This is where I am aiming to be.
Good morning, New York City.
Your unfortunate, but true, and crazy prince is on his way
(back home).
The Written Addiction 