This morning as I sat down here at my work table with my coffee and turned on my desktop computer fireplace app which I dearly love — I found it a couple of years ago, it pops and crackles and is so realistic it’s like having a real fire. I use it pretty much year round — I felt a kind of, well, let me see how I can put it, a sense of coming back to some kind of normalcy, or as close as I can get for now. The cleanup and repair work, the trees and limbs that need to come down, all of this will be ongoing work for some time, but, as when I talked about walking the dogs yesterday, there has been a kind of settling in to some kind of routine that works for now. I think that’s the thing, allowing that life is not just going to be settled into something that we can count on ongoing but that for now, for today, for this moment, all is well, as well as it can ever be.
And then as I say that what comes to me is the sense of unease that I live with most of the time that isn’t bad most days, but with which I don’t know how to live completely comfortably with. It’s like a river running underground that, if you walk through the woods, might burble up here and there but mostly stays underground. I am talking about this because it has become something that I am needing to be aware of, to track, and learn to manage. I used to take Xanax ongoing, all the time, which kept this underground river quiet for the most part. I haven’t done this for some time but, having recently, since the hurricane, taken Xanax a little more regularly to handle the flaring and almost, at times, uncontrollable anxiety what I also experienced was — goodness, this is all so difficult to describe — an awareness that taking it not only helped with the huge flaring anxiety but also quieted that underground river that seems so much of the time to be present, and it was such a relief. Though I have never overused or abused the drug I can surely see why some people do. It is a relief to rest in a kind of gentle quiet which, for someone like me, and there are so many of us in the world struggling with anxiety to varying degrees, does not come without medication. When anxiety is overwhelming and can impede functioning in life medication can be a godsend, but for those of us who have this low level anxiety much of the time it isn’t, to my way of thinking, the best option to medicate it into non-existence.
Still, I would be dishonest if I didn’t admit that sitting here, on an otherwise okay day, it is not tempting to think “If I just took that one little pill I would feel so much better…” but that would not really fix anything. For me, now, the work is to learn how to be at peace with feeling the underground river and knowing that I can manage it. At 64 I know that this is not going to magically disappear and that while taking the Xanax might quiet the river it is like hitting the mute button. You can’t hear it but the music is still playing, it is still having an effect, there is still something that needs dealing with. This is why I am in weekly therapy, why I write, why I have a number of self-care practices in place.
Too, while it is a relief to know that I do have the Xanax to use on an “as needed” basis when there is such acute anxiety I am about to go over the edge, when I am really suffering, just having it in the house to use “as needed” comes with a tremendous sense of responsibility, the knowledge that this drug can easily be overused and that the side effects can be dire especially as one grows older. Overuse can lead to dementia and Alzheimers. The studies have been sobering. You can’t be too careful, you must monitor yourself carefully, have regular check-ins with your provider where you discuss the use of the medication, and never get lax about taking that little pill just to feel a little better. What can I do instead? That is what I have to ask myself. And this is constant, ongoing work. This is living responsibly with medication. It is the same with having a glass of wine. I have never had a problem with alcohol and I am not a big drinker. A glass of wine is fine, but if, on a bad night, a second glass of wine sounds not just like it might be a pleasant thing to have but feels necessary, well, I have, at those times, more than once, dumped the whole rest of the bottle down the sink. I won’t overuse substances. I live alone, I am responsible for myself, I could fall, there are all manner of possible problems one can encounter. This is why learning to live with the underground river is such an important part of my work.
And then where does the line come, how does one understand the difference between simply being human, and alive, in this world and being in a state when one really does need the help and that little pill can be the difference between surviving what is happening or not? No one is without problems, without occasional sorrow or grief or simply feeling weighed down by the vagaries and vicissitudes of life. We can’t medicate ourselves out of what it is to be alive. Many try. It doesn’t work. The difficulty comes in when you have had a history of mental illness, real suffering, and the first sensation of the river running inside leads to a kind of terror that you will fall back into a terrible dark place. One wants to stop it before it gets out of hand. This is where daily practices come in. This blog helps me stay steady. Talking about these things, being honest about these things, keeps me aware of what is real and what is not, what is manageable and what is not. To the people, and there have been many, who have told me how remarkable it was that I did the last 365 day journey, that it was amazing, really quite an accomplishment, I say thank you, I appreciate what they are trying to say, but I have to say in response, it became, I realized, along the way, not something I had to struggle to keep up with but something without which I wouldn’t be as okay in the world. I have to do this. It is part of my ongoing work toward being well. It is a way to quiet the underground river. At least for awhile.
This, too, is “Infinite Compassion.” It is caring enough about yourself to do what you need to do to be okay even when it’s hard some days, or not convenient, or maybe you’d rather just watch Netflix. And taking care of myself is an act of compassion not only for myself but for my loved ones. If I don’t take care of myself, to the best of my ability, and something happens to me, they are the ones who have to pick up the pieces and that’s not fair. They would be happy to help me, they have helped me, but I deserve that help only when I really need it after first doing my own work to take care of me first. This is a lesson that took a long time to understand and I take it very seriously now. This is compassion-in-action. This is doing our work to spare others suffering. It is absolutely essential.
When I started writing this post the river was running fast, it was too loud in my ears, I was afraid. I wrote my way to a calmer place. I am better now. I am ever mindful that this will be the case. I will remain vigilant. I cannot stop.
Infinite Compassion: A 365 Day Journey~
Day 1 – Peeling The Layers Of The Heart…
“We must continue to open in the face of tremendous opposition.
No one is encouraging us to open and still we must
peel away the layers of the heart.”
Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche
