I live in a nightmare of daily worry and torment. Someone I love deeply, who shall remain anonymous, struggles with daily physical and mental torment that daily makes this person want to die. I struggle with my own demons, my own issues. But, always, alongside this is a daily shadow of my loved ones' struggle. This darkness is deep as often it seems there is no hope. The drugs that are out there don't help and life for this person becomes a monthly stream of trying new ones and then going through awful withdrawals to get off of them when they do not work. I get angry when I see articles about people with mental illness that say that 'there is treatment out there'. Is there? For some, it doesn't seem that there is. I know that my loved one's struggle is the struggle of millions and my struggle is the struggle of millions of loved ones. Knowing we are not alone doesn't make it any easier.
Our system is woefully broken for these people. All of us should have the chance to live and thrive. But, for some of us, that dream seems impossible. Seeing dreams of the future slowly fade away is heartbreaking for our loved ones and those around them. We see little options that haven't been tried. Seeing someone's main aspiration in life become living without unrelenting chronic pain, sleeping through the night and just being able to have a day of feeling at least somewhat o.k seems so minimal, so sad for someone who has so much to offer this world. But, everywhere we turn there are dead ends. People tell us to act on behalf of our loved one, but they do not know how few the options are, how many have been tried and how many have failed. They do not understand why the person cannot just get a job or go to school or live independently. Our loved ones do not have the external image of someone with a severe developmental disability, but their disability is just as profound. And for them, the options are fewer.
Other countries have more expanded options for people with mental health issues. The Open Dialogue model in Finland is one that has proven success with less pharmaceutical intervention. Our pharmaceutical lobby is so powerful that we often destroy the lives of people with mental health issues, treating them like guinea pigs when there are other interventions available that are never tried. Some medications are literally disabling, especially with long term use. Community supports are often few. People are often isolated in a peer group where they see the same issues all around them and learn helplessness. Programs are punitive to ensure 'medication compliance. Mental health 'professionals' and doctors minimize the effect of withdrawal from psychiatric medications in spite of evidence to the contrary. It is no surprise that in our country, there is a suicide every 13 minutes.
My loved one and I live this daily nightmare with no hope in sight. There are thousands out there experiencing the same nightmare. I wish I had a magic wand to take away my loved ones' pain. To fix everything so that she could blossom and grow and give to this world. But, I don't. And the extreme helplessness I feel follows me around like a demon. There has to be hope out there somewhere and we all must struggle on to find a better way.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Our Beloved Cabin
Some of my earliest memories are at our family cabin at Bear Lake in Laketown, Utah. I remember driving to Bear Lake in my grandpa's truck, happy to be close to him and excited to get to the lake. I remember family gatherings that were sometimes fun and sometimes erupted into giant family fights. I remember playing in the lake with my close childhood friend and hanging out in the bedrooms upstairs. I remember playing endless games of Yahtzee with my dad. I remember Rotten Relative with my family when I was little and later Apples to Apples, Poker, and Nickels with my own kids, niece, and nephews. I remember hanging out on the patio with my best friend, one of the last times I saw her, and how she said that here at the lake she could actually sleep through the night without the daily torment of nightmares that were plaguing her. I remember the last time I saw my grandma, Lucille, sitting at the lake in the living room, telling me that I deserved more than the man I was with and that she didn't want to see me hurt. I didn't listen, but I will never forget that last visit.
When my grandparents died, the cabin was inherited by their kids. I always assumed it would be something around for all of us to enjoy and eventually, inherited by all of us grandkids to pass on to our kids and grandkids. However, many years ago, my uncle, the youngest sibling in the family, took ownership for a variety of reasons. This changed the flavor of the cabin, as it was no longer 'ours'. However, we still had the great privilege of spending summer vacations there. Things were never easy with this situation, but at least we could still share this amazing place with our families. Last summer, my uncle decided to completely demolish the old cabin and re-build it and turn it into a rental cottage.
This cabin was built by my grandpa as a gathering place for family and friends. A cabin, that over the years, had fallen into some disrepair. A cabin that my kids also had as a constant in their life throughout their entire childhoods. Perhaps most importantly, the walls of this cabin held the memories and love of my beloved grandparents.
It was my sanctuary. During my teen years when life was dark and bleak, I still found comfort, peace and sometimes even joy here. When my oldest daughter, now 22, was a baby, it was the place I recovered from the horrible abusive nightmare that I had suffered during my pregnancy with her. It was the place that same daughter wandered around for hours with her cousin catching snakes and swimming. When my youngest was born, it was the place where she solidified her lifelong friendship with her beloved cousin, where they laughed, swam, fought, and made fun of their weird relatives. This place was also my girls refuge when things in their life were difficult.
After both of my grandparent's died, it was a place that I always felt that connection with them. Cooking in the kitchen, I remembered my grandma teaching me to make aebleskivers. In these walls, I sensed her abiding love for me and her inspiration in my life. Sitting in the living room, I remembered sitting with my grandpa and him telling me stories of the Bear Lake monster and just sitting quietly with the love that he gave me so unconditionally. And later, after my dad died, I remembered being there with him. Even the day, me, my sister and him spent snaking out the sewer was a cherished memory of bonding. I remember his diligent care of the cabin, long after he and my mom divorced, just because he knew what it meant to all of us. These walls held all these memories of my beloved friends and family and marked the passage of time with deaths, births, aging, and building enduring family relationships.
My partner and I went on a road trip last summer and decided to swing by and see what the new cabin looked like. I was unprepared for how much pain this would cause me. We drove up and it was all gone, something new being built in it's place. As we walked around the property, we saw that the concrete tile pathway was gone, as was the fire pit and the old patio. Absolutely everything was different. My grandpa's labor of love that he hoped would be shared for generations was completely gone. Taking it's place was a modern upscale house that would now be prime lakefront rental property. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. The walls that held the memories of my beloved grandparents were completely demolished. The path we walked down, the fire pit we sat by and everything that was our family cabin was gone. Heading away from the lake towards our last stop of the trip, my old hometown, I sobbed.
Seeing the cabin completely destroyed hit me almost as hard as the deaths of some of my most beloved people. I realized how important a sense of place and shared memories were to my family and I. And I realized that we had suffered a very deep loss. As my youngest daughter pointed out, the place, the lake and the land are still there for us to enjoy, feel the presence of our departed loved ones, cherish our memories and make new ones. But, it does not take away the pain of this loss of my place of refuge and my daughters' place of love and laughter. Everything changes in this world. People die, family houses and cabins are sold, demolished and destroyed. Yes, it is a loss that I should eventually accept, but for now, I will feel the pain because losing this place has ripped away a part of my heart. I will hold on to the memories of family and will not forget this place my grandpa built with his blood, sweat and tears for all of us to enjoy for generations. Goodbye beloved cabin. We will miss you deeply.
When my grandparents died, the cabin was inherited by their kids. I always assumed it would be something around for all of us to enjoy and eventually, inherited by all of us grandkids to pass on to our kids and grandkids. However, many years ago, my uncle, the youngest sibling in the family, took ownership for a variety of reasons. This changed the flavor of the cabin, as it was no longer 'ours'. However, we still had the great privilege of spending summer vacations there. Things were never easy with this situation, but at least we could still share this amazing place with our families. Last summer, my uncle decided to completely demolish the old cabin and re-build it and turn it into a rental cottage.
This cabin was built by my grandpa as a gathering place for family and friends. A cabin, that over the years, had fallen into some disrepair. A cabin that my kids also had as a constant in their life throughout their entire childhoods. Perhaps most importantly, the walls of this cabin held the memories and love of my beloved grandparents.
It was my sanctuary. During my teen years when life was dark and bleak, I still found comfort, peace and sometimes even joy here. When my oldest daughter, now 22, was a baby, it was the place I recovered from the horrible abusive nightmare that I had suffered during my pregnancy with her. It was the place that same daughter wandered around for hours with her cousin catching snakes and swimming. When my youngest was born, it was the place where she solidified her lifelong friendship with her beloved cousin, where they laughed, swam, fought, and made fun of their weird relatives. This place was also my girls refuge when things in their life were difficult.
After both of my grandparent's died, it was a place that I always felt that connection with them. Cooking in the kitchen, I remembered my grandma teaching me to make aebleskivers. In these walls, I sensed her abiding love for me and her inspiration in my life. Sitting in the living room, I remembered sitting with my grandpa and him telling me stories of the Bear Lake monster and just sitting quietly with the love that he gave me so unconditionally. And later, after my dad died, I remembered being there with him. Even the day, me, my sister and him spent snaking out the sewer was a cherished memory of bonding. I remember his diligent care of the cabin, long after he and my mom divorced, just because he knew what it meant to all of us. These walls held all these memories of my beloved friends and family and marked the passage of time with deaths, births, aging, and building enduring family relationships.
My partner and I went on a road trip last summer and decided to swing by and see what the new cabin looked like. I was unprepared for how much pain this would cause me. We drove up and it was all gone, something new being built in it's place. As we walked around the property, we saw that the concrete tile pathway was gone, as was the fire pit and the old patio. Absolutely everything was different. My grandpa's labor of love that he hoped would be shared for generations was completely gone. Taking it's place was a modern upscale house that would now be prime lakefront rental property. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. The walls that held the memories of my beloved grandparents were completely demolished. The path we walked down, the fire pit we sat by and everything that was our family cabin was gone. Heading away from the lake towards our last stop of the trip, my old hometown, I sobbed.
Seeing the cabin completely destroyed hit me almost as hard as the deaths of some of my most beloved people. I realized how important a sense of place and shared memories were to my family and I. And I realized that we had suffered a very deep loss. As my youngest daughter pointed out, the place, the lake and the land are still there for us to enjoy, feel the presence of our departed loved ones, cherish our memories and make new ones. But, it does not take away the pain of this loss of my place of refuge and my daughters' place of love and laughter. Everything changes in this world. People die, family houses and cabins are sold, demolished and destroyed. Yes, it is a loss that I should eventually accept, but for now, I will feel the pain because losing this place has ripped away a part of my heart. I will hold on to the memories of family and will not forget this place my grandpa built with his blood, sweat and tears for all of us to enjoy for generations. Goodbye beloved cabin. We will miss you deeply.
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