I have prepared my papers
I have done my research
It is time to sit and do
The thing I’ve always wanted to do.
But a cup of coffee would be nice to go with it
Steamy, rich…
And I do have that new coffee maker
And even some sweet cream.
Wait how many beans do I grind?
I will have to look it up again
Where was it
I can’t remember…
You know what I should do
Create a notebook with this info
Just a place to jot down important stuff
OOH I’ll just use my organizer
Oh shoot, I am behind with my organizer
What did I do the other day
To record it for my timesheet
I need to be better with this thing
Oh Yeah, that happened
I can’t believe that happened
I can’t believe they did that
Or I said that…
Ugh…
What was I doing again.
All I can think of is that thing they said
Or that I did…
If I could just focus
I wouldn’t get so behind
But today is my day off
I was going to do something special
But I can’t believe they said that
Or that I did that
I need to think of something else
Or I’ll go insane
It’l be like the last time
and It will just get worse
Ok, time to think of something else
Why am I so stupid?
STOP
BEING
STUPID
DAMMIT
Not mud, nor a shell, just cold
Leaving the loving embrace
So soft, so warm, not cold
hugged by a fluffy weight
But waken we must
And forward we go
The dark night is my friend
But so is the light of day
Because hope comes in the morning
Even when it’s ignored.
I get what you say
Just let me sleep longer
You can’t
There are musts to do
And those musts will have their do
And you won’t even hate it
Your just comfy right now
hugged by a fluffy weight.
Because hope comes in the morning
Even when it’s ignored.
You will sing songs
About sorrows and joys
You will feed puppies
Who love you without question
The musts aren’t that bad
if I can just move a bit
To embrace the cold morning
Though hugged by a fluffy weight
Because hope comes in the morning
Even when it’s ignored.
I have been reflecting on my ADHD and Depression through poetry, I hope you enjoy this poem about getting out of bed in the morning.
The worm begets her work today
In the Chrysalis she makes
And all the energy involved
As through the shell she breaks.
I wonder of the texture touch
The one her hands have found
When the future needs thee push
I wish to not be ‘round.
The sun breaks through the window pain
In the cold cold winter air.
The warmth beneath the blankets call
And scream not tarry there
The shell around my body firm
The need outside it roars
And though I’d rather not go out
Nay breaking winter storm
The winter of my life it comes
Even when the spring begets
And lost are days and sometimes found
For death above regret.
Some days are filled with riot
Some days are full of rancor
Some days full of hard hard work
And some of battles wild
Other days just like nights
And sleepy sleepy echoes
When all the day long nothing comes
And …Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, ugh…
And God’s own Son they called him Christ
A busy busy bee
Would turn the temple tables
And thousands he would feed
But the night with ebon pinyon
He brooded or the vale
He sought the lone embrace
An absent father fails.
But even other lighter days
He’d sit and walk with friends
Or alone for thirty years
Just trying to blend in.
I wonder if Christ’s depression
Was anything like mine
I wonder if he tossed and turned
And finally his night resigned?
Or if there were days no living face
Could rouse him from his bed
Even in the early
Before the thorns up on his head
Oh hell, I don’t know
It’s just a thought of mine
Oh, holy Christ I just don’t know
Where all my hope has gone
And the blankest days
And the empty nights
And the times of muddled mind
[I had a thought now gone]
I am 42 years old, and I have been diagnosed with ADHD. Not only do I have ADHD, but I tested to have extreme ADHD. My ADHD was easy to miss when I was younger, because I am quirky, and I appear to be smart, and I seem to fit in with a neurotypical world. See, when I was a young adult in my 20’s I knew there was something wrong with me. I was filled with a desire to learn so much but couldn’t sit down to read most of the books I had to read.
Remember when I said I appeared to be smart? I graduated middle school with a C average, high school with a very low B average, college with a C average, and Seminary with a C average. But I looked smart, and I showed a reasonable command of the subject matter, so no one was really concerned. However, during Seminary I had my first panic attack, at least the first one I remember so, I took a step back from ministry and entered counseling to help me with what I would later understand was depression and anxiety.
After seminary, I entered a Clinical Pastoral Education (hospital chaplain) program where there were no grades, no tests, just experience, there was a lot of reading, processing, and group work, and I was more successful at that than at anything else in my life. In hindsight I know that is because the educational model of CPE is very neurodiverse. We are given multiple paths to learning, and I could even see this. I realized I need to read, watch, listen, and experience to really learn something.
I was in my 30’s when I was fired for the first time because my mouth often moved faster than my brain. I made an honest statement that was inconsistent with the culture of the organization for which I worked, regarding the role of chaplaincy. Two weeks later, I no longer worked there, and that was the first time I hit rock bottom. I remember posting online, “I have never been so full of emptiness.” I found myself homeless surfing couches and going back and forth between jobs and government assistance. Though I got through that, it left me with post traumatic stress.
This PTS would go on to entrench me in depression and anxiety for all the years hence. I would find different ways to relive that trauma over and over again. The most recent time during the Covid Crisis, but I’m jumping ahead. I could generally keep my depression and anxiety at bay and finally found a faith that made more sense to me. And though faith is a balm for a weary and broken soul, it is not often the only necessary medicine.
Years after completing the long process of fellowship with my new faith, I found myself deeply entrenched in depression again. I looked up from a sermon after a panic attack and said, “Why am I preaching about depression again?” I had always been a proponent of medication for mental illness, for other people. I never realized that I would have to fight myself to become a proponent of medication for my mental illness.
Once medicated life returned to normal, I wasn’t sad all the time, but I still found myself hyper focusing on trauma and anxiety from the past. When the Anxiety got too bad, I would find a different hobby, and I would hyper focus on that hobby so that I could continue to work, then when that hobby stopped being new I found something else. Of course, I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. I had the opportunity to become a cyclist, a hiker, a vintage computer guy, and a game master. In fact, I still love those things.
But when the pandemic hit many of my coping mechanisms dried up. I no longer had Sunday Service where I would cut up with teens, I didn’t have the energy to hike or cycle. I watched people play down the corona virus and I began to isolate, I felt completely alone. Then the financial issues started, the AC went out in the summer, the refrigerator a few months later, the dryer before all that. My half time career, (which working half time always causes me internal shame) was not cutting it financially, and it constantly felt like we were a month from losing our house. But I couldn’t figure out what was different.
During that time my depression and anxiety put my job in jeopardy, I was having multiple anxiety attacks a day. I had gained 50 pounds and hurt all the time. I felt alone, and began to feel paranoid, and I had my very first nervous breakdown. When I look back to that time I shudder, because I was in a pit, and I couldn’t get out. Then we had to put down two dogs, the first we expected and the second we didn’t.
I had already called my doctor, he had already doubled my medication, which is probably why I am still here today. But I was still having regular panic attacks. I think I might have burned a lot of bridges during that time, and I think a lot of people were worried about me, but very few of them said anything in a way I could understand, I think most people just tried to avoid me. By this time, I was very publicly saying, “I’m not ok.” But I didn’t know what to do with that.
Over time, medication, and therapy I began to find my way out. I became ok, but I was still exhausted all the time, I still focused on gloom and doom all day, I still struggled to work, and my therapist, reminding me I was depressed also mentioned ADHD.
Through her office I took a test. I remember the therapist asking, “Do you have a problem with losing track of conversations?”
I said, “I have a story about that!” I began to tell a tangential story, then after a few minutes said, “Wait, what was the question?” Apparently, I had answered the question. It turns out my level of ADHD was in the “Extreme” range. Over the years, my ADHD, along with the anxiety, depression, and trauma magnified each other. The isolation of the pandemic exacerbated the issue. It became a perfect storm of despair. I think if not for my wife and step-children along with a few very good friends and a therapist, I would have become lost in myself, because what happens after your already broken, do you become more broken, or do you return to dust?
I take medication now for my depression, anxiety, and ADHD, and see my therapist regularly. I have multiple colleagues that I reach out to on a regular basis and always have somewhere to check in, and for the first time in a long time, I feel joy. I believe I can accomplish things again, and I’m not exhausted. I am beginning to embrace my new label, neurodivergent, because why would anyone want to be typical?
You may be wondering why I am choosing to share this now. Because I know I am not alone. I am a neurodivergent living in a neurotypical world, and that feels lonely. I am also telling this story because there aren’t enough people in leadership who do. We still live in a world that stigmatizes mental illness and I wonder, if more leaders would share their stories, would more people get help.
The hardest thing to learn is that mental illness is an illness like any other, and no one should avoid treatment because of the people who don’t understand. I also think it is important to note that it isn’t anyone’s fault that this happened to me, or that I am like this, not my parents, my family, or any other relationships, and it is nothing to be ashamed of.
As you prance before me, seeking attention, I look into your eyes, large and full of love .I rest my head against yours and feel the warmth I hear you sigh as you rest on the floor at my feet.
Born to this world with eyes closed, your mother licked you clean. What was it like to open your eyes the first time and see? Who did you see did they look at you with love? What did you hear as you fought to suckle for life.
And then the other face. The one that turned you out. Leaving you at a gate, for others to find. Did they yell? Did they scream? Did they set you quietly in the seat next to them?
Sometimes I wonder how they felt, But most often I don’t care. I wonder if it was quiet in the vehicle that brought you I wonder if they refused to look you in the eyes when they dropped you.
You breathe deeply while you sleep Your breathing brings me peace when chaos reigns. When you look up at me with only love With affection so pure, there is no doubt you are my family.
I hope that you know, this is your home, Your bowl will have food. Your belly will be scratched And you will not be turned out.
This is my covenant and hope And this is my prayer to all yet unhomed. That you all find a place to be loved Because there is no doubt you will first choose to love.
I’m staring at empty space trying to work. I never knew silence could be so deafening.
Princess on a trip to the Mississippi Delta
I’m used to hearing the click clack of little dog feet. I’m used to looking down and seeing big eyes staring up at me. It was an absolute joy to adopt Princess in her last two years of life. Don’t get me wrong, having a geriatric dog can be difficult. She had to be penned in at night and surrounded by pads because she was losing control of her faculties. Most mornings we woke, and we found a mess, but we cleaned it up and moved on without day. She was a little dog, so as she aged, she began to struggle more and more getting up and down the two steps into our back yard. Understand Princess was already in decline when we brought her home, but we knew that whether it was 6 months or years she would be a perfect addition to our home.
Her owner had died, and we loved her, so we thought the best way to show that love was to take care of her little Princess.
Every morning when I came out, I looked at her and said, “Good morning little lady, lets go outside.” She looked up at me with acceptance and love, one of my greatest joys upon returning home after a long day was hearing her excited howl as I approached the door. When I picked her up just right and held her against my chest she would chitter very quietly, almost like a purr, then she would sigh, try to turn and lick my face.
Princess in her pretty sweater
In the last few months, her decline had become obvious. She was tripping over shoes, she could no longer climb easily into her bed, and she tried to hide from us when she couldn’t control herself. That’s when we start having the conversation. If you’ve never owned an elderly animal you may not know what I am talking about if you have you are probably crying just a little while you read this.
See, our animals can’t tell us when they are in pain, and unlike us, they don’t have an active imagination with a wonderful history to pull on. I am not saying they don’t remember, but for them, the moment is primary. I begin to ask, how are the moments that she’s having. More often I would reach down, and she would back away for just a moment because she was frail and sometimes touch hurt. Some mornings she couldn’t get out of her bed and I had to pick her up and walk her to the yard and set her down, and others she would pop right up and be waiting at the door.
The problem is, we don’t want to go too soon, and we don’t want to wait too long. There is no simple answer to this question. I know only that she shy’s away from our touch, she has little control when she has to go to the bathroom, and she sleeps most of the day. Oh, there were other signs but none of these seem good enough, because they are so good at loving us unquestionably and they want to make us happy too, and letting go of that is hard.
Then princess had a seizure.
I first laid her down on her bed, and her mouth immediately locked on her blanket. Then, powerlessly I picked her up and wrapped her in the blanket she was unable to release. She lost control of herself when I put her in my car, and she looked up at me with shame. I knew then that we could never let her go through this again. When we went to see her, she was so excited to see us, she reveled in us, her seizure had passed, but she was still 16 and I remembered her eyes when I laid her in my car to take her to vet, they were like a prayer. Maybe we could have gotten a few more days, weeks, or months of love, she would have given freely, but then I’d have to reckon with her eyes that moment that I laid her in my car.
Saying Goodbye
She was my little lady, and her eyes alone spoke volumes of joy and love… and trust. The decision is hard to make because it can’t be unmade, because if we can get just a little more love from them if we can just feel that acceptance one more time, but when does that become selfish? That is the price we pay for their love and that is why no one should take on pet ownership too soon. Having a pet is forever, maybe not our forever, but theirs, they trust us, depend on us, they love us, and want to see us happy. It’s more than walks and feeding. It’s more than spending time with them, they are family. The ultimate responsibility we have, is the willingness to say goodbye when their forever is over. And we have to make that decision, they cannot.
See, there is no real way to repay the love that comes from owning a pet, but then true love can never be repaid. But there must willingness to love them truly and that their pain is just as real as ours and they can’t always tell us.
It has been a day, my little lady is gone, I didn’t have a mess to clean up, I don’t hear the clip clop of her feet, I am not babysitting her to make sure she can get outside in time. But you know what I miss the most, her eyes, her eyes when she gets excited, when she pretends to bite my fingers, or licks my face. I miss the clip clop of her toenails on the floor. I miss the way she sighs when I pick her up and hold her against my heart.
And though I know it was not too soon, I will spend the next few months wondering if she went too early, that is the final price we pay for their love. And it is proof that we loved them truly.
I sat down to listen to music my Grandmother would never know, in a place my grandmother has never visited, in a home that has not felt her hands. I didn’t realize when I sat down that it was finally time to outline this next chapter. This has been the chapter that I have feared the most, the chapter that I have put off, but strangely the chapter with the most enticing title, a title I wrote many years ago, long before I realized this would require writing.
The last time I spoke to Elsie, she offered me all the photo albums she had left. We went through old boxes, I gathered treasures many would throw away. She was insistent that I take a few things, one of those things, was a list of sayings… an apocryphal gospel she was raised with, quotes from the Bible, her mother, her grandmother, and her friends. A code used to understand the world around her, at least the world she knew, a world as foreign to me as this world was foreign to her. It was as if she needed to know that our worlds were connected.
She never owned a computer. She was my bridge to the past, my bridge to a world long gone. When walking into her home, I felt like I was stepping into the past. She was nestled in a valley, with a small creek baptizing the land, in a place no cell phone signal dare touch, and though I know it was because of the mountains, the mystical part in me, that Grandma helped to grow, assumed the mountains considered the signal anathema to the timeless nature of the land that surrounded my grandmother. That is was timeless, because she was timeless.
And as we sat and talked, I felt something very profound, peace. On the porch of this little house hung a swing, on the swing sat Elsie, in the chair sat Dutch, and in between sat… me. I drank coke in my younger days, coffee as I grew older, but I always ate an oatmeal cream pie. I lost track of the hours we spent on the swing, I once preached that heaven must be a front porch swing, overlooking a large evergreen tree, complete with a coffee and an oatmeal cookie, because I could envision no place so peaceful as this.
I can’t remember a thing we said, I don’t know if the words were necessary, only the presence of mind, body and most of all, of soul. Her home was a magical place, where light refracted from window crystals, casting rainbows in the kitchen, and the basement full of the wonders of days gone by, where my cousins, brother, and I would play detective or musician.
So many treasures, I asked her once about a chair hanging on the wall, she told me came from her grandmother’s kitchen table, so I did the only thing I knew to do, I asked her if I could have the chair. I still have that chair, and no one sits on it, but I remember to tell anyone who asks (and many who don’t) that it sat on my grandmother’s, grandmother’s kitchen table. Her home was full of endless treasures… endless stories… and endless love.
So… though she has never physically touched this space, it is saturated by her spirit. Not just because of the chair, or glasses, or the plates (seriously she gave me a lot of stuff), or even the paper, written in her hand covered in sayings.
Grandma’s magic was faith, hope, and love. And, every time the crystal in our window refracts a rainbow, I am filled with her faith, hope, and love. But even without the rainbow and crystal, her touch, and her voice, her spirit will never be gone from me, because when Grandma gave you her love it was forever.
I awoke this morning reflecting on the time I spent as a medical chaplain, and the past years I had spent in ministry. I noticed as a hospice chaplain I never met a normal family, that every family, no matter how shiny on the outside, was filled with rough edges. And though, there was a sense of degree to familial health it was never as dramatically differnet. All families struggle, all people struggle, and if I were to be honest the difference between us was not that great
When I met someone in the hospital, body riddled from addiction, often I would get tired. I would find myself sitting in the jury box of an unofficial court. I did this as I walked the streets at night in downtown Memphis with my friends, looking behind me, as the crowds of homeless would meander among themselves, not hurting anyone, just wishing to be left alone. It was hard for me, raised middle class and white to find empathy, and early on to deal in grace, I would be lying if I didn’t say I still struggle.
Many years later, I lost almost everything, at least that is what it felt like. After spending 15 years cultivating a career I found myself left unemployed. It is strange, it seems I was split in two at this moment. My faith telling me I had worth and my heritage telling my worth was connected to my employment. As time went on a different battle for my soul began. I was becoming someone else, someone foreign to the me had known, someone who’s fear was giving way to despair. I know in hindsight but I did not know then that the despair would soon give way to self-hatred; I didn’t see I was already on that path. I must admit, I didn’t like that person.
Some Buddhists practice a Death Meditation. It was through this process I began to confront the fear that was giving way to despair. I took the image of the homeless man and asked, “What would it take for me to be there,” and in my mind, I walked that path. I remembered the hospital patients admitted for suicide attempts and asked, what would it take for me to be there? Once again in my mind I followed that path. It is important to note I didn’t do this alone, I had people to process with.
This idea was not new to me, only a forgotten, but it helped me let go. As my mind went down the path, my heart broke and the Psalms came alive, God once again came alive, and I knew as David did after his sin with Bathsheba, that the only sacrifice I had to offer was a broken and contrite heart. I would love to say that healing began that day, but it took much longer than I would have liked.
Of course, this thing that happened, it was a gift, and I understand that I am privileged that I can call it that. Because now when I see the broken, those who are as I was, the homeless person, the suicide patient, the heroin addict, the alcoholic, I don’t see bad choices and I have no seat in their jury box. I see my reflection, I know that I am only a few steps from being there myself. And when I see my face in the broken, I am reminded not only of what was or what could be. I am reminded of what is, I am broken and just maybe that’s what God wanted me to see all along! Then something new is birthed into the world, compassion.
