Community Mental Health

 I floundered on what topic interested me enough to create a discussion thread for my class in Human Health Services; a requisite for my degree program.  I was prodded to act by a reference while reading a chapter that discussed the creation of the Community Mental Health Centers Act of 1963.  I wanted to test how well Atlanta was doing with that mandate.  Relying heavily as I do on Google, I launched my search and was greeted by an impressive 3,170,000 references in less than two seconds. 

   I pondered just how daunting a task it would be for a timid soul who was in sincere need for some affirmation and encouragement to sort through all of that.  I mean, really three million sites are a lot; never mind most of those references have nothing to do with Atlanta.  It remains a common occurrence that the retrieval of so many options can, at the onset, be intimidating at the very least, and frighteningly disconcerting at the worst.

    But I was interested in just Atlanta; along with the fact that I was a student on a quest. I could ignore my initial emotional hesitations over the possibility that this just might be too much information for my needs.  I could empathize with someone who would share similar reaction when conducting a search in earnest  for help. Now I will admit I was ill prepared for this venture, because I went to the first site on the list and the page had an impressive list of links to every conceivable service I never even knew were available.  So I thought I’d site the page in my sources, also a requisite for the class.  As I tried to backtrack to my initial goggle search page, I couldn’t find my way.  After several minutes of trying, I could never find my way back to the first page I had found.  Mildly amused, I started the whole process over again with a general topic search in Google for Community Mental Health in Atlanta.  

There I saw in tagged in the color purple, glory be! A trace to where I had been.  I had visited Metropolitan Atlanta Mental Health Resources and congratulated myself on finding my way back.  That’s when it dawned on me that perhaps the real topic of discussion was not so much on how well our local governments are complying with the 1963 act, but rather, how accessible is it to the confused and confounded person who is seeking that very mandated help?

    The webpage was really impressive in scope.  It possessed a massive collection of links, ninety-two in fact, from Overeating to Suicidology; therein rested the subtle warning.   The header conveyed, “Many useful community resources are available free or at reduced charge based upon ability to pay- if one knows where to look for them.”

“Eureka!” (I have found it) as Archimedes exclaimed when he discovered the principle of density. 

   What is of difficulty, may not be obtaining help but in finding where to look for it.  I pondered on the premise of what may be of interest in serving the needs of all mental illness is not a lack of addressing a specific affliction, but the confusion created by the dearth of options for all afflictions conceivable. 

   Clearly there are many agencies posed to assist someone seeking help, but I wondered if seeking generic help was out of the question within this avalanche of identified specialized services in community helping endeavor?  I would conjecture the webpage was designed under the assumption that the person seeking help already knew what their affliction was.  Yet, if that were true then wouldn’t whoever identified a difficulty by naming it, would, in due course, also inform the afflicted (by named condition) to a source for help? The point I am alluding to is this.

If any agency is to be helpful shouldn’t they make finding help simple? 

   I could well imagine an individual with any identified illness being possessed with concerns over social stigma and being labeled, ‘flawed’; couple that with a general insecurity wrought by symptoms that accompanies mental illness, and it’d be easy to see that a case of seeking help on the Internet could push one to fleeing the search and be driven into hiding in their home; it’s just too confusing.

   Now I may or may not be suffer heightened moments of failing self efficacy.  I may dwell in the world of contingent high self esteem; but I can extrapolate to the point of empathy for a person who suspects they’ve got a problem and then have to sort out where help resides.  Along with being perplexed, as the Metropolitan Atlanta Mental Health Resources page mentions, ‘…where to look for them [helping agencies]”.  Perhaps lost in the desire to offer help to the masses is the aspect of an individual seeking a simple path.  Where too many choices drives them away; there’s help, and then there’s overwhelming.

Difference

In life, we seek success.

Each of us chooses which standard fits our ambition best;

to gather great material wealth; obtain security, or cultivate a harvest of caring relationships.

Some seek accolades; manifestations of prowess in arena of the intellect

or vision to affect social reforms meeting the unfulfilled needs of the masses.

Then there is the never ending thirst to express beauty in art.

It matters little in the scheme of things which of these is selected,

or the myriad of other choices I've little notice of, but to another, are deemed crucial.

What matters most, in any endeavor; performed well or not, is to accept ourselves as worthy.

In that simple moment of agreement

anyone...everyone...is a success.

Don't lose sight of that...because it’s the distinctive difference between unique and special; light and dark

Breath Deep

With so many changes

Misunderstands are likely

These do not define us

Rather, helps to make clear

What matters.

We need not agree on every view

We’re bound to see from different angles; yet still remain dedicated to cooperate.

Just as love has no need to prove itself right

And since love is the only reasonable choice

Enough with the small talk

Breath deep

Dampen Enthusiam

 Allow nothing to dampen your enthusiasm in the passions of your life.  So we must daily examine our self imposed limitations to our living condition.               
       Where do we hide our passion?  

In the bedroom?  

In our preoccupations? 

Our jobs perhaps? 

Doing so, creates a 'need' ...an assigned condition necessary and natural for desire to possess.  Only then can passion be welcomed to run free.   No wonder the depth of disappointment when sex cannot connect.  

Our well untouched,

Untested.  

Lest we settle for the flavor to glide upon our lips....

and not be quenched by the effort.   

There is no abundance of quality in the world without a corresponding lack.  

Such is the calling to be genuine and authentic. 

Life will instruct...

There are no substitutes for the essential air to breathe.   

All About Me

Just think if we never slept.

Oh sure we'd get all kinds of little self appointed tasks accomplished.

But we'd forgo the gift of every morning as a fresh start.

Every morning we choose what is important

We prioritize

Then energized with purpose, we venture forth.

Today, like so many other days

I'm going to choose

Narcissism

yes....it's all about me.

Keeping Secret

Driving to the gym for my morning workout, I happened upon the remains of a house cat left dead in the road.   Like so many other drivers ahead of me, I swerved to avoid driving over it. 

    It struck me how similar in size and coloring it looked to be like my own cat, Obediah.  So I felt a pang of empathy for whoever had nurtured a kitten into what was now a mangled carcass.  As I passed the scene, as well as onward through an immediate bend in this country road, an inner voice resolved to claim that cat and bury it when I returned.  It felt right.

   The thought of the cat dissolved into my mental mist of a host of other issues churning while I drove.  After my work out, I am visited by legions of needs to be accomplished in the rest of my day.  So when I drove past the cat I was startled to notice it was still there.  I just as soon remembered my earlier pledge; I sat on the horns of dilemma.  Should I just continue on my way thinking I was being sentimentally impractical to my first impression?  I continued to chew on that idea, reasoning that since no one knew of my private thoughts, then who could indict me for not following through?  At the next stop sign I impulsively turned into a drive then retraced my route to the dead cat. 

   Fortunately I had a hefty lawn bag in the trunk of the car.  Other drivers slowed to avoid my car with the emergency flashers on.  I could see them rolling down windows to get a better look at what the delay was all about?  They would see it was just a middle aged man picking up a dead cat; most likely a family pet. 

   After bagging the corpse I didn't know what to do with it.  Should I just leave it by the shoulder of the road? Was that service enough?  I walked towards the side of the abandoned house next to where I found the cat considering what time would do to the body; how that mental image offended me.  So I turned around, put him in the trunk of my car, then headed home pondering where I'd bury him.  I say him, but I had no idea what gender it was, nor will I indulge on the graphic depiction of the injuries that would prevent my checking.  Suffice to say it was boldly obvious the cat endured a violent end.

     On the far side of a storm stream bed that crosses my property, is a tree. I dubbed it earlier the Obediah tree.  I named it that a while back, when he was an outside cat.  He would take a fantasy to climbing up into that tree and look down at me while I labored to clear out the brambles in that section of the yard.    I buried the no named cat under that very tree.  As I finished preparing the hole I wondered on the topic of 'depth of the grave' but dismissed it as unnecessary.  I poured the cat out of the bag and he landed as if he were curled and sleeping.  How ironic and somehow, perfect.

  I realized he was nowhere near the same color as my boy, but it still struck me that someone was going to be missing his mewing. 

   I had a disagreement recently about privacy being construed as secrets.  My contention remains that secrets harbor some degree of harm in them, where privacy is a personal value for oneself, where no intent to deceive is present. But that's my interpretation. I think this private moment would best be shared for the airing out of my personal grief over an unknown pet; an object of affection.  A pet that gifted me to do what I felt was the decent thing, even if the event was very private...it is now no longer a secret.

Dreamer

One day, not so long ago, for the age of the world,

Was a boy.

He was encouraged to dream; to pretend.

His parents were unaccustomed to balance education, so then thought little of over indulging a creative mind into the world of illusion.

The boy became entranced with the notion that if you wished hard enough, anything would come true.

He and his friends labored on a make believe air plane, its purpose was to take them to Disneyland.  They discussed in detail all the exploits they would have once they had completed their air ship.  They talked about going to the bank and withdrawing their precious savings.  They would land in the parking lot at the theme park and walk casually to the entrance while people around them would marvel at how just kids made this craft that would take them anywhere they wanted, on a whim.

They would wile away the day hammering boards together on their mimic of a plane.  They attached bicycle seats in a row along the makeshift fusel lodge in the order of where each wanted to take in the view during their voyage.  No one had been elected to fly the craft, for they had agreed magic would take it to its assigned destination; so all of them would just sit in their seats and enjoy the flight. It was possible.  They saw it on Peter Pan.

Suddenly from the garage around the house, a roar from a car engine caught their attention.  One of his friends, the boy whose house they were building their contraption, had an older brother who was an ancient teenager.  And as many young adolescent males do, this one became enthralled with muscle cars.  So the engine revved many times. As it continued each of the boys caught a sense of magical foretelling that the plane was ready to take off.  In last minute haste, each drove their last nails into the wood, drop their hammers and rushed to their seats in anticipation of taking off any second.

The engine shrieked.

The boys eagerly stuffed their limbs into the small wire cages.

Room, room, room the car seemed to gain volume and frequency in exact accord with the boys mounting excitement.

The dreamer could feel his scalp tingle with the focused belief as his conviction commanded that now was the time for dream's delivery. He believed with every fiber of his entire seven year old existence. 

Then truth was delivered. 

The teenagers saw the youngsters and laughed with great amusement at those 'nutty kids'. 

Eventually the motor fell silent, as the young boys stayed frozen in their seats for several minutes; hoping against hope that flight would somehow still happen. 

Nothing.

Eventually one lad mentioned that they had done something wrong, that they hurried and it was too soon.

Another agreed.

A third stood up and got out of his cage, a signal the game had concluded.

The fourth mentioned it was time to go home to dinner, the sun was setting.

One by one the sullen boys departed.  The dreamer was stunned into quiet.  He did not have the gut energy to argue, to persuade. Too dumbfounded to reason or cajole any other into remaining, to pour their belief into the collective pot that would lift their inert boards into the sky taking them like a magic carpet, off to see the world.  It was at that tender age he realized that belief would only take you so far.  And to be totally immersed in a dream had a cost when it wasn't delivered.  It'd be near five decade before this dreamer would dare to welcome its enchanting quality to return and claim him.  It arrived in the form of a love like no other; beyond description.  She would look at him with her soft eyes, and he'd be calmed by a sense of acceptance and understanding.  The fear and despair that replaced hope when a soul had been disappointed, would in that moment quietly dissolve, allowing the sun into his heart again.  

Her quiet love was the light that would invite him to take up the path with renewed vigor. And in his realization that went beyond reason, he would laugh at the prolonged absence.  He was amused at feeling young once more; No harm done.

Understanding Lack

Actually life is good!
Not just because things go my way; they actually rarely do.

At least to the degree of an exacting specification.

Certainly I’d not claim I have no problems; none so great they sap my happiness.
But really, sometimes I let them,

I realize that after the fact

When I chose to make judgments,

Concerning me and the world at large

I was caught unaware.

Now is a liberty that is so very precious

I recognized the freedom as both powerful and valuable
So for all those times I use to think things were unfair

Or that I didn't deserve my harsh punishment

Through that suffering

I learned better ways
leaving lack in the dust of my personal history

As something I don’t have to continue to practice

To understand

Care Full

Words are magic and we are conjurers.

What visits me today is the word caution; along with its twin; risk.

They are place holders for the concept of threat. 

I follow the path of threat its intended meaning; it serves most often as an adjective, as in, threat of what?

Loss of my health?

Physical harm?

Perhaps something more abstract being threatened; my comfort, my peace?

I reasoned, caution is based on attempts to avoid, (injury/loss) wrapped into a nice warming cloak of, 'unwanted condition.’ 

   When I had been given a box of crayons to color my world, I had been shaped and directed on their use and applications by the giver in order to navigate the world of my teachers.  It is then I begin to notice a subtle drift off course.  With all good intentions, they usher forward their pearls of life wisdom won by mistakes and success' in order that I too, could avoid pain and ultimately, suffering.  So then I am sent on their path to avoid their mistakes to reap their hopes.

Error.

The armor I am given is protection against the dragons of their passage.  Seduced into looking for those pitfalls they stumbled into, I will ultimately find them, then, refer to them as the consequences of my failure to be cautious about the risk.  We are not born to explore for the sake of arriving unscathed.  It is my perception, my attitude, I wish to explore as I labor to release the burdensome weight of others demands. Albeit it sturdy, shielding slows me down.  I am not ascribing to fear invoked caution, but rather towards a natural harmless state of being CARE FULL.  

George Bernard Shaw mentioned that reasonable people adapt to the world, that unreasonable people try to shape the world towards their view; therefore all changes to the world have been made by unreasonable people.  

Cute paradox, but I'd submit this in reflection.  To lead a quality life one must care. What is valued is where the authentic self resides.  Integrity is all there is of any one.  To violate its existence is to proclaim something is more interesting; neglecting personal essence is that burning abandonment so many are striving to overcome.

Common Thread

Common thread:  We must find a place of agreement so as to share a common value.  Embracing the connection when we are understood, or understanding another’s perspective dispels the illusion of separate isolation.  Revealing instead what has always been present…love…and that remembering is the very essence of  a quality life.

Tribute

I had a post lined up for today, but events eclipsed any self indulgent train of thoughts.  The loss was so profound, so horrific, I couldn't pretend it didn't affect me.  I sought solace; I sought significance, meaning.  I wanted to address the collective cry of injured joy.  Grief, come have your way with me, allow my tears to wash away my stubborn delusions.


"There is much asked and only so much I think I can or should answer, and so, in this post I would like to give a few thoughts on what seemed to be the overwhelming question: "WHY?"
And here is the best answer I can give: Because.
Because sometimes, life is damned unfair.
Because sometimes, we lose people we love and it hurts deeply...Because sometimes there aren't really answers to our questions except for what we discover, the meaning we assign them over time.
Because acceptance is yet another of life's "here's a side of hurt" lessons and it is never truly acceptance unless it has cost us something to arrive there.
Why, you ask? Because, I answer.
Inadequate yet true." --Libba Bray

A Shot of Misery

I've been working on my blog and hit one of those places I think we all are familiar; the "my brain is tired of this" spot, or something in that neighborhood. I make categories for feelings in order to figure out why I feel the way I do, and most importantly, what are the elements involved so I can perhaps, avoid that recipe if I wanted to; next time. 

 On this occasion, with suddenly not wanting to do what I otherwise profess love doing, I was aware I was once more visiting what I call the 'I-want to-be-miserable-and-will-do-extreme-things-to-be-such” category; my psych professors would say it’s just one of many self-sabotaging techniques. I was going to put dashes between each word, [and eventually gathered the emotional energy to do just that, but I didn’t want to disrupt the flow of my tale], but I'm in the like I have to be perfect mood today? I didn't want to lose this chain of thoughts like so many other swell ones I had from the recent past...at least...I think I did, I forget. Anyway, miserable, yeah, I could be a chocolate cake taster being paid boatloads of money and they even come to my house and deliver the cakes, yet I know with certainty, some day, into the not too distant future of that sweet deal, I would suddenly resign because I would come to the conclusion I am in love with butterscotch.

    No kidding, we are a mess it up kind of species. I read just today, where a father of a child who just survived chemo treatment for leukemia was awarded a week at Disneyworld by Make-a-Wish foundation due to her prevailing so heroically through that ordeal.  He turned it down because, he said, 'She's better, make a wish is for kids who are going to die". I mean really, what a toad.  So there are NO limits to the human ability to mess up a good thing and I am convinced it is our needless pursuit to be miserable.

   OK...so....we can do that, shoot ourselves in the foot I mean, and contrary to belief, it has been reported that it usually takes three tries before that can be accomplished (on purpose). Can you imagine? At that range? Well, there's a part of your brain that is going to make your foot twitch every time you squint your eyes while squeezing that trigger.  You flinch, and the shot misses but just---so---itty much. That's like the rational part of the brain pleading that just maybe a scary example is a good enough reason to rethink a course of action. I guess after two failed attempts to persuade the crazy person in charge that its really going to hurt, that reason shuts down...sulks off somewhere and hangs a big lettered I TOLD YOU SO scribbled in black marker over a do not disturb sign, then hangs it on its doorknob and locks the door; probably for a decade at least. I have no example of why not to quit chocolate cake testing, so I suppose there are always exceptions to every rule, right?

Well that's all amusing I hope.

I had a glucose test today. I didn't know it was going to take two hours to complete until I had already got it under way. I mean, sure it makes sense to take blood after fasting for 24 (PLUS) hours and then ....I stopped thinking about it I guess.  So then I'm in the midst of this test and the Lab tech tells me how the increments will go as I'm suddenly awaken to the game plan.

   "Oh so drink this sugary drink, yeah, and I guess take a sample of my blood, right....what in a hour? Oh....well, ok I guess...what? And in another hour take a sample again?" I'm thinking, I have a breakfast burrito waiting for me in the car. I was thinking I'd come in, give some blood, and um....go away? Yeah-that doesn't make much sense NOW does it? [right near the foot shooting example I’d say]

So, I got to sit in an empty reception room for two hours without having anything to read…I didn’t bring anything because I was oblivious to the amount of time the test would take.  And when you resort to reading the magazines in an office waiting room, well, it’s conclusive; you're desperate.

Although I must admit I never really considered how the Amish made butter until today.

Moral Courage

        Thomas Paine’s observation rings true, but more so to the consequence of self-interest as reason for a social contract.

        “Some writers have so confounded society with government, as to leave little or no distinction between them; whereas they are not only different, but have different origins.  Society is produced by our wants and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affection, the latter negatively by restraining our vices.  The one encourages intercourse, the other creates distinctions.  The first is a patron, the last a punisher.’

        What about a society that has abdicated its ownership, (accountability)?  Yes, abandoned it to the punishing methods of a negligent, often inattentive, overly indulgent shortsighted parent, (government/ authority apparatus), whose need to obtain approval and forgiveness for past excesses and slights outweighs any semblance of useful mature guidance, (dare I say leadership?). 

   What is absent in this solution to avoid responsibility is moral courage.  Moral courage is born from personal integrity absent of fear of disapproval.  Moral courage is doing what is ethically and morally in accordance with social and personal values. Revealed in the absence of moral courage is this driving, oppressive need for a substitute.  Perhaps that’s why the entertainment industry is not suffering in this current economic downturn. That is the huge deception we are being sold; to accept some reasonable facsimile to authenticity. Not where peace is the presence of freedom, but a purchased avoidance. Self-centered thinking would advocate an escape from undesired consequences to short sighted gains. Such thinking reinforces a hysterical delusion of isolation, neediness for deserving, and a general lack induced unworthy- afflictions.

Short interpretation:  Speak plain, be fair, and helpful to those we wish join us.

Abandon the necessity to threaten, coerce or punish.  Instead, encourage agreement for those who would wish to become contributing members of a society of interdependent citizens. Then make it accessible, in order to reinvigorate the spoken, American ideal.

A Good Day

In the not so distant past I recall waking up thinking “today is a good day.” Enjoying, if you will, a Phoenix from the death of the Firebird type of a fresh start; yeah, it was an extraordinary feeling.  Yet, true to my experience, the unexpected harbors forth possibilities...

So the scene developed with my wife saying, "Oh the new diffuser is working, smell the cinnamon"

"Yes, I do; how pleasant"

The subtle alarm in my mind was softly clanging away that the diffuser was downstairs. So if I were reasoning I would think that it must be a super-diffuser to be noticed upstairs in the bedroom, but I gave little notice in my sleepy-head waking of morning routine.

My wife gathered up our dog Oscar into her arms and took him downstairs for his morning business.  I began my daily ritual of making entries into my journal. I heard her voice from downstairs,

   "Oh my"

That got my attention, or I should say the silence after her comment riveted my attention.

Then,

   "What did you do?"

    It was then and there that the pieces of my mental puzzle began to fall into place. I distinctly remember my inner dialog voice saying, "I'll bet Obediah knocked over the diffuser and that's why we can smell cinnamon upstairs." I was right; in the neighborhood sort of way calamity can strike.

   Obediah had, indeed somehow got his 13lb girth into space.  He projected himself six feet out and five feet up from the table that sets at the corner of the couch.  Somehow, he made it onto the fireplace mantel; a feat worthy of mentioning and even applauding. Afterwards, as cats will wander in their victory laps, he knocked over a newly purchased harvest-cinnamon diffuser. Why-oh-why is it always a brand-new-filled-to-the brim container that gets tipped over? What I didn't know, but was soon to find out, was that the fluid flowed over the surface of the mantel and worked as a solvent to blister the paint; very close to the same effect as the alien blood had on the spaceship deck in the movie ALIEN. Not only that, but the culprit walked in the fluid and then, becoming bored with watching the progress of the syrupy substance flow to the opposite end of the mantle, he jumped down and wandered around the house with harvest-cinnamon dyed feet.  Little sticky footprints everywhere as far as the hunting eye would venture.

   Up until this episode my wife was feeling pretty confident that she had adequately prepared our home for a visit by her cousin and his wife. Everything, as she had commented just the night before, was in its place.  Well now....look at the change.

   Wouldn't you know, just as she was surveying the handiwork of Obediah it would be the very moment Oscar was inspired to play with mama? So while she tried to corral Obediah, who by the way was actively evading her attempts to catch him, (thinking, I suppose, punishment was coming) The puppy was either nipping at her heals or enjoining her in chasing down that rascal cat...whose darting about only spread the mess.

   I heard the commotion along with the increased volume of her protest. I was then convinced that I could not survive as a silent spectator. So I wisely went down stairs and joined in the mayhem.

The calamity was contained; the mess cleaned up. The mantle was repainted with plenty of time to dry, as well as rearrange the decorations on the mantel the way they were before our guest arrival.

The pets survived Mama's fury, (albeit BOTH cat's got a bath. Sorry Hershey sometimes prosecution by association is a fact of life... even if unfair)

And I?

........I avoided being blamed for it all. Yes...success makes one glow...does it not?

Something Important

What if suddenly

everything external 

ceased to upset?

utterly end influence over well being

the media lost its entitlement to affect

other people no longer irritated or provoked to dislike

what would that sound be like

children laughing?

subtle creek murmurings to take your shoes off and put your toes in?

would the light be warm?

a day fill with fresh air?

Would every aspiration in your heart take flight with hope in sharing?

No one is free, if shackled to fear

No one

not the rich

not the powerful

not anyone you care about

not anyone you ever dreamed or wished to impress

Not a single soul who seems to possess everything you ever envied

Is free from fear

 it is not a question of convincing oneself that all is well

we have the life around us to contend with.

How can I affect the market?

the poverty

 illness?

I can do nothing about those huge challenges facing our world

to fix

But I can do this

encourage

towards feeling better

yes, I can do that....one moment at a time

and sometimes that may mean

keeping my hands to myself

and letting go any judgment that things are dire.

every storm I've ever witnessed ended.

just as every summer day of vacation has since expired.

and those I've loved and liked

are not present, in a physical sense

but they gifted me with memory so that I'd recognize

a good thing when it came along

being able to love and accept my portion is a powerful reference point

I was made capable.

I wanted to do something important

I came to realize being present was far more grandiose

than doing something that changed with time.

In that, I calmed my fear of flight 

and relaxed into accepting

rainbows and the tears for their crystalline qualities

as they washed my world with marvelous colors

in order for me

to see clear