grief

a murder

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you want to commit a murder
the Grief inside you has grown a body
it breathes
it eats
it shits
it bites
Grief is so alive now
its name is capitalized
this Grief that is alive
this living hellish Grief must die
you want to smother Grief in its bed at night
you want to smother Grief with your favorite pillow
when the dreams come to haunt you
and Grief stirs awake
you want to shove Grief off the freeway overpass
watch Grief splatter in the oncoming traffic
while your favorite song comes on the radio
goodbye Grief
you want to see Grief jump off the tallest building
you want to feed Grief to the wolves at the zoo
you want to starve Grief in a box at Christmas
you want to choke Grief with a child’s hair ribbon
you want to commit a murder

– from Grief Song

Overwhelming emotions

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One of the things I experienced, especially in the early days of grief, was being overwhelmed with emotions. The pain was so real and so strong, it would frequently keep me from functioning in my day-to-day life. Gut-wrenching crying. Breath-taking horror. I felt like all of my emotional responses were turned up ten-fold. Or maybe 100-fold. I tried to get my emotions under control, but nothing seemed to work. I would just end up bottling them up, only for them to explode out later, even stronger. I was a mess, and in so much pain.

A friend who’s a professional therapist, suggested I try a technique she’d been teaching for many years. Mindfulness. I thought she was asking me to meditate or to somehow focus on the pain. It sounded too simplistic to actually be effective. But as I came to understand Mindfulness as she intended, I found it helped tremendously. Your mileage may vary, but I thought I’d share in case it may be helpful to someone else.

Every time I felt overwhelmed with emotion, I would take a deep slow breath, and then focus on the current moment. If I was feeling afraid, I’d ask myself if there was something in that moment that was threatening to me. No? Then breathe. I would sit quietly, close my eyes, and focus on my breathing. One breath. Another. What did breathing feel like? Was the air cold or warm? I would keep my eyes closed and focus on my skin. Could I feel a breeze? Or the soft touch of my socks? I would breathe quietly and listen silently for sounds in the room. The whir of an air-conditioner. The sounds of a cat. Then I’d focus on the sounds outside the room or outside the house. A lawnmower. The birds at the feeder. Children playing. Then I’d come back to my breathing and find that I was calmer and more centered. Less apt to feel overwhelmed. And the next time the overwhelm happened, I’d go through the process again.

Focusing on the present moment can help turn our thinking away from the what-ifs of the past and the future. The present, this very moment, is what matters right now. When you feel overwhelmed by past hurts, losses, or future imaginings, try focusing fully on the present moment. Take a breath. Take another. Feel your body. Hear the birds. Actively and gently turn your thoughts from the past and future, while you look at the realities of right now.

Breathe. Just breathe. I still practice Mindfulness and it still helps, even in these times when my emotions aren’t as overwhelming. Give it a try. It can’t hurt, and it may prove to be a gentle, helpful lifeline that can bring a little peace in the midst of the turmoil.

find the magic

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find the magic
that will only come
through telling your story
the one you’re afraid to tell
you’re afraid to open that box
because you may never stop crying
sit in the sunshine
and write the story
in bits
and batches
phrases
words
prose and poetry
when the tears well up
stop
close your eyes
let the sun warm your eyelids
and then try
to sing

– from Grief Song

grief song

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someday
you will enjoy the avocado
someday
you will smile at the wind
the rain
the sun
you will feel these again
it will be different
it will be real

– from Grief Song

Imagine

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imagine the thing
you love most
imagine it gone
vanished
nothing

imagine someone takes
every meaningful moment
of your life
every warm memory
every loving conversation
takes a hammer
to each delicate bit
smashes them like glass animals
shattered into slivers
that cut and bleed
you attempt to repair
and fail
you attempt again
and fail

imagine your life
as feathers tied together
with a silk cord
someone cuts the cord
the feathers float away
catching them is pointless
but you try anyway
and fail

imagine rage
imagine heartache
imagine dying
of a broken heart

why are you still crying?
you can’t find the words
you are ragged
you are dead
you are without hope
you are alone
where do you start
to stop
the crying?
how do you start
to stop
the tears?
how do you find
a reason
or purpose
for starting?

imagine yesterday
is shattered glass

imagine today
you are walking barefoot
through the shards
imagine tomorrow
there is no sun

(from Grief Song: An experience of loss)

Help that’s actually helpful …

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When I was at my lowest low several years ago, I began seeing a personal counselor for moral support and to have someone to talk to who had expertise to deal with the difficulties I was facing. Since the emotions I was feeling at the time were so strong, she recommended I attend a DBT class (ie: Dialectic Behavior Therapy) to gain some fresh skills for handling my overwhelming (and sometimes suicidal) emotional reactions to an on-going crisis in my life.

Since DBT was so helpful to me, I thought I’d take some time on this blog to share some of the insights and skills I developed through the program. A number of followers of this blog and my Facebook page have expressed interest in hearing more about my experiences with DBT.

DBT is a six month program taught through mental health clinics which can be taken twice. I’m on my second time through. Soon it will be a full year of DBT classes. Wow. It feels like it’s gone by fast. I’m gaining further insight this second round of classes, but I’m also seeing how much I’ve grown in my ability to implement and understand the skills. The group I’m in meets once a week with a required weekly meeting with a personal counselor for follow-up in using the skills.

A quick overview of DBT:

It was developed in the 1980s by psychologist Marsha Linehan, originally to treat patients with Borderline Personality Disorder. Since that time, DBT is being used for people with all sorts of emotional regulation issues. Everything from suicidal ideation to depression to Bipolar mania. It’s useful for anyone who reacts strongly to emotional stimuli in ways that negatively effect their lives.

In my case, I’d become so overwhelmed with sadness, that life felt unbearable and utterly hopeless. I was surprised to discover that even an emotion like sadness could be regulated with the right skills. Prior to DBT, I was frightened to start crying, because I thought if I started, I’d never stop.

The main topics covered in DBT are:

  • Mindfulness
  • Interpersonal Effectiveness
  • Distress Tolerance
  • Emotional Regulation

I’ve personally found the Mindfulness and Distress Tolerance sections to be the most helpful. I’m sure it’s different for everyone since we all deal with different issues and emotionally triggering events in our lives.

My plan is to start going through my notebook from my DBT class and writing about various insights I’ve had through the program. I can’t share the entirety of the class due to copyright issues, but I can share my personal reactions to the units and the teachings.

There are a variety of books, workbooks, and other resources on DBT and I’ll probably be recommending some of those as we go along.

If someone you know is struggling with overwhelming emotions, or difficulties working through strong feelings, feel free to let them know about this blog. It won’t take me six months to get through my thoughts on the topic, so don’t worry. I’ll probably share a post once a week or so for a couple of months. Maybe less. Maybe more. 🙂

~Debi

And here’s yesterday’s watercolor project. Spring is coming!

DSCN5231

Ready?

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The First Time at the First Place

But I’m not ready to go home yet.
“But you can’t stay here forever.”
I know. But I’m not ready.

I don’t even know what ready means, or what ready looks like, or how ready feels. I just know that this is not ready. Thoughts of returning to the same circumstances that sent me to the hospital in the first place bring on panic attacks. I don’t think that’s ready. When I can’t stop crying whenever I think of going home, I don’t think that’s ready, either. When I shake so much I can’t eat, I suspect that’s also a sign I’m not ready.

“All, right. You can stay for one more day, but only one more day. That’s the best we can offer. You’ll need to use that day for preparing to go home. Can you do that?”
Yes. Okay. I understand. I will.

I do understand. I do. But even so, I don’t think I’ll be ready. At least they offered me one more day. One more day of safety from myself. One more day to breathe freely without fear that I’ll give up on life again. One more day to think about the thinking that led me to thinking that I needed to be in the hospital. One more day to accept the reality of life on the outside. One more day to steel myself for returning to the grief and loneliness. To return to the reality of pain and rejection. Of never-ending sadness. Of emptiness. Of hopelessness.

The Latest Time at a Different Place

The last time I was in the hospital, they sent me home before I was ready.
“We do things differently here. We won’t send you home until you’re ready.”
But last time I was told I just had to get myself ready and I couldn’t stay any longer, even though I was afraid to go home.
“If you feel afraid to go home, then you’re not ready. We won’t send you home until you’re ready.”
How will I know when I’m ready?
“You’ll know when you’re ready. We’ll know when you’re ready. We won’t kick you out, we promise. You can stay here until you’re ready.”
Oh. Okay. Thank you.

Is it weird to say I cried when the doctors told me I wouldn’t be going home for a while? I cried from happiness. I cried from sadness. I cried from sheer exhaustion. I cried from releasing the fear I’d been carrying. The fear of having to return home too soon. Perhaps this time will be the last time if I’m able to stay for enough time to finally discover what ready looks and feels like. What ready actually means.

Reading Ecopoetry on Patriot Day While Sitting on the Back Deck

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hummingbird soundtrack
distant rumbling
thunder? no
train yards
impersonating summer squalls
alone
sunlight scented skin
quiet rustlings
dry leaves
red umbrellas
Patriot flags
poetry pages
flapping open
shut open shut open shut
in a passing breeze
suspended in time
between stillness and movement
warmth and cool nights
morning and forever
mourning and
open shut open shut open shut
life’s pages flap open shut
hints of fall
uncertain futures
one more lonely pass around the sun
dandelion wishes
daisy loves
and love-me-nots
vanish for another year
deep distant rumbling
thunder? no
shuddering moments of loss
the sun shines still
quiet and still
warms this sun-kissed
tear-stained
pink-skinned mammal
one more day

No future

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Yesterday, I found this in a notebook I kept about a year ago.  Don’t even remember writing it.  Must have been half asleep at the time? Such a nightmare vision that, unfortunately, has the potential to become reality in the not-so-distant future.

I don’t want to live in a world
of survivalists sitting on their
porches with guns across their laps
ready to shoot starving refugees
escaping from urban horrors as the
forests and ice caps die.

I felt saddened by being the end
of the genetic line of my ancestral
forefathers and foremothers knowing
the line stops here with my children
and their choices not to reproduce
which at first felt overwhelming, bleak.

But now, I wouldn’t want any future
descendants living in the world we
have been actively creating for the
future, a world without diversity, and
without balance, and possibly, eventually
without even life.

I have a growing sense that it’s time
for the human race to put our affairs
in order and prepare for a desolate
future without us, a future that belongs
to only whatever survives the coming
mass extinctions.

I am glad my descendants won’t be here
to see the end.