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No. 9 THORNTON SQ.

No. 9 THORNTON SQ.

Monthly Archives: April 2014

Water For Anxiety

30 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by spencebarry in Anxiety, history, mental heath

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

anxiety, history, mental health

I walked to a coffee shop near my office recently. The young barista asked how my day was going so far. Usually I say what most of us say, ‘fine,’ or ‘sick of wearing my winter hat,’ or whatever banality comes to mind. But in my amped-up state I answered her straight up. ” Honestly,” I said. “I’m feeling sort of anxious.”  We talked for a moment then she said earnestly, sweetly. “I’ll pray for you.” And I ordered my coffee.

I walked fast, confidently, back to the office, trying to dissipate that carbonated feeling in my blood and nerves. What makes me despair at times, well, a lot, is my inability to calm myself down, to talk to myself in a way that feels soothing enough to have my sparkling blood be still. Every anxiety-provoking thing hits the same spike on the needle no matter how seemingly smart I’ve become about what’s causing it. You’d think my neck was being measured for the noose.

Back at the Hancock elevators, I smiled at people I would have otherwise passed, kidded a middle-aged stranger on the elevator who was carrying an empty coffee cup up one floor. “Long way to go for a refill,” I said, sounding almost giddy. “I would’ve taken the stairs,” he said laughing, “but I’ve got bad knees.” As the doors closed I said something like, “well, in that case you’re forgiven!” Anxiety is a private torture. But my anxiety can get mouthy. I was experiencing a weird kind of openness, vulnerability.

So what does all this have to do with water?

Like last week, my office today has a view of Lake Michigan. (I don’t have a permanent office yet so I’m a bit of a gypsy here).  When I walked in and saw the water,  I felt calmer. There is something about water. I never feel alone when I am near it. My desk faces the door so I’ve been writing looking out the window, laptop on my thighs, feet up on the air vents. The water is calm with dappled waves. It is overcast. spittles of water on the window come and vanish. Two boats out on the water. I’m looking out over rooftops, mostly modern buildings, mostly commercial though a few have  stacks of empty balconies and a few rooftop gardens, The Navy Pier carousel wheel to the south. A crow sails past the window and disappears.

I could sit here for the rest of the day and just watch the world and the water. I can feel my heart beat slowing down, my head quieting to exhaustion.There’s something about the uninterrupted clouded blue that goes to the horizon. My mind relaxes, meditates on the stillness of things, the solid buildings, the water rippling, a regular beat, just enough to be a good distraction. Like a lot of lonely, essentially motherless kids, nature has always soothed me, been my friend.

Light is trying to break through. The boats have come and gone. I’ll just sit here until I head home in a few hours, looking out the window, and try to remind myself I can feel this calm again.

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“Only Connect”–Like It’s That Easy

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by spencebarry in history, mental health advocacy, mental heath, stigma, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

mental health, mental health advocacy, stigma

I’m back after weeks of distraction; too much snow, too much grey weather, too much time alone, much-needed time away somewhere warm, a sprained foot (I’m ok now), my sick dog (he’s ok now) and other things that sapped any inspiration or motivation I might’ve mustered for a post. I’ve been sitting here in my office in the Hancock Tower, this somewhat sunny afternoon, Spring trying to show up,  and wondering what to write about. What I notice besides the intermittent sounds of honking horns below on Michigan Avenue is the silence. It’s quiet on the floor except for a few people walking down the hallway. muffled voices.  A few people have the doors to their offices open. Most don’t, including me at the moment.  Glued to our various devices, it probably doesn’t matter anymore to a lot of us who we actually spend most of our time with, how it affects us, since it’s all virtual. But connection matters to me. It’s always been—no matter how scary relationships are for me—a core value of mine.

But I am ambivalent about connection. This is where the scary part comes in. Early on in my life, lonely and essentially invisible in my family. I took myself as my own companion. The family I grew up instilled in me that the world was too dangerous, the cost of relationships was too high, and nothing good could come of putting yourself out there, only disappointment. I believed it (and many relationships reinforced this belief) though something in me, the healthy part that wanted love and relationships, tried to fight it. But the frightened part of me won out.

Some people have asked exactly what happened to me in the mental health system, soup to nuts (hmm. bad pun) the whole story, not just bits and pieces here and there. I get that. And I will tell more in detail in future posts. Part of me wants to tell all the details at once and part of me doesn’t. It goes back to the old and familiar tapes: I feel deeply conflicted about being seen and heard. I have the need to speak out, have a voice. To speak for myself, for others, to find others (you?) who can relate, feel they have a voice. Who else is out there in the wilderness who has been through similar hell and feels alone, unable for whatever reason to speak up? All this collides with feeling overwhelmed by the telling of a story too raw still, insanely complicated, and the bone-deep feeling I will be punished for speaking up, for having a voice, and the feeling of futility. So,  the act of writing this blog,  just hitting “post” is a big deal for me. A small act of courage.

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