28 February 2007

Pressing Onward

There are times when I don’t know
From where my next breath will come.
I set my eyes upon the tribulations of my world
When I know they should be squarely on the Lord.
Please forgive me Father for faltering when I do;
I know that that you are all I need in this world.

It’s true we are not given a spirit of fear,
Yet I tremble at the lessons
I may have to learn along the way.
My life up until now has been very easy
But this is when I did not have to depend upon my Lord.

When things are going smoothly, it’s easy to lose sight.
God is ever present no matter what our condition.
Funny how we never call upon Him until there’s no one else,
How lonely He must get if all we do
Is run to Him when we have our problems.

He only wants the best for His children
And all of us are called by our name.
The key is to remember that he is steadfast and solid.
It’s not Him who has grown distant and far away, but us
When we don’t acknowledge Him in both the good times and in the bad.

It’s easy to praise Him when the light shines so bright,
When troubles seem distant and far removed.
So where is that praise when the darkness comes swooping in?
God is still there just waiting for us to call upon Him
And offer Him praise and thanksgiving for all that we have.

It’s easy to cry out for help when the times grow so weary,
Maybe that’s when God has our complete attention.
But isn’t it a bit selfish to come to expect rescue
Only when we need Him—what about when He needs us?
We need to praise Him through the storms, as he richly deserves.

He covets a relationship with each and every one of us.
He is deserving of our praise whether we feel like it or not.
Because our friendship with Him is not based on feelings;
Rather, it is grounded in the faith that He is always by our side.
Whether or not we feel His presence, He is always there to lend His guiding hand

So, where is our resolve to lift up our countenance upon Him when we are down?
Where are our joyful praises when we can only muster a trembling thought?
He gave us a spirit of love and a strong mind; it is only proper to thank him.
How, you say, can we offer thanks when our world seems so bleak?
That, my friend, is what God’s love is all about. He is there, and so must we be.

©2007

Praise & Worship

Glory
Praise
Honor
Worship
Holiness
Blessings
Jubilation
Exultation
Reverence
Joyfulness
Veneration
Magnificence
Righteousness
Who am I not to give God all that he deserves
When I enter into His presence
Is it not my duty to give all that I am to His service
He alone is worthy of all the glory and honor
I am a mere mortal, but made in His image
He is my King and Creator and alone merits my worship
There is no other Name that can be called upon
Jesus is my Savior and Redeemer
Worthy of all things holy and blessed
He gave all He is just for me before I ever knew Him
How can I not sacrifice my service unto him
The Holy Spirit is my Great Protector and Provider
Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness
Faithfulness, gentleness and self-control
Alone is His Fruit to me—Fruit to guide my life
I am nothing without my King, Redeemer and Protector
Let me enter into His presence to bow down before Him
And sacrifice my praise and worship to Him alone
©2007

27 February 2007

The Contraints of Time

Butterflies light on the sheerest of petals
Dancing in the wind, being carried aloft
Drawn by the kaleidoscope of colors
That only the magic of flowers can bring

Peace
Silence
Serenity
Tranquility

Reflect the briefest of time spans
Our nature has to offer
Their beauty astounds
Their cleverness amaze

The Monarch stands regal in its presence
Yet it is the one that can emulate its surroundings
I admire most—the chameleon of the lot
They flit and they float

Capturing the imagination of a child
Scurrying to chase one down
And squeals with delight at its captive
Only to realize as with all life
Ours is but a blip in the grand scheme of time

©2007

26 February 2007

The Voice of Reason

Alone
Singular
Isolated
Desolate
Barren
Distrusting

The world around me is collapsing
Small glimpses of what is to come
The fear of the unknown
The overwhelming fear is surmounting

We aren’t given a spirit of fear
But of a sound mind
On the contrary, my mind is a maze
Never starting
Never ending
Cannot breathe
There is no escape

Stop. Think.
What are my choices
To continue to listen to the chaos in my head
That shuts out all rational thought

I can’t go on this way
I am at the end of my rope
Step by step I praise You,
And I will follow You all of the days of my life

My thoughts are disjointed
My mind has become split into two
Half wanting desperately to believe
Half desiring to succumb to the pressures before me

Where do I turn
My heart knows better—to follow my Spirit
My head however rules and refuses to listen to reason
My sanity is still a blur
But I am hanging on the sheer thread
That at the end of the day truth wins out
And that Hope and Faith will prevail

©2007

A Joyful Noise

Musical harmony lifts me up
Filling my soul with overabundance
Higher and higher my praise floats above
My faith growing stronger and sturdy
The aim is not to simply sing a song
But to create a presence of sacrifice
A sacrifice of honor in exultation
As our joyous singing fills the air
And rides upon angels wings to its intended Heir
While the source is the sweet fruit of blessings
Its intended objective is the sweet aroma of glory
Glory that no human can ever truly achieve
Yet attempts are made to reflect our very best
Of what we have to offer at this point in time

As the praise segues into worship,
We humbly offer up all that we have to give
Which is all that is required
The air grows thick with anticipation
Prophesy abounds in mindful exhortation
We bow down in reverence to the existence of splendor
The curtain of presence that is drawn across our feet
This Glory that fills the space we occupy
In response to the sacrifice that is lifted even higher
The sweetest awareness of the Spirit occupies our souls
And captures our hearts
So that we may enter into His magnificent presence
And prepare our humble hearts to receive all that He has to give
This is so much more than we can ever expect to obtain
©2007

The Wilderness

Hot
Arid
Parched
Desolate

Searing sand sifting through my toes
Wandering aimlessly through the terrain
Glaring sun highlighting the barrenness
No oases in sight, but mirages abound

Snakes slithering along the scorching territory
Animals lying in wait for their prey
To pounce upon the unaware
I am that prey remaining ever vigilant

Not willing to let down my guard
I see the enemy at the periphery
But I hold fast within my armor
Steadfastly standing still and waiting

Waiting upon my rescue
Soon to come in its own time
Meanwhile I ponder upon rescues of past
Recorded upon the surface of my heart

These memories my own oases
Springing forth and rendering strength
However feeble it may be at the time
It is ever present to provide the hope

The hope and faith that this too shall pass
My human side wants resolution now
My Spiritual Side resolves in its own moment
This moment, while unknown to me

Will be right on time, never wavering
Despite what the human side desires
Reliance on past performance should satisfy
And provide the respite after which is sorely sought
©2007

25 February 2007

The Art of Gender Bendering

“Frogs and tails and puppy dog tails
That’s what little boys are made of”
Match box cars
Hot wheels
Playing in the forts
Constructed from dirt
Deep holes with thatch
Covering our hideout
I was the coveted lone girl
In these boys' lives
The sign on the front
“No Girls Allowed”
Did not apply to me
I was in heaven
I was one of the boys
I grew up that way
Learning to tinker with tools
My father had a son
But he wasn’t interested
In what bonded
Boys to their fathers
I was the next best thing
“You only use the right tool for the right job”
Was rule number one
He taught me all he knew
About every tool in the garage
I learned how to change the oil
Rotate and repair flat tires
My favorites were the power tools
The magic one could perform
In the art of creation
The simplicity of slicing through 4x4s with ease
The sawing and scrolling the intricate designs
My father taught me well
My life as a teenager was the same
More time spent in the garage
Lava was the staple at the sink in the back
Mom never did understand
And my fingernails always had a lining
Of black grease underneath
As I got older, I was never interested in boys
Dating was a useless waste of time
I’d much rather stay at home
Tearing apart a radio
Seeing how it worked
And putting it back together again
With no spare parts left over
Mom finally had her say
I was forced to go to the Jr-Sr Prom
With some stupid son of a friend of hers
I never did dance
Hadn’t a clue as to how
Nor was even vaguely interested
Disgusted by the frills on the dress
No, I sat at the table with all of the guys
Drinking the spiked punch
Or sneaking outside for the occasional illicit cigarette
Just to forget about John or what’s his name
Relieved when the house lights came up
So I could go home and
And strip off this sham of a costume
I was home back in my element
Never to set foot into that world again
As an adult my world changed
Having no adult female role model
To show me any different
I got married because I was expected to
Had the requisite child
A boy I could teach all I knew
My father would have been proud
Nine years later I had my freedom
Only then did I discover the options
Never before unfolded in front of me
Boys at this stage were not interested
In letting me be part of their club
Actually it was their wives that objected
Having my son was my savings grace
I then realized I did not have to bother with boys
I met women who shared the same interests I did
From that moment on, I was still one of the boys
I just did it with a different flair.
©2007

24 February 2007

Faith---The Evidence of Things Not Seen

“If you have faith of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matt 17:20). “Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith?” (Mk 4:40). “Or in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, ‘the just shall live by faith.’” (Rom 1:17). “So, the faith comes by hearing and hearing by the Word of God.” (Rom 10:17). “Do you have faith? Have it to yourself before God. Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves. But he who doubts is condemned if he eats, because he does not eat from faith, for whatever is not from faith is sin.” (Rom 14:22-23).

The Bible’s Concordance is filled with references to faith throughout the entire Scripture. My title infers that faith is the evidence of things not seen. Does that mean that, as a Christian, I am simply to live by faith alone despite the circumstances that are tumbling furiously around me? Through prayer and faith, I should be able to simply turn all my troubles over to God and truly believe that He shall prevail over all my circumstances.

My Christian life, new as it is in the grand scheme of things considering that I will be fifty in April, has been one of some steps forward and some steps backward. That is the nature of growth. Right now, I guess I am in the backward mode. I look at my life and my circumstances and I simply cannot breath. I cry and ask myself just where my faith is when I need it most. And, according to one of the passages listed above, whatever is not from faith is from sin.

How has my life become the shambles it has? There are truly days when my faith has been so strong I felt as though I could surmount anything tossed my way. However, of late, no matter how hard I pray, I feel as though I have lost all touch. I know by reading the Word that my relationship with God is not based upon feelings, but on faith. Therefore, supposedly, I should endure these dry spells on my faith alone despite how I feel.

Easier said than done. When I am literally faced with being one paycheck away from being homeless, the realities of my life interfere with my ability to think clearly about what my duties should be as a Christian. It’s not that I don’t believe—I believe with all my heart—but I am suffocating. Is this the enemy coming to interfere with my faithful walk with the Lord? I do believe that it is.

I feel as though I should ask for forgiveness for my weaknesses. People tell me that grand bumper sticker of all time, “Let go, and let God.” I do let go at times, but times such as these, I grab it back and try to take control on my own. But, I know that there is absolutely nothing I can do in my own strength to solve my enormous problems. I also know that the only one who can come to my rescue is God. I can write all of this down quite rationally, but if you could see the terror in my eyes, the thump of my heart or my breath whisk, you would understand how incredibly powerless I feel.

Believing in God and letting go and having faith is not giving up—despite what the secular world would have me believe. These are just my steps backward. I feel as if this is my season in the wilderness—just as the Israelites wandered for 40 years because of their disobedience and lack of faith. Am I being disobedient now because of my lack of faith? I have so many questions and am so confused. The Bible tells me that God will never forsake me. It also says that God will never cast any burden upon my shoulders more than I can bear. The former I have to believe in. It’s simply the latter that I question right now. Either way, I no longer feel as though I have any more answers left. ©2007

The Maze

Circles
Squares
Triangles
Rectangles
Where does it end?
Where does it begin?
I’m bound inside these walls
Walls that bear no end
This one is a circle
Smooth walls
But it only opens up
Another cage
One that also has no end
Long walls, short opening
I am suffocating
There is no light
I can only go by texture
The air is stale
Am I alone in this labyrinth?
I hear absolutely nothing
Isolation deprivation
The walls close in
The circles become smaller
The rectangles become square
The squares become triangles
There are no more openings
No end to this madness
I just sit on the floor and wait
This, too, shall come to en end.
©2007

23 February 2007

Insurance---What's the Point?

I am faced with quite a dilemma. There are medications that I have to take that are truly life-saving medications, primarily for my bipolar disorder. On previous postings I’ve indicated that I was fed up with the fact that none of the meds seemed to be working any more anyway, so what was the point in taking them any more, and that I had decided to wean myself off.

But, the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I discovered that I owe my mail order pharmacy service their threshold at which they will cease dispensing all future prescriptions until the balance is paid up—an amount I simply do not have. Even if I thought there was a value to taking these meds, which I am not sure there is, I am hamstrung by system that is withholding vital medication, which could make or break me. I have approached the pharmacy program asking if I could set up a payment plan, which they flat out refused to consider. I have had my psychiatrist work with the drug manufacturers to see if any relief could be brought through those various channels—all of which came up empty handed.

To add insult to injury, my own psychiatrist, whom I have developed a history with for over a seven-year period, is not even in my network. Yes, I could find another shrink that would save me money, but I trust this doctor with my life and I am unwilling to start from scratch with an unknown entity, especially with where my life is concerned.

At what point is someone finally noticed that I am slipping through the cracks? If all that someone looks at is my bottom-line salary, I look great on paper, but in reality, I am one paycheck away from being homeless because of my debt load. My medical bills have overwhelmed me. Add this stress to the fact that my bipolar medication isn’t working up to par and I have a pretty good indication of where all this is headed and I don’t like what I see. This continued added stress is building to a point beyond which I can handle.

I am so tired of playing these games with all of these companies that don’t seem to give a damn what plight someone is. The customer service reps who answer the phones, as well as anyone else further up the flagpole, simply read their policy handbook to me by rote and I am left feeling as if no one gives a damn. I am not asking for any handouts. What I am asking for is a fair shake. Why is a payment plan too much of a stretch for someone to consider? Sure, they won’t get all of what is due with one payment, but it would show good faith on my part that I am trying to make good on my debt. My psychiatrist has even tried to work out something with the manufacturers of the medications that I am on, but once they heard what my annual salary was, they basically just hung up the phone.

The bottom line: even if I did decide to continue with my bipolar meds, it wouldn’t make a difference since I am no longer allowed any more refills on my prescriptions. And this doesn’t even begin to take into consideration the asthma medications I have to take. I am simply so tired of fighting this battle. I am so tired of not having any money to accomplish even the basic, most simple aspects of my life, like filling up my tank with gas. I’ve reached a point where I truly don’t give a damn about anything anymore because no one seems to give a damn about me or my situation—at least those who are in a position to make a difference.

Yes, I see the red flag glaring me in the face. This mind set is exactly what led up to my suicide attempt a year ago. Is that where I am headed now? If I tell my shrink, all he will do is put me back in the hospital to protect myself, which I cannot afford. It won’t relieve the situation that is already in place to have put me in this dilemma—only further compound it by putting me into further debt. There aren’t any other drugs out there that will make the difference; I’ve already tried them all. I certainly don’t care any more, so I ask the basic question, what is the point?©2007

21 February 2007

Where Do I Go From Here?

If you’ve read one of my previous entries then you know I have bipolar disorder. I like the word disorder. Think of its synonyms: chaos, disarray, confusion, mess, turmoil, anarchy, mayhem—you get the idea. I’ve gone from chaos to anarchy in just a few short steps at times. I think it’s the latter I am experiencing at the moment—utter rebellion.

I’ve reached a point with this disease process that nothing works anymore. I have tried every known cocktail of meds available on the market today in multiple combinations. Even in the midst of taking my meds faithfully, I can be in a full-blown manic phase with thoughts racing so fast my life becomes a blur and yet, at the same time, fighting the paralyzing depths of depression. It’s not even fair; I can’t enjoy the flights of fancy the mania can sometimes provide if I am battling the depression at the same time.

I have become completely treatment resistant with nowhere to turn. Well, there is one alternative to escape the depression, one that I refuse to even consider. It’s ECT (electro convulsive shock therapy). One of its major side effects is memory loss and I am unwilling to lose chunks of my life, no matter how miserable some of it has been. There have been too many happy memories that I am unwilling to lose, all of which revolve around my wonderful 24-year-old son. The many opinions I’ve sought (being unwilling to listen to just my psychiatrist, but others within the medical field) have tried to convince me that this form of therapy has come a long way since One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. This one option is simply a no-brainer for me (pardon the ill-conceived pun). And, it’s not as if the medicines have had no side effects. As I mentioned in my earlier posting, one of the biggest side effect to most mood stabilizers is weight gain. Almost everyone I know has gained weight at one point or another in the search of finding that magic combination of drugs. In my case right now, while all of the meds I am on are weight neutral, one I take in the morning makes me feel so loopy that I have a hard time concentrating on my tasks at hand—not a very good side effect if I want to keep my job.
Why should I continue to take the medicines that I truly can no longer afford (of course, none of which are generic) if the end result is no recompense? If the meds can’t control this disorder, why bother to take them at all? It’s not as if things could get that much worse. Moreover, I feel more than rebellion. Anger is seething through every vein in my body. I am not angry that I have to deal with being bipolar; I know too many people who have successfully managed it and weaved its patterns into their lives. I am angry because I represent the few that can’t seem to be controlled by any of the medications that are available. The ironic part is its analogy. Think of someone who has a major disease process that cannot be cured and they ultimately die from it. I don’t even get that reprieve. I have to live through each and every grueling minute of this experience I am supposed to call a life.

I truly feel as though I have reached a point where I can no longer function. Sure, I can get up each morning, shower and get ready for work and do my job (with a great deal of concentration), but my job is my only reprieve. Once I get home from work, I am faced with staring at my nine-foot ceilings that seem to cave in all around me. I have earnestly made an effort to attend legitimate support groups, but I couldn’t connect with anything anyone said. I always felt like the outsider because no one could understand the true level of impact this disorder has had on me. It has certainly broken me financially between all of the visits to my psychiatrist, the hospitalizations and, of course, all of the medicine. Not even having enough money to put gas in my tank, let alone meet all of my monthly bills has really done a number on the depression side of the equation.

I’ve said all of this simply to say, after one full year of trying, I have now elected to wean myself off all my medication. I won’t have the dizzying side effects any longer and it will certainly contribute to my bottom line. If I thought there was a chance in hell that these meds would make a difference, I wouldn’t be making this decision. Yes, I am fully cognizant of all of the medically sound arguments not to pursue this line of action, but what is the point at this juncture? You may say that suicide will become my eventual downfall, but if that is already ever-present on my mind with the medication, what is the difference? I truly cannot think of one solid reason why I should bother to continue in this futile effort to stabilize what has become the roller coaster ride of my life.©2007

20 February 2007

Can A Queer Person Become Straight?

If you listen to the right-winged fundamentalist Christian organizations (Focus on the Family, et. al.) you’d be given the impression that there are, indeed, programs that exist which can “cure” someone from being queer. Exodus International is what first springs into my mind when I think of these organizations. Moreover, the lingo “to cure” makes it sound as if being queer is a disease from which someone suffers. In fact, there are quite a few generalizations that are made on behalf of the straight community that simply resonates their ignorance toward the entire gay community.

Another term that I deplore is “lifestyle.” When I think of lifestyle, I think of Robin Leach’s Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A lifestyle is a manner in which someone chooses to live. “Gosh, Penny, I’d really like to decorate our back porch along the lines of a Bahamian theme.” And that also brings up the very next word that sends chills down my spine: choice. Now, where should I start?

Being queer is not a lifestyle which assumes a choice is made, no more so than being straight. As I have said to many well-intentioned queer bashers, “When did you wake up one morning and decide to be straight?” It wasn’t as though I was bouncing around this lifespan and suddenly it occurs to me, “Hey, I think I’ll be queer.” Why on earth would someone ever choose to live a life doomed to perilous subjugation on the part of the majority of the population (it is said that approximately one in ten persons is queer, although, in my own humble opinion, I think that is quite a modest figure—may one in ten are out of the closet). Why would I choose to be yelled at, spit upon, most certainly, in some cases, physically beaten beyond recognition, and yes, even killed just because I am queer?

Theories abound regarding what makes one straight and another queer. Are we born this way? Is it a matter of social and environmental influences? The whys are better left for another diatribe, which I choose not to address here at this moment. What I want to spend time discussing is whether someone who is queer can become straight.

Being queer is inherently a part of someone’s make-up (no pun intended against my friendly queens!). There have been a number of studies that observed children over periods of time that addressed gender identity. In our culture, sadly to say, little girls and boys are conditioned to “become” rather than be accepted for whom they are evolving into. It isn’t OK for little girls to display masculine traits (tom boys). I wonder how many parents, upon seeing little Suzie trying to keep up with her older brother or the other boys in the neighborhood as they play cops and robbers, scurry down to the local toy store and buy Barbie dolls and the such to attempt to veer Suzie away from this form of social interaction? And isn’t there hell to pay if little Johnny gets caught playing around with Mommy’s make-up and clothes. Maybe Suzie really can kick the crap out of most of the boys in the neighborhood and Johnny has a real fascination with colors and textures (most of the high-end haute-couture houses are headed by men).

There is an actual fear among parents that their children will grow up and become “that way.” Well, what “way” is that? Being queer? What is so damn wrong with that anyway? About the only thing wrong with being queer is what 90% of the population has to say about this subject, all of which is negative. Did you realize that the suicide attempts among queer teenagers is at an all-time high? OK, so there is a difference of opinion that may exist. Parents may have a valid concern that their child may grow up queer if that concern is based upon the fear of the type of life to which he or she will be subject. If I were a parent of a teenager trying to find his or her place in this world and has discovered that he or she is queer, then my first concern would be one of safety. Why would I want my child exposed to ridicule and hatred? Instead of affirming the reality of the situation, most parents try to bully their children into being straight. I wonder how many boys are threatened with military boarding school. In my case, I had the luxury of going to an all-girl’s Catholic high school—if the nuns only knew what I learned there!

OK, so back to my original premise—can a queer become straight? I can say from personal experience that I truly believe that this answer is a resounding no. I have been through a reparative therapy course in which counselors attempt to convince queers of their wayward ways and brightly introduce them to the happy and fulfilling life being straight can bring them. These groups are all faith-based initiatives that derive their value on Biblical teachings. I can’t speak for the entire group I was in session with, but I can say with absolute certainty, there were a few of us who never did make the switch. And later, I learned that those in my group who “chose” (a word carefully adopted here) to go straight, get married, and have children ended up being in a miserable life—one in which they had no experience. Hormones are basic biology and sexual attraction is hard-wired into the brain. Trying to veer away from that is equally as harmful to one’s self-esteem and natural expression as bullying children into being “proper” little girls and boys.

Can a queer person choose to walk away from the gay community? By that, I mean, turn their back on the way one has been living his or her life with a same-sex partner and go it alone. There is quite a price to be paid here emotionally, but I do believe that this can be done. Why on earth, you might ask, would someone want to make this choice (and here, choice is exactly what is being made). During the course of my entire life (minus the minor dalliances with the Junior-Senior Prom date) I have been queer. But, at the same time I also considered myself a Christian. I did not see these two ideals as being mutually exclusive at the time. I even attended the local Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), which is a Christian organization that affirms the gay community. Sitting in an MCC service, to me, was no different from sitting in any other Christian service. There is an invocation at the beginning, the Word is read from the Epistles and the Gospel, communion is served, and there is the final benediction.

Ironically, it was during a Bible study class entitled “What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality” that started the wheels turning in my head. Perhaps part of that was being exposed to a fundamentalist environment at one point in my life during that reparative therapy group. It occurred to me that you couldn’t take just pieces of the Bible, declare it OK, and leave other pieces out because you didn’t like what they had to say. The Bible either is or isn’t the inherent Word of God. It’s an all-or-nothing concept. Sure, it was written a few thousand years ago by quite a different culture by man; but the Christian supposition is that man wrote this book based upon the movement of the Holy Spirit. Those organizations that affirm the gay community have their spin on what the Bible says just as much as the fundamentalist Christian organizations. However, I will be the first to say that I never once heard any passages that spoke against homosexuality preached in an MCC church.

Ultimately, my heart ruled my decision. I decided, after quite a grief process, that I could no longer reconcile being the Christian I felt being called to be and queer. This now became a mutually exclusive dilemma for me. Therefore, I did choose to turn my back on the gay community, but I will be the first to tell you that I have not become straight. I guess I am like an ambassador without papers. I will always be a lesbian, but that does not mean that I have to live within the confines of what that entails. I choose not to have a same-sex partner, but my sacrifice is that I will live my life alone. I have lost many friendships over this decision by queers who simply either don’t understand why, or feel I am doing more harm to myself than good. It boils down to the fact that I do believe in my heart that the Bible is the Word of God (both the Old and New Testament) and I have to take all of what it says as my truth for me as I see it. Maybe it’s my political activism that wants me to keep hold of my identity as a lesbian, celibate though it may be. I may no longer be active in the gay community, but I will never be straight.©2007

How Do You Arrive At Your Beliefs?

The ability to have an opinion—a perception if you will—requires people to think long and hard on where they stand on issues along with the road that leads them there. This act of thinking is purposely an action verb that insists upon making up one’s own mind, not following in the footsteps of another.

Why do you take that stance on that issue? Is it because it is something you have researched in order to come to an informed decision? Or is it merely a position held by virtue of listening to the media’s spin on something, or worse yet, blindly following someone else’s lead because you believe them to be smarter than you? Each of us is entitled to our own beliefs and opinions on subjects at hand; it’s how to come to your conclusions that matters.

The media is certainly no place to place any weight on an opinion; they place their own spin on any issue based on what their opinion is. To be sure, there are some publications that are more unbiased than not, but as a general rule, one cannot assume that the articles read equally encompass both sides of any given issue.

Another insidious source of opinion is the church’s pulpit. While a Pastor, like every other person in this country, has the right to his or her own opinions, there is no room for those opinions to be preached. The pulpit should be reserved for the preaching of the Lord’s Word as defined by the Bible, not spouting some political diatribe and rhetoric that is hoisted upon us by using the Bible as conjecture for that position. Too many people in the congregation are like lambs being lead to the slaughter. They truly believe what is said in the pulpit, regardless of the subject matter, is the truth. I will admit, as long as it is the Word that is being faithfully preached without the Pastor’s personal opinion spun upon the subject, then that speaks of truth according to the Bible. When the Pastor ventures into the territory of the political domain, then I believe that creates a conflict of interest. The Church enjoys a tax-free status. If they choose to use their pulpit as a forum and venue to spout political conjecture, then they must be willing to give up their tax-free status. The concept of separation of Church and State cuts both ways.

The gay community has suffered long and hard at the hands of the fire and brimstone of “concerned” preachers. They spout, “love the sinner, hate the sin,” but, in reality, hating the sinner is the ultimate achievement by this sort of diatribe. Never before has there been a subject matter so venomously preached on as the wages of sin being death towards the gay community. It is as if this is the last stronghold upon which the church has to take. Oh, to be sure, abortion is still a viable arguable effort; however; it no longer raises the ire and brings together a small-minded community convinced that they must all inform the gay man or lesbian woman that they are going to hell.

So, how do you arrive at the conclusions or your stances on any given subject matter? Do you go to reliable, proven sources to make an informed decision, or do you become exactly like that lamb led to slaughter and jump on the bandwagon to follow others’ opinions because you don’t have the inclination to be responsible for your own beliefs? I chose to use the Bible as a reference for the Church’s stance on homosexuality as it is the source most Christians will fall back on to condemn a gay man or a lesbian to an eternal life in hell.

Each of us carries that enormous burden of being responsible for our opinions and beliefs because we should arrive at them with correct information to back up what those opinions indicate. Nevertheless, each of us is equally burdened with carrying out a dialog with someone of an opposing belief with compassion and understanding. This is the art of debate where two opposing tenets can be examined with openness and not accusation regardless of the subject matter. In addition, above all, when one arrives at a belief or an opinion based upon a personal experience, no one can argue over that experience because it is what it is: a personal example of what someone brings to the table to be discussed without theory or postulates. Anyone can spout invectives over a subject, but it does not lesson the personal experience of any one individual (e.g., is abortion considered OK, regardless of the term of pregnancy, when it is as a result of rape or incest?). Unless one has walked in the other’s shoes, one must honor these experiences during the expression of disagreement.

So again, I ask of you…what is the foundation behind your beliefs?©2007

17 February 2007

The Pursuit of Anonymity

The shaft of light pierces my soul to a depth I’ve never seen
The revelation brought forth is both eerie and serene at the same time.
I’m going nowhere, yet pursuing and engulfing everything in my path


I’ve nothing to hide behind; all is out there for the world to see
If I had a choice I’d stay tucked away in a small quiet corner
Yet something inside yearns to burst through and blare to the world.

“I’m here!” I cry silently, hoping someone will hear
“It’s me, don’t you understand?” falls upon deaf ears and the world doesn’t care
But do I want the world to care, do I want it to notice me at all?

I yearn to be invisible so that I mark my passage of time uneventfully
I opt for all choices that don’t involve other human beings in every way I can
I have no use for social interaction; it’s is but just a blot of insignificance

I perceive the world and everything in it as loosely held together dots along a map
People don’t know the people they think they know
People see personas, often craftily created to prevent us from seeing the reality

I do this all of the time. I craft this unique guise to fit the circumstance I am in
I’ve honed this knack with precision as never seen before
I am who I am when I want to be who I am.


There is life in anonymity—there is no one to whom I have to be accountable.
Yet, at times, I crave the attention the anonymity creates.
This is my double-edged sword. I want my cake and eat it too.

No one, absolutely know who I really a from the inside out
Only the shells I wish for them to perceive, my safety net.
If I show you who I really am, will you still like me?

Creating these elaborate personas that must be kept intact bespeaks of infidelity to self and all who appear to give care
How do you tell someone who thinks is a good friend only to discover the lying and deception that goes along for the ride?
No, I rather enjoy my compartmentalized structure to my life.


Facts in existence; I am a person who faces fear of rejection every day of my life
If I don’t put my real life on the line, the rejection of is the facade created, not of the true me
I am the spider that said to the fly: " I will trap you in a provocative web to spin your tales to protect your innermost self."©2007

14 February 2007

Soaring

Indescribable is the warmth that beats upon my brow as I fly high as the eagles,
So is the rush of wind that flutters my eyelashes and brings tears to my eyes.
Further upward I explore this vast array of sky, not even noticing the ever-shrinking globe below.
I chase after contrails that litter the ceiling in their criss-crossing patterns, playing tic-tac-toe amidst the heavens.


My mind has been freed to explore the vast consciousness of freedom high above my head,
Unfettered by all means that hold me to this earthbound terrain.
I flirt with the tropopause—that boundary that separates atmosphere from space;
The view of the stars twinkling before me, God’s created cosmos, consumes my very breath.



The depth of the colors surrounding me is glorious in its opulence,
My eyes becoming the prism through which all light passes.
Rainbows dance upon my retinas, so attainable to reach out and touch
And enter this magical mystery as I race through this envelope of liberty.


I bounce among the clouds resembling gossamered-winged angels—the brilliance of the sun’s reflection so pure.
Cumuli float amid the space that I occupy, eerily zooming past me at this pace that I soar.
Within some, hailstones soon to hit the earth along with lightening quickly to dance pelt me.
With others, they serve as halos crowning my head as I become the sundog in the firmament.


My defiance of gravity is magnificent at best, my choice never to return regrettably nonexistent.
I feel the pull of this world gradually drawing upon me, draining the voltage that fuels my passion.
Like Icarus of lore, rapidly I am to become one with the landscape,
Where, for a brief spec of time, wars and politics were so serenely unnoticed.
Too soon I am earthbound, but always glancing upward at the chance to haunt the mysteries of flight once again.©2007

09 February 2007

I'm Bipolar: So Who Am I?


Most people don’t understand bipolar disorder. However, if you use the older term, “manic-depression,” you might get a few “Ahhhs.” Even then, the general consensus of the population is one of enormous misunderstanding. The official definition of bipolar disorder is a psychiatric disorder marked by alternating episodes of mania and depression. Bipolar disorder is one that causes unusual shifts in a person’s mood, energy, and the ability to function. These shifts can be quite severe and have nothing in common with the every day ups and downs that most people experience. Damaged relationships, poor job performance and suicide can result.

And then it becomes more confusing when you throw two sub-categories into the mix: Bipolar 1 and Bipolar 2. The first is marked by swings from extreme depression to extreme mania. The latter experiences the extreme depression but a milder form of mania. “Mania can be described as an elated mood (excessive happiness and expansiveness), an irritable mood (excessive anger and touchiness), a decreased need for sleep, grandiosity or an inflated sense of themselves and their abilities, increased talkativeness, racing thoughts or jumping from one idea to another, an increase in activity and energy levels, changes in thinking, attention and perception; and impulsive and reckless behavior.” (The Bipolar Disorder Survival Guide, David J Miklowitz, PhD, pp 15,16). Erratic spending sprees and hypersexual activity are two examples of impulsive and reckless behavior.

“These episodes alternate with intervals in which a person becomes depressed, sad, blue, or ‘down in the dumps,’ loses interest in things he or she ordinarily enjoys, loses weight and appetite, feels fatigued, has difficulty sleeping, feels guilty about him- or herself, has trouble concentrating or making decisions and often feels like committing suicide. Episodes of either mania or depression can last anywhere from days to months.” (ibid, p 16).

I did not start out this discourse on a treatise of bipolar disorder; rather, I want the general public to truly understand the incredible insidiousness of this disease, at least through my eyes (and, yes, this IS a disease much the same as if one had diabetes…just because it is a psychiatric disorder does not lessen its impact on the body). While I can identify with some of the examples of Dr Miklowitz’s aspects of mania, his take on depression has been a grave misrepresentation in my life.

Unfortunately, the population as a whole looks at depression as having a bad hair day. People will often say, “Look, bud, just suck it up and deal with it.” or some other such nonsense. People also confuse bipolar disorder with those diagnosed with clinical depression, a very real and debilitating illness itself. The depression side of bipolar is very similar, but clinical depression lacks that elusive element of mania. For me, depression isn’t about being sad or blue. It is a state of paralyzing nothingness. I don’t experience stages or levels of depression; when my mood shifts, it truly is a crash and burn. I isolate, even among throngs of people when I have to be out in public (when I am at work), otherwise, I sit at home, all alone in this massive house absolutely numb and pained at the same time. Numb to the acknowledgment of the outside world, pained to the point of self-mutilation. I stare at the four walls and wonder to myself, “Is this all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?” The emotional pain that I feel (most often provoked by nothing) had become so exacerbated that I had resorted to self-mutilation. Ordinarily you find that with much younger bipolar patients, but I am 49 and only just recently have I stopped cutting myself. I have made the carvings on the real estate of my arms into an art of cartography. Being as anal as I am, all of the cuttings are quite parallel and perpendicular to each other, like a grid road map. And suicide? I haven’t just thought about it, but created elaborate plans and methodologies and was quite prepared to carry out my plans on several occasions. Somehow, God was determined that it wasn’t my time in each case and I never went through with any of them. The closest I came was in 2000 as I had access to boluses of potassium chloride (it is one of the chief components in the ole lethal injection scenario), butterfly needles and some heparin. Having been a junkie twenty years ago (and how I lived through shooting up speedballs as long as I did is still a miracle to me), I knew I could pop a vein, anchor the butterfly, and nurse it with heparin so it wouldn’t clot until I was ready to inject the KCl. When I laid everything out on the dining room table in quite an orderly fashion—syringes ready to go—strapped the tourniquet around my bicep and prepped the vein something snapped in my head. It wasn’t that I couldn’t go through with it. I stopped because I couldn’t believe that my life had succumbed to this point.

For some dumb reason, an inkling of clarity broke through and I called my family physician and told his nurse that I had to come and see him right away. I guess something in my voice told her to say yes without even checking with him or the calendar for the day (ordinarily, he was usually booked up). To this day, I don’t even remember driving to the office, but when I got there, I was ushered right back to his office, not even one of those small patient rooms. I waited for about 15 minutes before he came in, shut the door and took the seat next to me. I showed him my arms (I had done quite a number on them the night before) which wasn’t a surprise—he’d seen the scars from previous efforts which I would never discuss as he would write me a prescription for an anti-depressant. Then he asked me what else had happened and I told him the truth. He got up and immediately made a phone call to one of his good friends (they played racquetball together) and said that he really needed to make some time to see me. Then my doctor asked me if he could trust me to go over to this other doctor’s office without going home and carrying out my well-laid plan. I agreed.

At this point I think I was in shock as I began to absorb the enormity of it all. I drove over and waited about 20 minutes and then was seen by his nurse who proceeded to barrage me with questions, all diagnostic in nature. I just sat there looking down at my lap answering monosyllabically as the tears finally began welling up in my eyes. When she was done, she left me alone for a bit and then introduced me to what I realized was a psychiatrist (my doctor may have said something to that effect before I left his office; I just don’t remember.). Having reviewed my answers, he began talking to me in a very quiet, subdued and soothing manner. That seemed to make some difference to me, because up until that moment I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly I could exhale and breathe again. We talked at length about my long history and he asked me more questions, presented various scenarios to me to see how I would react to different situations, and continued to probe further still into my past behavior. After spending about three hours with me, he decided I was suffering from Bipolar 1 disorder and that I needed to be hospitalized (primarily because of what was waiting at home for me—obviously I was a danger to myself). He wasn’t sure he could trust me to drive myself over to the hospital; he seriously considered an ambulance, but I convinced him that I would drive directly over to the psych ward of our local hospital. Of course, he called in everything ahead of time and they were expecting me by the time I arrived. He even arranged for me to have a private room even though my insurance would only cover a semi-private room unless a private room was all that was available. There were other semi-private beds available; the nurses just wrote it up in a way that the insurance company would accept.

When they showed me my room, I changed out of my street clothes into a pair of scrubs and terry-cloth slippers that had those anti-skid rubber strips on the bottom and just curled up in the bed. I wouldn’t come out for any meals and the only time I left my room was to get my medications, a powerful cocktail that made me dizzy for quite some time. The psychiatrist, who took me on as a special favor to my doctor (he no longer treated inpatient adults, only adolescents), came to see me every day for the week that I was there. He asked if I had a friend who could get into my house and remove all evidence of my suicide attempt. He wanted to make sure when I got home, I was as safe as I could be. My friend was instructed to not only remove all of the medical supplies, but all of the liquor in my house. He also asked her to go by and pick up the prescriptions he called in so I wouldn’t miss any doses by the time I got home.

No, the medicines, nor the hospital stay made that much of a difference to me when I first got home. However, after about six weeks, the cocktail of meds finally began to take hold and my moods appeared to stabilize for the first time that I could remember.

All of that happened seven years ago this summer. Has life been good to me since this diagnosis? Absolutely not. There are medicines than can attempt to control the mood swings, but there will never be a cure for this disease. Many of the medications, such as Depakote, Zyprexa and Seroquel are massive weight gainers. What do you think that does to your self-esteem when you are cycling down into a depressive state? Sure, the medications help, but I have the learned a few lessons the hard way. I did what most bipolar patients do when they start to feel much better. In 2004, after losing all of the weight I had gained on the medications, I really did begin to feel better. So, I did what was the worst thing I could do. I went off my medication. However, I really did well without them for quite a while, until I became involved in a romantic relationship. Even then, it didn’t become evident until well into six months of being with her. She was everything I had been looking for in a partner and for the first time that I could remember, I was genuinely happy. We moved in together, but the stressors brought on by being in a relationship for the first time in many years, coupled with the fact that I was now living with someone after being alone for so many years, brought all of the symptoms back with a fury. I was still seeing my psychiatrist (every four months just for a med check since I was doing so well…I never admitted that in October of 2004 I went off everything until I told him the following April). He was amazed that I seemed so stabilized in the absence of medicine for such a long period of time. He admitted that it was very rare that someone could actually come off his or her medications. He chalked some of it up to all of the weight I lost (250 pounds) as the hormone estrogen, which is fat-soluble, can wreak havoc on a bipolar patient. He decided to put me in a wait-and-see mode and I promised him that I would call right away if I saw any red flags.

Well, the red flag appeared in June. I started to rapid cycle (meaning that I was mood shifting quite suddenly from high to low in short time spans). I went in to see him and back on the meds I went. But this time he put me on one that was weight neutral (I told him that I refused to take any drugs whose side-effect was weight gain) and I began to take Abilify. But I found we had to steadily increase the dosage as it wasn’t making the difference we were hoping to see in the time frame we were expecting. My mood swing this time went south and stayed there for what seemed like forever. I started drinking again, knowing full well I had no business drinking alcohol while taking the medication. Needless to say, all of this took quite a toll on my relationship which also began to deteriorate by November. On 01 December 2005, after being in a manic state for three weeks straight without any sleep, I crashed hard and became absolutely suicidal. I decided to call my psychiatrist and voluntarily checked myself into the hospital. This time there were some new meds on the market, all of which were weight neutral, with which we began to experiment. Within a week, I was back to feeling stable and went home.

But I didn’t stop the drinking which I think was a by-product of just being unhappy in this relationship. I wanted to leave her; I just didn’t know how. I loved her with all of my heart; I just didn’t want to live with her any more. I felt trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place. On 27 December I drank so much I passed out and she couldn’t bring me out of it, called an ambulance and rushed me to the ER. She told the doctor of my bipolar history, and by the time I had sobered up, I was given two choices: I could voluntarily check myself into a psychiatric facility, or they would go to court and have me committed. So, back into the hospital I went (voluntarily). I don’t think I had ever hit bottom this hard, or so I thought.

She wouldn’t come and visit me and only talked to me on the phone twice before announcing that she was coming to see me on January 1st as long as there would be a therapist present to facilitate the visit. I wasn’t sure what was up with that, but I said fine. I really did need to see her again; I missed her so much. Well, she came and promptly announced that I wouldn’t be moving back into her house upon my discharge and that we were no longer together as a couple. Talk about getting your heart ripped out and stomped on. That’s when hitting bottom really slammed me in the face. It was a good thing I was in the hospital, because I can honestly say without a doubt that I would have committed suicide that night. I cried for three days straight (if you asked any of the other patients, it wasn’t crying but dissonant wailing). The two previous times I had been admitted I was in for only five days each. This admission lasted 18 days.

It’s been one year, one month and nine days since my world came crashing to a halt and I have to say that I have persevered. My psychiatrist and I have come up with what has been a remarkable cocktail of drugs to which I have not become tolerant (yet). I am living in a beautiful, huge house all alone in prime downtown real estate and, yes, I still struggle. The meds aren’t perfect. I cycle—I can be manic for three weeks at a time—but I haven’t been suicidal when I plummet down. And regardless of how depressed I get, I haven’t cut myself in almost one year. I’ve been able to hold my job throughout all of this and I have been blessed to have a very understanding boss who will be the first to tell me that she doesn’t know beans about being bipolar—she just knows I’m one of her best employees. I still haven’t figured out who I am in all of this, but I do know one thing: I am a survivor.©2007

08 February 2007

A Lesson From Geese (author unknown)

Have you ever wondered why migrating geese fly in a V formation? As with most animal behavior, God had a good reason for including that in their instincts.

As each bird flaps its wings, it creates uplift for the bird following. In a V formation, the whole flock adds at least 71% more flying range than if each bird flew alone.

Whenever a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to fly alone…and quickly gets back into formation.

Like geese…people who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going quicker and easier than those who try to go it alone.

When a goose gets tired, it rotates back into the formation and another goose flies at the point position. If people had as much sense, they would realize that, ultimately, their success depends on working as a team, taking turns doing the hard tasks, and sharing leadership.

Geese in the rear of the formation honk to encourage those up front to up their speed. It is important that out “honking from behind” be encouraging. Otherwise, it is—well—honking.

When a goose gets sick or wounded, two other geese drop out of formation and follow it down to help and provide protection. They stay with the unhealthy member of the flock until it is either able to fly again or dies.

Then they launch out again with another passing flock or try to catch up with their own. May we be so sacrificial that we may be worthy of such friends in our time of need.

You don’t have to be a scientist to learn from God’s marvelous creation; you only need to stop long enough to observe and let God reveal His wonders to you.

“Ask the beasts, and they will teach you; and the birds of the air, and they will tell you, or speak to the earth, and it will teach you; and the fish of the sea will explain to you. Who among all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this?” (Job 12:7-9)

"Footprints"...A New Version (author unknown)

Imagine you and the Lord Jesus are walking down the road together. For much of the way, The Lord’s footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.

But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures and returns.

For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord’s, soon paralleling His consistently.

You and Jesus are walking as true friends!

This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus’ are not walking precisely in His steps.

Inside his larger footprints are your smaller ones; you and Jesus are becoming one.

This goes on for many miles, but gradually you notice another change. The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger.

Eventually, they disappear altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.

This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse! Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of prints.

You are amazed and shocked.

Your dream ends.

Now you pray:

“Lord, I understand the first scene, with zigzags and fits. I was a new Christian; I was just learning. But you walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with you.”

“THAT IS CORRECT.”

“And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely.”

“VERY GOOD. YOU HAVE UNDERSTOOD EVERYTHING SO FAR.”

“When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that I was becoming like You in every way.”

“PRECISELY.”

“So, Lord, was there a regression or something? The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first.”

There is a pause as the Lord answers, with a smile in His voice.

“YOU DIDN’T KNOW? IT WAS THEN THAT WE DANCED!”

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance. (Ecclesiastes 3:1,4)

It not WHAT you have in your life, but Whom you have in your life that counts…Think about that.

05 February 2007

Racing

The darkness of the night escapes me,
No shafts of moonlight to hem me in.
I soar with angels, buffeted by their wings
As the air around me sizzles and pops with electricity.



The fire grows into a molten pot deep within my belly.
The urge to create anything at all stokes the cinders—sparks fly in all directions.
My bed beckons me in this wee hour of the morning,
But my mind races forward, chasing one elusive thought after another.



The slumber my body craves is in itself a dream.
Hour upon hour I remain vigilant at the slightest vague supposition.
Any inkling will do as my mind does cartwheels in this grand space of time.
How the quiet is suppressed by the clamor of thoughts in my head.

It passes me by, one fleeting abstraction after another.
Too much noise encircles the ego in this still burnt cork of night.
They come at me like bat’s wings in frightful flight,
A blur that cannot be captured and imprisoned to evoke expression of creation.



As the nights melt into the days with repetition that knows no end,
The expectation of creation grows silent amid the dissonance that abounds,
Despite the impulse—the drive—to construct.
My mind desperately reaches out to catch even one of these thoughts that race.



And suddenly, as quickly as all these mental images beckon,
There is this tremendous thrust of despair.
What was once a dizzying envelope of energy
Has been usurped by an utter drain of force.



This crushing desolation, while unexpected at the time,
Stands at the head of the line with anticipation.
It’s time to crawl back into the void, craftily disappearing at will,
Knowing that the night has finally closed in and shut out all of the dreams that once filled the sky
.©2007