Sunday, February 2, 2014. I could wonder at my choice of books to read to help me combat my current depression if I had less respect for my soul’s awareness that there is something I need to know by reading this excellent book written by Peter Duffy:
I need a reality check to help me put my experience in a broader perspective. The Nazi invasion of Russia described in this book took place only ten years before I was born. I cannot conceive of the horrors against which the heroism of these men took place.
I want to learn about these three extraordinary brothers. Somehow my desire to do so is tied in ways I do not understand to a memory of something from my teen years that appeared again to me unbidden the other day by anything in my current life that I can detect.
We were living on our Alaskan mountain homestead in our primitive house. The back part where the bedrooms were was heated by an oil space heater that could only be lit after it had been turned on long enough to let a pool of fuel oil flood into the floor of the heating chamber.
On one school morning Mother had turned the heater on and forgot to go back to light it before a very large pool of oil had accumulated – far too much oil to drop the usual lit piece of paper down on top of. I was instantly screamed at and attacked for being the one who had turned the stove on and hence as the perpetrator of this crime.
I had nothing to do with the stove. Not ever. Everyone in our family knew this fact, myself included. I took the resulting abuse as I always did. I did not speak up for myself or in any way try to “fight back” against the reality of this situation and my condition in this family.
Such was MY world. Such was OUR shared world. This is the way all possible problems were dealt with in my psychotic abusive Borderline Personality Disorder severely mentally ill mother’s world – which we all shared with HER.
This was not a good day for me. No day in the 18 years of my childhood but ONE that I know of was an entirely good day for me. I was always at risk of attack and very frequently the recipient of attack. I was NEVER safe from the moment I was born.
What power did I have? I had the power to endure and to survive. That kind of power did not come in words, not even in words as thoughts in my mind. I was completely alone in my world unaccompanied even by my own conscious awareness that there was something terribly wrong in my – in our – universe. I had no possible point of comparison even though my siblings were spared all of what I endured on a moment-to-moment basis. Favoritism? It did not exist. Reality was simply reality.
That reality was joyless. It was numb and it was dumb without any possibility of any concept that would have provided a frame of reference for me to use to make sense of my world. I cannot really even find any frame of reference NOW to use to align myself with anyone else I have ever met who came from a traumatic, abusive early background.
I lived in a world of one then and in many important ways that is exactly the kind of world I live in now.
Without a frame of reference to use to make comparisons with there is no final hope of resolution regarding my overall experience of being alive. Nobody was persecuted along with me. I was not part of any THEY. I was alone in the psychotic fixation of Mother’s mind as she created and maintained her very unique version of hell to keep me captive within.
In the end – at age 62 – I am left with the awareness that there is no comparable reality to the one that formed me. The Alaskan wilderness homesteading aspects of my childhood alone put me into a category peopled by the few. That Mother WENT that far to fulfill the manic upper half of her psychotic world only lets me know that the lower half of her psychotic world where she put me was also past unique.
How this all fits in with my current reading about the millions so horribly lost together at the hands of the millions of horrible people who together caused such horrors to occur is a mystery to me.
Are there levels of the evilness humans can and do commit that is beyond comprehension? If so that places these actions in the realm of psychotic insanity.
Is the love, sacrifice and heroism humans commit on the other end of the behavior spectrum any less incomprehensible? Are these actions the epitome of sanity?
What I do know is that the ability to survive and the ability to fight back are not given equally to everyone. This book I am reading is about that fact.
On a lighter note I finally overcame my shyness enough to call the pastor of our local Haitian refugee church to ask if there is ever a time when the public can come to hear their drumming music. I was very happy to hear my timing was perfect! There will be a public performance next Saturday, February 8th! My daughter and my little grandsons will attend with me!
To help prepare the 18-month-old for his upcoming drumming experience I found some YouTube links for Haitian drumming so that he and I can spend this week getting ready for this experience I know ALL of us will so enjoy! I watched this one yesterday – my favorite – multiple times and thrived on the sound and my smiles I could not contain.
While I don’t like the last word in the title of today’s blog post by Dr. Brady on depression, I do like what he says and recommend it – CLICK HERE to read. The six depression fighters he mentions are excellent. (I also highly recommend full spectrum daylight, plant light and natural light bulbs for indoor assistance with low light winters settings.)
Here is our first book out in ebook format. A very kind professional graphic artist is going to revise our cover pro bono – what a gift and thank you Ben!
Click here to view or purchase: A STORY WITHOUT WORDS
It lists for $2.99 and can be read free for Amazon Prime customers. Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are WELCOME and appreciated!
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