Chapter 15. Perceptions

“As a man thinks within himself, so he is.” 

– Proverbs 23:7

I ask God, “Why did you make my brain like this? Why do I feel so cruddy?” I refuse to stop looking for ways to feel better; I try to figure out why I feel bad.

I chronicle my grief in feeling not ‘needed’:

• not by Pete who is now off-limits,
• not by my kids who are in school much of the day,
• not by Gregg who is seemingly more independent,
• not by ‘best’ friend Allure whose husband is disallowing her to need me.

I feel anxious, hurt; late August 1997 marks nearly five weeks off Zoloft and the weeks following are rather hellish.

August 30, 1997.  As I've been off the Zoloft I can feel an unsettledness in my body as well as in my thinking. I suppose my mom called it nervousness… It's an agitation. It's a lack of serotonin.  

September 1, 1997.  I feel pretty down today - for no reason again. It's a beautiful day weather-wise, and quite open with no pressures, with Gregg around. I ought to be ecstatic. Oh, I do loathe this head of mine… I so desire to be cheerful, upbeat, and pleasant to the people around me - sometimes this struggle feels like a living hell. Thus the death wishes - I'd be released from what seems like endless struggle. 

September 27, 1997. I feel… almost despairing - thinking thoughts of why life? Life seems meaningless, or too painful. I just don't want to do it anymore.

Oct 4, 1997. I had a few really rough days last week, where I felt so unsettled inside, and so vulnerable - scary, really scary to me. Thursday I was fighting it, then developed a mild headache in the afternoon that got progressively worse, but had to teach a Breastfeeding class in the evening. I made it through class, then threw up in the hospital bathroom, picked up all my stuff, came home, and went straight to bed.

Oct 24, 1997. This morning one of my first thoughts was "I don't want to do today." 

Lots of people have to fight this fight. Some statistics reported in The Mindful Way Through Depression published in 2007 include: around 12% of men and 20% of women will suffer major depression at some time in their lives; each episode of depression increases the chances that the person will experience another episode by 16%.

I do a gob of reading on depression and depression helps, especially the help of medication. I look more into SSRIs – selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. Serotonin is the brain’s primary ‘feel good’ neurotransmitter; and along with other roles has a part in initiating sleep, controlling pain, affecting sex drive and appetite. I learn about the workings of our brains (if interested, there’s a bit about neurons and neurotransmitters at the end of this entry). 

There is speculated to be at least 100 neurotransmitters, but only a few are targeted to treat depression; namely norepinephrine, dopamine, and serotonin. The understanding in the late 1990s is that an antidepressant drug often blocks reuptake of the neurotransmitter, allowing any excess to flood the receptors, thereby correcting the imbalance.

Though it’s scarce, I have a few moments of relief, even apart from medication. I record in my journal:

Aug 30, 1997. We just returned from canoeing on Union Lake (a small lake about 15 minutes from here) - Mark and Gregg paddled, I sat in the middle of the canoe and soaked in the sun and read. It was wonderful. I closed my eyes every so often and took in the sound of the wind, and of the paddles moving through the water; then opened them and enjoyed the green of the trees and cattails, lily pads and bushes, and the green-blue, algae-infested lake water. 
I felt the heat of the sun caressing my shoulders, and the relief of the breeze. Ahhh.

“I have decided to be happy because it is good for my health.” - Voltaire

In the present day I name this experiencing of the moment “mindful awareness,” and it can work as an antidote to the kind of negative thinking that predominated my past. 

Mindfulness is being aware in the present actively and non-judgmentally; it is an accepting of this moment as it is. I still have much to learn in this arena.

“We are what we think. 

With our thoughts we make our world.” 

- Buddha

I read additionally, many years later, of the benefits of redirected thinking. The self-focused, self-critical frame of mind called brooding or rumination is counterproductive. Though it seems like a way to get out of feeling bad, research has shown that problem-solving for how-do-I-get-to-feeling-better is actually part of the problem. It causes us to focus on our deficiencies and increase our unhappiness. (p 46-47 Mindful Way outlines ways out, and ways to cultivate awareness).  

My tendency has been to ruminate – to want to explore what’s causing the darkness. But that staying with what's wrong – some call it brooding – is detrimental. Soon after learning that rumination is not good, I am gifted with an image from God: a helpful redirection.

October 7, 1997. As I was lying awake at 5 am, I had a picture - that I think God put in my head - of walking down an extremely long hallway with many doors leading into different rooms…

I believe the rooms are roughly equated with my thoughts. I've gone into a dark room and explored. I wonder, why is it dark in here? Where is the light switch? Does the light work? Is there a good reason that it's so dark? What is this object? There's not quite enough light to make it out exactly what it is. Hmm, I wonder what's in that dark corner?

BUT NOW I'm learning that God is wanting me to walk on without exploring that dark room - for the time being, He doesn't want me to even look in that room of negative thoughts. I need to look the other way (be distracted), sometimes even close that door and turn my back (consciously choose to not ruminate).

It can seem like there are no other rooms to investigate, no wonderful brightly lit rooms with pleasant things to explore. But that's ok for right now, I'm making my way down the hallway toward the banquet table (eternity and treasures evermore!) at the very end. And I have to reassure myself that sometime later there will be beautiful rooms that are open to me.

“There is a long hallway between the doors, where things are really uncertain, and you just have to walk.” 

– Greg Boyle

Around this time, I am reading the book Molecules of Emotion and begin to understand the relationship between thoughts and feelings differently. I believed that because I felt sad my thoughts would be mostly sad. But I learn that I have much control over which thoughts to think and that thoughts can certainly affect feelings: there is a two-way communication. How I perceive what's happening is going to affect my emotions. My perception is key! My interpretation is key!

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” – Anais Nin

~~~~~~~~~~~

A neurotransmitter is a chemical that transports messages across synapses between neurons, thus the name neuro-transmitter.  
Our almost three-pound brains are made up of about 100 billion neurons with numerous gaps between these brain cells called synapses. 
Impulses or thoughts travel through the neurons on electrical currents.  
Each neuron has a form rather like a tiny tree (key word “tiny” - 20,000 neurons would fit on the head of a pin), with a “branch” system at one end and a “root” system at the other. 
The “roots” of the neuron are called axons, the “trunk” is called the cell body, and the “branches” dendrites. 
Information in the form of an electrical current flows into the dendrites from the axons of adjacent neurons, travels through the cell body, reaches the axon, to again find the dendrites of other adjacent neurons.  
However, neurons never touch, so the electrical current to be passed along causes release of a neurotransmitter at the tip of the axon, the neurotransmitter chemical crosses the gap and attaches itself to the next cell’s dendrite, which causing that nerve cell to fire up electrically so the information can continue to travel.

Chapter 14. Some light

"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." 

- Leonard Cohen, Selected Poems, 1956-1968

I refuse to stop looking for love. One source I keep going back to is God’s Word, and during this time of summer into fall 1997 I look for any bits of “truth.” I want some words to pour light into my darkness. 

When wishing for a poison that I could get my hands on and be done with this life, but realizing (with some resentment) that God wants me to stick around on earth, I think of -

"For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I am to live on in the flesh, this will mean fruitful labor for me: and I do not know which to choose, but I am hard-pressed from both directions, having the desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is very much better, yet to remain on in the flesh is more necessary for your sake." Philippians 1:21-24

When wanting to go to alcohol or attachments (substitutes for tending to deeper needs) -

 "and do not get drunk with wine, for that is excess, but be filled with the Spirit." Ephesians 5:18

From my journaling:

“The Strong’s Concordance definition of the Greek word “filled” is: to make replete, i.e. literally - to cram (as in, a net), to level up (a hollow), to furnish (imbue, diffuse, influence), to satisfy... 
This is the experience I want - God to completely fulfill me! 
I can understand this with my head, but to live it is another matter. To give up the pleasurable sensations of an alcoholic buzz, or of the thrill of being thought sexy by provocative dress or talk, or desiring an inordinate amount of appreciation, is tough for me.

When feeling like a prisoner to my own mind -

"But I am afflicted and in pain. May Thy salvation, O God, set me securely on high....

The humble have seen it and are glad. You who seek God, let your heart REVIVE. For the Lord hears the needy, and does not despise His who are prisoners."  Psalm 69:29, 32-33

When hoping desperately for different -

"Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past. Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth, will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert."  Isaiah 43:18-19

When feeling self-pity about being depressed, darkly wayward, or purposeless -

“Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?”  Romans 9:20-21 

“Every day is a new life. Seize it. Live it.” 

– David Guy Powers

Chapter 13. More amok

I did more than run and walk amok: I emailed and phoned amok, with a man other than my spouse.

In mid-February 1997 the friendship with Pete (name changed) starts innocently enough. Pete is an out-of-state business contact of the company for which I work. He is the representative assigned to our area, so when I call with questions on a claim, I am consistently referred to him. After a few phone contacts – one of which he gives our company a favorable outcome and I call him “my hero” – he suggests that it might be fun to email. I agree. 

We exchange some words of a kind nature, and share some events happening in our lives.  We exchange a few more words of a more affirming tone, and share our thoughts about what is happening in our lives.

It doesn’t take long – maybe a couple of weeks – before I am checking email every day, and sometimes doing it on the sly in the wee morning hours, as I suspect that Gregg won’t be too keen on the frequency of the contacts. Not too much longer and there is email talk between Pete and me of hearts beating faster, and of excited anticipation of the response of the other.

Phone calls start and quickly become daily, sometimes twice a day. It is spring: I enjoy the outdoors and the attention while we talk; while I dig dandelions in the yard I dig myself deeper into relationship. The more contact we have, the more things heat up. Sexual innuendos are tossed from him to me and back again. Next come more blatant statements of wishing for face-to-face, or body-to-body contact.  After all, this man tells me I am one in a billion! He tells me that he loves my personality, that he’s never known anyone like me. 

Heady stuff, and hindsight certainly informs of how dangerous such comments are when coming from anyone other than a husband. Hidden from my conscious reasoning in the heat of the moment, my entering into that relationship is tit for tat. The flattering contact is enticing, especially when I know that my husband is enjoying the attention of another woman. I am fishing for affection, the kind of affection that Gregg has with Allure. Through the years, I felt I had been exemplary in behavior towards other men. Sometimes I even avoided eye contact when I thought it would make Gregg uncomfortable: Gregg had a mild jealous streak.

After a year and a half of Gregg avoiding my expressed “red flags” in his relationship with Allure, maybe down deep is a desire for revenge. Subconsciously, I wonder if I decide that I want just a little bit of what he has. No “inappropriate” behavior, just some harmless words of affirmation from another man.

Additionally, somewhere in the recesses of my mind I think I conclude that I don’t like the way God has let things happen. He let my husband have eyes for another. He let my child be sexually molested. He gave me an awful depressed brain. Late in 1997 I think God is "mean" and that He doesn't really know how to take care of me. He gave me this wretched brain that seems to be defective, that craves for alcohol, and that tends toward such negativity that I can hardly enjoy all the good things I have.

He took away my reliable status of the "apple" of Gregg's eye. I realize that I may have sought Gregg out 'cause he was such a nice guy. That possibly I had deep feelings of “could I really trust men?” which fed a goal of doing whatever I could to avoid being hurt by choosing the nicest guy I could find to marry. 

For a few months I felt too raw to trust God for hardly anything - I didn't believe He would be good to me, I didn't believe God would let me do anything that was "fun," I didn’t believe that God would satisfy.

On a subconscious level, I think: if God is in control of all things and what I’m experiencing is what I get for all my efforts, I don’t want to trust God. I’ll do it my way for awhile. This feels good. I’m going there.

I have a hyperactive conscience though, and in those first months of illicit relationship I know that I won’t last too long in blatant rebellion. In fact I tell Pete that I am going to give him his birthday present early, before God convinces me to stop the relationship with him, as that could happen by the time of his early April birthday. So in March 1997, I borrow a Polaroid and take some pictures of myself, au natural, and send them to him with a few other small things and a card. 

We never have any physical contact, but that’s little consolation. Jesus clarifies, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ but I say to you, that everyone who looks on a woman to lust for her has committed adultery with her already in his heart.” -Matthew 5:27-28. I grieve over my sin against God, the other man, my husband, and myself. Turning away from Sacred is an awful thing. When the door is cracked opened to harm (I name it evil and Satan a decade ago), a stinky foot is quickly thrust forward.

April and May sees us continue in contact, but gradually decrease the sexual talk and intensity of feelings. By the end of May, God has so convicted me of the wrong in our relationship that I make Pete promise to burn the pictures that I sent. He says he will; he said he does.

I am attached enough though to the relationship and Pete’s affirming words that we stay in touch. The frequency of calls lessens, but the sexual innuendos continue. It is inappropriate and unwise, and I know it. I don’t want my spouse doing the same with another woman. And I know I am doing a wrong to Pete’s wife.

DREAM. May 26, 1997. I am in a tornado.  No one is hurt, but I am on my own.

DREAM. June 3, 1997: In my dream, I see some 'stupid' types slide into my parked car.  No one had called the police yet when I got to the car, so I have to do that, and in general take care of the details.

   
Note: a recurring theme of my dreams is that I'm alone or left to fend for myself through the trouble.

It isn’t until things later implode with Gregg that I am finally ready and willing to sever the tie I have with Pete. Maybe I feel convinced that somehow God will fill my need for affirmation; more likely I know that if Gregg and I have any chance of surviving together, we need to NOT have any other relational distractions.

I got lost looking for love. 

Batter my heart, / three personed God…

Take me to You, imprison me, / for I, except You enthrall me, / never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, / except You ravish me. 

– John Donne, Sonnet #14

Chapter 12. Walking amok

I have been known to walk amok too. I’ve gotten lost or taken detours into dangerous territory on more than one occasion. There can be some good in being lost. Opportunity arises for God to step in when we can’t help ourselves.

Author Barbara Brown Taylor extols the merits of the spiritual practice of getting lost and tells her story of “Once, when I took the wrong train to the New York Botanical Gardens and ended up walking through a pretty scary neighborhood in the Bronx, a bus driver stopped and opened his doors just for me.  ‘I don’t have the right change,’ I said, my eyes huge with fear. ‘Get in,’ he said. God drove a bus in the Bronx that day.” (p 83, An Altar in the World)

I have a similar experience during a 2007 trip to Corpus Christi, Texas.

It is a week-long foray for Gregg and me and another couple. The guys are ‘seriously’ attending Stephen Ministry leader training and us girls get to ‘frivolously’ sight-see. Monday morning Diane and I brave public transportation to get to our touristy destinations. Part of that transportation system named "The Shoreline Connection" uses trolleys with four different routes to connect downtown, bay front, and beach attractions. Our first trolley driver is a friendly Hispanic gentleman with long pony-tailed hair who tirelessly explains what to see and do on his route and answers our questions with recommendations of where to eat and what trolley to catch next from the Staples station so as to get to the USS Lexington Museum. 

We make the connection and do a tour of the US naval aircraft carrier that was docked in Corpus Christi in 1991 after being in service for 50 years. After touring the carrier ship and eating lunch, we flag down and catch a trolley to take us back to the Staples station. 

From there I head off alone, footing it to a CVS pharmacy in search of replacement reading glasses (the pair I brought along went missing: must have left them on the plane). I know the location of the store as the intersection of Staples and Ayers, and from the crude map in my possession I estimate the distance to be maybe a mile. So I start walking, and right away get a few stares – I think due to the fact that I am the only one that day in knee-length shorts (the air temperature was cold for Corpus Christi) and one of only a very few Caucasians (most of the bus patrons were Hispanic or Black). The Staples station is near the county courthouse and jail, and we earlier noticed numerous bail bond shops, pawn shops, etc. – not the most upscale part of town.

Not long after I cross the street upon leaving Staples bus and trolley station, I hear a couple short honks. When walking, I assume that honking is rarely meant for me, and if it is directed at me when in unfamiliar territory, it’s probably best not to look. So I ignore it and keep walking briskly. I’m a fast walker anyway, and with a sense of potential danger, I kick it up a notch. 

One more block, more honking. I don’t turn my head to look. Another block and honk. Out of the corner of my eye I see a bus slowing down across the street. At the next honk, I look at the bus, and see the driver motioning me to come.

I recognize the driver as the friendly Hispanic driver of the morning trolley (turns out he had two shifts: the trolley route in the morning and city bus in the afternoon). When I get in the bus, he asks me what I am doing, where am I going? He directs me to stay by him and hands me a ticket for bus pass. 

I say, “I have change, I can pay,” and he responds “this is my treat, we like to take care of our guests.” I explain that I am headed to the CVS, he says, “that’s far, like 15 blocks, and this isn’t the best neighborhood,” and asserts that I need to be riding the bus. 

To my mention of my need for reading glasses he pointed out that not far ahead was a Family Dollar. I say that would be great, and before he lets me off he instructs me to wait for bus #5 at the bus stop on the same block as the store, “do you see it there on the corner? The #5 will be coming (he looks at his watch) in 14 minutes.” 

My new bus-driving friend lets me off in front of the Family Dollar store. Upon his exit, I’m pretty sure he’s shaking his head and smiling about the silly white woman, and later likely telling the story to his bus patrons and repeating it to his family that night.

So I do as he instructs after purchasing the glasses, and wait for the #5 bus, all the while feeling a little uncomfortable. An obviously and self-admittedly drunk man comes and sits beside me and starts up a conversation, so we talk while we wait. 

At the Staples station I decide to walk back to the hotel: it appears that the streets are not as barren and thus safer and I still want to get in a walk. But mostly I don’t want to stand conspicuously at the station while studying a brochure to figure out which trolley would take me back to near the hotel. [By this time I feel like I have a sign on my back that reads “dumb white tourist – come take advantage of me!”]

God drove a bus in Corpus Christi that day.

"The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper." 

- W.B. Yeats

Chapter 11: Some family history

"Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond." 

- Jalaluddin Rumi

My parents, grandparents, and ancestry have certainly had a role in bringing me to this place and this person. I weave a few of those stories in; they lend some insight. Some of the family stories include “secrets” that in times past just didn’t get told as it was not acceptable then to speak of such things. 

I think telling all the stories is important, whether the actions seem noble or ignoble.

My aim in telling is to honor the ancestor, recognizing that I am very much like they were. I have no judgments against them. My desire is merely to understand.

On my dad’s side:

My dad’s dad was a bootlegger. He was lots of other things as well, but it’s this role that put him in prison for six months and this deed that was hush-hush among my family elders. 

Edward Appleseth was born in 1893 to Johan Appleseth (spelled Appelseth by Johan’s brothers; there is more than one American rendering of the original Norwegian Apalset name).

I’ve been told that nicknames were prolific in the early 1900s. Edward’s nickname of Skid came from his first business in Clarkfield, MN, of repairing tires. Following that he had a scrap iron business during WWI and then opened Appleseth Produce in 1919, but his “Skid” identity remained.

It was a ‘shotgun’ wedding to Adelia Jorgenson in mid-January 1921; their firstborn, James, was born that year and five kids followed in the span of 12 years. My dad, the baby of the family, was born in 1933.

Before the prohibition-induced imprisonment, and when his kids were little, Edward drank. After the jail sentence, Edward was sober for 20-some years. Not until he was ready to retire and feeling bored – one of his kids was running the produce and he had little to do – did he start drinking again. Aunt Jean said of the Appleseths that “other people would go to church, talk politics, attend baseball games…not the Appleseths, they were all work, work, work.” Without work, it seemed Edward felt some emptiness. Not long into retirement, he shot himself.

On my mom's side:

Charles Hamilton Hubbard seemed as well to prefer work, and spirits. Charles – father of Edward Charles Hubbard and my mom’s (Adeline Marie Hubbard Appleseth) paternal granddad  – lived in Frederic, WI, and was the proprietor of the local pool hall and saloon. A parking lot is now situated where Charles H. Hubbard's pool hall once was located just a few feet from the train depot.  Originally a wood-frame structure built in 1901, after burning to the ground in the downtown-wide flames of 1908, it was rebuilt with brick. 

A picture from one of my grandmother's albums reveals the Hubbard brick building's adornment of a large mural painted by prolific yet affordable painter Al Brown. The place was an impressive presence in town. 

In the late 2000s, on a trip to Frederic - with my sister Cindy and cousins Pam and Cheryl - to investigate family history, the museum volunteer and Frederic-born native Ken told us a few stories. Ken reminisced that there were many "independent" characters in those days, and that nicknames were most common. He tells of one dairy farmer who got caught watering down his milk, and was then forever known as "Water Anderson."

When a child, Ken recalls weekend trips to town. The usual pattern was for all the country folk to make a Saturday evening run to the village: the ladies would go to the grocer and trade eggs for other food stuffs, the kids would go to the picture show place, and the men would go to the saloons. Fights would sometimes break out. He didn't differentiate whether the fights continued through the prohibition years (1920-1933) or not. In the 1922 high school year book, C.H. Hubbard's billiards establishment advertises "Cigars, Cigarettes and Soft Drinks."

With guarded but noticeable regret Ken mentioned that his grandfather was a regular customer of the Hubbard saloon before the prohibition years: he was sure his granddad had quite a tab going at our great-grandfather’s establishment. Some nights the guys at the saloon would carry his inebriated granddad to the horse-drawn wagon, swat the horses to git, and the horses would take his passed-out granddad home. Ken said his grandma, never happy with that scene, told him that on some rainy nights she’d just “leave him in the wagon ‘til mornin.”

I wonder what the townspeople said of that saloon and those Hubbards. With many of the Hubbard relatives being teetotalers, the speculation is that Charles was a black sheep, rather separate from the rest of his family. The story also is that Charles and his nearly-20-years-younger wife Georgia Mae Wheeler separated. In those days a history like that may have been the talk of the town. Intense. Shameful.

So maybe my tendency toward alcohol use, overwork, and intensity comes naturally.

We used to own Brittany Spaniels, dogs bred for hunting and described as high-strung. They’d get loose and irritate the neighborhood. I guess I’m more like those dogs than I care to admit: rather high-strung, and sometimes running amok.  

Chapter 10: Drinking

“Yes, this is a love story. It's about passion, sensual pleasure, deep pulls, lust, fears, yearning hungers. 

It's about needs so strong they're crippling.” 

– Caroline Knapp

I don’t really know when alcohol use got so regular. As the kids got older and didn’t need us so constantly, Gregg and I would occasionally imbibe on the weekends.

It is sometime in mid to late 1995 that I want alcohol more than just once or twice a week. Probably to escape the craziness I am experiencing as I’m told that nothing is happening with Gregg and Allure but feel altogether like something must be. The all-week drinking continues until the early summer of 1996 when I read that alcohol exacerbates depression. I decide to cut it out to see if it seems to have any effect on my mood. 

My depression doesn’t seem much improved to me at the end of the summer, plus I am missing out on the relief and lift the alcohol offers, so I go back on. I drink in the evening, and am fairly good at hiding it, at least from my kids. Gregg usually knows, though not always. I continue to read about depression, trying to find relief in any way I could.

But I don’t give serious thought to quitting until after an incident on Christmas eve, 1996. Humiliation gets my attention. Again. It seems to work well with me (cue up my embarrassment and humiliation of getting pregnant before marriage; though in that there was a side benefit of huge increase in compassion for others in a similar situation).

During the evening it doesn’t seem like I drink so much—but either I did (most likely) or it was an act of God (less likely) that causes me to pass out. To make matters worse, I do my drop in front of the whole extended family. We are just saying our goodbyes, so my siblings and their families, my parents, husband, and kids are all standing around together. In the midst of them, I slump to the ground. One sister revives me, Gregg takes me and our kids to his parent’s house where we are staying the night, and after throwing up, I stagger to bed. 

Drunk is ugly, and feels ugly. Especially that night, the worse night and morning after, ever. I vomit numerous times through the night and into the next morning, so that eventually blood is coming up. Worse yet is the scare I put my kids through, particularly my daughter, who needs me to be really present and available to her while she’s working through some trauma of her own. 

She is afraid I will die. In the night hours, I wonder myself.

I start reading more about alcoholism in May and June of 1997, as the dreams and nagging voice in my head keep proclaiming warning.

DREAM. 1997-1999 off and on, “Brake problems”

While driving the orange pickup truck I have difficulty pressing down on the brakes hard enough to get the truck to stop. I feel anxious that I’ll run into something and do damage. Or I have a problem reaching the brake, finding the brake, putting pressure on the correct spot. I have to push it so hard, and find I am physically unable.

“Difficulty with your vehicle dreams usually arise when events in your waking life seem out of control, you feel powerless over something, or you’re afraid you’re about to fail or crash...”  

- Dream Dictionary for Dummies

Late May, as I’m reading BUZZ: the Science and Lore of Alcohol and Caffeine, I learn more about the alcohol molecule – how it is broken down, and how it affects our liver, brain, and other tissues. I grow in understand of why I crave the stuff.

"We've seen that by inhibiting glutamate receptors, alcohol induces a general sedation and significantly impairs the brain's ability to store new memories. By increasing the sensitivity of GABA receptors, alcohol mimics Valium and reduces anxiety. Like a weak version of cocaine or amphetamine, alcohol boosts dopamine levels, producing a brief period of heady stimulation. And by endorphins, alcohol resembles opium, giving users a rush of pleasure similar to the 'natural high' experienced after a vigorous workout."

I read Caroline Knapp’s Drinking: A Love Story, and resonate with what she writes.

“Yes, this is a love story. 

It's about passion, sensual pleasure, deep pulls, lust, fears, yearning hungers. 

It's about needs so strong they're crippling. 

It's about saying good-bye to something you can't fathom living without. 

I loved the way drink make me feel, and I loved its special power of deflection, its ability to shift my focus away from my own awareness of self and onto something else, something less painful than my own feelings."

Her words help me define:

What alcohol does for me and why it’s a draw:

“Many of us drink in order to take that (psychic) flight, in order to pour ourselves, literally, into new personalities; uncap the cork, slide into someone else’s skin.  A liquid makeover, from the inside out.” (p 60)

 “Drinking released me from the compulsion to hold back, gave freer rein to appetites… I wanted that feeling, and I couldn’t seem to generate it on my own, and the amazing thing - the truly amazing and seductive thing – was that the drink could generate some version of it for me, a most convincing replica of ease and connection and relief, a least for a little while.” (p 69)

“You felt giddy and lighter and you had a sense of freedom, as though some secret part of you were rising up, a part you rarely have access to when you’re not drinking. This felt like a kind of relief: sober is dry and uptight; drink is fluid and liquid and loose.” (p 72)

Where I might be in the process:

“The vast majority of us are in far earlier stages of the disease: we’re early and mid-stage alcoholics, and we function remarkably well in most aspects of our lives for many, many years. (p14)

“The struggle to control intake – modify it, cut it back, deploy a hundred different drinking strategies in the effort – is one of the most universal hallmarks of alcoholic behavior… we develop new rules: we’ll never drink alone; we’ll never drink in the morning; we’ll never drink on the job; we’ll only drink on weekends or after five o’clock… we’ll do anything – anything – to show ourselves that we can, in fact, drink responsibly.” (p 120)

And what I need to face or do:

“There are moments as an active alcoholic where you do know, where in a flash of clarity you grasp that alcohol is the central problem, a kind of liquid glue that gums up all the internal gears and keeps you stuck.” (p 5)

“Liquor numbs the real feelings and the real fears and the real doubts; it deprives you of the courage it takes to be honest.” (p 88)

“When you quit drinking you stop waiting. You begin to let go of the wish, age old and profound and essentially human, that someone will swoop down and do all the hard work, growing up, for you. You start living your own life.” (p 239)

“There’s a big difference between walking through fears, which you do in sobriety, and escaping them, which you do through drink.” (p 254)

After reading that book, I think much about my drinking.

I come to the conclusion that the answers to ‘Why do I drink?’ are primarily for reward, relief, and escape.

·         My depressed brain finds momentary pleasure with alcohol, a surface satisfaction and reward for holding it together all day even though every right choice is sheer effort and I am tired.

·         I find relief from intense feelings of sadness, disappointment with myself and others, and anger.

·         I don’t know what to do with strong emotions of emptiness, rage, loneliness, terror, and unmet needs for love and worth; the alcohol provides an easy external diversion, or an excuse to vent on my husband.

The answers to ‘Why not drink?’ are

·         To learn to look to God to fill my deep yearnings.

·         To be alive with emotion, to go through the pain rather than around it, and to not just drown out my fear and rage since medicating emotions won’t resolve or alter them.

·         To heal and grow authentically, be present in my own life, and tend to my own needs with God’s help.

I know what needs to happen. Finally in late summer 1997 I cut it out. But, as has become my pattern, it was just for a time.

Chapter 9. Lying

I’m a thinker, I can think, and I think, “I think I can think differently.” 

When I first read through the list of cognitive distortions, offered in David Burns’ Feeling Good, I am surprised. [If interested in the list, refer to "Cognitive Distortions" in smaller font at end of this post.]

I muse, ‘Oh, that’s not normal? Not an okay way to think?’  But

I dig in and try the cognitive therapy suggested; upon awareness of upset, I identify situation, emotions, automatic thoughts, cognitive distortion, rational response.

Situation: In mid-February 1996, I am falling asleep early many nights. 
My emotions: sadness for time lost with Gregg in the evening and madness at myself.

My automatic thoughts: “I’m a party pooper, always have been and am still.”

The cognitive distortions: overgeneralization, labeling, and all or nothing thinking.

My rational response, an attempt to tell myself the truth: 
     “True, I’m not into really whooping it up, but I’m often willing to do something fun when suggested. I’d like to work on figuring out what I think is fun and initiating it. About falling asleep, maybe my body is adjusting to the meds. Maybe I could take naps to be able to stay awake with Gregg at night. Or maybe I don’t have to be awake most nights with him, we could substitute time at lunch or while on a walk.”

Another example.
Situation: Allure appears in my nightmare-ish dreams; and in real life Gregg talks with Allure.
Emotions: jealous, hurt, threatened, insecure.
Automatic thoughts: Allure would make a better wife to Gregg than me; Gregg finds her easier to talk to and finds me critical.

Cognitive distortion: mental filter, magnification.

Rational response: 
     Sometimes Allure has a way of getting to the core of things and articulating it in a way I don’t, so I can feel intimidated by her insight. Also it can seem like Gregg has to work harder to feel at ease with me lately. But there’s a much greater intimacy with us for all our years together. I have often chosen to serve and help him. Still I can learn to understand him more. I can learn some new ways of communicating acceptance and support. I can remember that Gregg loves me.

After some weeks on the depression meds and time of trying these cognitive approaches, I write in late spring 1996:

Time for update. I continue to daily chart on separate paper my moods, dreams, and some activity. I’m aware of the Zoloft having some effect, there’s a lift and not the same drudgery and lack of enthusiasm as I face the day.

New development – I found out Saturday night (2/24/96) and more Sunday afternoon of Gregg and Allure talking on the phone on a regular basis since November (probably maybe an average of once a week). Allure initiated at the beginning, Gregg returned some calls and initiated in the last month or so. They both are sorry and have asked for forgiveness. I’m working at forgiving completely.

I’ve felt much grief though in thinking on Gregg’s lying to me, and that he and she were deceptive and inconsiderate of my wishes.

I feel so disregarded.

I’ve had opportunity to express my hurt and anger – they both allowed it well. And Allure was articulate in identifying the wrong and hurt. Now I’m grieved over her situation with her husband and his lack of assuming any responsibility in the horrid dynamics in their relationship. Oh Lord, reveal truth. Penetrate.

I notice that I rather quickly pass over the offense in an attempt to move toward forgiveness. I am so wanting to move on and out of their sordid attraction and my dark emotions, out of hurt and anger. I want the opposite of all that: I want love and light and connection with husband.

I wince at my word choice of “penetrate” as it conjures up a picture in reminder of the kind of activity that was happening between them in those months. What I wanted then was for God to penetrate each of us with the reality of what was truly good and love. That is what I always wanted. In large measure that is what eventually happened. 

Gregg is a truth-teller now.

It takes a little while to get to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Many months pass.

Summer of 1996 includes our 20-year class reunion, and a cross-country road-trip family vacation -- to Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks and much more, adding many miles to our tired "wood" paneled station wagon's odometer. It turns out to be a lovely and memorable time. 

I experiment with the depression meds, occasionally taking a break from them. Most often when I go off the depression-helper chemicals I am either near tears or shedding tears; and I describe my feelings as frustrated, irritable, dull, weepy, destructive.

I come to some new awareness of other ‘drugs’ that I’d been using through my adulthood: those of activity and accomplishment to provide diversion or to feel better about myself. I realize that the need to do my “duty” has been more about me and my ego than about serving or loving God. There are so many ‘shoulds’ in my vocabulary. This quote from the book Boundaries, describes well where I stood on should.

“We have been so trained by others on what we "should" do that we think we are being loving when we do things out of compulsion. Setting boundaries inevitably involves taking responsibility for your choices.  You are the one who makes them.  You are the one who must live with their consequences.

– Cloud and Townsend (p 42-43)

What I write in my journal reveals a sure beginning of severely asking myself “Who am I?” And a hint of accepting some of my human limitations.

August 8, 1996.  It occurs to me that my motivation for doing things and accomplishing much perhaps really isn’t love for God “as unto the Lord,” but diversion and for self.

I can’t help but ask myself – who am I really? I think I defined myself as one who sought to meet the needs of others and serve them and God. Not so? Talk about identity crisis. I don’t know what I’m all about… I have for so long numbed myself. Just not felt.

August 13, 1996.  Yesterday (Monday) I felt pretty horrid, a bit tearful, really frustrated, cruddy inside. 

Thought of not eating (call it fasting and it’s acceptable to people around me) to drop pounds and have hurt. 

Death wishes. 

Feeling of duty – just keep doing ‘cause lots needed to be done. Thoughts of “all I do is work” (grocery, laundry, errands, help with homework). This is day 7 of no med.

Just read over some past entries – I do have a different understanding of life now with learning of serotonin and experiencing life with higher serotonin levels.

In Elijah’s depression story in I Kings 19 God takes care of some human needs – food, water, sleep, solitude – and then offers emotional and spiritual reassurances telling Elijah that this is what will happen, and what you will do next….  God gives Elisha as a helper, reassures Elijah that he’s not alone, saying “I have 7000 in Israel.” 

Could it be that my helper is medication? And my encouragement from God is my brothers and sisters in Christ?

Cognitive Distortions 
1. All-or-nothing thinking: You see things in black-and-white- categories. If your performance falls short of perfect, you see yourself as a total failure.
2. Overgeneralization: You see a single negative event as a never-ending pattern of defeat.
3. Mental filter: You pick out a single negative detail and dwell on it exclusively so that your vision of all reality becomes darkened, like the drop of ink that discolors the entire beaker of water.
4. Disqualifying the positive: You reject positive experiences by insisting they “don’t count” for some reason or other. In this way you can maintain a negative belief that is contradicted by your everyday experiences.
5. Jumping to conclusions: You make a negative interpretation even though there are no definite facts that convincingly support your conclusion.
    a. Mind reading. You arbitrarily conclude that someone is reacting negatively to you, and you don’t bother to check this out.
    b. The Fortune Teller Error. You anticipate that things will turn out badly, and you feel convinced that your prediction is an already-established fact.
6. Magnification (Catastrophizing) or Minimization: You exaggerate the importance of things (such as your goof-up or someone else’s achievement) or you inappropriately shrink things until they appear tiny (your own desirable qualities or the other fellow’s imperfections). This is also called the “binocular trick.”
7. Emotional Reasoning: You assume that your negative emotions necessarily reflect the way things really are: “I feel it, therefore it must be true.”
8. Should Statements: You try to motivate yourself with shoulds and shouldn’ts, as if you had to be whipped and punished before you could be expected to do anything. “Musts” and “oughts” are also offenders. The emotional consequence is guilt. When you direct should statements toward others, you feel anger, frustration, and resentment.
9. Labeling and Misleading: This is an extreme form of overgeneralization. Instead of describing your error, you attach a negative label to yourself: “I’m a loser.” When someone else’s behavior rubs you the wrong way, you attach a negative label to him: “He’s a louse.” Mislabeling involves describing an event with language that is highly colored and emotionally loaded.
10. Personalization: You see yourself as the cause of some negative external event which in fact you were not primarily responsible for.