thoughts about a movie about mental illness

                                                     March 3, 2013

Today I want to review a movie in relation to thoughts about my nephew.

Spoiler alert: if you haven't seen "Silver Linings Playbook" but want to, don't read this unless you want to know how it ends.

Christy and I went to see the movie "Silver Linings Playbook" a couple of days ago. I loved it. I'm pretty sure she did, too. But it's really more of a feel-good movie than a realistic one. Yes, it's the way we wish things could turn out in a situation like that, but, having lived with a husband who was afflicted with bipolar disorder, I don't believe that a person can be "cured" by finding the "right person" to fix them.  I guess the movie didn't proclaim that "Pat" was cured and it only got as far as the cozy family scene after he and "Tiffany" had declared their love for each other and were acting "normal" in a social setting, so we don't really know what happens beyond that. . . a day or a month or a year later. And probably none of us really want to think about what happens beyond that. Let us just leave with the idea that they all lived happily ever after.  But from my experience, the normalcy would not have lasted very long. Now, don't get me wrong--I loved the story, the acting, and the glimpse of hope that this movie offered. But life is so damned much more complicated than movies.

There were a few realistic touches that gave an accurate taste of living with someone afflicted with this disease. The things that had a ring of truth: Pat complaining that his medication made him feel "foggy." Pat waking his parents at 3 and 4 in the morning because his mind was racing with obsessive thoughts. 

After seeing this movie, I've heard several people say that they know someone just like Pat. Which leads me to believe that more of us have experience dealing with mental illness than any of us realize.

And mental illness cannot be cured in the way this movie suggests any more than any physical illness can be cured by mind over matter. I'm not saying that doctors and western medicine have all the answers or that pharmaceuticals are the cure for everything by any means. What I'm saying is that there are no easy answers to any of this. And I'm not really sure how to find them.

And back to my thoughts about my nephew. One of the worst thoughts I've had is about the medication he was on. He was diagnosed with depression. Which is a mental illness. Just a few months ago, he had started taking an antidepressant and seeing a therapist. I have heard that there is some risk associated with antidepressants in that they can actually exacerbate the problem. They come with the warning of possible suicidal thoughts. And they tell the sufferer to see a doctor if this happens. . . I'm sorry, this thought just chills me. What if the person can't/won't/ is incapable of heeding that warning. We don't want to believe that a medication could cause a worsening of a condition. But they do. And the worsening of a condition like this is. . . the ultimate worst.

I don't want to stop thinking about him . . .part 4

 

Today it has been one month.

Such a short time--though I'm sure that some people are tired of hearing about this already. . . it's only been a month! My K-bub should not be gone from my life!

 

Yesterday, I was in the store, choosing a birthday card for my own precious son and of course, right next to the "son" cards are the "nephew" cards. I will never get to pick out a nephew card again. I had to keep averting my eyes from them and focus on the young man in my life. It could have been him. As close as those cards are to each other. . . that's how close this death came to me. My son has gone through his own struggles and depression. He has always assured me that he likes himself too much to harm himself, but none of us knew that Caleb would harm himself either. And at least my son understands now why there have been times I've worried about him. He and Caleb were a lot alike in a lot of ways. Caleb had a lot of influence on my son. The music that inspired my son to study music was introduced to him by Caleb.

Both of them are/were truth seekers. Caleb never found the answers he was looking for in this life. He wouldn't settle for answers that did not feel right to him. While going through his things, we found an Ode to my son  that my sister wrote to Caleb addressing that subject. It is so beautiful that I wish I could share it with you but unless my sister gives her permission, I will not violate her privacy that way. My son said that he thinks Caleb had integrity with God because God relishes our search for him and does not expect us to settle for something that does not give our soul solace.

I have to be honest that my relationship with God is estranged and has been for quite some time. I haven't even been doing a lot of seeking, which I know I should even though it's hard. But if I felt like God could hear my prayer right now, my prayer would be that Caleb found his answers. I hate the way it happened, but I pray that God was there on the other side to give him everything he needed. I pray that my own son finds his answers and his joy in a long life here on earth with me and all the other people that love him. He has told me that he needs affirmation and validation outside the sphere of family and friends that have known him all his life and I pray that he gets that, too.

Rest in peace, my precious Caleb.

Live long and prosper, my precious Ben.   

Reconstructing memories . . . Part 2

We found it! Ever since my first post about Caleb, I've been hoping to find a couple of things. . . the list of ping pong terms he made up and a picture of him toasting a marshmallow over a candle at my kitchen table.

The other day my daughter, Christy, and I were talking and I asked her if she had any idea where that particular picture was and I told her I still hadn't found the paper that had the terms written on it.

About the paper she said, "I'm picturing it in a book of rules." and a light bulb went on in my head. I looked up on a shelf right behind where she was sitting, where I had several rule books for pool and billiards, thinking I might see one with rules for ping pong. No luck. Then, Christy said, "It seems like it had rules to a whole bunch of games." Then (hear the choir of angels singing) I saw it--just Games. And even from where we were standing, looking up, we could see a little piece of paper sticking out of the top of that book. I pulled it off the shelf and THERE IT WAS! Marking the place where the rules for ping pong were in the book

Just in case you can't read this;

Googley--Backward hit

Drooble--Hits top of net and dribbles over other side

Gump--Big Gump style forehand

Epigon--Hits edge of table, falls off

You may be wondering why it was so important to me to find this. And I don't know if any explanation I can offer will really help you understand. I guess it represents for me a time that Caleb was with me, and we had a lot of fun together. I wish I had a picture of the ping pong table with the frame that he built. It was really a masterpiece. I hope I come across one as I go through all my pictures.

       As for the picture I asked Christy about, she knew where that was, too. She had used it in a collage she put together for her Spanish class. She went right to the box of pictures she has in her closet and pulled it out.

He wanted s'mores. You can see the rest of the elements on his plate. We have an electric stove, so he had to toast the marshmallow over a candle. Christy remembers that it was a peach candle . . .

I don't want to stop thinking about him . . .part 3

       Every time I open my phone contacts and scroll through the C's, there's his name, Caleb Churder. My heart lurches and a heaviness fills my chest. I don't want to delete it. I don't want to erase the reminders of him that continue to be in my life. . . that will always be in my life. But damn it--I can't call him anymore. Same thing for his address in my phone book. He's not there to receive a letter or the birthday card I always send him in November. He's not there. . . although I occasionally find myself talking to him as if he were next to me, accompanying me in the mundane activities of my day. How I wish I could really talk to him again. How I wish I could do over the last conversation I had with him. Really ask how he was doing. Really hear his heart.

       How I wish I had bought the book he wrote when he told me it was available. Sure, I bought it now, but it's too late. Too late to show him my support. I'm reading it slowly as if I can keep him with me by hearing the words he wrote like it's a current conversation we are having.

       The thing that weighs heavily in my heart and my gut is how fast life moves on. I do not want to move on yet. I need time to process this loss. A long, long time.  I hate that it's just been over two weeks--we're not even out of the month that it happened, and it already feels like I'm dragging it on to express my sadness. That's just not right Dammit! This boy mattered to me! ALOT!

       When people ask how I am, I don't really want to say fine, although out of habit, I usually do. But in my heart I'm not fine. And I don't really want to be fine. It's just too soon.

      

reconstructing memories. . .part 1

Yesterday, I was struck by a memory of Caleb that made me smile and I started to think about it so that I could write it down and not forget it. But my memory is not completely clear so I will reconstruct the bits and pieces of it that came to me and if anyone else remembers it, they can add to it or correct what I didn't get right.

       I was working at Lucky (a grocery store) and I was on the express lane (which I always hated.) I was going through the motions, just trying to get through the day when a young man came through my checkstand. I rang up his order and he left but a few minutes later he went through my line again. Now, here is where my memory is really fuzzy. I don't remember if it was just the fact that I knew he had just gone through my line, or if he had a single rose (for some reason, I really think he might have bought a flower,) or if he attempted to purchase alcohol which forced me to look at his ID and really look at him, but when I did, my eyes grew wide and my mouth dropped open and I about wanted to jump over the checkstand. I loved the look of mischief he had on his face when the recognition dawned in mine. It was my nephew, Caleb, standing in front of me and it was the first time I had seen him with facial hair. It was at that point that I noticed my sister and brother-in-law standing a few feet away, laughing at me. I was chagrined that I had not recognized this boy who was so dear to me (and that I was so zoned out that it took him going through my line twice to get my attention) but it had been a while since I'd seen them and I could not believe how much he'd grown up. Suddenly, the precious little boy was a man.

I don't want to stop thinking about him. . . Part 2

When you lose someone dear to you, and you have to get back to your regular routine, it's difficult to know how you're supposed to act. You have this person on your mind constantly but you have to function "normally" even though you don't feel normal. Because nothing is ever going to be normal again. There's a piece of you missing.

       On one hand, you want everyone to know what you are going through so that they understand why it's harder to smile, why you are constantly sighing and why every now and then, you have to find a place to be alone and pull yourself together. But on the other hand, you don't really want people to ask you what's wrong, because if you really answer--that's when you can't hold back the tears.

       And then there are the times when you actually forget for a little while and when you catch yourself--you feel as if your dear one is slipping away. . .

       I want to read every word he ever wrote, I want to listen to the music he liked, I want to look at every picture anyone ever took of him. I want to talk to those who knew and loved him, I want to remember all the things we did together, all the things we talked about. I don't want to stop thinking about him, because that's all I have left.

I don't want to stop thinking about him. .

                                                                  

 It's hard to understand how one day a person can play wiffle ball and post a picture on facebook of three darts in close proximity to a bull's eye on which he got several good-natured comments and the next day decide that life is not worth living. I have tried to figure out what was going through his mind in the last few days of his life. We have all been asking ourselves, "When was the last time we talked to him? What did we say? What did he say?" We are trying to figure out if he gave us any clues to the depth of his despair.

       I know my sister was profoundly worried about him a few short months ago but everyone was in agreement that he seemed to be doing better. He had gotten a new job, he was making some friends. He talked to all of us, his closest family and friends over the last couple of weeks. I wonder if he had made his decision and he was at peace with it and didn't want any of us to suspect.

       He called me just a week ago or so. With profound sorrow I remember that I didn't talk to him long before passing the phone to my daughter, as I thought they would have more to talk about than he and I. Oh, how I wish I had talked to him longer. Not that I think I could have changed his mind. I had no idea what he was thinking. I just wish I had a longer conversation to remember. I wish I felt like I had connected with him that one last time. He had called to tell me he was sorry that he hadn't thanked me for his birthday card and $ that I sent in November. He had turned 30. I asked if his mom had yelled at him about it and he said, "no, she doesn't yell, she just reminded me." Of course, I forgave him. I think I asked how he was doing. I just don't remember much more of what we said. He sounded good. But I just thought he might want to talk to his cousin more than he'd want to talk to me. Now I keep wondering if he was saying his goodbyes to us. Letting us know that he loved us. And I barely talked to him. I'm so mad at myself.

       As for the almost bullseye that was the last thing he posted on facebook. . . I wonder if it's symbolic of something. That would be like Caleb. I also wonder if there is a message he left somewhere. He was a writer after all.