I was on the radio this morning promoting “Responding to PTSD: It Takes a Village”, a seminar sponsored by the North Central Indiana Area Health Education Center. Scheduled for Thursday, May 22nd, 2014. It is a free event for the public which is also offering CME, CNE, CEUs for medical and mental health professionals. You can register to attend “Responding to PTSD; It Takes a Village,” at www.nciahec.org by clicking on “Events”.
But that is not why I’m writing. During the interview, I have to admit, my mind wandered. I began to picture the many people I’ve had the honor to serve who when I met them were suffering in the dark, alone. In that moment, all I really cared about was that someone might be listening who needed a little hope, some belief that they could overcome their demons and get better. Anyone looking for a hand to overcome adversity and live.
When we’ve been broken, we recede to the dark to avoid the light. And even scarier than the light, our reflection – a completely transparent look at who we are and what others will think about us. How will we be judged. This shame can make it hard to overcome adversity.
That is where I was many years ago. In the black room. The label I gave myself was “broken and pathetic”. I was embarrassed at how I was living and completely paranoid at revealing myself to anyone. I could not see below the surface of my emotions and pain. But beneath that desperate exterior was a little boy who wanted to live again. A little boy who believed he could dream and was waiting for me to discover him again.
Going through some pictures when I got home this morning, I found this one of my oldest son Isaac when he was about 3 or 4. He was the ring bearer at my sister-in-law’s wedding. The little dude can wear a tux! Thank God I snapped this picture as he checked himself out in the mirror. The moment was a wonder for us both, a little boy caught in a dream. The image reminded me of a key moment in my life, one I write about in detail in my book, Who Am I?, but I’ll give you the short version here.
At the darkest moment of my life I drifted back to when I was a little boy of about 8.
I kept a diary and one night, an older couple babysitting my brothers and I for the first time made fun of me as I began to write. “Girls write in diaries” they said mockingly and I put it away, never to write in it again.
Years later, high on pills, tired from insomnia, in the midst of severe PTSD and waiting for death, I was smoking and drinking in a coffee shop around 2 in the morning when I began to hallucinate. It seemed as if a storm was breaking out right there in front of me. Waffle House was about to become a deluge! I panicked, and then I remembered the little boy. The little me that kept a diary.
So I grabbed a pen from the waitress and wrote the following on a napkin:
Skinny Dippin’
Took a storm
To crack the mortar
The stone, the aged clay
The walls I’d built to shield myself
From rains I feared to face
Took a storm
To clear the rubble
The remnants of my home
To find the lost foundation
Poured before I dwelt alone
And the waters flow
So today
I think I’ll swim
In that moment I realized I had a choice – I could let the rubble of my life and all the bad things I couldn’t change continue to consume and destroy me, or with really, nothing to lose, I could choose to rebuild my life. I chose to rebuild and soon recaptured the spirit of a once lost little boy. I’d always wanted to play the guitar so the next day that is what I did. I bought a guitar and began to play. I didn’t get better overnight, but slowly and surely I started to step forward and learn to live again. Everything I have and do today came from that moment. Everything.
You have a choice. A choice to overcome adversity, whatever that adversity may be.
We see a lot when we stumble out of the dark and look into our reflection. It can be a picture of all that is broken and wrong, it can be the hope of a long lost dream that is rediscovered, it can be the focus and desire to start a new journey. My prayer for you today is that you hold up that mirror in order to let your little child dream again, even if for a moment. This glimpse of hope might just be your first step to a new life.
I believe, so should you.
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