Meeting the Divine in Living With Bipolar Disorder

 Meeting God in Living with Bipolar

By Lynn-Marie Ramjass on Sunday, July 7, 2013 at 11:56 am

The following post was from our old blog. I have reposted it here.

Do you ever pray continuously regarding a particular person or situation and your prayers seemingly remain unanswered? I had read that if you trust in God, He would give you the desires of your heart. But what if your heart’s desire is not what is best for you? If it is not what He wants for you? What if the result of your prayers, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, is a resounding “No”?  Do you give up and stop believing and trusting in God? Do you abandon your faith because you did not get what you wanted when you wanted it? Should a child get whatever they wanted when they want it? Should a parent always give a child what they want, or better to give them what they need? Though a parent myself, I had never given much thought to that before.

After years of praying that a relationship be restored (I read in Scripture, “It is not a sorrow like that for death itself when a dear friend turns into an enemy” Sirach 37:2) or that a painful situation would change, like my bipolar disorder miraculously disappearing or scientists find a cure.  I wondered “Are you really there? Don’t you know how much this hurts? How could an omnipotent, omniscient God, if He does exist leave me in such despair and dire straits?  I had read that “As long as there is life there is hope” Oscar Wilde, but the reverse is also true. “As long as there is hope there is life.” “Time heals all wounds” they said. No, it does not, the pain may lessen over time, but some wounds never completely heal, and like it or not, they leave scars.

Then one day, I happened to open my e-mail and in my inbox was the title “Interview with God.”  It caught my attention, as I was questioning my faith, and experiencing a wilderness period in my prayer life. “Interesting title” I thought to myself, as I opened the email and began to read. “God is asked, “As a parent what are some of life’s lessons you want your children to learn?” God replied with a smile, “To learn that they cannot make anyone love them. What they can do is let themselves be loved. (I previously struggled with this one. I could not understand why anyone would love me. I would not let them in and those who tried, I repeatedly would push them away) to learn that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives but who they have in their lives.  To learn that it only takes a few seconds to open profound wounds in those we love, and it takes many years to heal them, to learn forgiveness by practising forgiveness. To learn that a true friend is one who knows everything about them, but loves them anyway. To learn that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by others, but that they have to forgive themselves (This had been another major problem for me in the past) People may forget what you said, they may forget what you did, but people will never forget the way you made them feel “ Maya Angelou. Sometimes, no many times, I took what people said and did,  and attached meaning to them that was not really intended.My sensitivity often got in the way, and over time, I realized that I had been my own worst enemy. I could not control my emotions. There were as one woman once commented “more layers on you than an onion.” It was the fear of being rejected that held me back. The fear of risking my heart, trusting and sharing a piece of my soul with others that kept me in limbo for far too many years.

 I have known people who have enriched my life on a daily basis. People who make a difference in both a positive and negative way, those who challenged me, encouraged me, inspired me, accepted me, loved me and believed in me, even when I was unable to feel this way about myself.  People who have loved, supported, nurtured and guided me were also those who stood by me during the best and the worst of times. With childhood depravation in terms of emotional, psychological and spiritual neglect and a severe fear of abandonment, it took me years to accept their love and stop questioning their motives. I realized that I was worthy and others appreciated and valued me. The problem was my learning to accept, to appreciate, to forgive, to value and most especially to love myself.

Sorrow has been compared to fruit. Victor Hugo wrote:  “God does not plant it upon limbs too weak to bear it.”  I came across a beautiful Jewish proverb that read:  “Thou art great, we are small. Thou art sovereign and we are weak. Thou art infinite and we are finite. Thou art eternal, and we tarry but a little while, but with all Thy greatness and all Thy power. Thou dost bend down low and listen to the sound of our tears as they strike the ground.” It comforts me to know that God counts all my tears. He knows my heart, my mind and my soul. He knows what is best for me. He is always present, especially when those moments arise when I feel that He has hidden His face, or turned His back on me.

 Often in the past, I have been enveloped by sadness unable to see my way clear. Held back by the weight of my grief, overwhelmed by the pain of the choices I made, or refused to make, and the people I had hurt, and those who had hurt me. I could not or would not let it go. I did not know how. It was something I had to learn: to learn to love, to live, and to forgive.

 When the bipolar struck and I was confined to the darkest regions of hell and submitted to the care of strangers, in a ward of a hospital that was unlike any other I visited before. Whilst there the first time in June of 1989, I recall so much of scripture and running through my brain and the verse, “All things work together for good for those who loved God and who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28 stood out most.  I loved God. I was raised Roman Catholic. I believed in angels and admired the saints. I loved Jesus and all he taught and preached. I asked myself, repeatedly, “What good could possibly come of my being psychotic and stuck in the confines of a psychiatric ward?”

Would my husband stand by me through this trial? Would my children still love and respect me? Or would they and other members of our family and our friends be ashamed of me and my illness? Do I hide the fact that I have this disorder and live in shame? Would I be that mad woman in the attic whom nobody wanted to talk about, or visit, or care to be associated with anymore? Should I be angry and rail at God because I have had to live with this bipolar disorder? Is it His fault? Do I blame my ancestors who passed this gene onto me through our gene pool? Where do I go with such anger? Whom do I blame? Is it a curse, or a blessing? At first, as most of us do, I asked aloud, what sin had I committed to deserve this? Then again remembering Scripture and the same question being asked regarding someone severely disabled, Christ’s response, “Neither this man or his parents sinned” said Jesus, “this has happened so the power of God might be seen in him.” John 9:3

During my stay, I began to think that as painful as it was, if I trusted in this Higher Power, this entity many called God and truly surrendered myself to His will, I would not only find meaning in this pain, but would find a purpose for my life and serve others because of it. I came to the realization rather quickly that I was precisely where God intended me to be. As painful as it was, I was fulfilling a part of a plan, that at the time I was unable to see, but knew in my heart had to happen. I never dreamed that I would one day speak in front of audiences publicly regarding mental health, or open websites and support groups. But in looking back, it was all part of a plan God had for me.

During the first episode it was a frightening experience for everyone. Some people insisted it was a nervous breakdown, some claimed I had temporal lobe seizures, some perhaps too shamed to face the possibility that I may be mentally ill, others implied I was possessed. At one point, I felt I was partially possessed, as my mind, heart and spirit fought continuously for my soul. I had to decide then and there to stay in that darkness or follow that light that I knew still existed in me.

 I recall in my heart opening the door and inwardly calling out to Jesus to help me through the ordeal. Then a strange thing happened. The fear immediately left me, and I felt such a calming indescribable presence, like a blanket placed about me, a warmth from head to toe permeated my body, and as though being carried up and out of the darkness. It was at that moment I met God and was acutely aware of His presence.  Was this “the peace which passes understanding” that I had read so much about in the bible?” From then on, I relied on that faith and that presence when sorrows and fear knocked on my door. I realized through all my traumatic experiences throughout my life that calming presence had been there, but I had not been as acutely aware of it before then. Previously, I was too busy focusing on the darkness and the fear.

That my friends, is my experience and why I do believe in God, I share it with you as it has such a profound impact on my life with bipolar disorder. There are many who will relate to this, and others who choose to reject it. I am not trying to convince or convert anyone. It is my personal relationship and experience.

Lynn-Marie

  

Trial by Fire (Part 2)

                                                               

June 6th, 1989

Scarborough Centenary Hospital

Psychiatric Unit

"Bubble Room"

I am locked in a room with a window that looks like a bubble in the centre of the door. The walls are padded. A single thin mattress lies on the floor in the corner. My thoughts are racing in my head like a tape recorder switched to fast-forward. I cannot turn it off. My mind will not rest.

Memories and bits of information that I have accumulated over these past thirty-two years, race through my brain like a runaway train. I am troubled in mind, in body and in spirit. Words spew from my mouth. I am aware I am quoting Scripture, but I claim to be no one other than myself. I have not slept in three full days, nor eaten more than a mouthful of food. Mostly bread and water. I have been fasting and praying as I never have before and unsure as to why. I have hurt no one, nor caused any physical harm to myself. Why am I locked in this room? I pound on the door. But no one answers.

Many of my thoughts make sense to me. Images of my life, memories and pieces of past conversations and experiences project and flit through my brain like a movie. I can discern the associations and make the connections.  But to those individuals who have thus far interacted with me, even my family and friends, but especially the staff within this hospital, I am talking gibberish. This is because, the things I say, make no sense to them.

How can they make the connections? How can I make them understand? They do not know me, not my past, and certainly not my present circumstance. Even my own husband, is suddenly unaware of who I am. He does not know or recognize me. I know I will never forget the fear I saw in his eyes. Had he given thought, or even noticed the fear in mine? Did anyone?  I am talking incessantly, but is anyone other than these walls listening?  Can anyone hear me? Has anyone ever really saw or heard me?

I have been talking to walls for the better part of my life; different walls, but walls just the same.  I am exhausted, but still, I continue pacing the room, back and forth, back, and forth. I do not know what has happened to me. My heart pounds within my chest. I can barely breathe and  frightened to a degree that I have never known before. This is a different kind of fear. This is something new. This is something that I cannot explain. This is something that I cannot control. Not having that control is torturing me.

It seemed to come on rather suddenly. I know that I am not myself. I cannot deny that there is something seriously wrong with me. I watch the eyes of the people who periodically peer at me through the glass. I am suddenly aware of how a caged animal must feel. I am imprisoned in a mental ward against my will.

What has happened to me? Can someone kindly explain? No one has really talked directly to me since they brought me here. Everyone is either talking at me, down to me, or for me. Questions had been directed to him (my husband) and not me. He has made assumptions and voiced his opinions. And they (those in power) believe him.

“She thinks she is Jesus” I heard someone say. I never fucking said or ever believed that! When you asked me my name, I clearly told you Lynn Marie Ramjass. Are you people deaf, dumb, and blind?” unsure if I said it aloud or in my head.  My mind continues flipping the pages of my life’s book. I want to sleep, but the fear pumps my adrenaline so much that I cannot rest. My legs feel like lead. My lips are dry, and my mouth is parched. I thirst. On a grander scale, I thirst for knowledge, freedom, and the truth. I always have and always will.  

I am afraid if I fall asleep, I will not be able to fight whatever it is that has taken a hold of me. God help me! What is this? I have completely lost my mind. My brain feels as though it were on fire, and I am acutely aware of it. I am peering into the mouth of madness and all that I see is perpetual darkness.

And then it happened!

 Lynn Marie Ramjass

Trial by Fire (Part 1) by Lynn Marie Ramjass

 

                                                                                                        photo by Anthony Selby

TRIAL BY FIRE 

By Lynn-Marie Ramjass (Part 1)

 "To see the world in a grain of sand. And heaven in a wildflower/Hold infinity in the palm of your hand. And eternity in an hour." William Blake

“I Am,” said he.

 “I Am,” said she.

And then the war began. It is all about control between the woman and the man. It is the struggle between what St. Francis of Assisi called brother Sun and sister Moon, the shadow and the light. I am the author and the narrator. I am the reality and the illusion, the nightmare, and the dream. I am the storyteller, telling my story, in a way that nobody else can. This is my story.

Some of you will undoubtedly not believe me. I cannot force you to believe something you yourself have not experienced. But others, you will believe me. You will feel my pain, taste my fear, and share my shame. Somewhere in the core of your being, you will know, having had similar experiences.

It is my hope that you will come to understand that it is okay to endure what we have endured and not lose our faith, or our hope, or our dreams. And you will not be afraid any longer. You will not be afraid to love and to allow yourselves to be loved in return. You will come to know that even if that love were lost and that trust broken, to have little or no regrets, but only thanks for having had the experience.

In time, like me, you can be proud of your sufferings and the intense passion you possess. For many of you, these deep, bittersweet, and often painful feelings and experiences have fashioned you into kinder, nobler, more compassionate, and empathetic human beings. Hopefully, you will wear your scars as badges of honour and own each wound and experience. You will find your voice and speak your truth. You will follow your own path and come to accept that you are far stronger than others accredit you. Most likely, far stronger than you believed yourselves to be. For to live with bipolar disorder is not for the faint of heart.

There will come a day, undoubtedly after many, many years, when the ties that tethered you will finally be removed. Many of you readers will walk out of the darkness and into the light. The world will think that you have somehow unlocked some of the mysteries of the universe. I can assure you that many of you have. Though the world may call you mad. I pray you remember them, these universal truths and the oneness with a power, so much bigger than yourselves!  You will know what is most important in life. You will be proud of who you are and what you have endured. You will know the man, or the woman, you are in the process of becoming. You will know, with absolute certainty, you are exactly where you are meant to be, at this moment, on this day, and in this lifetime. You will find your purpose!

There will be no more fears of living in a cardboard box and hollering at the moon.  You will know that it is okay to believe in the existence of angels and demons, in God (a higher power, whatever you imagine that to be) and in the presence of the devil and his dominions. You will know because you had experienced both. Both the infinite darkness and the brilliant light.

It is your life, your journey, your spiritual path and only you may give a proclamation of your belief, or your disbelief according to you and to your experiences. Many of you are fortunate to have the democratic right (and if you are religious, or deeply spiritual) an obligation and the freedom to do so.

You will come to know that it does not matter what others believe. It is what you believe that matters. You will learn to believe in and love yourself, and in those whom you love and who love you. Hopefully, you will learn to see beyond the pain, the bitter disappointment and not harden your hearts or close your minds. But endeavour to love others, those who are different than you, but most especially yourself. For love is all that truly matters. For love and the memory of it, is all that we take with us when we depart this earth. 

My struggle started when they tried to shove me in a box. “Here” they said, as they handed me a list of rules. This is when you are to go to sleep. This is when you are to wake. This is what you are to eat. This is what you are to drink. This is what you are to wear. This is what you are to do. This is what you must never do. This is what you are to feel. These are the things and people you will love. These are the things and people you will shun and avoid. This is what you must think. But, most importantly, this is what you must believe! If it is not your parents, it is society that sets and dictates the rules we are to live by. These social constructs within various cultures define, restrict, and often destroy entire civilizations, families, and far too many relationships.

Though I tried my best, since my youth, I could not live or think within the confines of a box. Nor obey all the insidious rules within my society, my religion, and my household. No one was going to dictate to me whom to love. For in my mind love should not have boundaries and must be unconditional. My problem then was my complete inability to express or share such love without fear of being judged or labelled or misunderstood. I loved deeply, profoundly, unconditionally but from far and away. It took me decades to learn to express my feelings. And as a result, I was terribly shy, lonely, and isolated during my youth. Thankfully, I grew out of that. I evolved. I matured. I shared parts of myself, I never had before. In so doing, I formed lifelong, loving, genuine relationships and deepened those I already had. I learned intimacy and to take risks. Today, receptive to possibilities, new friendships and experiences.

Generally, throughout my life, until my late thirties and early forties, I was a rule abider. So afraid was I to paint outside the lines, to ever break a rule. I was raised Catholic, and to be a good Christian was to please others, but rarely if ever had I learned it was okay to please myself. 

My social and separation anxiety began in the first grade. I was six years old and had just started elementary school. It worsened as I grew older. Depression set in when in puberty and adolescence. All through school, I often felt a strange heat and ringing in my ears. I fainted. I fainted often. My parents never thought to have doctors check my brain or my heart. I was afraid of crowds and closed in spaces. I would not, however, merely pass out, but vomit once I gained consciousness. Each time, it fuelled my embarrassment and magnified my anxiety. These spells plagued me for eleven long years.

For the better part of my life, I seemed haunted by something or someone I could not see or touch. My parents told me, as a child, I had an imaginary friend though I have no recollection of this. Why me and not my siblings? To whom was I speaking? Who was I seeing that others could not? Was I mentally ill even as a child? I had always felt different. For years I had convinced myself I was adopted. I had always felt like a stranger in a strange land, on the outside looking in.

There were many times, I would be sitting in class during elementary school and suddenly break out in a cold sweat. The blood would drain from my face. My heart raced so rapidly, I heard it beating in my brain like a drum and its echo in my ears. So haunted by a morbid fear of death and dying, the fear so intense, I could not focus on the lessons of the day. I would often get a wrap on my knuckles with a ruler, or a tug on my ear by a teacher who accused me of daydreaming.

I knew from a young age I was not like other children. I did not think or behave like them. This was proven several times, but I especially recall in grade five when at the age of ten, the assignment was to write a poem about being lost. While other children wrote about lost puppies, lost wallets, being lost in a store etc., I wrote about a black man lost in a white society. I have long since forgotten the poem. But the first line: “He was a black man lost in a white society. They said he had no propriety. They said he would never amount to anything…” This was strange as I am not a woman of colour. I knew only one non-white family in my community. If memory serves me none in the Catholic elementary schools I had attended whilst growing up. I was a voracious reader and an old soul from an early age vastly different from my peers. My deepest fear was not being accepted by those peers. Of not being “good enough.” 

 I had always felt defective, unwanted, unloved, and broken, but mostly I felt unheard and invisible especially within my own family. I was afraid of success and of failure, of loving too much, or not enough, and not being loved in return. I lived in a perpetual state of fear, panic, chaos, and uncertainty both at home and at school.  

I lived and thought in black and white terms. Things were either right or wrong and there was no grey in between, no middle ground. Though years later, following my parents bitter divorce, my mother would teach me “circumstances accounted for a lot.” My rigid thinking further complicated my childhood and my life. I was the classic people pleaser with a type A personality and a propensity for perfectionism until I consciously broke those toxic habits.

 At thirty-two years old, married eleven years and mother of two young sons (aged nine and eight at the time), my mind, heart, and spirit completely shattered. My body shut down. And I found myself curled in a fetal position, in a chair across from a psychiatrist’s desk (my third visit) utterly broken, depleted, and despondent!

I did not know that week I had endured my first full blown manic episode. Or that I would be hospitalized that day June 6, 1989, locked away in a psychiatric ward against my will. Nor could I know then that I would one day find a purpose in my being there. Though deep down, I sensed it and was assured I was not alone, I never was, and I never would be. Once the fear abated, I felt, for the second time in my life, the calm reassurance that I had experienced the divine. I would find myself when I was most lost. But that journey would take several more years, three more psychotic episodes and several more losses.

I firmly believe as Oscar Wilde wrote: "As long as there is life there is hope." It is my hope that whilst you battle your demons daily, you also experience the presence and majesty of the divine. It is my hope that though the world and humanity can often be brutal, cruel, unkind, and destructive. It is also filled with beauty, wonder, majesty, and mystery. I have to believe that there are more compassionate, loving, empathetic, enlightened, selfless souls on this planet, then there are those hell bent on destroying it, and those who think only of themselves, or their own kind. "It is the history of our kindnesses alone make this world tolerable. If it were not for that, for the effect of kind words, kind looks, kind letters...I should be inclined to think our life a practical jest in the worst possible spirit." Robert Louis Stevenson.

May you give and receive kindnesses that make the journey bearable.

Sincerely,

Lynn Marie

 

WHERE DO DOGS GO WHEN THEY DIE?

 Sunday, October 5, 2014

Post from our dormant other blog Thanks For Tomorrow Oct. 5, 2014 

Where Do Dogs Go When They Die?

It has been four weeks since I last wrote in this blog. I would like to write more regularly, not entirely certain that anyone would be interested in what I have to say. I write, none the less, for I find it therapeutic. It allows me to get my thoughts and especially my feelings out there on paper. I may see them, get in touch with them and feel them. The words express what I am feeling. It is often difficult for me to figure that out. In this way, I am better able to understand them. If I do not express myself, if I try to suppress them (these intense emotions), if I bury them too far for too long, they will either smother me, or rise one day, down the road and the hidden grief would drive me into infinite lunacy.
Having bipolar disorder, anyone who has it, or lives with someone who has it, knows that our emotions are intense. We cannot help it, it is the nature of the illness. We are intense complex individuals. The mood stabilizer I am on stabilizes my moods. It does its job, it does not allow me to feel the full weight of my emotions. Some people may argue that that is a good thing. But I often feel cheated!!! Especially when I face a trauma. I used to feel the full weight of my emotions straight away; good, bad, or indifferent, I knew what I felt and I felt it to my core.
It was sunny earlier today, cool, but sunny. Suddenly dark, black, ominous clouds completely blotted out the sun. They seemed to appear out of no where. The sky blue sky became many shades of grey. It looks like a storm is brewing. The trees are not swaying, there is no wind, but a downpour is on the horizon. The sun at this very moment, is in one portion of the sky, the south west hemisphere, and it is trying to peer through these massive clouds. Now the question becomes will it rain heavily or will the sun win and the clouds drift away? Will it rain as heavily as anticipated? Or will those clouds all disappear and the rain hold off until later tonight? Will it rain at all?
Thus far, there has only been some light drizzle, a few drops against the window pane, like the tears that sometimes well my eyes, as I sit writing this. I am aware that this reminds me of my current situation and my mood concerning Molly our dog.
Whether we have a mental illness or not, life's situations, and our emotions, reactions to these events are like the weather. Things can be going well and suddenly, out of a clear blue sky, a storm threatens and something traumatic happens. Lets say for example,  you have to put your dog to sleep, as we had to yesterday. That is our current storm in our household. I, personally, have never had to put a dog down before. I did not know how I'd feel. I prepared for it, however. Or so I thought.
The storm hit me, my husband and my sister as she lives with us. But we three, I was the only one who at first did not appear visibly shaken by it. What is wrong with me? Am I that callous? Did I not care for the dog at all? Where there should have been a fierce downpour, there had only been a light drizzle. A few tears and not much rain. I felt cheated as I said earlier because when we first did it, I felt numb. I did not react as I thought I should have. Where a storm threatened and then struck, I experienced a gentle drizzle, just as it seemed outside. A fierce storm was imminent, but did not happen.
When traumas blind side us, or even when we brace ourselves for the impact, as I thought that I had, are we ever fully prepared for the variety of emotions that come with it? The emotions envelop you like those clouds, I spoke of earlier and they completely block out the sunshine. They take away your peace, jumble your emotions and your thoughts. For many of us, it is practically impossible to think straight under such enormous pressure
We all saw that our dog was suffering. She was partially blind and partially deaf and so arthritic, she was unable to stand properly or walk without losing her balance. We have had Molly our Sheltie for 15 1/2 years.

 As the owner I knew what is to happen. My dog will die that day but my dog doesn't know this, as I pet her, talk to her, not even certain she can hear me, I say my good byes holding back the tears and I leave her. I was not fully conscious of the fact that I would never see, or pat her again when I took my leave of her.
The night before, I thought that I would be able to take her there to the vet and to be with her when they put her to sleep, but in a moment of weakness, after I'd said my good byes the day she was scheduled to be injected, I asked that my husband take her. He understands he says. But does he? Does he know how he will feel? Because I sure as hell don't know how I feel and I cannot explain it,
When he returns from the vet's he is visibly crying. He cannot even speak. I cannot bear to see him cry. I hold him, his shoulders are shaking. "I didn't know it would affect me like that? he said. "I did" I answered as I held him in the doorway. Tears are in my eyes, but I am still not crying as I should.
Moments later, we sit alone together in the living room. He pours us a shot of 18 year old Scotch and we toast Molly. I feel numb. My husband is speaking and he proceeds to tell me "The vet said they would give Molly some ice cream, an injection, a pain killer, she will feel no pain, and within a minute her heart will stop and she'll be gone" he said. I hear him, I sit watching him from across the room, sipping my Scotch.
I feel the tears well in my eyes and the lump in my throat. I heard this voice screaming at me in my head (Not literally) "You should be with her, you should be with her, you callous bitch" and my husband continued, "They asked me if I wanted to stay while they did it?. "I told them No" he said. His voice sounded distant and far away. I could not hear him due to the other voice in my head telling me "Molly is alone, completely alone with strangers with whom she is about to die and neither of you are with her. Why aren't you with her Lynn-Marie? This isn't right. You coward. You'll regret this for the rest of your life!" I told myself. I hung my head in shame and remorse. I said nothing. I never told him how I felt.
We were to go and meet our two granddaughters ages 4 and 2 for a sleep over just then, the three of us grateful for their visit. They were a welcome distraction. "The vet said they'd call when they had done it" he said. But they never called before we left, or after we returned. On route to meet the girls, I wanted to call the vet and see if they had done it and tell them to wait, I would come and be with Molly after all. But I didn't. Why didn't I go?
 We were glad to have the girls overnight because their presence helped ease the pain a lot and kept our minds off of the fact the dog was no longer with us. We returned after meeting the girls to find Molly's empty feed and water bowls in the sink. My heart sank. I knew she was gone by now. I washed them quietly, Ian took them to the garage, the girls didn't ask about the dog, their mother had told them earlier that day that Molly got sick, died and went to heaven. I wasn't even certain if they knew what that meant, but if they asked any questions I would answer them as simply and honestly as I could.
Never to see Molly again, that reality never really hit me full force until this morning, upon waking to an empty hallway and not finding her by the back door waiting to be let out to pee, or fast asleep on the carpet. I resisted the urge to cry while my grands were here. It was only after my grandchildren went home with their parents this morning and my husband went to work, and I was alone that I thought of Molly and all of the years together since she was a pup.

 I never even realized how much I loved her or what she meant to me until then. My heart stopped, the breath caught in the back of my throat, the lump grew bigger, and the storm came, and when it came, it was a tsunami. What began as a drizzle, teary eyed turned quickly to a complete downpour. I sat in the washroom and I sobbed. No one saw me, no one heard me.
What I share with you is the fact that I did not deserve a dog like Molly. I took her for granted. My sister took better care of her, lavished her with more attention and affection, was a much more avid animal lover and all around better human being than I am or ever will be. 

That is what hit me, that is what I confess here in this blog and that is what will forever haunt me. I will never have another dog, not only because I cannot put us all through that again, but mainly because I do not deserve to have one.
 I felt GUILT, I felt ANGER and I felt SHAME for all that I have previously mentioned and that I did not remain with my dog when she took her last breath. I was there with my grandfather and my mother in law when each died, and yet, I could not hold my dog and watch a vet inject her and put her to sleep and have that dog, whom I have had since a pup die in my arms. I just could not do it.
 When I finished sobbing, I returned to the living room to watch the sky once more. And like my mood and my situation, the fact the rain is imminent was clear. I knew from the pain in my legs and the emotional pain in my heart I'd experienced earlier regarding, my previously explained situation with Molly, that it is coming. It is and was only a question of time.
The sun and the clouds now are engaged in a scuffle. The clouds are becoming darker and the overshadowing the sun. The pain in my legs has intensified and so it will come soon. And when it does it will be a downpour and not a drizzle. But lo and behold, I look to the south west again and the clouds have turned from dark grey to fluffy white. Bright blue portions of sky are visible behind these clouds, and the grey ones are suddenly drifting away, becoming lighter and less intense. The dark grey clouds have been pierced by the sunlight and they too are breaking up and drifting away.
The sunlight is piercing through the front window pane and illuminating the entire living room. The beige sofa I sit upon lights up with a ray of sunshine and the warmth fills the room. It will rain today, but not yet. As I write this, hours later, the sun is gone now and the clouds are back full force. I have had my rainstorm of emotions my downpour regarding my dog. And now await a literal downpour here in my town.
 I know one day, the sun will peer through those clouds regarding my grief, our grief with Molly. I know one day it won't hurt as much. I allowed myself to feel the full weight of my grief. I will find myself missing her, the grief will come in waves with little reminders.  I will never forgive myself for not being with her or being a better owner. That is how I honestly feel. More guilt weighted upon that which already exists regarding the previous losses in my life, more regrets that I hadn't done things differently. Saying good bye to Molly was by far more difficult than I had ever expected or imagined. I feel like I hadn't truly said good bye to her as I was not with her when she actually died as I should have been.

DEATH AND GAPS by Lynn Marie Ramjass

Part Two concerning LOSS

                                                                                                                

                                                                  DEATH AND GAPS                                                                        

"There is no death, daughter. People die only when we forget them, my mother explained shortly before she left me.' If you can remember me, I will be with you always." Isabel Allende, Eva Luna

DEATH AND GAPS

By Lynn Marie Ramjass            

May 31, 2021

It is my experience during these significant losses, our thoughts are so convoluted, our feelings so out of whack, voices and sounds garbled, far and away, as though we are underwater and drowning. It is difficult to think straight or at all. The pain, the dark void in the loss particularly during the initial shock and again during the funeral. The incredible exhaustion that envelopes the mind, heart, and spirit afterwards, and especially the soul sucking pain. 

Our experiences are our greatest teachers. I have come to know and understand loss, grief, sorrow, a primal pain deep in one’s soul when a loved one dies, or a close relationship ends. A light extinguishes in our universe. A part of us dies too, as death changes people.

 There is a gap, an ever-present hole, and try as we might, will forever remain. We are changed! 

British author Jeanette Winterson wrote: “You’ll get over it. Its the cliches that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because “it” is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?”

Death and gaps are topics I think of often and have since I was a child.

 I often wonder though, if a sudden death be more merciful and kinder for those who died as well as for those left behind, rather then watching them whither and die in excruciating pain for days, weeks, months, and some sadly, even years at a time.

 I imagine the pain, we who are left behind experience would not be any less intense either way, suddenly or via prolonged suffering. Is the loss not the same dreadful pain none the less, and the gap in our lives just as deep?

 If they were suffering horribly, would it not be selfish of us to want them to continue to suffer? When someone is taken from us without warning, it can often leave us with regrets for things possibly left unsaid and unresolved.

 If nothing else, this Covid 19-pandemic is a reminder that life is indeed fragile and short and any one of us can be taken at any time. There truly is little time to say the things we need and ought to say to people we care about whilst they are alive. Words matter little after we have died. Words have the power to comfort and to heal, to wound and to destroy. 

 It is my experience that when we truly, genuinely love someone, no matter what type of love that be, we accept that individual as they are and not how we imagine, expect, or hope they will be. We do not try to fix them, or save them, or change them, or mold them into a copy of oneself, how we live, or view the world. We meet them where they are at. We accept their beauty, goodness, and light as well as their faults, idiosyncrasies, shadow, and imperfections. We love and accept them, their brokenness, and their uniqueness precisely as God had made them, perfectly imperfect. 

D. H. Lawrence wrote: “It’s no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You’ve got to stick with it all of your life. Only at times, at times the gaps are filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in when they come. But they’ve got to come. You can’t force them.”

Anais Nin also wrote about gaps:” I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why; some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness.” 

I strongly suspect you will understand and relate to those passages, to the times when the gaps are filled in, or left behind.

All these years, as the circle of life continue, and we edge closer to the grave. The final chapter of my life drawing ever closer to its conclusion. I wanted you to know that I will always be grateful for your having been such an important part of it. How thankful I am for the many moments with you when the gaps had been filled in. 

Sincerely,

Lynn Marie Ramjass

THOUGHTS ON LOSS by Lynn Marie Ramjass

Ian and Lynn Marie Ramjass

                                                      

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." Anais Nin  

                                      

June 3, 2021

I made this entry in my blog on what would have been my mother Patricia's 82 birthday. She died at 68 years old on December 2007, a week before Christmas. I am painfully aware of how difficult the last year and a half has been worldwide due to the pandemic. It does not help matters any when one lives with a serious mental illness like I do. If not for my mental health advocacy, art, writing, gardening, and  other activities that help keep me busy and sane, I could not cope with my bipolar disorder otherwise. I have a strong support system to help me through the challenging times and who bring me much happiness, light, and laughter. 

There are others who are far less fortunate and have no one. Hopefully, some of what I personally write will touch, motivate, inspire, or allow you to feel less alone. Being authentic and vulnerable takes courage. Living with Bipolar Disorder daily takes, strength, resiliency, tenacity, and an enormous amount of respect and unconditional love.

I have to say some of the truly beautiful, authentic persons I have ever met in my lifetime have been within the confines of the psychiatric wards, on my Facebook mental health public page LWBD (Living With Bipolar Disorder) and in our private mental health support group Living With Bipolar Disorder Closed Groups. Thank you to all for following us these last nine years and your support. Both were founded by me personally in April 2012.

 I had written Loss in the year 2000, after a conversation with my then psychiatrist Dr. Francis Lee. 

The second portion of the writing, the additional update only this year May 2021 which is entitled Death and Gaps and you may find that entry on this blog as well. It deals with death and the profound gaps or holes these losses leave in our lives.  

Perhaps you can relate and drop a comment and or share a personal experience. It is my hope that sharing my writing and experiences with Living with Bipolar 1 with psychosis these past 32 years (literally half my life) resonates with many of you.

Dr. Lee asked me a question no one had ever before asked me. "How do you deal with loss Lynn-Marie?  I must admit, the question floored me. And I did not know how to answer it straight away. He told me to think about it and we would discuss it at our next session. 

I drove home with that question reverberating in my brain. 

Once home, I sat across from my husband Ian, seated in a chair in our garage and told him what Dr. Lee had asked me. As I spoke to him, I felt something shift deep within in me, and soon burst into tears unable to control myself.  I realized for the first time, in all my life, I had never dealt with the losses, but rather pushed them and the pain aside. 

The many traumatic experiences were buried way down deep, suppressed, and repressed until I fell apart like Humpty Dumpty; one morning in a pdoc's (psychiatrist) office, curled in a fetal position in a chair across from his desk more exhausted than when I had given birth. It was June 6th of 1989. I was voluntarily seeing a pdoc for the very first time of my own volition and later that day, I was hospitalized in a psychiatric unit for the first time. Severely psychotic! 

Eleven years and three more psychotic episodes and three different hospitals later, a multitude of doctors and a succession of medications before my meeting with Dr. Francis Lee changed my life. 

He became the first pdoc to actually listen and help me. He prescribed a mood stabilizer Epival 500 mg twice a day that thankfully, worked for me. I am still on it to this day. It is the only medication I take. The morning when we spoke of loss, Dr. Lee opened a door to a new beginning for me. For me to walk through it, I had to first deal with my painful past.

Not a single solitary person asked how I dealt with loss until Dr. Lee and I found one another. How one deals with loss is a great and important question. 

Can you relate to the loss? If so, share your thoughts! I am lapsed Catholic writing a letter to someone I lost an exceptionally long time ago who meant a great deal to me. This is NOT a forum to debate spirituality or religion. It is part of how I got through one of the most painful losses of my life and my experience.

I wrote it decades ago and reworded some of it. I do not know if your therapist, if you see one that is, ever had you do grief therapy and asked you to imagine a person sitting across from you whom you lost, or with whom you have a complicated relationship, and asked what you would say to them if they were there seated before you? Or if anyone asked you to write a letter and then either burn it, or tear it up, or store it away? The main thing is expressing your feelings, your anger and your pain and letting it out in healthy and constructive ways. My letter was mailed to that individual shortly after it was written. I have no idea if she ever received or even read it. But it was important that I wrote it for my sake and not hers. You may read it, or not read it.

The following is what emerged when I thought about it in relation to lost relationships. I have lost numerous friends either by death or unable to continue their friendship with me. But one in particular relationship truly devastated me. It was the first major loss of my life, very much like a death. It ended bitterly as I always knew that it would and it took me years to come to terms with the loss.

LOSS

By Lynn-Marie Ramjass

Perhaps, I write to you to keep my memory alive, so that you will not forget me completely. Writing to you is like visiting the grave of an old friend. I know I will not receive a response, but I am able to talk to you as though you are still here. I may say what I need to say without interruption. I have often wondered, if it would have hurt less had one of us died rather than our relationship? The death of a close friend is painful, as I had previously experienced this with my friend Grace, but the death of a friendship, especially one as close as ours (yours and mine) had been, hurt far more. When the person dies, they take your love with them. The love does not die. It lives on. I am curious to know your opinion on this, but of course, I shall never know as I have been dead to you now for many years, decades in fact.

For me, it is far easier to accept the death of a friend than that of a relationship. There are those who will argue this point. I suppose it depends on the person and the depth of the relationship. To be rejected by someone you dearly love and care for, in my opinion and experience, it hurts far more. The saddest thing in the world must be to continue to love and care about someone who no longer loves or cares about you. Plato believed unrequited love to be the most painful. And there are many types and degrees of love.

There are times I awake from sleep to find that I had been crying. I am often unable to recall what I dreamt. The warm, wet tears stream down my face and I am filled with a profound sense of sadness and an intense longing in my heart for something lost. Something I deeply loved. Something I dearly valued. There are times I experience a spiritual dryness, wilderness periods in my prayer life. There are times I struggle with prayer. Times it seems I have forgotten how to pray. Times it seems God Himself has turned his back. Times I question my faith, my values and my sanity.

I read ardently and there are scores of books in my library. Favourite topics of interests were the saints especially the mystics like Joan of Arc, St. John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila and many, many more. They experienced visions most people never experience or could ever possibly imagine. Their teachings reveal so much about the human spirit, suffering and humility. I believe we are put here to love and to help one another. The saints teach so much about love, friendship and servitude. Ultimately, we are here to serve God, our higher power, however we imagine it to be and one another. St. Teresa of Avila, a Spanish Catholic nun and mystic confesses having intense struggles with prayer, her book Interior Castle was both comforting and informative for me a lapsed Catholic.

 I have had great difficulty accepting the estrangement between us as being the will of God. I could not accept that it was I who had foolishly thrown away our friendship. I could not accept that you did not love nor care about me or my family anymore. I read St. Augustine's Trustful Surrender to Divine Providence in which her writes, "All that happens to us in this world against our will (whether due to men or to other causes) happens to us only by the will of God, by the disposal of Providence, by His orders and under His guidance; and if from the frailty of our understanding we cannot grasp the reason for some event, let us attribute it to divine Providence, show Him respect by accepting it from His hand, believe firmly that He does not send it without cause."

I think about this often. My favourite verse from scripture is "All things work together for good, for those who love God and who are called according to His purpose." Romans. 8:28. I have prayed for the grace to bear this trial, those currently in my life and those to come with patience and fortitude. No matter if I should ever see you again. Sometimes, I experience what St. John of the Cross described as The Dark Night of the Soul, as you well know, there is no consolation in those moments. It is as though God Himself has turned his back. No matter how holy we are. No matter how holy we think we are. It is one of the deepest and most genuine human afflictions and experience. It is so important that Christ Himself had to experience this, complete and utter darkness, isolation. Christ felt this as He gave up His spirit. For to know God fully we must also feel His absence. Though Christ knew the Father, he had to know, up close and personal, that human separation. We cannot know joy without sorrow, light without darkness, life without death, and the many other dichotomies that life entails.

St. Thomas Aquinas book, Treatise on the Virtues, explores the ways that people develop the skills to make good and wise decisions. "First", he said, "individuals must do all that they can to reconstruct past experiences realistically. This initial step is the most slippery one because a person's memories can be selective. For various reasons, people tend to remember only negative past experiences, or only the good, and second, to be "open-minded". I realize how true this is and as you well know,  I tended to remember the negative. I could never enjoy the moments and never felt worthy of joy and happiness. The bipolar disorder left such a distorted impression of myself and the world around me. I now try to remind myself to pray before making any decisions, especially major ones. I ask myself what is the loving thing to do? Often it requires great sacrifice.

In reading The Autobiography of St. Theresa of Lisieux, the following passage reminded me of our past friendship: "It was not long before I saw that they just did not understand my kind of love. She did not understand how I loved her...Yet God has made me so that once I love. I love forever, and so I continue to pray for this girl and I love her still."

My eyes welled with tears as I continued reading these blessed words: " I am profoundly grateful to Jesus who has never let me find anything but bitterness in earthly friendships...I have seen so many souls, dazzled by this deluding light, fly into it and burn their wings like silly moths. Then they turn again to the true unfading light of love and with new more splendid eyes, fly to Jesus the divine Fire which burns but does not destroy."

How her words touched my heart, alighted the deep, dank, dark, corridors of my mind; and lifted my soul from the abyss of despair and self loathing. Gone was the grief over lost friendships and failed relationships. I now understood that people, friends, and family, loved me to the best of their knowledge, experience and ability, especially you, the friend whom I loved best and in my heart of hearts, I know genuinely at one time, loved me too!! 

I realize now that you would never understand the way in which I loved you. I love you still and undoubtedly, I always will. As I love all who entered and exited my life, either by choice, or by no fault of their own, as American poet E.E Cummings wrote: "I carry you in my heart!"

Lynn-Marie