Compassion

I just spent 4 hours cleaning out childhood mementos, memories, moments, medals, trophies, letters, shoes, dresses I'll wear when I lose ten pounds, journals, Bat Mitzvah paraphenalia and god knows what else from inside my parents' garage. They sit in hefty bags and dusty boxes on the curb in front of my home on Roxbury Avenue. Some were released with tears. Others with a gut level laugh. I still held onto a lot of stuff -- camp photos, letters, yearbooks dating back to elementary school -- but most of it will be compressed at about 5:30 am by the garbage man and dumped on a landfill in Old Bethpage. I think tonight was more therapuetic than the last ten years I spent with analysts and social workers.

I can now look back with clarity and see the kind of pressure I was under as a kid. Everything I did was rewarded -- a grade, a rank, a place, attention, popularity and greater expectations. Identity wrapped around and always met with external validation.

After high school and onto college - the big fish from a little pond enters a huge pond and feels like an invisible fish. Nothing is good enough. Isolation. Lack of coping skills. Stress. Fear. What about taking risks? Being someone other than the perfect good girl student athlete leader prom queen captain mvp happy kid? Can I try a cigarette? In the petri dish, there now exists the perfect condition for an eating disorder and major depression. It grows and thrives rapidly like bacteria.

How can a young adult be or feel free and authentic when trying to be perfect all the time? Why are there so many people whose childhood and adult years are spent constantly craving approval and doing whatever they can to avoid rejection or someone's negative judgment? Do we ever grow up?

It's often said that recovery from addiction or "mental illness" (not a term I like to use) is one of the hardest things a person will ever face. For me, it was like New Orleans after Katrina. Whatever infrastructure was supposed to provide support and protection failed. Broke. A huge, all-consuming storm took over. After and during the rain, where the fuck is the competent help? What is taking so long? Where is home? Something very beautiful and precious is now under water.

When you fall hard and low, no matter who you are or what your strengths, whether you come from a garage full of trophies or not, the journey upwards can be unbelievably challenging and at times feels completely insurmountable.

I will write about what I went through one day and share it with the audience I find which needs to hear it. The hospitals, the medications, the attempts to find relief, recovery, health and happiness. Years of complete and utter disillusionment. Almost quitting time and time again until finally, the rise and something resembling a restoration. Acceptance. A new progression. Adulthood. Finding some peace, self acceptance, love even, and a positive voice which says I can do this life thing again.

The light and hero in me sees and honors the light and hero in you. Namaste.