This I Believe

After much soul searching and thought, I have decided to write about something that occurred in my life many years ago. This "thing" that happened influenced or effected every facet of my life, how I have chosen to live it now, my attitudes and perspectives on God, basically everything.

I was still quite young when I moved out of my parents' home and in with my grandmother, who was helping me make the transition from perpetual teenager to adult. I lived with her for three months before moving into temporary housing provided for single women by my employer, as I found full-time work within that amount of time. It was after moving out that I began to seek the fellowship of other Christians, although it had been sometime since I had attended any church on a regular basis. I was very young, frightened of life in general, very naive and vulnerable. Initially things went well and, although I had some difficulties due to issues I had not dealt with from my past, I found a room mate and moved into the apartment she had been living in for some time prior to our meeting one another through another young woman from the church I attended. We each attended different churches, but things seemed to be on a fairly even keel. She was older than I was and worked odd hours at the local hospital as a nurse.

To say I was ill prepared to be out on my own would be an understatement. My Dad had tried to teach me some useful skills he thought I might need living on my own so I knew how to use a hammer and screwdriver, unstop a toilet, plus a few other basics that have become lost in my memory somewhere. (Changing tires and putting oil in the car would come after I actually had a car.) It was not in the manual skills area then, for which I was so ill prepared, it was in the taking care of my mental health, the knowing how to make friends, to form and pursue new interests, to develop hobbies, all of the things my parents had helped me with my entire life until that point and, for whatever reason, I was paralyzed when it came to getting out and having fun.

My room mate, God bless her, realized that for a young person in a college town I spent an awful lot of time alone at home. Yes, I read and watched TV, kept up with the news for the most part, called relatives and former friends and tried to keep in touch. I also joined a small bible study group from the church I was trying so hard to fit into that met regularly each week and I would, with my room mate's consent, even host that group every so often on the night during the week that we usually met.

I was hardly a hermit but I lived like a little old lady, afraid to take too many steps into a large and threatening world. My room mate decided to take action and, as a result of her caring and concern, we spent many very enjoyable hours going to interesting restaurants, museums, on hikes, out canoeing, and spending one lovely weekend at her parents' house on Jenny Lake in upstate New York. I hold her responsible for helping a very depressed young woman see enough value in living life that it helped keep her from attempting suicide many years later during a nervous breakdown.

Probably due to problems resulting from depression, things did not stay pleasant very long in the church I was attending. Relationships I had hoped would last tattered and dissolved into the storm of every day life, which merely added to the burden of my mental state. No matter how hard I tried, I felt I was not "getting it right" and so fell into a deeper and deeper pit so firmly entrenched in my own mind I thought it was "normal." I will always remember what it was like to be in a roomful of other people, all feeling extremely close to one another at some special moment, and feeling almost completely isolated; seperate and strange, like I did not belong there or anywhere else. In retrospect I find it odd that I should have been so severely depressed in that my parents did not kick me out of the house, I moved out because I wanted to and, with my grandmother's help, was able to do just that in a reasonable amount of time. I had not been beaten or neglected as a child, I was not physically ill, there was little, I thought during that time, to have contributed to the depth and intensity of depression I felt all the time. What was so wrong in my life that I was almost drowning in a misery I was very hard pressed to even begin communicating to anyone else with any degree of success?

Again, in retrospect, I can now understand many of the issues that directly contributed to the state I was in as well as not being an individual who was well suited to living in the "real" world when I had spent the better part of my teenage years peopling my mind with heroes and kind strangers who were always welcoming and loving. Perhaps, when thinking about the mental illness of my brother, and then my own, it was the difference in our fantasies that made such a difference in the outcome of our lives as we matured into adults.

For Mike, the world was a place of monsters and enemies and he spent much of his time dodging snow plows in the winter or wandering down almost deserted roads as it was starting to snow. If it were not for the vigilance of several police officers I am convinced Mike would have died of exposure at a very young age. Knowing all of this about my brother added fuel to the deadness in my soul and mind, of course, but also illustrates to me that, because I was continually seeking hope or even a reason for hope, and poor Mike was always on the defensive against the forces he felt were trying to kill him - primarily generated by the types of fantasies/delusions he experienced - I have been able to come to this place where, though not perfect, I survive and even thrive once in a while while Mike is still trapped by his own mind - forever a prisoner of those ferocious and frightening fantasies.

I have a boyfriend and our cats, my father and step-mother, my grandmother and two sisters, and my niece and nephew to appreciate. I have good and thoughtful friends and I am better able to be a friend now than I was all those years ago when I first moved out on my own. Most of these things, however, were not at the forefront of my thoughts at that time, and many were buried so deeply, locked where I could not access or understand them or confide them in anyone, as they made their painful contributions to my life. I do not believe that I would have had a nervous breakdown of the intensity and trauma of the one I experienced had it not been due to the combined effect of pressures and trials from all three areas that then made up my entire life; family, church, and work.

Although there were some very fickle "Christians" in the mix I had been cared for by too many genuinely concerned friends and that helped negate the effects of the "bad" acquaintances.

Loving someone, whether you are able to persist through the emotionally draining and frustrating experiences of being a friend to a mentally ill person or not, really does make a significant difference in the life of such an individual, provided they are able to overcome their difficulties and survive the many attempts their own hearts and minds continuously make upon their lives. Depression is a self-destruction that persists within someone's mind and heart often despite, and always at odds with, every effort to the contrary from friends and family. It is only when an individual is able to say to themselves, "Enough!" that the true rewards for all of the love and heartaches so willingly given as long as possible, by the many people willing to do so, that the true results of such efforts can be seen.

I wish I could let the many people who loved me and tried so hard to believe in me know, today, how very grateful I am that God brought them into my life - even the ones who do not believe in God - and that I know with every fiber of my being that I would not be here today if it were not for each of them and the love and attention they gave me, although they probably ended up so burnt out, so disillusioned, so weary, that they could not imagine the day would come when I was able to be a friend who was capable of truly giving and not just continue being a basket case who seemed unable to return any of the love given to me. Well, guess what? Your love and efforts worked, here I am, and I hope you somehow find my blog and get to read this, so you will know. (P.S. I love you - still.)

Despite the pseudo-Chrisians that were living in the midst of the true believers in the church I attended, despite the indifference and spite of many others of those same believers, despite the gossip and unrealistic, unreasonable demands made by certain people I was supposed to be able to trust utterly, despite my family's trials and despairs over our own problems and losses, despite my own personal faults and failures, I have survived and continue to do so, with a great deal of satisfaction, thank you.

I am going to include a list from that time ("naughty" and "nice") of peoples' first names in the hopes they may someday happen across this rather humble little spot and finally know how very grateful I am to them and how very much I miss them and still care for them, or to the contrary :-)

"Nice"
Monie
Bob and Sharon (despite everything)
Debbie and Eric (because you dared and cared)
Robin (my former room mate)
Debby (who saved me from the skunk)
Erika (who went canoeing with us)
Nancy and Shannon and the two boys
Lee and Greg
Carol (who collected stamps)
Teri
Bob (who talked to me about sushi) and Lynn
- all the others whose names and faces have faded over the ensuing years, but whose souls still shine brightly and continue to light my way

"Naughty"
John (who should have known better than to ask someone to do the things you expected of me - Shame on you!)
Marie and Betsy (who were never really my friends)
Marina (who was a troubled soul in her own right)
Laura (who was also troubled but drew me a beautiful Christmas card one year)
Karen (who had a very hard time, too)
- and all of the creeps who said one thing and then did another to me despite what they continued to profess afterwards - Shame!)

I really hope everybody on both of my lists is well and happy - well, maybe not that happy for the "naughty" list - and I certainly do not wish any of them any evil or pain in their lives although life, being what it is, provides those things despite best wishes and efforts.

There is still so much to tell about those years but it has to wait for the resurfacing of old memories and my ability to find some way to express it all appropriately before it can be told. Until then, the tales are silent and the pen paralyzed in a haze of forgetfulness and the desire to, finally, leave all of this permanently behind.