Lost

So, it's 3:00 am, 3 hours after Thanksgiving. I said the initial hellos, gave the greeting handshakes, 2-3 pat masculine hugs, faux cheek kisses, then tipped the glass and whispered the self-encouraging “here we go.” And so I went. Some cleaning, cooking, terrible football, good beer, dressing up, sitting down, uncorking and thanksgiving later, here I sit pregnant with turkey. I wasn't drunk, but I might as well have been, because everything tonight and the past few days has been surreal. I don't know how to describe it. Like a visit to the zoo? Snorkeling in a glass-bottom boat? Virtual reality in black and white 3-D? A late night pop-up picture book? I feel like walking up to somebody and asking, “Hi, my name is Benjamin, do you know a place where I fit in?”

Ever go to those places where you're living life on the balcony rather than on stage? When there, or here as it were, I mostly think back to my past: the mango juice in Ethiopia, the tea and curry in India, the carne asada backyard BBQ in Mexico, the crawdad buffet in Missouri, etc. No, I'm not hungry. None of the above were about the food. No dressing up or down was involved. It seems like I should be at these places, but I know that if I were there, I would feel the same way. Out of place. Not at home. Traveling. Transient. Passing through, if not around. I don't know what has happened to me. Did I climb a beanstalk somewhere? Who kicked me out of the plane over this place? It is so weird to feel as an alien in your hometown. Even without knowing my place, I feel so incredibly that this is not it. Perhaps I should just keep my bags packed.

And yes, I'm slightly terrified. Even more so because of the relative truth I recognize at this moment: I don't know who I am. Scary how my environment can make or break that for me. Most everywhere I go I surmise that if these people are my mirrors, then I'm in some sort of Fun House at a county fair. You'd think I would realize by now that it doesn't really matter whether I am the polka dot or the stripe, it just is. So I'm not really learning as much as realizing the vast amount of crap I have to learn and be if I am to belong at all. Sort of a 'pick your adventure' type thing. I'm still a kid, like most adults. I need some help, like a hint guide or a GPS Magic 8-Ball. Actually, I need a lot more than that. A lot more. I need someone or something to fill this void between me and everything else.

I need someone to ask me “What happened?” Just crack the flood gates a bit. Ask me a question. Approach me, offering nothing but me and my story. Hand me an empty spoon, glass, or bowl; give me an opportunity. A moment to tell all, as far as all can go in a conversation, and let it spill out wherever in may into the flooded low lands of mercy. I sit silently hoping for permission, an invitation or request, into the realm of listening that I long to be a citizen of. I am here anxiously awaiting a voice of open ears and eyes; drunk or sober, sane or fucked up, classy or bootstrapped. They don't even have to remember our conversation.

I do not know how long I can contain it. I do know who I can trust with it. I try, as always prior, to the trusting. Though I am left with few choices, I prefer it that way. So many have dropped and let shatter much of what I cherish, a tragedy we all share. I have learned that when standing at the door of potential invitation. I feel like a door-to-door salesman. Pathetic, but with a significant product. Pathetic, crying for attention, especially so much selfless attention, but just as real as old. Alienated in a 'I am me but this is not me' sort of way.

Then again, this reminds me of so much. Being out of the country for a year, readjustment, also known as just adjustment, has to occur. After a long trip, coming home is always the hardest part of leaving it.

Ten Minute Poetry?

For a few broken minutes
I'm going to sit outside
Gonna let the sweat dry
From the inside without
Wrap to unfold to laid out
A hold, a control of me
Just to be

For a few broken minutes
I'm going to cry
Sit down in the shower
Let my eyes die
Taste my salted wet
Smell the ocean set
Upon steam off my broken heart

For a few broken minutes
I'm going to breathe in deep
Let my mind sleep
Through the errant flow
A concentrated blow
Let it glint my soul
And take me all down

For a few broken minutes
I'm going to sit outside
Look up in the sky
Stare at bugs in the light
Feel small in the night
Zoom in at the stars
And see the flames of space

For a few broken minutes
I'll feel the earth turn
To learn its trembles
Like they were my own
In sync with all I need
Balance and symphonies
Of silent time

For a few broken minutes
No one but me to need
Life without hope
A chance for pause
Stopping the cause
Broken space and time
To sit and unwind

Therapy Notes

The budget came close to $3,000.00 in therapy bills. So, I thought I would post my raw self-actualization notes taken on loaned paper from my final session. If not for you to read, then they're for me to remember.

DOUGLAS L. ZABRISKIE, LMFT
Licensed Marriage Family Therapist, MFT 28192

Cognitive Behavioral

• Project into the future and becoming afraid
• come back to "NOW"
• Catastrophize - asking "What if?" (see above)
• Practice meditation, prayer, breathing
• Deal with practical present issues
• Becoming okay with uncomfortable feeling
• Insecurities - non-real
• Practice relaxing

• Feel anxious - attach to cause
• start to panic
• Practice saying "I have an uncomfortable sensation in my body, but there is no need to tense up or panic."
• Tolerate bad feelings
• do something with energy
• Little boy feelings
• don't expect so much from yourself
• give yourself a break FREQUENTLY
• go to safe place
• bunker, fire pillar
• have your inner adult take over with "Dad talk"

• Give yourself positive affirmations
• Remind self of character, accomplishments, etc.
• Remind self of security
• "I'm attractive to women"
• Practice "I want to be..." instead of "I don't want to be..."

• I'm lovable
• Important part of friends/family
• I am lovable even if I'm insecure

Biggest Lie  ------>  Negative - If I get your complete energy and attention, I'll be okay

• Laugh. How much attention do I really need?

• Keep evaluating trust

Best Response ---> I'm significant and I belong

• Let go of emotional control
• will kill relationships
• Start slow, but with honesty
• less emotional intimacy
• lower expectations
• don't let initial attraction rule you
• Trust unfolds, you don't need to create it

Relationships

• Blame others or self
• Back off, time, think about what's really bothering you
• Awareness practice
• safety experiments - trust tests
• Do they accept me?
• start with little things
• Counteract punishment effect
• tendency to not trust women
• suspicion, paranoia of cheating
• healthy intimacy boundaries
• laugh at ridiculous fears/feelings
• jettison the issue FREQUENTLY
• Don't ask why or what if
• you'll get stuck
• why doesn't matter, how you react to situation does
• Recognize betrayal fantasies
• realize present truth (laugh, see above)
• Recognize and practice disengagement from being approved, adored, or understood
• in conversation - angry, upset - recognize
• people often misunderstand, not fully accept
• What is my perceived need?
• they don't have to understand
• Reprogram negative beliefs about women
• tolerate discomfort - no deeper cause or meaning
• not mom, sister, cousins, etc.
• many women are trustworthy

                                            

Storytelling

Our story begins just like any other story. Our story begins today, the day all stories are created, when the history of our thoughts are loosely reconstructed into a chronological development that climaxes into our great experience. And we, the collective consisting of the reader and myself, all partake in its development. I write the information vaguely connected to actual experience, and the reader reads skimmingly across the vast plains of such information in search of, well, a good story. Since I know this, I try to incorporate many treasure tales into the lines of text that can be discovered by the reader, thus proving his worth as a reader and mine as a writer. All of this is merely to explain how it is “our” story and not just a made up fiction, which is it, but who cares.

Hence, no story is ever told again. Each time it is reconstructed with a secret encoder (the storyteller) and a unique decoder (the listener or reader, well, at least the reader, since most listeners become their own storytellers and audience after a short time). Which brings me to my first point: there are few audiences for storytellers in the world of voice. The best stories are spoken in places one can read a book, ponder some silent thought, or anywhere else with a pint and friends. Few listen. Few understand. Few acknowledge their understanding by saying something other than “I understand.” Unless following an order, nobody should ever say “I understand” to any speaker. “I understand” should be a demonstration of understanding, not a statement of it. Only the speaker can declare if the listener understands. For example, the listener can simply repeat back to the speaker what they have heard. Is this not the easiest demonstration of understanding? If someone is explaining some problem they are having to me and follow their explanation with the question “Do you understand?” I simply repeat back to them their explanation of their problem. “I'm upset because you suggested I was an idiot, understand?” “So, you're upset that I suggested you were an idiot?” “Yes.” And then they continue. Once I am declared as understanding, the speaker feels automatically able to continue their story because the value of the story has been reflected by the listener.

It is amazing how unimportant people feel if they are not listened to appropriately. Just like learning a new language, a new speaker must be learned, decoded, placed in context, and received with translated acknowledgment. There is little difference between a listener who only acknowledges understanding by their declaration of it and a foreigner who receives instructions with a silent smile and a nod. I cannot recall the amount of times I have spoken to individuals who couldn't even realize the language I was speaking, much less the words, and far less the meaning. How did we become so self-absorbed that we have run out of stories to tell about each other? When did we stop learning to communicate to other humans? Perhaps school has taught us a standard of communication that must be adopted in order to be useful. Perhaps some people who went to school are just jackasses. Perhaps jackasses need a lesson.

What if we shocked the world by displacing everyone into another culture? How would you act if you didn't recognize a face, a landmark, an article of clothing, or even a syllable? At what point does the level of desperation to connect with other humans break the self-absorbed jackasses in all of us? Must we reach to the degree of shell-shocked displacement to disrupt our aging self-reflection and reproductive autobiographies?

So try, just try, to tell a story about someone else. Tell one you've heard. Tell one you've heard told. Tell a story you heard was told to a guy who once listened to a comedian talk about an email forward he received from a friend about a group of people in another country learning the tales of a remote culture. It's entertaining, fun, easy to listen to, and best of all, it's not just about you. Who knows, if you're not talking about yourself, people might find you easier to listen to.