Life has treated me to a bumpy ride recently. I’ve written
about challenging times following the election, with all the fear, confusion,
and so on. It seemed the bad news would never end when Carrie Fisher and Debbie
Reynolds died. We lost our old German Shepherd Dog after a short but difficult
illness that turned all our lives inside out. Through this, I tried to practice
good self care, cultivate insight and perspective, and share my journey. Mostly
I was able to regain my emotional and spiritual balance, and the periods of
feeling at a loss grew shorter. The grief for our dog felt natural and healthy;
she had gone peacefully in the end, surrounded by love, and we all had so many
happy memories of her.
And then I received a letter from the Department of
Corrections with the date of the next parole hearing of the man who’d raped and
murdered my mother. It’s such a horrendous thing to be reminded of at the best
of times, but now, when my stability is already fragile, it’s particularly
awful. I’ve written about the murder many times over the years, from my
introduction letter upon joining SFWA to a
recent post as part of #HoldOnToTheLight (a blog campaign encompassing posts
by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise
awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic
violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental
health-related issues). I tell my story when I campaign against the death
penalty. As much as I do not want to give a single thought to the murder and
its aftermath right now, I’m going to have to deal with it. Whether or not I
attend in person, send a letter, record a video statement, ask friends to write
letters opposing his release, it’s in my mind. Like some particularly vile
parasitic worm, it’s wending its way from my thoughts into my guts.
Sometimes treading water is the best you can do, and that’s
enough. Running as fast as you can to just stay in place at least keeps you in
place. Life flattens us and we have a good cry and then pick ourselves up. Our
friends (and sometimes strangers) give us a hand up. We do the same for them.
But sometimes what life piles on us is Just. Too. Much.
I didn’t get to vote on this. I didn’t ask for it. My mother
was an amazing, compassionate, intelligent, radiant soul. Even if I walk away, the
way her life ended will still be with me. I can’t take it out of my mind and
body, let alone my spirit.
It sucks bigtime.
That’s where I am today. Despite all the self care, I’m
sleeping badly. I’m irritable, at times bordering on irrational, although my
family nudges me back to sanity. My muscles reflect the inner escalation of
tension. Most of the time, it’s a lot of fun to be me, but not now. I’m not
sure why the people who love me put up with me.
Sleep is my miner’s canary, my early-warning signal that I’m
no longer treading water, I’m sinking. I don’t ever, ever want to go back to
what happened to me after the first parole hearing, so I take these signals
very seriously. I take it even more seriously when a dear friend and,
separately, a family member express concern for me. I’ve learned to not brush
off such concerns with, “I’m fine.” I’m so clearly not fine. If someone who
cares about me sees something in my behavior, or hears something behind my
words or in my unguarded expression, for them to say something to me is an act
of pure love.
When we’re drowning, we need all the love we are offered.
I am loved, and that’s how I’m going to get through this as
a sane, loving person.
In the next installment of “In Troubled Times,” I’ll share
some of the ways I’m giving myself extra help. I don’t expect it to be an easy
passage, but I’ve learned a lot over the years about surviving even what seems
to be unsurvivable. Please come on that journey with me: it’s not one anybody
should ever take alone.
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