On being alone and other stuff

When I was in the psych ward at the University of Utah I had a very intense occupational therapist.  I remember a group that she taught on support networks.  She explained that we, the mentally ill patients,  needed to have a large number of people in our support networks.  The reason, she explained, was so that we did not burn anyone out.

I was furious when the occupational therapist said that.  We were the sick ones, I thought.  People should be bending over backwards to help out the mentally ill!  And since they, the sane ones, ARE sane, they should be more than capable of helping us, the insane.

Almost two years later, I feel that she was right, and unfortunately, I was wrong.  A large support structure is very necessary.  And they, the sane, are more than capable of helping out the insane.  But capable does not always equate to able.  Even the most sane can be burned out by the insane.

I now realize how scary I seem when I am ill.  I talk a mile a minute.  I don't have boundaries.  I jump from one thought to the next, and appropriate conversation does not seem like something that I can manage.  I have looked back at pictures and seen the physical differences in the medicated and un-medicated Steve.  The main difference is in the eyes.  I have big eyes no matter what, but when I am un-medicated my eyes are bigger and have a wild look.  And the scariest aspect by far is the intensity I have.  I am like a raging inferno of emotion.  (Even as I write I realize that I am always intense.  Scary thought for sure.)

When I moved out to New York from Utah, I burned out my support networks.  I was impossible to be around, as I mentioned in the above paragraph, and I had to fight my battles mostly on my own.  I had two great friends who stood by me on a daily basis, but for the most part I had to negotiate the insanity by myself.  I started walking back then.  I would wear my mom's full length green winter coat and walk the 45 minutes down to main street in my hometown and walk up and down main street for hours.  I said some embarrassing things, a lot of embarrassing things actually.  I made a fool of my self in many ways.  But my walks were a support of sorts that I could not burn out.

Gradually I got better.  I have been through six months in a group home, and now I have lived on my own for almost a year.  I still walk, I still think, I am still the same insane man.  But over the last two years I have done just what my occupational therapist said.  I have spread out my support network.  Doctor, therapist, and too many friends to count.  The medication has done wonders as well.

So I reach out to all those who are alone.  Who are struggling.  These words are here for you.  You will get by.  You will get better.  Over time, you will learn how to reach out to many.  But for now, know that you are strong enough.  You are valued at more than gold!  Being alone sucks, but you can do it!  On your own.  If I did it, anyone can.  Blessings be upon you and my the Universe guide you!

Smoking is horrible, so why do I love it so much?

Even as I start to write this post on all the reasons I want to quit smoking, I want a cigarette!  In fact, before I am done, more than likely I will go out and have one.

I have smoked on and off for 11 years.  I remember the first cigarette I had, I mean I REALLY smoked.  I had puffed a few here and there, but never inhaled.  I was in a club in Salt Lake City, Utah and the guy sitting next to me asked if I wanted to learn how to really smoke a cigarette?  I said sure!  I did not want to look like a wimp.  Breathe in the smoke and swallow it.  I did, and you guessed it, I gagged and coughed and coughed!

But after I was done coming close to death, I felt "it."  The nicotine buzz.  A calm, blanket like feeling washed over me.  As I write I feel that same feeling.  In fact that memory just put a smile on my face!

So yeah, smoking makes me feel great.  It, the smoking, has been my safe place.  Years ago I explained to my brother that smoking meant three things to me.  First, it meant that I had money.  (Can't smoke if you can't afford to buy them!  You can mooch, but no one likes a mooch!)  Second, cigarettes keep me from feeling alone and exposed.  They are a great companion.  I may be by myself, but those cigarettes keep me from really feeling the pain of loneliness.  Third, cigarettes are sacred to me.  I have a spiritual connection with the tobacco, the act of smoking, and the feeling I get when I smoke.  I don't smoke any old cigarette, I smoke American Spirit Organic cigarettes.  No fillers, no chemicals, just tobacco.

But.....As the box of wonderful cigarettes itself says, no additives does not make a safer cigarette.  I cough, I wheeze, I get out of breath easily, I smell, I spend $300 a month on cigarettes.  Just to name a few of the side effects.

Yes.  The cigarettes are killing me slowly, and practically bankrupting me.  I have a set budget every month, and my tobacco habit takes up roughly a third of my income.  A third!  But the expense, the health risks, and the everything else is not enough to get me to quit.  I want to get in shape so badly, but the smoking gets in the way of that.  Smoking really gets in the way of everything!

But as I contemplate walking away from this awesome and horrible habit, I am terrified.  Terrified to be "on my own," terrified to get rid and be free of this crutch, terrified to lose my only excuse for not working out.  Terrified to be like all the other non-smokers.  (I like to be on the fringes I guess)  Terrified.  Terrified.  Terrified.

A lot of catch phrases and cheery phrases are running through my head that I feel I should write.  But I am not going to write them.  Instead I am going to leave this post as a to be continued......

We shall see if I can quit.  I want to, but are my desires strong enough?

Why did it take me almost two years to start this blog?

 I had the idea to start this blog when I was in the pysch ward at the University of Utah hospital in late October of 2010.  I have had massive encouragement over the years to write about my life.  My psychologist, my friends, my family, have all encouraged me to write.  So like the title of this blog post says, why have I waited two years?

1. Who the hell am I?  I am a sliver of my true self on a daily basis.  I love to please people. So......I am fake most of the time.  I figured I would have a hard time being transparent on this blog, which is my goal, when I am always hiding my self from: Myself, my family, my friends, and the Universe.  (The Universe is my code word for God.  I was a practicing Mormon for 35 years.  I left the church for good earlier this year.  As of now I have a very confused concept of God, so we will just call him/her/it/them the Universe)  Hiding, always hiding.  Even as I write, I am still hiding.  This cloak and dagger identity stuff really gets in my way, but for some reason hiding is safe.  If no one knows who I am, no one can hurt me.  I cannot be disappointed either.  I have waited two years because I did not want to be honest with myself and definitely did not want to be honest on the Internet.  I figured, Why Bother?
2. The better and inspiring the goal, the longer I wait to start!  I am a vicious procrastinator.  I was just sitting in a local pharmacy waiting to pick up some medication and I was thinking about my smoke detector.  The batteries had died a few days before and I needed to buy batteries.  The store that sold the batteries was literally 100 feet away.  But I had to struggle to go and buy batteries.  I wanted to procrastinate even that simple task.  I guess my reasons for procrastinating are similar to my reasons for hiding.  I don't want to get hurt.  I would rather live with the eternal disappointment that comes from procrastinating, than deal with the painful feelings that active failure brings.  So for many years I have sat in my emotional corner in "time out", dunce cap on my hand, sucking my thumb, with shoulders shaking from my sobs.
3. I am a wimp!  I am not really a wimp, I just pretend to be.  But I have pretended for so long, and I bury my strengths all the time, that it is almost impossible to pull my head out of the proverbial sand.  I ignore my strengths, focus on my weaknesses and continue to sit in the corner, as I mentioned above.  Strength may face and overcome fear, but I have to tap into that strength before I can overcome the fear.  And I am afraid to face the fear.  A vicious cycle indeed

So there you have it!  My first blog entry.  My first thought is that it is not perfect, etc, etc.  But with the  publish button pushed, I hope to start on the path of overcoming the reasons that I mentioned above.  Baby steps, right!  Join me on my journey, and "come walk in my shoes."  May the universe bless you and keep you well this fine day!