More Brilliant than the Sun

                                                                           

                                                           

"And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud became more painful than the risk it took to blossom."   Anais Nin

June 12, 2021

How many of us, when we come to the end or our journey, can honestly say we have lived our lives without regret?  Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” What if upon reflection, we come to realize we had never truly lived? What if we, those like me (the woman I used to be) “the people pleasers” who feared breaking the rules, the social constructs, and in seeking others approval, discover so late in life, we had never truly lived? What if we discover that we had become merely spectators in our own lives? Those of us, who watched life unfold around us, whilst we sat or stood on the sidelines because we did not want to appear foolish, or overly happy, or severely depressed because we feared being judged? What if everyone else’s wants, needs, desires, dreams, and feelings mattered more than our own? What if the court of public opinion and or approval mattered more?

Seriously, what kind of life would that be? Why do so many of us do this? We deny authenticity and fail to be honest with others, and worse, with ourselves? We delude ourselves into thinking we are sparing their feelings, or ours, and so we tell and accept the little white lies, deceiving ourselves that it is the right thing to do. But is it? Is it really?

 It is a common practice in Western society, not only to teach our children to believe in: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, fairy tales and nauseating romance novels! The worlds various religions, often expect their children to then believe and accept the presence of an omniscient, omnipotent, invisible God! 

 As children grow older and discover the truth and realize they have been lied to many times throughout their lives. How then should they react? Do we honestly expect them to then trust anything, we as parents tell them afterwards? It is, and seems it always has been an acceptable practice, to lie! It is passed down from generation to generation.  When some brave and precocious children question whatever faith/organized religion they were raised in, they are punished, ignored, shunned, and sadly in too many cases disowned!

In Catholic primary school, I was eight, or nine years old, in grade three or four, I remember the teacher presenting the biblical story of Cain and Abel. How Cain slew his younger brother because he was jealous of him. How Cain was later disowned and went to live in the land of Nod. How he married and bore children there etc. I mistakenly asked the teacher where Cain’s wife came from if he and his parents were the only people on earth at the time. In my young mind, it made absolutely no sense to me. But rather than answer my question, I received a sharp wrap on my knuckles with a ruler for asking.

 Why do so many adults get on the defensive, ignore important questions, and skirt around and avoid uncomfortable topics because they cannot deal with their own emotions, far less another’s? Instead, they lash out, often in the most destructive and self-destructive ways. We expect our children to identify, express, and handle their emotions when we ourselves are incapable. Why is it so difficult for we adults to admit we do not know, or have all the answers, or know as much as we think, or they think we know?

 Henry David Thoreau wrote: “The mass of men lead quiet lives of desperation.” It is both my contention and experience that even more women do. Can any of you women I know and who know, or think you know me, relate to this?

My thoughts and emotions are intense. They always have been. Some people have thrown the word “intense” at me over the course of my life, as though it were a dirty word, or a trait to be ashamed of, or worse, to fear, and be rid of. But what does it mean to refer to me as such? Would you prefer me “shallow,” "aloof,” “distant,” “pretentious?”

People have complained to me during my teens, twenties, and thirties, they cannot get past my walls. When I have let them in (trust me few do), some had come to regret having gotten that close to me. Few can handle the full essence of me. The depth, breadth, and sheer magnitude of my emotions can be overwhelming even for me.  I confess at times my thoughts and feelings seriously frighten me.

There are times, even now, though medicated and in therapy (these last twenty-four years) they still debilitate me on occasion. However, not to the extent they once did. Not to the degree that I wind up hospitalized in a psychiatric ward literally out of my mind. The medication grounds me, tethers me, where I am unable to fly. At times I must confess, I miss the sheer majesty of my mania.

 I know what it cost me to suppress my feelings and traumas. When you do it most of your life as I used to, repress, and suppress experiences and emotions, it eventually for me, resulted in my spiraling into lunacy on four separate occasions. The times I was so engulfed in unresolved trauma, grief, and lost relationships, trapped within my unquiet mind. Where I could not sleep or see beyond the mental and emotional pain that blinded me. I did not consider my personal needs or attend the needs of my family and friends. I was literally flailing. It took me years to come to terms with this and to forgive myself.

I address this to the people pleasers, the overly passive, and the extremely sensitive persons who feel they best avoid confrontation. Those who have not yet found their voice. To deny the heartbreak, the darkness, the shame, and the fear that binds and surrounds us, simply to make others feel better is a recipe for disaster with dire consequences, not only for us, but all within our orbit. To put on pretences merely to avoid others scrutiny, and judgment is not healthy. My best advice is to pick your battles, find your truth and your passion, and above all strive to lead authentic lives.

The next part, I address mainly to those who live with bipolar disorder like me. There are times I literally see, feel, and hear colours. Times I have seen a brilliant, blinding light.  A light brighter than a thousand burning suns. It is a light, warmth, and peace I had been privileged to feel and experience more than once. One of the most important lessons I learned during my first manic episode was that all living things are connected.

 My bipolar peeps may feel we must dial it down when the euphoria comes. Or we must suppress our true emotions. However, for me, I eventually learned to embrace both the darkness and the light. Both intense states, two sides of the same coin. Two sides of my life and my person. I learned to sit with my emotions, to feel the full weight of them and let them go. To remind myself, it is temporal, and will pass.  All were teaching experiences. I learned to be more assertive, to stand and speak up for myself. To share my disorder, especially with those closest to me or potentially would be. Then I leave it up to them to decide whether they want to stay in my life or not.

In my early thirties I learned to have trauma build up over time, the load can become too much to bear. I had not yet found my voice or assertiveness, was attending to everyone else but myself. Until one morning, I lay in a fetal position in a chair in a psychiatrist office unable to move. The complete and utter exhaustion worse than childbirth or any other previous experience. The fear of not knowing what had happened to me was debilitating.  Why was I hallucinating and delusional? The fear in my husband’s eyes sitting next to me, that morning, is a look I will never forget. Did his fear equal mine? Somehow, I doubt it. You cannot know unless you yourself lose your mind.

After thirty-two years of living with bipolar disorder, literally half my life; there are times, I still feel very much alone and misunderstood. Not that I do not have those who deeply love me, who care about me, appreciate, and value me. It is the battle within my own mind, heart, and spirit no one sees that troubles me. It is a soul sucking pain and a dense, dank, darkness that comes periodically without warning. It is the dark side of living with bipolar disorder, you can never fully relate to lest you know and experience clinical depression yourselves. I am not referring to situational depression. There is a marked difference between the two.

Though I will love and appreciate you for trying to understand my journey. To love and to stand by me, more than I feel I deserve, is surely not for the faint of heart.

All my life, these sixty-four years, I seemed to feel things on a scale most people in my personal orbit do not!! But thankfully those within my mental health public page and private support group do. They get me. I need not explain. There is a haven, a home, where we share our experiences and there is no judgment, only compassion and understanding, and fortunately for me genuine love and solid friendships.

I do not know where I would be today without them. I can vent, share my thoughts and experiences, and feel comfortable sharing, knowing they understand my journey, because they are living it too. For this understanding and camaraderie, I am so deeply and eternally grateful.

To those family and friends who stood by me through it all;  I love and appreciate your love, friendship, loyalty, and devotion more than you can possibly imagine.

Love and Prayers

Lynn Marie Ramjass