The Battle for Joe: A Plan for Victory

I. A Word of Thanks

   Last week's post was hard to write.  Though the layout was simple, the writing straightforward, the whole thing took two weeks to put together.  While difficult, I was compelled to do it.  I needed to relive that terrible event so that I could put it to bed.  I needed to lay bare the fears, doubts, misdeeds and misgivings so that I could feel honest again.  I did not want to advertise my baggage, I just did not want to hide it.  I had doubts anyone cared, but you all proved me wrong.  

   The outpouring of support, and real, honest feedback really hit home.  I still fight back a tear reading through the comments, the notes of encouragement that have been sent, and the thinking about the words that have been spoken to me directly.  I owe all of you a great debt of gratitude for contributing to my healing.  I will never underestimate my friends again.  I love all of you, and I will use your encouragement to heal myself, and return that favor.   Below is my plan for victory over this adversity. 

II.  The Sitrep

  Last week was a breakthrough.  Writing about the experience allowed me to deal with it.  I can now recount the experience without crying.  I can now talk about things more honestly.  I have not had an unprovoked emotional outburst in nearly a week.  I can now sleep without Patty in the bed with me. I can now talk about charged topics rationally, but still allow some emotion.  The therapist is happy with my progress, and suggested I start looking forward, now that we have dealt with the past.  

  I am still emotional, and I still have my share of doubts and fears, though they are manageable.  I am still a bit lost as to who I am, and I only have a general idea as to where I want to go from here.  I am generally in a happier place than I was a month ago, but I know I need to progress further.

III.  Who I Want To Be

    When I sit down and analyze what kind of person I see as ideal, it's tempting to start with the easy stuff.  Honesty, kindness, patience, caring, these are the things that everyone wants to be.  The difficulty is digging deeper into these attributes and defining what about them makes them tough to become in practice.  It's easy to want to be these things, but what holds me back from becoming them?  

   Honesty is at the top of my list.  When I look to my friends and family I admire most, the one trait about them I admire the most is honesty.  I value friends who disagree with me.  I value people who are not afraid to tell me when they think I am wrong.  I love people who will not give up a disagreement because they are passionate about how they feel.  I also value those who are willing to share their innermost thoughts, things that are difficult to talk about.  These people become so much more to me as complete, real individuals, and I am honored that they would share their honest thoughts with me.  I want to be like them.  For some relationships, it's easier.   For others, it is more difficult because of the deep emotional attachment and the fear to cause offense or anger when I disagree.  That honesty requires bravery to speak my mind, trust that those I care about will respect that honesty, and tact to deliver that honesty in a way that is encouraging to discussion and sensitive to feelings.  Anyone that knows me, knows that tact is the skill I possess very little of.  

   Integrity comes next.  I have heard integrity be defined as "being the person you imagine you should be".  The core of this is deep examination of the self, identifying failings, and coming up with a plan to remedy them.  I want to be able to honestly address my faults as a person and deal with them.  This is a difficult line to walk; it is easy to ignore the faults, but it is also easy to be too hard on oneself as well.  It is helpful to analyze oneself, but it is also helpful to have the input of loved ones as well.  

   Responsibility is also important.  Some responsibilities are easy; as a husband who loves his wife, and a father who loves his children, it is not hard to want to be the best I can be in those regards.  That will never change, though the form that those responsibilities take might.  Other responsibilities are difficult, and I want to be the person that can be relied upon to handle those.  

   Lastly, I will say that I want to be a person that can not only ask for help, but for others to feel comfortable  asking us for help.  For too long, I have felt like Patty and I were an island; self-sufficient, but disconnected.  I want to change that.  I want to establish understandings with our close friends that, like how we have had to depend on them these past few months, that they can also depend on us.  I want a strong sense of "give and take".  Patty and I have had much discussion in the past on how we will never be the type to give freely; however, to those that meet the criteria of responsible adults among our circle, we need to be very clear that they should never hesitate to approach us for help, because we now know how much they themselves are willing to help.

IV.  What I Want To Do

   While taking the risk of potentially sounding like a list of New Year's Resolutions, I have compiled a list of things I want to do in 2013:

Music:  

 I want to join a band.  Deep down, I have always wanted to.  Music is just a part of how I function.  I can't drive without it, I can't work without it, I can't think without it.  I attend small shows with a dozen people in the crowd, watching these people on stage just lose themselves, and I am filled with jealousy.  These guys live in a van, traveling from town to town, and they come to Boise to play to nobody and I am jealous of them because they lose themselves on stage every god-damned day of their lives.  

   Now, I know that touring is not something I can do and meet some of those core values I have listed above, and I can be very happy to not live out of a van.  But I do want to play. I don't care if its playing tambourine or cowbell.  If I can somehow take part in creating an hour full of heavy riffs that I can swim in, I will be happy.  

  At the very least, I need to start writing songs, creating sounds, and making noise.  If I can't find some like-minded individuals in this town (and I know, this isn't the most Doom friendly town), then I am going to have to resort to making it myself.  I will gladly supply earplugs for anyone caught within the wake of my sound waves.

Family:

   I want to spend a hell of a lot of time with my wife and kids.  I want to take Patty out...a lot.  I want to meet her for lunch.  I want to take her out on the town.  I want to take her out dancing.  I want to sit with her on the couch and giggle.  I want to take drives out to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and stargaze.  I want to do all of these other things on my own so that I can have something interesting to talk about with her.  I want to be passionate about music and religion and philosophy and politics and then share that passion with her.  

  I want to share that passion for life with my kids.  I want to share a variety of life experiences with them just to see what sticks for them.  I want them to be able to be happy experiencing new things, no matter what they are, just so that they have the benefit of trying.  I want them to love life and to explore all of the things it has to offer.

Reading:

   I want to read more books.  For many years I concentrated on reading short, technical type articles, and I somehow even have gotten away from that.  It's time to move away from summing up every topic in a simple image or short phrase, but embracing the complexity that is life.  Religion, ethics, politics, are all things that have been written about non-stop for the last several millenia without resolution, so it is time for my education about such matters to become a bit more sophisticated.  It is time to challenge my preconceptions.

Writing:

   Since you are reading this blog, you can probably guess that I have already started this one.  Writing about my experience has been a positive, therapeutic experience, and I want to expand that.  I want to not only explore personal topics, but also philosophical ones as well.  Obviously writing is also tied into music, and I may consider writing fiction.  I don't think how or what matters so much as I write in such a way as to engage my brain on a more challenging level.  

Photography: 

    I know the amount of pictures I take is incredibly annoying to the various members of my family that are consistently caught in the glare of my flash, unfortunately I don't plan on changing that much.  I love documenting the miscellaneous minutiae of our lives, and I want to do more of it.  Where I want to change here is, I want to not only be behind the camera, but also in front of it.  I look through all of our old pictures, and it makes me a bit sad that I am not in many of them.  For the ones that I am in, and vicariously through the pictures of my family, I can be reminded of where I have been, for better or worse.

   There is something comforting about looking at old photos, and remembering events that would be long lost to memory otherwise.  I see pictures of Joey's birth, strapped to machines, and I am reminded of the sadness of him nearly dying, and I appreciate the wonders of modern medicine that gave him back to us.  I see pictures of Christi's birth, and I see the relief and happiness that came from knowing how a healthy child is born.  I see pictures of us in times of happiness, sadness, regret, fondness, love, sorrow, old friends, lost friends, new friends, old us, and new us, and I cherish every single one.  

  While I love the candid pictures of everyday life, I also want to expand beyond that as well.  I want to take more pictures of nature.  I want to take pictures of space.  I want to sit in my backyard and stare into the chaos of the cosmos, and capture a little piece of that onto memory.  I want to encourage my wife, my kids, and myself to creatively portray ourselves in such a way that I can then capture and share with the world.

Fitness: 

   One of the biggest regrets I have is getting out of shape.  I used to be in such good shape...I was thin, I was able to run for miles, I had the stamina of a god.  Somehow, I let that all slip away.  I have made good progress, I can run again, and I have lost nearly 40 pounds in 2012 alone.  I want more, though.  I am going to run more races, lift more weights, eat less sugar, and make sure that diabetes risk does not become reality for a long, long time.  

V. Conclusion

   I hope that in a short time, I will have achieved that goal of being a smart, attractive, interesting, and happy person that Patty enjoys being around, that my kids look up to, and that I can be proud of.  Time to get started.  

The battle for Joe

I.  The Seizure

      Having a seizure is not a terribly uncommon occurrence. Once you have one, empathizing friends and acquaintances come out of the woodwork with experiences of their own, imparting a sense of normality to the whole experience. Or, at least, it should have.

       On July 29th, 2012, my wife and I retired to our bed, late, because we had just finished having a tearful argument. We resolved our argument, then promptly went to sleep with my tear-stained head resting on her bosom. After about an hour, I was awakened to the sound of obvious distress. My wife, Patty, was having a panic attack in her sleep, or so I had thought. Her whole body was tensed up, teeth clenched, her first closed and her arm flexed, as if expressing frustration at some nocturnal bogeyman that only existed in her dream. The noise that woke me was a forced moan through those same clenched teeth. I was concerned, of course, and I tried to wake her from that bad dream. I touched her face, repeatedly asking, "are you alright?". She never responded. In fact, what happened next has been ingrained into my psyche for the last four months, and I fear it may be there forever.

     After a few moments of trying to rouse her, instead of waking, she went limp. At that moment, I realized something more serious was happening; what it was, I was not sure. Stroke, maybe? Aneurysm? Heart attack? Whatever it was, I thought she was dying, and me with her.  I kept trying to wake her, but for a few terrifying moments, she refused to respond.  I shook her, shouted at her, and slapped her face. I checked her pupils, they were normal.  I checked her pulse, it was highly elevated, which meant her heart was still working.  I was looking for any clue as to what was happening, but couldn't find one. Externally, I was the calm, centered, capable man doing all the right things a man should do in an emergency situation.  Inside, I was shaking apart; I could feel my very self evacuating my body.

    After a few moments of dead eyes, she finally began to wake. She was alive, but she was not herself. I kept asking Patty if she was alright, but for several minutes, she was not able to respond coherently. Initially, all I could get was silence or a low moan.  At this point, I called 911.  I told her repeatedly that she was scaring me.  I kept asking her basic questions, if she knew where she was and the like, and for a short while, all I got was a confused stare.  Eventually, I got her to sit up in the bed and get her to respond, though she was still very confused.  The paramedics arrived a few minutes later, and in that time, I was able to wake Patty enough to get her to walk to the living room couch.  She was awake and mobile.  EMTs quickly surrounded her and began asking her questions, most of which she could not answer.  She did not know  her name, who I was, what month it was, or if she had any children.

     After a few minutes of prodding she started to come around.  How she got into the living room surrounded by a dozen strange men, however, she did not know, but at least she started to remember who she was, who that strange brown man was and why he was holding her shoes.

    One of the paramedics first told us that what Patty experienced was most likely a seizure, and that she would recover normally, but we decided to go to the hospital anyway.  After getting her CT scan and getting sent home, the horrible terrifying experience should have been over, but it wasn't.

II. The Aftermath

    The following weeks after the seizure were filled with appointments and tests; our primary concern, obviously, was to find the cause of the seizure and treat it.  MRIs, EEGs, consultations, time on Wikipedia and Google looking for clues.  Much energy was spent haranguing doctors for test results.  About two weeks later, we got our answer: Temporal Lobe Epilepsy.  We immediately started a regimen of Lamictal, and though we were hopeful, we also were very hesitant due to the nasty side of effects of such drugs.  

    For most people, such a diagnosis after such an episode would be a very negative experience.  After all, what good could come from such a discovery?  It's a terrifying thing, and we were indeed very scared.  What we didn't expect, however, was that the diagnosis and treatment would turn into one of the greatest experiences in our 13-year marriage.  This is because the seizure unearthed a solution to a longtime problem that Patty was dealing with; for more than four years she had been dealing with overwhelming anxiety and panic attacks, and for a good portion of 2012, they were getting worse.  Come to find, the panic attacks were likely miniature seizures, often called "auras".  These auras contributed to a generalized anxiety problem, which in turn made the auras worse.  It was a vicious cycle that was continuously getting worse.  However, once she reached her full dosage of Lamictal, the auras disappeared and the generalized anxiety evaporated.

    For sure, the diagnosis came with some adjustments.  Patty could not drive for 3 months, which resulted on us having to lean on friends and family to make sure everyone made it to school and back on a daily basis.  The fear of side effects still lingered, especially once Patty started hearing things.  For the most part, however, Patty became free.  She was no longer chained to the millstone of anxiety around her neck, and she was no longer chained to my constant support.

III.  Unexpected Changes

    Even though the inability to drive created a certain amount of stress, in a lot of ways, things were getting much better. We were better able to discuss things more openly and honestly than ever before. We were able to take new challenges that would have been too difficult previously. Our love life was better than ever. The kids handled the stress admirably, and they were starting to show their own independence. 2012 had turned from a tough year to one of vast personal growth. While the growth for Patty and the kids was becoming easier after years of struggle, my own growth had become painful. It turns out, after focusing on Patty's issues for years, I had neglected my own. Strengths became weaknesses in this new family dynamic. That stable Vulcan-like man was really a mess of a person tied together with duct tape. Why?  Well that's a story in itself.

    The root of the problem comes to guilt.  Guilt for feelings, guilt for having problems that could not compare to other, more serious things that the rest of the family was dealing with. Some of the guilt is cultural; especially coming from a Catholic background notorious for ingraining guilt from a young age, especially sexual guilt.  Societally, there is a lot of pressure for men to be emotionless, since we are expected to be strong pillars on which our families depend on.  Individually, I was not innocent.  I betrayed myself with my own weaknesses, and I was a poor husband and father at times.  I was not understanding of the worsening anxiety that we later discovered to be Patty's epilepsy years later.  I had anger, I had sadness, but I also had passion.  Being an emotional person requires one to draw support from others, and while I grew up as a very emotional person, depending on others is something I loathed.  So I made a choice: I wanted to be the strong person, so I buried every feeling I had.  Not just the bad, but the good, too.  I really convinced myself that my right to have emotions were less important than helping Patty and the kids deal with their problems.

   This evolved me from an independent, flawed person, with my own goals and desires into a person whose only purpose is to support others.  My only goal was to help Patty achieve her goals, which at the time was primarily to deal with the anxiety.  I vowed to myself that I would be the most patient person in existence; if Patty needed to have a tantrum because her anxiety frustrated her, I would be the teflon-coated zen-filled foundation that she could hurl her frustrations at and never be affected.  For a long time, I felt that this made me a strong person; I could carry the burdens of others as far as they needed to be carried.

   The reality is, that did not make me a strong person, it made me a coward.  The seizure wasn't Patty dying, it was me dying.  The seizure set her free; her problems weren't latent psychological issues that offered no respite, that were in constant need of an ever-patient supporter; they were a physiological problem easily dealt with by medication.  She did not need me anymore.  She was free, and happy, and it wasn't because of me.  She could leave at any time and never have to see me again.  She was always beautiful, she always possessed the potent duo of intelligence and common sense, always had the wit to keep anyone on their toes, and even though I told her these things ad nauseam, only now could she finally recognize it in herself.  And, horrible as it is to say, that scared me to death.

    Of course, this feeling didn't happen right away; she still needed me to help her through the seizure aftermath for a few weeks.  I dutifully helped with prescriptions, doctors, driving, and all of the things entailed in the process.  Once that was all taken care of, and Patty could drive again, something changed.  I deteriorated.  I fell apart.  I could no longer hold myself together.  I swung from celebrating Patty's victories to uncontrollable sadness.  Anytime I thought about the seizure, I started crying.  Even on a good day, that thought would bring tears that I could not control.  I started crying at work.  I cried at home, sometimes for hours.

  The sadness evolved into more damaging emotions; anxiety, jealousy, and anger started to make their appearance.  Anxiety came first.  I became insecure about our relationship; I was terrified she could leave at anytime.  Intrusive thoughts invaded regularly; horrible ideas that Patty no longer loved me and secretly wanted to leave; that she might leave at any moment.  I feared that I was completely unnecessary for her survival, and thus unnecessary for her happiness.  I not only feared that I was unnecessary, but an impediment.  Even worse, the lack of control over emotions created a new fear; that this sobbing wreck of a man would push Patty away, having become too much of a burden.

  Jealousy followed, as well as anger.  I started having a difficult time controlling any of my thoughts or feelings.  I crossed the line from thoughts and feelings to actions by checking Patty's text messages.  I logically had no reason to suspect anything was going on, but the anxiety put the horrible idea in my head that they must be.  Rationality stopped altogether; even if I had irrational feelings, I should have been able to deal with them without acting out in a way that damaged our relationship.  If anything was going to chase Patty away, it was going to be this.
 

IV. Depression

    Depression is being surrounded by people that love you, but feeling so utterly alone.  It is experiencing a life of positive things, but never being able to recognize any of them ever happened at all.  It is laying next to the person closest to you, as they comfort you while you cry, but not being able to feel them there.  It's a horrible thing, but the worst thing about depression is that the things that you need to do to deal with it are the things that you want to do the least.  There are a myriad of ways of dealing with it.  A hobby.  Meeting with friends.  Talking about what it is that hurts.  Keeping a journal.  Exercise.  All of these things are effective means of handling those feelings, and while simple things, they become tasks so impossible to complete that they are not worth starting.  

   It is sad that I have been so down on 2012, that Patty had to sit me down and recount all the good things I had forgotten.  It was easy to focus on the family troubles, car troubles, poison ivy, leeches, ringworm, seizures, dog bites and injuries, that I completely forgot about the good things that accompanied them; awesome vacations with awesome friends, financial planning that gave us the freedom to buy new cars when we needed them, freedom from family drama, Patty's walls being torn down, sexual freedom, being in my best physical shape since college, playing guitar with Joey, and trying new things like kayaking.  2012 was a very polarizing year, but it wasn't a bad year.  If anything, it has set us up to have an awesome 2013, if only I can shake the despair.

   The one advantage I felt I have had in dealing with the depression is that I feel so used to failure that fear of failure doesn't really prevent me from doing anything anyway.  It's not some herculean will that drives me to exercise, or play music, or talk about it, it's that I just don't care that the task seems impossible.  That, and the acute hatred for this state I have found myself in, have given me the motivation to try and deal with it.  I truly despise myself in this state.  I suppose that attitude does not help my self-esteem much, but it does help me face what I need to do.  I want out of this soul-crushing prison and I am willing to do whatever it takes to escape.

  So I am writing.  So I am exercising.  So I am talking.  So I am playing music.  So I am seeing a therapist.  I am doing these things not only because I want to get better, but because they make me feel better, once I overcome the desire to not do them.

V.  Joe 2.0

   It is important that I see this time in my life as an opportunity.  I have often heard boot camp described as a place where a person is stripped down to their bare essentials so that they can be built back up again.  This is my emotional boot camp; I have already been stripped down, now I get to decide who I want to build myself up as.  Who do I want to be?  That seems to be a vital question for anyone at any given time, but the question has an increased sense of urgency for me, because, well, I don't feel like I am anyone at the moment and time is slipping away.  

   So who do I want to be?  A few things are obvious.  I want to still be a caring husband and father.  I still love Patty very much, and she will always be an important part of my life.  But I also want a life of my own.  I want the strength to pursue interests that she doesn't necessarily share.  This is something I have already started, with the kayaking, hiking, and music, but it is an important to continue.  I want to be strong enough to disagree with her.  I want to be strong enough to tell her things when I think she doesn't want to hear them.  Patty doesn't want a sycophant, and I don't want to be one. 

     I want to be emotionally balanced, to feel things in the right proportions.  No more Mr. Vulcan, no more sobbing mess.  I want to be skilled around the house, to be able to do any task or chore that is needed of me.  I want to write.  I want to create really terrible sounding music that no one will ever want to listen to, in the hope that someday I will create something good.  I want to be able to have a good time in any situation.  I want to be able to converse with anybody about any topic.  I want to have more friends, and more close, meaningful friends.  I want to never be afraid to be honest.  I want to be more empathetic to others.  I want to be eager to learn new things.  

  

VI.  The Rising Sun

   It's been a few weeks since I have fallen apart and started counseling.  I feel like I am on the mend, and am excited about the opportunity to start a new life in a new way with my love, Patty, and my kids.  Thinking about the seizure still makes me sad, but it doesn't drive me to tears like it did before.  I still get anxiety, but it doesn't drive me crazy anymore.  I can breathe through it.  A tear occasionally wells up, but I am no longer sobbing into Patty's lap.  I am finding my footing and re-establishing my personality.  I am booting up.


  Here's to 2013.