Heroes

Photos from Dreamstime, except Eddie Izzard and book on couch from Getty Images

HOW HEROES FROM HISTORY

(reframing and a miracle)

HELPED SAVE MY LIFE

In high school I did not like history; the dry, uninteresting, rambling monologues by the teachers and seemingly random dates and events—snoozefest. I do remember enjoying my mom and father talking about interesting people from history. Their relating of events added more sparkle and zest to them, but that still was not enough for me to be more interested in history, to be something that I would seek out on my own.

Then in my late 20s I started to have more interest and out of this interest I began to connect people and events to time periods and saw history as more of stories of individuals woven into the context of the larger narrative of what all humans were doing and why might they being doing it. This interest did come at a very necessary time in my life.

I credit me not committing suicide in 1999 and 2000 to three very definite things. During this time, ages 33 and 34, while I had the third recurrence of my depression (blues period 1: ages 12 to 16.5, period 2: ages 29 to 30), clearly there was something else going on with me. I had some pain issues but it was the fatigue, the life-crushing, never-ending fatigue that took away my life as I knew it. Doctors were generally useless in helping me figure out what was wrong with me. At the end of 2001 was eventually diagnosed with fibromyalgia by a rheumatologist who told me point blank that he did not “believe” in fibromyalgia when I handed him an article my mom found in a woman’s magazine that seemed to describe what was going on with me. Leaving his office that day I felt defeated, belittled, and grimmer than ever. I only learned later that he diagnosed me with fibromyalgia because I requested my medical records and there it was, in black and white, he had bestowed upon me the thing that he did not believe existed. (Makes me wonder if I should have gotten a poster of the Loch Ness monster or a Big Foot T-shirt in the package of my medical records.) Subsequently a pain management specialist also diagnosed me with fibromyalgia. I was already moving on with my life at that point and getting more of an acceptable form of diagnosis was all I really wanted. Many lab tests had revealed that whatever was going on with me was not going to kill me (well, I guess not outright, if I was being driven toward suicide by what ailed me then that is not an entirely true statement). I neither wanted nor was I prescribed any pain medication. And at that point I was just learning how to manage my limited energy.

But I only got to the point of figuring out I needed to manage my energy because I did not do the ultimate energy management of killing myself.

Three things seemed to converge to put me on my new path, away from the life I thought I was going to have, to the one that, apparently, I was meant to have.

One was what I consider a miracle. To this day I still remember it vividly. After weeks of great deliberation and consideration I moved deftly from precontemplation through to planning and then to action where I decided I was going to kill myself (good old stages of change, always a good road map; shudder). I was telling my then-partner, Greg, that I had come to this decision. It was my life after all, a life that was not proving itself worth living, and I thought I owed it to him to let him know about my decision. I had prescription tricyclic anti-depressants AND I had two dextrose IV kits, from probably the WWII or Korean War era, with lovely large-bore needles and tubing with which to bleed myself out. Having taken a phlebotomy class, in my former energy-filled life, to enhance my EMT-1 training, I had already been practicing on successfully sticking a vein with some smaller-bore needles I had. I was ready.

I was sitting against the headboard of my bed, a place I often occupied, since there was no point in getting out of bed, and Greg was lying across the bottom of the bed, listening intently to me. It was a very calm night, with no wind nor even a slight breeze. As I was telling Greg he was becoming increasingly upset with my preamble about how my life was not worth living. As soon as the words had crossed my lips and entered into the ethereal plane that I had decided to kill myself, we could hear a tremendous gust of wind as it came from the deep ravine below my house, up the steep canyon, disturbing and stirring the leaf litter and making the tree limbs flail and then it encircled itself around the house, shaking the entire house and setting my sets of windchimes into a frantic, jangly dance that was a pure chaotic cacophony. And as soon as the blast of wind circled completely around my tiny house it stopped and it was as if it had not happened except for the windchimes that were still wildly chiming. The wind coming from the the ravine like that with such force at the precise moment of disclosing my plan to end my life was such a jarring event that it definitely stopped the conversation. Greg’s eyes were as large as saucers and I remember starring intently at him as we both instantly acknowledged that what had happened was The Universe’s input regarding my declaration that I was going to kill myself. That Universal intervention was enough to turn the conversation from the plan of death by my own hand to me deciding to give Greg all the implements so I did not have access to them, which required me getting them out of their hiding places and only giving myself a few days worth of pills. And the long and short of it is obviously I did not kill myself.

The next thing that got me further on the path of not killing myself and getting my life back on track was the concept of reframing [See Tools]—deciding to look at my situation differently and focusing on what I was capable of doing instead of focusing on what I had lost and what I could not do.

The third thing was reading the stories of the people who would become my heroes.

With time to kill (instead of myself) because I was on social security disability and I could not afford cable, and being a voracious and avid reader since childhood, reading books was second nature for me. And my newly found love of history combined with my education and interest in behavioral sciences compelled me to seek out stories told by individuals caught in the currents of what would become historical events.

The first book I read that started to open my brain to the fact that, gee, guess what, many people go through hard, incredibly hard, unimageable circumstances was All But My Life, by Gerda Weissmann Klein. She talks of the Nazi occupation, being forced from her home, being imprisoned in a concentration camp, and then being forced on a death march as the allies were closing in. She also talks about life in a displaced persons’ camp and her life after. Stepping out of my mind, out of my misery, and getting perspective on things (my situation was bad, it was not THAT bad by any means), well, it was nice to look outward and consider the perspective of others instead of my inward gazing into the dark recesses of my mind that was hosting one hell of a pity party. Then I became an insatiable reader, seeking out my heroes, of which there is no shortage. I came to realize I was not being punished for something (and I could never figure out what the hell that might be anyway), I was not the only one to suffer from infidelity, divorce, bankruptcy, near homelessness, poverty, and “disability” that took away the life I knew and made life moving forward extremely difficult. I instead was proud to join the part of humanity that becomes stronger, more resilient, more compassionate, wiser, and more understanding because we have faced difficult times.

So I reframed, and read, and reframed and read and loved my heroes, and counted my blessings and practiced my gratitude for what I did have. And I did not kill myself.

And had I not crafted this new way of thinking about the world and all the challenges, difficulties, and disasters that The Universe brings our way, then I don’t think I would have been prepared for and survived what was to come with having PTSD from my career in Child Protective Services and then complex PTSD from the fire. Who knew that becoming “disabled” would prepare me for worse things? Well, The Universe knew I think. Thanks Universe. And look, I have things to write about!!

I encourage you to seek out your own heroes: find them in books, articles, true to life movies, people you know, admire, and look up to. Listen to their wise words. Learn new ways of thinking from them and learn new things about how the world works (or doesn’t work) for people different from yourself; if that doesn’t expand your mind, I don’t know what will. Receive the lessons and gifts they are bestowing you with their words and actions. Force yourself to think beyond the boundaries of your own mind by walking their path, in their shoes for a bit. I will dare say this bold comment: You will not do well in recovery if you cannot get out of your own head and eventually step away from your own pity party (though I do encourage you to have a pity party; grieve you must, and make it a good one). You must look outside yourself and beyond and engage your brain in different thinking. You must be intentional in your internal processes of engaging in your recovery and that includes also taking the focus away from yourself, when it is time, being other-directed. It means setting all your senses outward and taking in all the good things life can offer you and stimulating your brain and all your senses to help with your brain recovery. This is a tough journey, going through recovery, and it is a conscious choice you have to make. There will be good days and there will be bad days and there will be set backs and regressions. Like all worthy things in life, it takes practice and it does not happen overnight. But as I and my heroes can attest: Life does go on, time heals, things get better, you gain strength, you gain insight. And I hope, like me, that because you have inhabited the darkest of places, when you choose to step into the light of life, it is more fantastic, lusher, deeper, more meaningful, more fascinating, more delicious, more delightful, richer, funnier, less serious, more focused and in the moment—these, Dear Fabulous Reader, are the things that I wish for you.

My Good Hero Book Recommendations

  • All But My Life, by Gerda Weissmann Klein (WWII Nazi occupation and concentration camp experience)

  • My Land and My People: The Original Autobiography of His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet, by the Dalai Lama

  • To Destroy You Is No Loss, by Teeda Butt Mam with Joan Criddle (Family fleeing Khmer Rouge)

  • Life an Death in Shanghai, by Nien Cheng (Life under communist rule in China during the Cultural Revolution)

  • Madonna Swan: A Lakota Woman’s Story, as told through Mark St. Pierre (Overcoming a TB epidemic, poverty, restricted education, poor healthcare)

  • Cat Daddy: What the World’s Most Incorrigible Cat Taught Me About, Life, Love, and Coming Clean, by Jakson Galaxy (I think the title says it all)

  • The Diary of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, by Anne Frank (Do I really need to write a blip about this one?)

  • Believe Me: A Memoir of Love, Death and Jazz Chickens, by Eddie Izzard (Funny and touching account of his life, the death of his mother, being transgender, and reflections on the human condition)

  • The Measure of a Man: A Spiritual Journey, by Sidney Poitier (Autobiography, about his upbringing, the values it instilled in him, and how it served him through his career while breaking racial barriers)

  • Still Me, by Christopher Reeve (About his struggle and outlook on life after the horseback riding accident that left him quadriplegic)

  • South to Bataan, North to Mukden: The Prison Diary of Brigadier General W. E. Brougher, by D. Clayton James, ed. (WWII Pacific theater POW survivor, including the Bataan Death March). Also Baggy Pants and Other Stories, by William Edward Brougher (A collection of his poems and writing written and smuggled out of the POW camp)

  • Paris-Underground, by Etta Shiber (Life in Nazi occupied Paris and her role in the underground)

  • Memories of a Kamikaze: A World War II Pilot’s Inspiring Story of Survival, Honor and Reconciliation, by Kazau Obachi and Alexander Bennett

  • Red Azalea, by Anchee Min (A woman’s personal experiences during the Cultural Revolution)

  • I Never Had It Made, by Jackie Robinson (autobiography, first African American to play major league baseball, his struggles and triumphs)

  • Climbing the Mountain: My Search for Meaning, by Kirk Douglas (A spiritual quest for identity after a severe injury from a helicopter crash and a stroke)

  • So, this is all I got at this point. I know there are more, but at this point I have reached the limits of my pre-fire bookcase pictures that are blurry at best when I try to enlarge them. And my memory is not giving me more when I try to think of my library, where most of my books were. All my books were lost in the fire. Pictures I had of my library are God knows where in storage at this point. Such is my life; but look at what I did remember? And most of these books were read around 20 years ago. So kudos to me!

  • Oooooo, look I remembered more!: Dear Leader: My Escape from North Korea, by Jang Jin-sung

  • Farewell to Manzanar, by Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston and James D. Houston (story of forced relocation and living in a Japanese American interment camp during WWII)

  • Fortunate Son: The Autobiography of Lewis B. Puller, Jr., by Lewis Burwell Puller, Jr. (Puller served in Vietnam where he was critically injured, losing limbs. Spoiler alert: Puller eventually takes his own life, but the life he lived after his injuries is worth reading about)

  • Never Have Your Dog Stuffed and Other Things I’ve Learned, by Alan Alda (dealing with his mother’s mental illness as a child and other interesting bits from his life that made him who is)

  • The Beauty of Dusk, On Vision Lost and Found, by Frank Bruni (I am currently reading this most awesome book about Mr. Bruni dealing with vision issues that could eventually leave him blind and how his perspective, humor, ability to reframe, and be a curious participant in his ordeal have helped him through)

About My Good Hero Book Recommendations & Are You Having Difficulty Reading?

There are a lot of books to read about people’s personal accounts of how they overcame some personal adversity or tragic event. My list is admittedly skewed for a couple of reasons. I am drawn to early to mid-20th century history, especially World War Two. Even though my profession was social services, I shied away from (no, let’s be honest—I intentionally completely avoided) books about child abuse, substance abuse, sex trafficking, domestic violence, or anything that I would encounter in my daily work, as I got more than enough exposure there of those “stories” and moments as they unfolded in real time.

Heroes are to be found everywhere, including amongst the clients I worked with. I was blessed to work with some amazing clients who allowed me to go with them to the deepest, darkest places in their lives and then to walk their path with them as they overcame such extraordinary circumstances, often with grace and humor. I love coming across articles in the newspaper or hearing about people who are making the best out of bad circumstances.

But there is something for me about reading a book. A book is longer, goes into great detail, and takes one on a journey with depth. A compelling book can take you out of your own headspace, a place that too often is filled with only your own misery and despair. A book can help one look beyond yourself, gain some much-needed insight about what it takes to overcome something. I can only tell you, Fabulous Reader, that reading these books helped me immensely. If you don’t read these, please find other books to pull your focus from the inside to the outside world and look to others to know you are not alone in your journey trying to figure out this thing called Life.

I think it is fair here to mention if due to your mental health muddle you are finding it difficult to read. As I have mentioned, I have been a voracious reader since childhood, but after the fire I found I could not read books anymore. I could not concentrate enough. It took about 1.5 years after the fire for me to be able to sit and read books. I only had about six months of that pleasure then bad neighbors moved next door to my new “forever” home and destroyed my peace and sent my PTSD into overdrive and ultimately that is why I now live in another state. The fallout from being destabilized (again), only 21 months after the fire, has found me unable to read books yet again. I have every bit of faith that my ability to be able to sit and read books and enjoy it will return (again).

I was so relieved when I ran across this article (I can read articles and am more successful than not in getting through them), Grief Stole My Love of Reading. Here’s How I Got It Back, by Tish Harrison Warren, February 20, 2022, in the New York Times.

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/20/opinion/reading-grief.html?referringSource=articleShare

Here is an excerpt from the article, put so poignantly by Ms. Warren, and it is like she was living my life: “So in 2017, when I already felt weighed down by grief, the loss of reading was a particularly sad defeat. I could still go through the motions. I could open a book and stare at its pages. But I couldn’t concentrate. My eyes floated on the page like a castaway adrift. I couldn’t sit still. Every few minutes, I’d pop out of my chair and get busy with something else. I’d return to the page unable to remember what I had just read.” Reading that made me feel a little less stupid (because I was feeling stupid when I could not read) and no longer alone with this particular part of my PTSD.

I would hate to recommend you reading books as part of your recovery and you are not able to and this might compound your grief, anxiety, or feelings about yourself. Remember, at this point I can’t read (again) yet either! This is a process Fabulous Reader, be patient with yourself!