The big brown dog with even bigger…good intentions, rammed the bedroom door, as if she were a firefighter in training. Thrashing, pounding, whining and cajoling her owner.
Truth be told…the situation would have made Lassie proud. Bedroom door shut, unusual for this particular household, the dog’s owner, sound asleep. Definitely out of character for a woman who wakes to the sound of coffee brewing two floors below.
Somehow, on this odd day. Sun coming up on Central street. The silent sleet arousing city workers. Somehow, on this late day in October, five years ago, God was one of us…
And, indeed, she hasn’t left me since.
I would be remiss to omit. What I so would like to avoid. The startling truth of that day…
My partner had overdosed on fifty Benedryls and fallen into a deep sleep that only awakened itself with a Grand-Mal seizure!
My dog had only been doing what she knew to do. Awake the only person in the house that might be able to do something.
It had been said,
once the smoked cleared…
…she most likely wouldn’t have made it…if you didn’t get up when you did…
What a shit ass disorder? What doesn’t bring us to our knees…will indeed make us stronger?
Recently, with a fistful of disabling muscular disorders, I have found myself the recipient of a ‘boot’ and/or a ‘walking cast’. That sucks! I carry it in the back of my car, as though, I were handed a Scarlet A and only know and again, chose to wear it.
Truth be told again? I do not wear it because I do not want anyone feeling sorry for me. Supposedly, the ‘walking’ cast and I should remain friends…off and on, for the rest of my life. Or, until, I opt for an ankle replacement! That scares me. Therefore, the boot, the cane and the anguished look when walking.
What if God were one of us?
What would she say to me now…five years later? After the voices have settled. After my partner has found some sort of comfort…even if it is for only a day…at a time.
I suppose my Higher Power would shame me. Warn me. And, yes, delicately point out, my misstep.
Who am I to be a shamed of my illness? Who am I to not speak loudly and proudly of my disability? Am I only shunning so many who have worked years to overcome impediments that maybe invisible to others…
but all along deadly and confounding to it’s recipients!
It has taken my tiny household years to grapple with the idea that…
on any given day,
at any given hour,
on any given Sunday…
my spouse can or could sub-comb to her demons.
Such is the illness Schizo-Affective Disorder. Such is the life of someone with a disability.
All is well, on our street, our cul-de-sac, our two story cedar shack in the woods. A strong woman that woman of mine. I see it in her eyes. I see it in the way she cares for those with less. And, I see it most, when she struggles and asks, for help.
Yes, God, is one of us! In the comebacks of those we counted down and out. He or she is in the air, the woods, and, all around.
I didn’t put that…typically, hard to awaken dog, at the top of the hallway. I didn’t not make that dog produce a sound the kind of which…I have never heard out of her again.
Schizophrenia is a cruel disease. The lives of those affected are often chronicles of constricted experiences, muted emotions, missed opportunities, unfulfilled expectations. It leads to a twilight existence, a twentieth-century underground man… It is in fact the single biggest blemish on the face of contemporary American medicine and social services; when the social history of our era is written, the plight of persons with schizophrenia will be recorded as having been a national scandal.”
– E. Fuller Torrey, M.D., Surviving Schizophrenia
I will follow this blog…with remarks made by those I choose to surround myself with. Winners, heroines, residents in the neighborhood of ‘overcoming’ adversity. For even in the light of day, with demons gone, we are all survivors in our own right. Parts, particles and pieces of whomever we choose to call ‘God’!
- I believe in God…but I do not believe God is responsible for all the miracles that happen!
- I think about the sacrifices others make for me…my family, my sister…And, that makes me realize how selfless people can be
- Would people act different? Possibly? People of faith would still be fighting the good fight…It would be nice to think that there would be less bigotry…even God being one of us…could any of this be fixed?
- Could it be…if He were…they would be less hate more love and peace? It is hard to think of…if God were one of us. But what if it were true?
I had been raised Catholic. I do not hold that against anyone! But I had also been raised to fight the good fight. Mental illness is such a large part of humanity. It had been with us…since the dawn of written time.
Who am I to shun my illness? As I watch my partner grow into a beautiful woman. If god isn’t one of us…he or she is most definitely, in all of us…if we so choose.