Thursday, December 19, 2013
The id Post: What a Difference a Year Makes, Or Not: 194 More D...
The id Post: What a Difference a Year Makes, Or Not: 194 More D...: by Irene Daniel Another year has come and gone and another chunk of our future with it; up in the smoke of guns and insanity. What a deadl...
What a Difference a Year Makes, Or Not: 194 More Dead Children Since Newtown
by Irene Daniel
Another year has come and gone and another chunk of our future with it; up in the smoke of guns and insanity. What a deadly duo. And I think it is important to discuss them together for neither guns nor insanity alone can be this deadly without the other.
In the year since we lost 24 of the most adorable first graders, an additional 194 children have died of gunshot wounds here in the home of the brave and the land of the free. 194 high school graduations that won't happen. 194 sets of parents who will never hold their baby's baby as happy grandparents. And 194 sets of grandparents who are devastated at the thought of burying their baby's baby. A lot can happen in a year.
I remember where I was when I heard of the massacre of those children. I was on my way home from my first appointment with my therapists, a session which opened my soul a little, and started to let in the light. And then I turned on the radio in my car, only to be horrified at the thought of a mentally and emotionally deranged individual taking out all of his pain on cute little first-graders. I was relieved to finally be taking action that was steering me away from my own darkness, and towards a new light. I was grateful to be attending to my own mental and emotional health, after neglecting them for so long, as I swam in a sea of denial about the reality and severity of my illness.
It's taken more than a year for me to recover from a breakdown, an emotional and mental collapse, that took the legs out from under me and took me completely out of the game. I am neither ashamed, nor proud of this fact; it just is. I must accept it, and accept myself for who I am -- warts, nervous breakdowns, and all. And I know that I must share my story of survival and victory, for I am not alone in my suffering. There are many, many, too many people out there suffering alone and terrified; afraid of themselves and their perceived inadequacies.
You see, mental illness is a fatal disease. It kills people; and those whom it doesn't kill, it leaves emotionally and spiritually maimed. Mental illness and addiction have killed people in my family. My maternal grandmother, for whom I am named, killed herself by ingesting rat poison at the age of 52, in the throws of menopause. My mother was an undiagnosed and untreated paranoid schizophrenic. On my father's side of the family there are other examples of mental illness and addiction issues that destroyed the fabric of our family unity, and left our family hearth cold and dark.
And I know that I am not alone in these circumstances. However, for most of us, it is the denial of this internal dis-ease that serves up calamitous consequences. It took me a long time to admit that I needed help and then it took more time to actually get help; take medication as directed, get therapy, whatever is indicated.
And here is where the self-loathing, guilt and procrastination puts us on the merry-go-round of chaos and denial. Depression and its side-effects look a lot like sloth, especially to those who, either do not suffer from the disease of depression, or who are also themselves in denial of their own dis-ease. This perceived sloth leads to greater feelings of guilt, to fear, to more denial and isolation. At least that's how it's been for me this past year. Had I not sought treatment when I finally did, I'd probably be dead by now. I didn't want to live in this world anymore, and I was too afraid to ask for help until it was too late to save my law practice, and almost too late to save myself.
My problems started long ago, as the result of multiple childhood traumas that went undiagnosed and untreated for decades. In the 1960s and 70s, there was still much too great a stigma attached to mental illness to encourage the emotionally injured to seek treatment of any kind. You just bucked up and moved on in those days. And here again, I know that I am not alone in this circumstance.
Too many of us are walking around emotionally crippled. Like a fractured leg bone that is never properly medically treated, leaving the injured with a noticeable limp, early emotional injuries left untreated cause a similar and sustaining disability in dealing with every day life. Oh we can walk among our fellows, and even function seemingly well in the land of the living. But inside, we are suffering in our own private hell.
Many of us try to soothe ourselves by self-medicating with drugs and/or alcohol; which often leads to addiction and a whole new set of problems. I know that this is what worked for me for awhile, until it didn't anymore. And when alcohol could no longer disguise the reality of my pain, it became yet another problem, another thing to feel guilty about, another nail in my coffin.
It has taken decades for me to get anywhere near well. After I began dealing with my alcoholism, it took a long sober while for me to be able to deal with the underlying depression at the root of it all. And it is a daily struggle; sometimes easy, sometimes not so easy. Today, I am sober, on anti-depressant meds and learning to live in the real world for the first time in my life. And even though, I have lost much professionally and financially, I have gained a more realistic perspective, and a real love for my real life. I never had that before. I was too busy running away from myself and my dis-ease. I am so glad I don't have to do that anymore. I am too weary of it all.
So, what does all this have to do with Newtown? Is it not obvious that Adam Lanza was at least disturbed? I wonder about his initial injury? Did something happen to him in first grade? He didn't get that way all by himself overnight. That anger and pain was years in the making. What happened to him? Does anybody care?
We should care because when someone as disturbed and angry as Adam Lanza has easy access to guns, what other outcome can there be? There are still lots of Adam Lanzas out there, and it is easier and more acceptable in our society, for the mentally deranged to get guns than it is to get treatment and medication. What does that say about us?
What will we see a year from now? Will there be another 200 American children taken out by gun violence? Or will we see a greater understanding of mental disease and defect? Will we see more resources devoted to mental health? Or will we just keep on doing what we're doing, and keep on getting more of what we got?
It's up to us, here in the US.
Another year has come and gone and another chunk of our future with it; up in the smoke of guns and insanity. What a deadly duo. And I think it is important to discuss them together for neither guns nor insanity alone can be this deadly without the other.
In the year since we lost 24 of the most adorable first graders, an additional 194 children have died of gunshot wounds here in the home of the brave and the land of the free. 194 high school graduations that won't happen. 194 sets of parents who will never hold their baby's baby as happy grandparents. And 194 sets of grandparents who are devastated at the thought of burying their baby's baby. A lot can happen in a year.
I remember where I was when I heard of the massacre of those children. I was on my way home from my first appointment with my therapists, a session which opened my soul a little, and started to let in the light. And then I turned on the radio in my car, only to be horrified at the thought of a mentally and emotionally deranged individual taking out all of his pain on cute little first-graders. I was relieved to finally be taking action that was steering me away from my own darkness, and towards a new light. I was grateful to be attending to my own mental and emotional health, after neglecting them for so long, as I swam in a sea of denial about the reality and severity of my illness.
It's taken more than a year for me to recover from a breakdown, an emotional and mental collapse, that took the legs out from under me and took me completely out of the game. I am neither ashamed, nor proud of this fact; it just is. I must accept it, and accept myself for who I am -- warts, nervous breakdowns, and all. And I know that I must share my story of survival and victory, for I am not alone in my suffering. There are many, many, too many people out there suffering alone and terrified; afraid of themselves and their perceived inadequacies.
You see, mental illness is a fatal disease. It kills people; and those whom it doesn't kill, it leaves emotionally and spiritually maimed. Mental illness and addiction have killed people in my family. My maternal grandmother, for whom I am named, killed herself by ingesting rat poison at the age of 52, in the throws of menopause. My mother was an undiagnosed and untreated paranoid schizophrenic. On my father's side of the family there are other examples of mental illness and addiction issues that destroyed the fabric of our family unity, and left our family hearth cold and dark.
And I know that I am not alone in these circumstances. However, for most of us, it is the denial of this internal dis-ease that serves up calamitous consequences. It took me a long time to admit that I needed help and then it took more time to actually get help; take medication as directed, get therapy, whatever is indicated.
And here is where the self-loathing, guilt and procrastination puts us on the merry-go-round of chaos and denial. Depression and its side-effects look a lot like sloth, especially to those who, either do not suffer from the disease of depression, or who are also themselves in denial of their own dis-ease. This perceived sloth leads to greater feelings of guilt, to fear, to more denial and isolation. At least that's how it's been for me this past year. Had I not sought treatment when I finally did, I'd probably be dead by now. I didn't want to live in this world anymore, and I was too afraid to ask for help until it was too late to save my law practice, and almost too late to save myself.
My problems started long ago, as the result of multiple childhood traumas that went undiagnosed and untreated for decades. In the 1960s and 70s, there was still much too great a stigma attached to mental illness to encourage the emotionally injured to seek treatment of any kind. You just bucked up and moved on in those days. And here again, I know that I am not alone in this circumstance.
Too many of us are walking around emotionally crippled. Like a fractured leg bone that is never properly medically treated, leaving the injured with a noticeable limp, early emotional injuries left untreated cause a similar and sustaining disability in dealing with every day life. Oh we can walk among our fellows, and even function seemingly well in the land of the living. But inside, we are suffering in our own private hell.
Many of us try to soothe ourselves by self-medicating with drugs and/or alcohol; which often leads to addiction and a whole new set of problems. I know that this is what worked for me for awhile, until it didn't anymore. And when alcohol could no longer disguise the reality of my pain, it became yet another problem, another thing to feel guilty about, another nail in my coffin.
It has taken decades for me to get anywhere near well. After I began dealing with my alcoholism, it took a long sober while for me to be able to deal with the underlying depression at the root of it all. And it is a daily struggle; sometimes easy, sometimes not so easy. Today, I am sober, on anti-depressant meds and learning to live in the real world for the first time in my life. And even though, I have lost much professionally and financially, I have gained a more realistic perspective, and a real love for my real life. I never had that before. I was too busy running away from myself and my dis-ease. I am so glad I don't have to do that anymore. I am too weary of it all.
So, what does all this have to do with Newtown? Is it not obvious that Adam Lanza was at least disturbed? I wonder about his initial injury? Did something happen to him in first grade? He didn't get that way all by himself overnight. That anger and pain was years in the making. What happened to him? Does anybody care?
We should care because when someone as disturbed and angry as Adam Lanza has easy access to guns, what other outcome can there be? There are still lots of Adam Lanzas out there, and it is easier and more acceptable in our society, for the mentally deranged to get guns than it is to get treatment and medication. What does that say about us?
What will we see a year from now? Will there be another 200 American children taken out by gun violence? Or will we see a greater understanding of mental disease and defect? Will we see more resources devoted to mental health? Or will we just keep on doing what we're doing, and keep on getting more of what we got?
It's up to us, here in the US.
Friday, December 13, 2013
The id Post: Truth and Reconciliation: What if We Tried That He...
The id Post: Truth and Reconciliation: What if We Tried That He...: by Irene Daniel As Nelson Mandela lies in state this week, I have been reflecting upon the South African experience of Truth and Reconcil...
Truth and Reconciliation: What if We Tried That Here in the Home of the Brave?
by Irene Daniel
As Nelson Mandela lies in state this week, I have been reflecting upon the South African experience of Truth and Reconciliation, wherein hearings, not trials, were held in order to allow the embittered tribes of a new nation to vent their anguish. Much of the testimony was delivered in tears, some in fits of rage. The hope was that this nationwide inventorying and emotional venting would allow all parties to move on after being heard and supported in their grief. And I began to wonder, what if we did that here in America?
After decades of Apartheid, there were many wounds to heal in order for a new nation to move forward in some semblance of unity. With its first President who was one of them -- the black majority; and much of the wealth still controlled by white hands, this was no small task. And while the exercise of Truth and Reconciliation could not solve all the nation's troubles, nor heal all of its wounds, it did allow aggrieved souls a pulpit and an audience to share their messages of terror and grief; and most important, it gave them an opportunity to surrender their right to punish those responsible. And it is in this surrender, that the power of reconciliation lies.
So, I started thinking, what if we did that here in America? Are we, who love living in the home of the brave, really brave enough to open up our racial and cultural wounds in an attempt to heal them, once and for all? And if we did, what would it look like? Who would show up? Who would speak? Who would listen? Who would be healed?
Of course I don't know the answer to those questions, but I think the most important of those questions is, who would listen? And would we be able to listen with open hearts? Or would we, as we almost always do now, listen defensively -- waiting for the moment to pounce upon weaknesses uncovered in the telling?
Would white people be able to listen openly to the realities of 'stop and frisk' and living in a world filled with presumptions about nonwhite people and what they are about? Assumptions that are not only hurtful, but inaccurate and unfair? Would they be able to truly hear the exasperation of those of us who have grown weary of a system designed for our failure, and the success of white males? And would we, people of color be able to deliver a message that was not dripping with resentment?
And what about people of color? Would we be capable of listening to genuine fears among the older and whiter among us, without bitterness? Without sarcasm? Would we be able to understand that this system, which even though greatly benefits whites at the expense of "the other," was not created by the white Americans who walk among us today? Or would we want to ridicule them, discounting their grievances as less severe or important as our own?
And what would be the point? Who would be healed? Who, if anyone, would be harmed?
Forgiveness and reconciliation are not the same thing. Forgiveness can be freely given by anyone at anytime. It does not require anything from the offending party, not even their knowledge of the act of forgiveness. Reconciliation is another matter.
Reconciliation takes place between the victim and the perpetrator, and requires something from each. It requires an act of contrition or acknowledgment of wrongdoing on the part of the oppressor. And from the victim it requires an even greater and more difficult act. For, in order for there to be any true reconciliation between the parties, it is the aggrieved party who must surrender the right to punish. This is essential.
And that is why I wonder if anything like that could actually happen here in the land of the free. There would, no doubt, be plenty of people showing up to vent and air those grievances, but I wonder how many would be willing to relinquish their right to punish.
Our current system here in the USA is still a stacked deck in favor of white males. And that is not the fault of every white person who has ever lived in the USA. It's really more due to a pattern that was set and never reset properly; like a broken bone never medically tended to. As the poet Robert Frost once said, ". . . way leads onto way." Nevertheless, I'm not sure that white Americans are ready to acknowledge this fact of white privilege -- not opinion -- but fact. Nor am I completely certain that all people of color are ready to relinquish their right to punish. I do believe that if we were to approach this task with the typical pattern of needing to convince and convert, and maintain the upper hand, then the necessary ingredients of truth and surrender, i.e., surrendering the right to punish, will escape inclusion, and then nothing good can come of it.
So, I ask again: are we, here in the "home of the brave," really brave enough to tackle the truth of our own need for reconciliation? I wonder.
Friday, December 6, 2013
The id Post: Nelson Mandela's Greatest Legacy: Love Can Build a...
The id Post: Nelson Mandela's Greatest Legacy: Love Can Build a...: by Irene Daniel One of my favorite songs is 'Love Can Build A Bridge," by the Judds. My favorite line is "Love, and only lo...
Nelson Mandela's Greatest Legacy: Love Can Build a Bridge
by Irene Daniel
One of my favorite songs is 'Love Can Build A Bridge," by the Judds. My favorite line is "Love, and only love, can join the tribes of man." With an abiding faith in, and love for, humanity, Nelson Mandela built a bridge of love that united the embittered tribes of his nation. Like Ghandi and Martin Luther King before him, he knew the power of forgiveness and reconciliation; and that in the long run, love really can conquer all. I feel so blessed to have grown up with these examples of loving and humble service; great men who overcame the bitterness of mistreatment, and turned that darkness into light. I cannot help but to be inspired.
How easy it would have been to respond in like kind to those who robbed him of his freedom and nearly three decades of his life. And who would have blamed him? In fact the African National Congress (ANC), which was founded and headed by Mandela, was most likely looking forward to a little payback for all their suffering at the hands of the white supremacist minority. And who could blame them? For these are human emotions and we are all human beings, with human weaknesses.
And this is where the overcoming takes place. For those great Spiritual Transcendentalists -- like Jesus, like Ghandi, like King -- all knew that, while they no doubt felt these human emotions, acting on them would only produce more bitterness, more resentment, more fear and violence. They knew that combatting violence with violence only creates more violence; and that in order to transcend that hatred and to get to the other side of the situation, only love would suffice. And no ordinary love, but an unconditional and unrelenting Spiritual love, could be the only foundation for a new nation; a new nation worthy of the South African struggle, and the new light of leadership taking hold therein.
I remember watching 'Invictus,' the movie about the triumph of the South African Rugby team in World Cup competition shortly after Mandela was elected President, and being so amazed at how this victory transformed the entire nation, and even changed the way the world looked at South Africa as a result. Perhaps it was a miracle, but Madiba -- as he was affectionately called by his people -- knew that even miracles need a soft place to land. It was not enough to conceive of liberty and to believe in liberty. South Africa needed to be prepared to receive the benefits of a new freedom; and Nelson Mandela prepared his country for just such a miracle to take place, just in case. He prepared them all, black and white, with his own example of loving forgiveness and acceptance.
And perhaps this is the greatest lesson that I have learned: to be prepared to receive. And I must do my part, do what I can do to create the circumstances, provide the fertile soil for my dreams to take root. And then, when the time is right, provide the space for them to take flight.
It is not enough to mourn Madiba, or even to celebrate his life. We must do more than that. We must take up his mantle, his torch, his great work. If we believe in the miracles of mercy, then we must do our part to create them by forgiving, first ourselves, and then one-another. We must all follow his example and choose higher. Choose courage over fear, reaching out over isolation, light over darkness and love over hatred. This is his legacy and our unfinished task.
Many are saying that a light has gone out in the world. I don't think that's true. For Nelson Mandela's physical voyage on earth may be over, but his light will never be extinguished as long as we carry it within each of us. Here, now, today, let your light shine; and don't be afraid or alarmed at your own brightness. Then he, and Ghandi, and King, and all the others will truly live forever -- in the love we share today.
Choose higher.
One of my favorite songs is 'Love Can Build A Bridge," by the Judds. My favorite line is "Love, and only love, can join the tribes of man." With an abiding faith in, and love for, humanity, Nelson Mandela built a bridge of love that united the embittered tribes of his nation. Like Ghandi and Martin Luther King before him, he knew the power of forgiveness and reconciliation; and that in the long run, love really can conquer all. I feel so blessed to have grown up with these examples of loving and humble service; great men who overcame the bitterness of mistreatment, and turned that darkness into light. I cannot help but to be inspired.
How easy it would have been to respond in like kind to those who robbed him of his freedom and nearly three decades of his life. And who would have blamed him? In fact the African National Congress (ANC), which was founded and headed by Mandela, was most likely looking forward to a little payback for all their suffering at the hands of the white supremacist minority. And who could blame them? For these are human emotions and we are all human beings, with human weaknesses.
And this is where the overcoming takes place. For those great Spiritual Transcendentalists -- like Jesus, like Ghandi, like King -- all knew that, while they no doubt felt these human emotions, acting on them would only produce more bitterness, more resentment, more fear and violence. They knew that combatting violence with violence only creates more violence; and that in order to transcend that hatred and to get to the other side of the situation, only love would suffice. And no ordinary love, but an unconditional and unrelenting Spiritual love, could be the only foundation for a new nation; a new nation worthy of the South African struggle, and the new light of leadership taking hold therein.
I remember watching 'Invictus,' the movie about the triumph of the South African Rugby team in World Cup competition shortly after Mandela was elected President, and being so amazed at how this victory transformed the entire nation, and even changed the way the world looked at South Africa as a result. Perhaps it was a miracle, but Madiba -- as he was affectionately called by his people -- knew that even miracles need a soft place to land. It was not enough to conceive of liberty and to believe in liberty. South Africa needed to be prepared to receive the benefits of a new freedom; and Nelson Mandela prepared his country for just such a miracle to take place, just in case. He prepared them all, black and white, with his own example of loving forgiveness and acceptance.
And perhaps this is the greatest lesson that I have learned: to be prepared to receive. And I must do my part, do what I can do to create the circumstances, provide the fertile soil for my dreams to take root. And then, when the time is right, provide the space for them to take flight.
It is not enough to mourn Madiba, or even to celebrate his life. We must do more than that. We must take up his mantle, his torch, his great work. If we believe in the miracles of mercy, then we must do our part to create them by forgiving, first ourselves, and then one-another. We must all follow his example and choose higher. Choose courage over fear, reaching out over isolation, light over darkness and love over hatred. This is his legacy and our unfinished task.
Many are saying that a light has gone out in the world. I don't think that's true. For Nelson Mandela's physical voyage on earth may be over, but his light will never be extinguished as long as we carry it within each of us. Here, now, today, let your light shine; and don't be afraid or alarmed at your own brightness. Then he, and Ghandi, and King, and all the others will truly live forever -- in the love we share today.
Choose higher.
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