Sensory Integration

Epiphany in the sauna! Rae and Sarah do a lot of communicating in there, and Rae was telling Sarah how much she appreciated her work with Doug and just her insistence that something needed to be done to figure out a bit of a solution to the the work stress problem. Having 15 minutes of lights out, very quiet time in the middle of the day to breathe and look out the window and feel and watch the stream go by with so many leaves in it, floating and moving, relaxing.....is going to make a huge, positive difference in System Management.

The epiphany was that sensory integration and emotional integration are very, very intimately connected.

Sarah gets easily overwhelmed by both emotions and sensory input. Too much sensory input, and all the energy of the system has to go into overdrive to make sense of it all, as well as determine what input can be dismissed and what input must be addressed and what input is pleasant, dangerous, tolerable, etc. If Sarah has access to too much sensory input, she gets frustrated because everyone else in the system can, for the most part, integrate it quickly and efficiently and move on. She can't. Also, if any of the inputs are potentially dangerous Sarah's frustration quickly becomes rage and then not only is she overwhelmed, the whole system is overwhelmed. To make matters more complicated, if any event has happened (and by event we mean anything from a comment of a co-worker in passing, to a joke over heard, to a touch, to a triggering word...anything) that might potentially be dangerous, Sarah's energy is spent dealing with the overwhelming fear and shame and panic and rage which easily spills into the rest of the system and then the rest of the system has to work to function appropriately under the looming shadow of threat and chaos and disaster.

We don't quite understand this intimate connection of sensory and emotional integration yet, we just know that it's very important to explore both the connection and the role sense plays in the functioning of the system. Dealing with sensory integration does not seem scary or overwhelming, it seems exciting and doable and brings hope to everyone - even Sarah. In fact, suddenly, the system is quite motivated to seek weekly, controlled input and professional help in the form of massage one week, followed by acupuncture another (the dude does some great reiki and burns incense and plays soft music and there is candlelight), followed by the goofy chiro the next week.....

I dreamed last night about this. I dreamed I went to my psychiatrist with this epiphany and explained it to him. He was distant and withdrawn, with dark circles under his eyes. After trying unsuccessfully to connect with him, I asked him if something was wrong. He said "yes" and proceeded to rape me. He couldn't get an erection, so he did it with his fingers, while choking and hitting me in the face.

Fluff Balls, Death, Shame, and Forgiveness

Laying in bed, thinking about my kids, I began to feel stuff. So I continued, since my therapist said I need to feel stuff sometimes. I had fond memories of their childhoods, and fond memories of recent times, and hopeful feelings about their futures. I cried a little, thinking of how close we were and how warm it feels to be close to them. My thoughts moved to family in general, and how I love my family. Dad came to mind, and I missed him and felt sad about his death. I cried some more, all mixed up with loving feelings, sad feelings, and close feelings. Then I thought about Luke and his plans to meet his brother next summer. It's a huge thought, because not only is Luke going to meet a brother he didn't know he had, but he is the one who planned the visit. Here's the hugest part - he will also be seeing his dad who lives a block down from his brother.... a dad he hasn't seen since he was 6. I wondered, as I lay there, if my dad's death so recently was a catalyst for this. Luke had a lot of feelings himself during the days surrounding the funeral. Suddenly, I was overcome with shame as I realized that there were two sides to the story of my resentment harbored from funeral day. I realized that not only was Luke not "there" for me on that day, but I wasn't "there" for him either and he was in his own kind of turmoil. I suppose such a realization might not seem momentous, but for me it was. In a flash I had empathy, understanding, regret, forgiveness, and then FEAR and SHAME. I saw the panic coming, and for a moment even thought that I should try to stop the emotional overload, but then it was upon me and I was drowning under it and I cried and screamed. Luke came into my room and held my hand. I couldn't verbalize what had happened. I still don't understand why it turned to fear and shame and I panicked.

Switch gears with me.

Shortly after my dad died, my little dog of 16 years died. He was an emotional basket case, for the most part. He was nervous all the time. I loved him dearly and enabled his maladjustment. I felt sorry for him. I did not ever expect him to overcome his deep emotional issues (most certainly from abuse - he has always been afraid of men and was abandoned as a pup.) That's how some parts of me perceive other parts of me. With pity.

I have a German Shepherd as well, who came to me only a few years ago. She is stoic and smart and nosy. She and the little dog never bonded closely and remained aloof. I have never quite figured her out, but I know I expect a lot of her. I never planned to love her, she was supposed to be an outside guard dog. She currently is snoring on my couch, and I do love her. I don't feel sorry for her, but rather proud of her as she has moved from home to home which is particularly hard on a Shepherd and yet has bonded with our family and is content. She has overcome much, excelled in her capacity as "dog," and in her declining years continues to do her jobs for me - protecting, grounding, and keeping me company. That's how parts of me feel about parts of me. Proud, with high expectations.

Recently, a new little fluff ball joined the family. He is boisterous, cheerful, wanting to please, smart, funny, adorable, and joyous. He is also resilient. I am amazed at his resiliency. I see it when he is denied something he wants.... he asks, he asks again, he goes for it, and then he accepts the outcome and moves on. He does this all the time. He is intensely interested in a bone, for instance, that the Shep has. I won't let him take it, and in moments he rolls over on his back, runs for a doggie toy, and plays. We spent weeks together this summer, getting to know each other and bonding. When I had to return to work, he stayed with the Shep all day in the entryway of the house. When I got home, he was cheerful, energetic, and loving. He adapted to the routine with little stress. He's so cute and lovable and good natured I am constantly amazed.

At one point I became distraught over a belief that I could never measure up to what this little guy deserved in life. This belief brought on shame. I tried to trace the path of this shame. It's unclear, but goes something like this:

1.He is sweet and innocent and accepting and curious and wonderful.
2. I will never be able to give him the care and love he deserves.
3. What if he doesn't get the care and love he deserves?
4. How could anyone hurt such a sweet little thing?
5. No one is hurting him.
6. He's obviously not hurting because he is so full of joy.
7. He's so full of joy, how can I ever give him the care and love he deserves?
8. I don't deserve such sweetness.
9. He deserves so much more than I can give him.
10. Is he hurting? How would I know?

This is how some parts of me perceive some parts of me. It makes my stomach hurt and it makes me dizzy. I don't understand it, so I have to turn it off.

Opportunity Cost

Sitting in an economics class, listening to passionate discourse about the role of cost-benefit analysis and opportunity cost in forming economic policy, noticing the salt and pepper beard's motion and the sexy laugh lines around his eyes. I turn my head ever so slightly to move my gaze out the window and start performing my own little cost-benefit exercise quietly in my mind. Prowler gave a cold and accurate summation of his opportunity cost analysis regarding suicide to Dr. Sudak once. She was discussing some health action or another, I can't remember exactly what, and said "If it helps, do it! I mean, the alternative  right now might be suicide and what good does that do anybody!?" I think she meant it to be a rhetorical question, but that kind of assumption is only made by people untouched by suicide. Prowler looked her straight in the eyes and said "What good? Suicide is ultimately an effective way to end the pain."

But other respected professionals argue the opportunity cost analysis to be more three-dimensional, and we, as a system, get that. So what are the benefits of suicide?
1. effectively end pain and suffering
2.
3.

I can't think of any others. What are the costs of suicide?
1. The years unlived, which might have been meaningful but most definitely would have included pain.
2.
3.

I once did an activity with my students, trying to get them to understand economic opportunity cost analysis. I had a tray of "prizes" and asked for 10 volunteers to come up in front of the class. I started at the front of the line and held out the tray and told them each in turn to choose a prize, any prize, no strings attached. The prizes were jolly ranchers, mechanical pencils, stickers, post-it notes, and extra credit coupons. You could watch the students' faces quickly calculate the cost-benefit of the items, especially as the tray got to them and their choices might have changed due to the first students' choices. Every now and then a student would exclaim "Darn! I wanted that!" as the last jolly rancher was chosen, or "I got what I wanted!" if the pencil they wanted remained. Once all students had a prize, I asked the first student, who chose a jolly rancher, what the cost of the jolly rancher was to them.

 "Nothing."

I dug deeper. "Jolly Ranchers are free?"

"Well, no, maybe a couple cents."

"So, you paid a couple cents for that?"

"No! I didn't pay anything. It was free."

"Anyone have a different idea of what the Jolly Rancher cost Johnny?" I asked the class. No one had any ideas. They were engaged....I do this kind of thing a lot, ask questions and they try to figure out the 'right' answer and so often I have a little surprise at the end of it all. It's a fun and effective way to teach a concept, almost a kind of game, and they like it.

"So," I ask Johnny, "why did you pick the Jolly Rancher and not the mechanical pencil? Sue was fourth in line and she grabbed the pencil and was happy about it."

Johnny had a quick answer. "I don't need a mechanical pencil. I don't need anything in the tray, but I wanted a Jolly Rancher so I took it."

"Sue, why did you take the mechanical pencil?"

"I just lost mine this morning. And I like pink. I hate Jolly Ranchers and I have an "A" in this class so the extra credit was pointless."

"What did the pencil cost you, Sue?"

"Nothing. It was free. You gave it to me."

Someone from the class blurts (I'm ok with "participatory blurts") "The pencil cost the other stuff in the tray."

Bingo! That's the concept. I went on to explain that the cost of the Jolly Rancher to Johnny was the post-it notes, or the mechanical pencil, or the extra credit points. He made a choice based on his needs and wants. His opportunity cost was different from Sue's, who also made a choice based on needs and wants. Sue needed something different than Johnny, and so her cost-benefit analysis was based on that.

What does this have to do with suicide? Suicide is a deeply personal decision, and as such most likely confounds the individual who has no need for it or who has a life framework from which to operate that doesn't include suicide as a choice 'in the tray of prizes' so to speak. But suicide is in my tray. It's got a neon sign over it, with red arrows flashing on it. The other choices are dim comparatively. I can't think of why I would need or want extra years....The cost of suicide is unclear. Perhaps there is meaning in the future, perhaps some laughs, some children's lives improved as they enjoy a class....I'm glad my family and friends find me worthy of life, find some benefit in being around me, but that is their choice. The cost of suicide to me, personally, is years unlived and those years may or may not be meaningful/joyful/peaceful. The benefit of suicide is most succinctly stated by Prowler, an effective end to suffering. It's beautiful in its simplicity, and as far as I'm concerned unarguable. The other choices in the prize tray have held promise over the years - psychological treatment, psychiatric treatment, Buddhism, sex, drugs, dissociation. But either their effectiveness has waned or their cost has become too high. When Sue lost her pencil, getting another one was her dominant need. When I suffer psychological pain, ending the suffering is mine.

The psychiatrist I spoke with during a recent hospitalization once said "Take pictures of yourself happy. Take video of yourself having fun and laughing. Watch them when you are suicidal. Depression sucks a person in and they feel that suffering has always been and always will be. But despite how it feels, it's not true. I hate to see a depressed person kill themself when relief is a day away." I guess he was trying to add 'hope' to the prize tray. What's the cost of hope? Endless suffering.....endless suffering is the cost of hope.

Trust

A doctor stands over a trauma patient, unsure of what the exact wounds are. They have been covered in layers of bandages, scabs, scars, and dried blood. To know how to heal the patient, the doctor has to remove bandages, move limbs, ask questions. It's a nearly impossible task, as he doesn't know for sure which bandages will come off easily and which ones will tear away vital scabs causing bleeding, possible fatal bleeding. The patient, sometimes conscious, sometimes not, can only effectively answer a part of the time. Other questions are lost in the pain of old wounds made fresh, broken limbs moved so that the nerves are all pinched, and terror in the face of death.

I'm trying to answer your questions. Your words are the touches of the doctor, and almost every word hurts. I'm so raw even your glance feels like a stab in my soul. It feels like a violation.

I hear your explanation to those around me, the explanation about how Luke didn't mean to tear open the wounds. I hear you explain that the intention is not to violate or abandon. What difference does it make, what his intention is, if it feels like violation and abandonment? The guy who carried the trauma patient into the ER to the doctor didn't mean to hurt the patient, but in his amateur handling he caused so much more pain, opened old wounds, it might as well have been the original trauma. So what difference does his intention make to the suffering of the patient?

You discuss hope, share a vision of what tomorrow might feel like, and next week, possibly next month. You ask me to trust you in so many words. I do. We all do, except LA. What you're asking feels like a violation to her. In order to heal, that bandage has to be taken off and it causes bleeding just to move the bandage, just to touch the bandage. Your words are the doctor's touch, and LA is the patient. The bleeding might be fatal. It feels that way. To her, it seems there are only two choices - violation or abandonment. She cannot make the choice so we make it for her - we will always choose violation and we always have. Your words feel like violation. To trust you feels like you're violating us. I don't know how our action (to trust) can feel like you're taking an action (violation).

I hate that I trust you.

Stuck Gate

There's a gate swinging back and forth. When is it open, when is it shut? I hate when it gets stuck, stops swinging. I fucking hate it. It's like that when the System is tired. We're emotional conjoined twins/triplets/whatever, and when we have energy we're balanced. The gate is swinging. We have time to check in. We have time to feel things. We all have time to "be" and with a swinging gate Rae and Sarah and Amanda and Prowler and L.A. all have a sense of what each other is going through - like the breeze created by a swinging gate and the breeze that keeps it swinging. Stress triggers a physical meltdown - fibromyalgia? And we get tired. The gate stops swinging because all the wind, all the air, all the energy is channeled to Rae so that "the System" can function. But it's not "the System" that is functioning, it's Rae. Imagine conjoined twins, sharing blood. If "one" of the twins starts getting most of the blood because that twin needs it to complete some kind of task, well, the other twin is going to get weak. But they share the fucking blood! So in the end, both twins are weak. That kind of system isn't going to work well if both don't get what they need, no matter how much more useful the one is. You can't starve a conjoined twin and expect the other to live.

So Rae gets depressed when the gate stops swinging and she has to do all the work. You'd think she's like it, but she doesn't. She doesn't because as she uses up all that energy to complete the tasks at hand, the rest of the System is dying. As the rest of the System dies, so does she. She knows how to behave, for fuck's sake, but without Sarah and Amanda and L.A. it's fake and thin and stupid and breathless. It's a hot, oppressive, summer day without air. Without the swinging gate, it's worthless.

If we can't un-stick the gate, life isn't worth living. I don't kill myself because who knows if the Buddhists are right with their reincarnation bull shit, or if the Catholics are right about suicides going to hell. I hope the fucking atheists are right, that after death there is nothing. If we can't un-stick the gate, it doesn't matter if I am seeking death to find relief or change or some such nonsense. If we can't, the System is dead. If the gate doesn't swing, it's pointless for Rae to smile and work, she'll suffocate anyway. Suffocation makes for desperation. Desperate people do desperate things. Suicide is an act of desperation. I'd roll those fucking dice and hope the atheists are right not because I want some kind of change. So fuck you for thinking that. I'd roll those fucking dice because I'm suffocating anyway, the System is dying. Slow, painful, suffocation, conjoined twins watching each other die, a stuck gate......it's worth speeding up the process and risk hell or reincarnation. It's worth it because the atheists might be right.