facts, truth, and the liar

Imagine this:  You are lost, and trying to get home.  You don't know how long it's been.  Your feet hurt, your knees hurt, your back hurts, your head hurts.  You are exhausted.  You are physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.  There is nothing left.  It's just you and the fog.  You have no idea how long the fog has surrounded you.  It seems like it has always been there.  You don't really notice it anymore.  And then there are the voices.  They slither through the fog, insidious.  They whisper of fear and sadness, anger and despair.  There is no reason to go on.  There's nothing to go on for.  It's just you and that damn fog.  The fog is worse than the voices.  The voices speak helplessness, but the fog shows it.  Because if the fog would lift, you would see that you are almost home.  But it doesn't lift, you can't see where you are, and you give up.

That fog is what depression is like for me.  Luckily for me, through Grace and Mercy, it lifted long enough for me to hear a friendly voice and get treatment.  The fog doesn't lift for everyone, and not everyone has a friend who will take them by the shoulders and tell them to go to their doctor and get on Prozac or something.

It has taken me a long time to write about this.  It's hard, to find the right words and to get the courage to post.  It's especially hard to do both at the same time.  But today is World Suicide Prevention Day, and I needed to do something.  To be the friend who takes you by the shoulders.  To let someone, anyone, everyone know that is it okay to ask for help.  There is nothing to be ashamed of.  There are other people like you out there.  You have worth and are loved.  And it's hard.  I know.  It is still hard for me and it's been twenty years.  That damn fog still follows me around.  Most of the time, it's just a wisp of a reminder.  And sometimes, it's dense enough for the voices to start up again, telling me lies.  But I struggle and fight, because while the fog is dense, now I can see home and I know I can make it.

Facts, Truth, and the Liar

by Catherine M Braun

In this world, we know, there is Fact and there is Truth.

This is Fact: there is a serotonin deficiency in my brain.

But this is Truth: there is a Liar in my head.

And the Liar tells me, “Of course, the sky is blue.”

And, “Of course, the sun is shining.”

And, “Of course, your family loves you.”

But also, “Blue is really gray.”

And, “Sun is really rain.”

And, “Everyone would be better off if you and your moods were gone.”

This is not a piercing grief or a glancing blow.

This is a smothering, a sinking:

an avalanche of despair and all I see is snow.

I think, Maybe there is too much blood in my chest, and that is why it aches.

And the Liar says, “Yes, yes – if you open your veins the pressure will ease.”

And I think, Maybe.

In this world, Fact is not necessarily as important as Truth.

This is Fact: I'm treating my depression.

But this is Truth: I'm silencing the Liar with every breath I take.

giving thanks

So, many of my Facebook friends took the 30-day Thanksgiving Challenge.  I thought about participating but then realized two things.  The first is I would probably forget to post every day.  (You would think I had ten kids from the state of my short-term memory these days.)  The second is, how could I limit myself to only 30 days, not to mention one thing a day?  Not to brag, but I have the most wonderful family and friends and a pretty amazing life (even though I forget sometimes).  I decided a blog post would work better.  And then I realized time and space probably would not permit the entirety of my thankfulness.  So I had to be ruthless (ruthless!) in my giving thanks and limited it to the following:

I am thankful...
...for my Grandpa and my Granddaddy for teaching me Truth
...for my Grandma and my Mimi for teaching me Faith
...for my Mom and my Dad for teaching me Love
...for Rosie, Kefi, and Jac for teaching me Friendship
...for Jobie and Gare for teaching me Courage
...for Ginny and Timmy for teaching me Perseverance
...for Elijah, Erin, and Robby for teaching me Hope
...for Aida, Sophie, Robert Gordon, Michael, and Lucy for teaching me Selflessness

And I am thankful for all of you, for putting up with my craziness and loving me anyway.
Happy Thanksgiving!

memory eternal

I don't know what I can say that hasn't already been said (and much better than I ever could) by my sister and my cousin, so I decided to post this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  I've used parts of this poem in a previous post, but I felt today warrented the entire piece.  The last three stanzas hit me especially hard (italics are mine).


Christmas Bells
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!


May their memory be eternal.

comfort and joy

(I wrote this post nine months ago, as a Note on my Facebook Profile, but I've been thinking about it lately -- especially last night when for some reason it felt like Christmas and I decided to listen to my MercyMe Christmas album.  And obviously it's been on the mind of some of my friends because when I signed into Facebook this morning I had a notification that two of them had commented on the Note yesterday.  I don't usually look for signs as to what I should do, but that's a pretty large flashing one, don't you think?)


Up until two years ago I had a hard and fast rule about when I would start to listen to Christmas music – the day after Thanksgiving.  Never earlier.  I don’t remember the reason for this rule.  Maybe it comes from working retail and having to listen to incessant and insipid renditions of Christmas carols starting in what felt like June.  Or maybe it comes from being in the school choir and needing to start learning music in September.  Or maybe I’m just contrary.  (I know which reason my family will pick.)  But all that changed on October 17, 2008.  I know this because that’s the creation date for my Pandora Christmas Radio station.  Whether or not I actually listened to Christmas music before my self-imposed date, who knows?  But I have to think I listened to some.  Otherwise why did I create it so early?

Last year, though, last year I know I started early.  Early October, to be more precise.  I’d been thinking about what I was going to put on my Christmas mixed CD and decided, why wait?  So I ordered MercyMe’s Christmas album used from Amazon on September 30, and when it showed up in the mail the next week, I started listening to it.  In October.

This year, I started today.  Sunday, October 3, 2010.  I was in the mood and wanted to listen to MercyMe’s album, so I did.  Twice.  (Did I happen to mention I was contrary?)  I hadn’t forgotten how much I love their version of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”, but it hadn’t been in the forefront of my mind since last year.  But listening to it today, I was struck by the chorus: “O, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy; O, tidings of comfort and joy”.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I sure could use “tidings of comfort and joy”.  It’s been a hard few months for my family.  Heck, it’s been a hard year: both my Grandmothers had surgery, as well as one of my Grandfathers and one of my sisters; the child we took in last year turned out to be so damaged we couldn’t fix him (a bitter pill to swallow, especially, for my parents); and, as always, the myriad little things that seem to drag you down until you’re not sure you can get back up again.

Then yesterday, yesterday we went to a memorial – a “Celebration of Life” – for a family friend who died too soon.  As at all memorials, there was some laughter, there were some tears, and the knowledge that there are two young men out there who had to grow up faster than they should have.  But thinking about the number of people who were there, all the people who were touched by this man and his life, I have to think it brought some comfort, if not joy, to his family.  To know how much he, and they, are loved.

Because we forget that, don’t we?  We forget there are people out there who love us.  Because life gets in the way, and the peace and certainty of love gets torn from us.  That’s one of the reasons I love Christmas so much – the peace and certainty get restored.  Yes, Christmas has become a very secular celebration with the moron brigade out in full force at the mall.  But for those who believe the promise of John 3:16, Christmas is a new beginning.  “A thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn”.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem which has since been adapted into the carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”.  I probably didn’t need to write the previous six paragraphs; the last two verses say what I mean, better than I ever could:

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on Earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor does He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on Earth, good will to men."

So I know this is a bit early, but my hope, my wish, my prayer for you is this: May the hope of Christmas be your comfort and joy throughout the year, and never forget you are loved.

trampling down death by death

O Death, where is thy sting?
O Hell, where is thy victory?
Christ is risen, and thou art overthrown!
Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen!
Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is risen, and life reigns!
Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave.
For Christ, being risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.
To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages.
Amen.

- St. John Chrysostom (from his Paschal homily)

Christ is Risen! Truly He is Risen! A blessed Pascha and joyous Bright Week to all!

the present moment

I have been seeking to live in the present moment.

Well, it might be more accurate to say that I have been thinking about it. Which defeats the point, I know. But I have this problem of "living in my mind". I have a very active imagination (not vivid, mind you. Active. There is a difference) and I usually play things out in my mind. Including what I'm writing now. This is actually the third or fourth draft, although the previous drafts never made it this far.

This "living in my mind" can and does cause problems in real life. In some ways, it's a family trait. We tell each other things in our minds. It works like this: I need to tell my sister something, so when I think about what I have to tell her I imagine how I will tell her and what her reaction will be. And then, I think I have told her so she never actually gets the information. There are some important things I didn't know about until after the fact because someone told me about them in their mind.

So, "being here now" (to be trite and commercial about it) could be considered a coping technique for me. But the reason I really want to live in the present moment can best be summed up by the following passage from "Bread & Water, Wine & Oil" by Archimandrite Meletios Webber:

"We can only make decisions in the present moment. We can only enjoy sights and sounds in the present moment. We can only love or hate in the present moment. The present moment is the interface between ourselves and the rest of the universe, and, more importantly, it is the only point of contact between the individual and God. Of all the possible points of time, only the present moment is available for repentance. The past cannot be taken back and remade. The future remains forever outside our reach."

The past cannot be taken back and remade. I think living in the present moment might heal those things in my life I regret. It'll be a struggle. But I think everything worth having is worth struggling for.

What I'm struggling for can best be summed up in a poem I first heard sixteen years ago. It's by Edgar Lee Masters and is part of his "Spoon River Anthology". (I supposed "dramatic monologue" might be a better description than "poem" as I first heard it as part of the only theatrical production I was a part of in high school.)

Fiddler Jones

The earth keeps some vibration going

There in your heart, and that is you.

And if the people find you can fiddle,

Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.

What do you see, a harvest of clover?

Or a meadow to walk through to the river?

The wind’s in the corn; you rub your hands

For beeves hereafter ready for market;

Or else you hear the rustle of skirts

Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.

To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust

Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;

They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy

Stepping it off, to “Toor-a-Loor.”

How could I till my forty acres

Not to speak of getting more,

With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos

Stirred in my brain by crows and robins

And the creak of a wind-mill – only these?

And I never started to plow in my life

That some one did not stop in the road

And take me away to a dance or picnic.

I ended up with forty acres;

I ended up with a broken fiddle –

And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories.

And not a single regret.

So, on this journey I've started I'm praying for this: for no regrets, for no anxiety about the future, and to meet God in this present moment.

You're welcome to come with me.