Wednesday 24 December 2014

Art as saviour

In previous posts I have written about the importance of connections between people via the identification of shared experiences and the rewards from successful endeavour. Appreciation of art can do all this. 
Before Ruby died 19 months ago I would get frustrated at art that tried too hard to force me to think. I would rapidly dismiss anything I considered wasteful of my time- novels were abandoned half read, paintings glanced at, photographs were either pretty or interesting or, if neither, a waste of ink- and didn't appreciate the artistic skill in creating an aesthetic inquiry. But I think I understand this now. 
I now appreciate how art can connect me to others and can gently force an unconscious empathy. I understand how it feels to have a blank canvas and be forced into considering what I am to make of it. I have had to work, sometimes exhaustively, at creating a future picture of my own, setting a scene within which I may find solace and calm. I have had to shape my own landscape- hills that roll just so, rivers that flow slow and deep, variations of boulder, shingle and trail paths- as an artist creates theirs. It is unimportant whether they and I have had similar experiences that have shaped our creations, the point is that they have consciously designed and brought into existence a previously non-thing. They will have had to reflect on their weaknesses, jealousies, desire, rage and all other beautiful and ugly qualities that make them who they are and how this will impede and instruct their landscape. 
Art that is worthwhile forces considerations and it arouses my curiosity rather than quenches it. Good art, as the maxim goes, poses more questions than answers and there are great rewards from the exertion involved in deeper analysis.
I have been moved to tears more than ever before by the poetry I have read and the art I have seen over the last year and a half. Instead of dismissing some art as superfluous and trite, as I have done in the past, art and aesthetics have been a saviour. 


Recent aesthetic appreciation:
War poetry. 
The availability of plentiful aluminium to craft bicycle frames. 
An intuitive and very pretty computer operating system running on an equally pretty laptop makes it a joy to touch and look at. 
A metal corner of a shelf. It took thousands of years to learn how to efficiently extract, smelt and craft that stainless steel into a perfect right-angled corner piece, a shape and material unlike anything seen in nature. 
My mass-produced, bent wood Ikea armchair. It is perfectly utilitarian, millions have been produced and it cost pennies.
Rothko. 
Hiking boots and weatherproof jacket. 
Staedtler pencils. 
Bell whisks. 
Philip Glass piano etudes. 
Drain covers. 
Plywood.
People writing Rubys name in Xmas cards. 
The International Space Station. 

Monday 22 December 2014

Empathy

It is our connections to others and a recognition of sameness that encourage cohesion in our human community and this can be achieved with warmth and empathy. Here are some tips learnt through my work in mental health:

 1. Imagine how the other person feels. This sounds obvious but is rarely practised. It can be distressing to create a mental picture of the psychic pain and upset someone else may be going through but your imagined sadness is organised and controlled by you and it won't be destructive to your emotional state. How, do you imagine, might it feel for you if a close relative, a friend or a lover dies? How, do you imagine, does it for feel if they suddenly disappear and you can never, ever see them again? Consider this. Weigh it up. Cry, be upset and sad, be affected by it, you can handle it. The humanist proximity and the connections you will have created in the relationship with this person you are talking to will have been worth the emotional investment.

2. Use your personal experiences to place yourself in their position. Everyone will have been through sadness, jealousy and anger and you know, at least to some extent, how these emotions may feel within someone else. The key is extrapolation.  

3. Don't sympathise. Expressing sympathy means making an emotional reaction to a communicated problem and, although it has its place, it can be a liability by clouding judgements. A natural expression of sympathy can provoke an immediate attachment to someone but it is short-lived and shallow. 

4. Be warm and genuine. It is obvious if you don't care.

Sunday 7 December 2014

Shining light in dark corners

Each day, for days, I have considered whether to write about suicidal thoughts. It has taken a while to weigh up the advantages and disadvantages to publishing my thoughts but the deciding factor was the use a reader might find from a shared experiences. As a mental health worker it would be hypocritical to be dishonest to myself about my thoughts although in no way do I feel compelled to be open about them and I need not be. For what it is worth I have professionally and personally addressed this by now and want to discuss it only with those of my choice- this is a blog not an open invitation for discussion to my nursing governing body, my colleagues, my family or anyone else.

I have been having a low time recently and needed to confront some troubling thoughts so recently scaled Belfasts' highest peak, Cave Hill, to think about things. It was uncharacteristically warm and bright for autumn and the path was steep and shingled. There were many other walkers but on my ascent I was too lost in thought to acknowledge them. 
One side of the absolute peak is a sheer drop for hundreds of feet. I looked down at the faraway rocks beyond the edge, I thought of Ruby and I cried for my loss. And then I looked down again and asked myself the worst question anyone should have to ask themselves. The answer arrived immediately as two thoughts: one was a memory of a refugee client who had been through truly inhumane experiences and had told me that where there is despair there is always hope. The other thought was that there wasn't a tiny, dark, dirty little germ of an idea that wanted me to jump off that ledge and, actually, I wanted to continue to face my grief head-on and say "no, fuck you, I'm in charge". I was genuinely startled by this revelation. 
I took some great photos and walked down the hill at a terrific pace saying hello to every passer-by and exchanged normal chat about the unusual weather and the beautiful view. Then I went for a 10 mile run. 
Rumination and depression may have a self-preserving basis. After two months of particular symptoms- the above thoughts have been orbiting my consciousness and hiding in the shadows of my mind for a while- I realised I am depressed. Now I know this I have been able to confront things head-on and actively consider my next move. Will I need medication, psychotherapy or maybe nothing at all now that I have simply recognised the problem (a common exprience for me- often I just need to maintain an openness with myself and recognise an issue for its pain to dissipate)? These thoughts were a sign of something at greater depth. They were a symptom of a well-known and treatable illness about which exists centuries of research and a huge medical knowledge-base. In the parlance of mental health support I had no serious thoughts of ending my own life, I have no plans, no desires to end anything, there are no risks related to my type of thinking. But those satellite ideas cast shadows here and there and, most importantly, were a warning sign not to be ignored. I wonder what thoughts cross other people's minds that seem so out of place and character they should be considered anathema to their daily well-being? 
I felt compelled to push myself out onto a metaphorical and literal ledge and I confronted some of the most difficult ideas that exist in my psychic space. There are still clouds in my sky but, for now, I know the sun is behind them. 

Sunday 23 November 2014

Connection and separation

Grief has connected me to more people than any other experience. I don't know how anyone else feels but I can get close by empathising. Empathy is useful in that it places me imaginatively in their position but it doesn't let me know how they actually feel. If I have experienced loss of almost any kind I can exprapolate that experience to a level similarly experience by others. Everyone has had a broken heart or been let down or refused a job or lost a relative and therefore everyone has a shared human experience with every other human.

Grief has enabled me to experience varying depths of separateness. It ranges from shallow, short-lived rifts to sharp-edged fissures that travel all the way down and will never reconnect. 
Daily, I experience little stabs of detachment that jolt me away from my immediate surroundings for a few seconds. Sometimes I become aware I have disengaged only after I come to, a minute into wandering nostalgia. This mostly happens when I am in the busiest company- in my office at work or a bustling shop. 
At its worst my severence is an absolute negation of human connectedness as if I am forcibly caste out to a faraway desert. It can last hours or days. It is dry, forbidding, simultaneously too hot and too cold, a killer of growth. I imagine pariahs in enforced solitary confinement or interns in a gulag isolated by cold and distance. I think I can feel despair but during those times of deep disassociation I try to remember I have great connection to others through universally shared experiences. 

  

Thursday 13 November 2014

Loss and Armistice Day

I attended Belfast City Hall's war cenotaph at 11am on 11th November. It was a focal point, I guess, to concentrate the mind on death and war. The sky was uniformly battleship grey and the multitude of umbrellas encouraged the rain to break the silence throughout. There were hundreds of us but most appeared to be alone. I thought of WiƂfred Owen's "old lie, dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" and tried to imagine traumatised non-patriots aiming their rifles too high, the conscientious objectors rotting for years in barren and disgusting jails, teenagers too young to fight but the old dispassionate generals looking the other way, the mothers without sons.
I never really paid too much attention to Armistice Day until this year. It has a greater resonance with me now because I understand the concept of loss in a deeper and more personal way than before. I do not need to empathise with parents who have lost their children to war because I can sympathise- I know, as far as one can, how they feel. Watching documentary clips of the time and reading personal accounts and poetry of the experiences of that generation is surprising in its ordinariness. Far from feeling dated it feels of my time as if these are my streets and my friends and my neighbours. Their desires, severences and anger is the same as mine- the desire for peace, severence from those I love and anger about disempowerment- and, as such, connects me to them in a deeply human way irrespective of chronological and geographical differences. 
Grief has taught me many things. One valuable perspective it has afforded me is that I should raise my head over parochialism and into a more universal view- to proactively search for connections with others and the identification of the narrative arc in the human story- universalism equates to unification, the commonalities shared by all of us.  I do not doubt that war has had similar effects on those who are forced into its violent sobriety and might be lucky enough to reflect- maybe they can also identify tendrils, valued alliances, across time and continents.
And those old generals who look the other way, cancers that they are, should hang their heads, weap with shame and tearfully beg our forgiveness. 

Friday 7 November 2014

Letter to a Young Man

Brothers and young men,

I am over fourty and drive a bloody caravan. I am still a nurse after twenty years and yes, it is still worth it. I am still with the same woman after nearly two decades and yes, it is also worth it- I have never had an itch, never really argued and have no regrets. I have broken a heart, had a broken heart, experienced poor health and good health and I have been through every parents worst nightmare- the death of my child. 
For whatever value it may have, here is a little advice. 

Remain anti-authoritarian forever, it will always be worth it. No-one has greater authority over you than you. In these regards you are always correct. Assume all authority is wrong and must prove itself. If it is robust it is worth your respect. Develop your contrarian skills because the ineptitude of youthful disputation catches up with you surprisingly fast- be contrarian to develop and forward discussion. Weigh, consider and understand opposing arguments and search for interlocution, don't wait for the opportunities. Expect to lose arguments and, when you do, lose them respectfully and with insight. Apologise if you need to but know that no-one has the right to not be offended. Be abusive if necessary but make sure you can back it up. Learn when to apologise to keep the peace even if you are in the right. Read, read, read- your brain and life will be enriched greater than you can suppose- it will get you places. Question even the knowledge. 
When it comes to arguments, women, friends, work, self-determination, autonomy and freedom of expression punch above your weight. If you become the most intelligent person you know, you need new friends. 

Don't smoke. Admittedly there are times you are sat outside in the bright sunshine, wrapped up snug in the wintry icyness, Raybans and wool, cup of strong black coffee and cigarette in the same hand, surrounded by smoke and misty breath, feeling like the cafe king or an extra from a Nordic jazz club at 4am. At those times you will feel sophisticated and desirable but they will happen less frequently than you can count on your nicotine-stained fingers. Also, the woman who said she loved the smell of beer and cigarettes on you loved it on every other man and this is as far removed from a universal desire as loving the smell of old sweat. She was a one-off. Give up. 

Don't take anything too seriously because austerity is overrated. You will face off abstemious conservatism as others' camouflage for ineptitude. Don't brush off the challenge, it is always worth confrontation. And then dismiss its ascetic rigidity with the disdain it deserves. Everything worth something has flexibility. Accept anything serious with a little comedy (and take your comedy seriously). You will learn there is light in the darkest places and that when you peer over the edge of the abyss it is often humour that connects you to others. This connection, in the most human way, will draw you back to the community. It is love and laughter that will save you. 

Take opportunities as they show themselves. You will naturally pave avenues of interest but a spontaneous tangent will offer itself here and there and you should always take them seriously. They are the free kisses, the lime in the gin and tonic, the strangers' flattery. A chance opening, the pleasure of the unexpected journey, will take you to new geographical, emotional, corporeal and professional rewards and you will have no serious regrets. Give everyone you meet, and every opportunity you receive, what you should give a new painting- the advantage of a good light. 

Love more. You can be a habitually poor friend but also acutely connected at times. Consider the middle ground, the mean between disconnectedness and emotional profligacy. You can be loyal, reinforcing, supportive, funny, someone who can walk into a party and be seen by friends who might say "oh, it's all going to be fine now". But you need to maintain this because it is beneficial to the point of virtuousness. Love your friends and tell them. And, for Christs sake, phone your mum. 
The love you have for your children will be mountainous. It will overshadow everything else and will provide the framework for all necessary prioritisation in all aspects of your life. Nothing else comes close. If you are concerned that you might not have space in your heart to love anyone other than your partner, don't worry. There will come a startling realisation at the birth of your first baby that you have unlimited love and that such joy isn't slave to quantitative subjection. 
Love your family as if you may not see them again because, in reality, you might not. When you are wondering if they are sleeping well, but don't want to disturb them, go and check anyway. Even when you are not wondering go and stare. If they are away, check. If you think they are out of your sight and you are afforded the merest glimpse of them, glimpse. Know everything about them. Suffuse yourself with your children. Ingest them. 

Work to live. If you initiate a vocational career put the effort in early, thereafter your work/life balance is easier to maintain. Do a job you enjoy, there is no reason to consider otherwise. Never be afraid of failure because you have much less to lose than you irrationally think. Don't let perceived economics or the capitalist status quo chain you to an undesired, thankless and unrewarding life. Don't let money direct you, it is ultimately insignificant.

Know that life is meaningless. It is meaningless insofar that it has no pre-ordained logic or fatalism which should be a great relief because you can therefore make your life what you want. What is the meaning of life? The meaning of your life is what you make it. Rise above provincialism (your position wasn't asked for) into a more universal perspective. Consider your life, think about it, consciously reject and accept premises, learn yourself, be vulnerable and modest, don't mess about, don't presume. You get only one chance so live well. 

Value aesthetics. They matter. Beauty and art can save you at the very worst times. 

Be good. 

With love,

Ben



 





Tuesday 28 October 2014

The Pragmatics of Grief

-The tears can flow spontaneously and surprisingly so it is worth having a few quiet spaces, a private nook, to quietly slink off to for a quick blub. Have you adventured into every room and cupboard at work? At home do you cry where you drop or is there a target tear space?
I have evolved a gravitation to two spots at work where I can comfortably be alone for a few minutes during those times the tears are beyond my control. At home I always seem to end up in the same room. Always carry tissues. 
-Your closest friends may not be the ones to contact on every occasion. Someone else might be the most appropriate company at certain times. 
-Learn the signs that things are awry. When my breathing begins to labour or when I shiver on that spot between my shoulder blades I know it is the right moment to be alone. 
-Drop everything. You have to prioritise and if you are not in control it is difficult to look after others (or work on that spreadsheet or cook the dinner or pay for those groceries). You should often be your primary concern. 
-Try something new. There is calm and security in familiar routine but one has to actively consider the new normal. This consideration includes adventuring some into unfamiliar places. 
-Expect unexpected emotions. Be prepared to not want to communicate for days or weeks. Be prepared for unanticipated bouts of disproportionate mediocrity. Be prepared for self-induced pathos. Be prepared for laughter and acute sadness that can occur within seconds and be prepared to get used to it. Be prepared for rage and rejection. Be prepared. 
-Keep busy. Bit obvious this one but being occupied is a great distraction. What's less obvious is that busyness usually involves setting small, achievable goals which has a subconscious side effect of increasing your own feelings of self control and empowerment. 
-Eat regularly. Your appetite might be low and eating small, easily made, regular meals will keep your blood sugar stable which can have a knock-on effect of improving your mood. In addition it is likely you will feel lethargic and, put simply, food equals energy. Also, feelings of stress have been shown to reduce an effective immune system and increase the time it takes to heal wounds. Ingesting decent nutrients can counter this problem. 
-Sleep well and rest well. Stop when you need to, nap when you need to, go to bed early, no screens in the bedroom (they play havoc with your circadian rhythm), don't be afraid of medication if you need it, the room needs to be dark and the right temperature, no caffeine within 6 hours of bedtime, no exercise late at night. 
-Stretch those legs. I cycle and jog enthusiastically and get tearfully cranky if I go three days without exercise. A full cardiovascular workout is not demanded every day but a short, fast walk can work wonders and help you sleep deeper. 
-Do what you normally do. You know your own coping mechanisms when used for previous stressors so consider them and adjust as necessary. 
-Be kind and gentle to yourself. Obviously. And being kind and gentle to others helps too. 







Thursday 23 October 2014

Assisting the atheist in the foxhole to die

As a nurse and humanist I would be greatly honoured to help someone to a peaceful death. The old religious maxim that there are no atheists in foxholes has been disproved to me time and time again. I have met a number of people close to death or who are dying and make no concession to religious affiliation through any sense of fear or anxiety. It is humbling and impressive to experience the graceful dignity of an extremely sick person who refutes the fears of divine punishment and the desires for divine reward and, instead, faces their death from a fully human perspective.
After death we are as non-existent as we were before we were alive. When we are dead we are, as we were when we were alive, simply a collection of various chemicals but without consciousness. But when we are close to death we are still alive and, as such, must be afforded all the rights and respects defaulted to all humans- dignity, autonomy, freedom of choice and so on- and this includes rights over ones' body. Dying is part of living. It seems perfectly logical, loving and respectful to assist someone to a peaceful death of their choice if they are unable to provide that for themselves and I would be proud to help someone achieve what they cannot. I consider it a human duty. 



Thursday 16 October 2014

Castlewellan, Co. Down in Autumn

By midday the dew is still refusing to evaporate and continuing to twinkle in the unmistakenly autumnal light. The cloudless sky is an acid blue like a Mediterranean sea in a holiday brochure. We are entirely surrounded by old trees, nestled in a copse of silver birch and in sight of gnarly oaks planted when Galileo was observing the stars. There is more than a hint of the Jurrasic in the evergreens. Bone dry, brown, curly leaves drop into my coffee. The loudest sounds are made by a hundred-strong murder of crows navigating the forest using the highest canopies as junctions. The only other noises are other birds. 
The lake is so smooth I want to jump in with a parachute and fall for years.
The sun is warm only in direct sight and the air is crisp. The shadows are icy cold. There is a lucidity in the distant panorama only possible in moistureless chilled air. 
It is ancient, relentless and simultaneously irrespective of people but unambiguously symbiotic with them. 

Wednesday 15 October 2014

Six Clients


In many ways I am a lucky man. One major stream of support and pleasure is my job in which I have interesting experiences every day and work with lovely people who are there for truly ethical reasons. 
But I can't mention the specifics of my work to anyone due to keeping confidentiality with clients. There are many jobs like this so here is an example of my day. None of these six clients are real but are typical.

Liz is 23. She is homeless and has been addicted to alcohol since she was a teenager and has a diagnosis of chronic psychosis, experiencing hallucinations daily ("hearing voices") and clinical paranoia- a complex web of conspiratorial, persecutory organisations that are constantly watching her every move. Her addiction and illness has made her aggressively defensive against perceived slights and she has been barred from every service that helps homeless people except mine. In my office she mistook someone's laugh as a sneer, thought they wanted to harm her and she attacked first. This wasn't her second chance, it was her eighth. She had to be barred from the building. 
Conor is 48 and has been transient for over 20 years since being evicted from a cult and losing his wife, children and all his friends. The stress caused a long-term breakdown in his mental health, he has engaged meaningfully with no service since and carries a box of sharp pencils to defend himself against nurses and social workers who, he believes, all want to detain him and inject him with poison. I need to develop a connection and a relationship with him to complete a more detailed mental health assessment and, thereafter, suggest possible treatment. He has never lived in permanent accommodation and never lives in a city longer than 4 months. 
Lucaz is 29 and from Lithuania. He doesn't speak any English and we use an interpreter to communicate.  He is legally entitled to almost nothing, benefits or housing-wise. After rough-sleeping for weeks he developed a hip problem and was admitted to hospital. He actually had a complex infection that took months of aggressive therapy to clear up due to his newly diagnosed liver failure.  He has developed fibromyalgia and may have become addicted to the opiate-based painkillers he was prescribed. He was discharged from hospital with an inadequate care package and is now homeless, on crutches and with a big paper bag of medication available to abuse. 
Rachael is 34 and has acquired a brain injury after an assault from her father when she was a child. She has a long history of childhood sexual abuse and exploitation. She has four children from four different men, none of whom she has any contact with, and all four children are in care because she has been deemed inacapable of coping with most adult responsibilities. She has recently started a relationship with a known all-round nasty piece of work and multiple violent offender. She knows his history and doesn't appear to care. They are both homeless. 
Ahmed is 24 and from Somalia. He had been seeking asylum for eight months and has been a refugee (received five years leave to remain) for five months. In those five months he has been "sofa-surfing"- moving between friends, friends-of-friends and charitable strangers- and he has been on the streets for a few weeks here and there. He has developed complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after his experiences that forced him away from his home country and experiences daily symptoms of a heightened state of persistent anxiety ("hyper-vigilance"), reliving (recurring violent nightmares and horrifying flashbacks) and auditory (noise) and gustatory (taste) hallucinations. As we talk, using an interpreter, he is distracted by the screams of his family and the persistent taste of their blood in his mouth ("like sweat and rust"). I notice he is missing three fingers but can't bring myself to ask why. 
Harry is 28 and had been a bar manager for years. He had no health problems, is on no medication and, up until a year ago, considered himself fit and healthy. Then he got curious and sniffed some cocaine. He now sniffs or smokes cocaine every day. He couldn't cope at work, lost his job, couldn't pay his rent, was evicted by his landlord and has told no-one about his problems due, entirely, to embarrassment. He finds it hard to picture his future. 

All these clients were assessed using a complex-needs, multi-disciplinary assessment tool that takes an hour or two. Their needs were identified, plans were put in place and issues addressed. Five of the six walked away in a better state than when we first met, with a clear plan of support in place and a roof, albeit temporary, over their heads. 
Again, none of these cases are real but the symptoms, issues and experiences described have all been mentioned to me over the years. These are very typical clients seen on a very typical day in my typical week. 

One of the many reasons I enjoy my job is because it is extremely interesting. I meet a very wide population demographic and I am amazed, almost daily, by the strength, courage, dignity and kindness of my brothers and sisters in my human race. 
I am one of millions of workers all around the world who can tell no-one about my job because all cases are extremely confidential. How fascinating it would be to be privy to the specific details of a day in the life of a spy, a psychotherapist, a governmental policy-maker, a prosthetic limb maker, a publisher with a new book, an artist on commision and any other number of quiet, autonomous cogs in the machine. They are millions and they are unmentioned and they are intriguing and they keep it all going. I appreciate the beauty in their anonymity and collective power. 



Sunday 28 September 2014

Cognitive dissonance and Stoicism

I have been focusing on two thoughts in relation to a new phase that started after an extremely difficult time recently because it should have been Ruby's 13th birthday.

The term cognitive dissonance is primarily used in psychological theory to explain the inner turmoil we feel when we trust two opposing beliefs. This could be why we smoke cigarettes irrespective of the known dangers or drink alcohol having previously experienced a hangover. I have begun to feel a type of cognitive dissonance in relation to my grief. I don't want it, I didn't ask for it but there is an attachment to it that enables me to continue to be connected to the time when Ruby was alive. More than simply remembering a time when she was here I am still in the same chronological phase, as long as I am grieving. I know grief is bad but I also feel as if I need it- it keeps me linked to Ruby in a way I am fearful to disconnect from.  

I have been thinking more closely about Stoicism. This noble school of philosophy survived from around 300 BCE until the dark days of state-forced Christian religion at around 200 CE. It was thereafter driven away from mainstream acceptance until the Enlightenment of the 18th century. 
Its main protagonists were two fascinating characters, Marcus Aurelius and Seneca. Aurelius was a Roman general who spent much of his military life on the sparse fringes of the Roman Empire defending it from extremely tough hordes of Germanic maniacs and wrote his ideas from his lonely tent, physically exhausted but emotionally charged. Seneca was a teacher and advisor to Nero, an emperor famous for murdering his mother and step-brother and known for his brutal sadism to children, Christians and to local townsfolk because he was rumoured to walk the streets at night, randomly stabbing passers-by to death. By any standards Seneca's most famous student was a psychopathic megalomaniac. 
Stoicism's doctrine can be summed up by two lines of inquiry- indifference and self-control. Indifference, in this strict sense, means being emotionally unaffected and neutral by things beyond our control such as death, ageing or bad weather. Self-control is what we are to gain over those things within reach- our desires, our emotions, our fears. Stoics believed an ideal mental state would be one where there is harmony between these two ideas. 
By committing myself to a relationship I have invited the possibility, in all likelihood the probability, of loss. Loss is a natural occurance in human relationships, an involuable element of the human community and is likely to be beyond my control. To the Stoics death and loss cannot be controlled and one should remain indifferent to it- trees can only survive if leaves die in Autumn and provide the sustainance for continued growth- death is necessary for much of life and constitutes half it's natural cycle. In addition, the emotions experienced in relation to this loss are my emotions and I will therefore learn to have mastery over them and eventual control. It is this harmony over death and loss using ideas of neutrality and self-discipline that provide an ideal state, they believed, of courage, dignity and living a "good life". 
There is much to be offered by the focus on self-improvement through frugality and learning by Epicureanism or the hippyish dropping-out of Cynicism but Stoicism provides a beautifully simple approach to life. Is it very tough to achieve and involves a great deal of practise and reflection and so its simplicity belies the hard work involved. But, as with any great endeavour, there are few rewards greater than those earned from conscientious instigation. 

Tuesday 16 September 2014

Poem

In Response to Camus

For others
For Claire
For Tom
For her
For the good to be done
For the repairs needed
For fun
For sensations
For her
But for her
For the smelliest cheese
For the strongest coffee
For the food I can't make
For her
For the homeless
For the sick
For the worse off
For the remote
For her
But for her
For money raised
For hearts repaired
For heartbeats raised
For the love I share
For her
For her
For her
To make my island a warmer place
To finish behind first in the human race
To be responsible for a smiling face
But for her.
I am not irreplaceable
And some things are irreparable
And some things are unknowable
Until I see her.

I once met a man who was put in line
With sixteen others and shot one at a time.
He is now not known
By anyone who knew him
But he wants life.
Against all odds I might see her sooner
If I don't wait until I'm old.

Monday 15 September 2014

The New Ten Commandments by A. C. Grayling

1) Do no harm to others
2) Help those in need
3) Love well
4) Seek the good in things
5) Think for yourself
6) Be well informed
7) Take responsibility for yourself
8) Give your best
9) Respect the natural world
10) Be courageous

Saturday 13 September 2014

Ruby's 13th Birthday- fundraising, closure and assimilation of grief. And chocolate cake.

Today is Ruby's 13th birthday. She probably would have wanted crepes for breakfast, Lord of the Rings on TV all day and pizza, garlic bread and cheesecake for dinner. And mountains of chocolate cake.

Claire and I arraigned a sponsored 20 mile walk in aid of the Children's Heartbeat Trust charity here in Belfast- we helped raise £8,500 for them last year and they have been very supportive to us since Ruby died- but Claire injured her ankle jogging a month ago and it is still pretty sore so we cycled it instead.
The mild guilt I was feeling because of my perceived lack of hard work involved in the endeavour ("Twenty mile bike ride? That's barely a warm-up") was quickly put aside when we realised that the first four miles of the path was an unrideable mash-up of boulders, steps, sand and rock-face. Within 300 metres we were lost and as I was muttering something about preparation a dog walker and a local resident offered their assistance and put us on the right path. Well, "the right path" if you are wearing hiking boots and spend most of your life on a mountain side for fun. We stumbled on, lugging the bikes up and down steps, sliding around gravelled ruts but eventually the path straightened and even though it was unfamiliar we knew where we needed to get to and put our trust in the relentless road under our wheels- we made the road our friend.
We had placed a star-shaped helium balloon at our starting point-Ruby's bench at Crawfordsburn Country Park- and another one at our destination, Ruby's tree at Loughshore Playpark at Jordanstown. So far we have raised £1400 and there is a month left to collect more.

Immediate and obvious similarities made themselves known to me regarding our cycle journey today and the journey of grief I have undergone in the last sixteen months- I started on an unknown road which was filled with risks and unfamiliar territory, where there were boulders and shifting sands, and even strangers were offering their assistance. I never stopped, I moved forward, forward, forward and persevered with a path often perceived as unegotiable. I slowed, sped up, I occasionally lurched, I bridged, I rounded and eventually the road straightened a little, smoothed a little, I coasted more often, drove less.
There will be no end to the road,  no "closure", and I will always have an excess weight to shoulder. I don't think the weight will get heavier but that I will grow stronger to carry it. I don't believe in closure- I don't think I have ever truly seen it during my time working in mental health or otherwise- but instead have seen an incorporation of emotive experiences related to mourning into someone's personality. My grief is being absorbed into my character, my daily routine, into everything I am, like an osmotic sadness becoming a homogenisation of me-ness. Time and psychic work has encouraged the assimilation that is necessary and natural for life-long coping. Grief, like all experiences in life, influences who I am to become and is just another human condition that makes me me, for better or worse. There is no end to the road, there is no closure and I wouldn't want it if offered. But I get stronger, I consider and reflect more, I learn from my experiences and try to develop skills to use in my interactions with others and I keep moving forward. The key is navigation.


Friday 5 September 2014

Ruby's Ashes

We buried some of Ruby's ashes. It is a grotesquely unnatural and unenviably rare position to be forced to know. It makes no sense and I wish it on no-one.

As an atheist I know there is equal possibility in Ruby being in a heaven as there is in her being in Tolkein's Middle Earth. So why not wish for, and imagine, her being in Middle Earth? Sometimes I wish to be wrong about the end of life when we die. Sometimes I imagine Ruby hurtling across the land of Rohan in Middle Earth, psychically linked to her horse, pushing her on to her destination, bow and quiver on her back, head down, hair flowing straight and fast behind her, a wide toothy grin proving she is exactly where she wants to be, focused but completely free, with limitless imaginative potential.

Thursday 4 September 2014

Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are

Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are,
Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full with your unspoken words,
Those who crowd in my path do not know that I am walking alone with you,
They who love me do not know that their love brings you to my heart.

-by Rabindranath Tagore

Wednesday 3 September 2014

What to say, what not to say

1) Often there isn't the right thing to say but there is often the wrong thing- think before you speak.
2) Being quiet together is OK.
3) Not knowing what to say is OK.
4) No fatalism, no religion, no "it was her time to go" nonsense.
5) Ask me. If I don't want to say, I won't.
6) Only I can say "It's what she would have wanted".
7) Don't say "she is in a better place". She isn't, she is not in my arms, the best place for her (see no.4, above)
8) Although her death affects you, it is mainly my grief. I have ownership. I have weight of comment.
9) I will try to be honest but will not always be open. I don't want to share my true face with someone whose primary talent is supposition.
10) Don't ever whine about your children. Ever.
11) Saying you will always "be there" is very nice but a homemade dinner I can just throw in the oven is nicer and more pragmatic.
12) Feel free to be open about how you feel (with the exception of no.4, above). Saying you are sad will not make me worse.

Monday 25 August 2014

Some things I have appreciated this week

Some things I have appreciated this week-

The breeze, the sea, the 10 mile bike ride into town, Belfast's industrial heritage, solar panels, good coffee, being healthy enough to jog for miles, Tom's laugh, the various shades of green outside the front room window, respect from a client who knows exactly how I feel and has been through worse than me, paternal skills as taught to me by Ruby, a bank holiday weekend, a decent snog, the sun, wasps, the power of a good film ("Blade Runner", directors cut), homemade bread, medication, insight, agronomy, the bedroom light against the wallpaper that looks like the moon through a forest, in-laws who trust Claire's choice of husband, making a bicycle with a friend, introspective silence, freedom of speech, very loud heavy metal, Schoenberg, my parents, the ability to read and having had a free education, that same cyclist every workday morning who nods and smiles, that first gin and tonic on a Friday night, nuzzling into Claire when I crumple, expertly crafted kitchen knives, the science of glass, ASIMO, the supercomputer that is a smartphone, cut wild flowers, soap.

Sunday 17 August 2014

Contentment, not happiness

I got a blazing white hot flash of crystal clear understanding today. Having thought and thought and thought over the months about attaining happiness throughout my life I came to a startling realisation- I don't want happiness. I want contentment not happiness. Contentment is deeper and more complex than happiness (which is fickle and ephemeral). I need to have meaning and purpose to achieve contentment and so my focus should be aimed towards significance of action. I guess this is one meaning of what Aristotle called "living flourishingly" or, I think, "eudaimonia".
I think this is what is meant by some humanist ideals, thoughtfully addressing ideas of how to live with one goal being constructive, significant action (maybe other goals address ideas of personal and societal growth, ameliorating distress, encouraging the strengths of others).
Now, how do I achieve non-happiness?!

Claire and I are walking a sponsored 20 miles on Ruby's 13th birthday in four weeks. Three people have independently told me they think this is an admirable thing to do on Ruby's birthday- to think of others on a sponsored walk. The truth is, what else are we to do? Sit around and mope, feeling sorry for ourselves? Fingers crossed Claire's recently injured ankle holds out.

Sunday 10 August 2014

Make the Road Your Friend

Just one of those weeks. I was a wobbly wreck for days and useless to everyone. So I did what I have to do at times like this, I took care of myself- time off work, wrote, cycled, ran, slept, cried, talked. I had to treat myself to things I enjoy and things that I know help. This is a necessity for my recovery.

I was thinking again about the nature of grief and how we have evolved this useful mechanism to help us cope with such adversity. The emotions I experience and will continue to experience are there to help my mind get through its trauma and to enable it to make some sense of this loss. My experiences are not "natural" in the sense that it is unnatural for a child to die before their parent although, of course, what can be more natural than death? But I know from professional experience working in mental health that humans can cope with the most amazingly stressful situations and trauma.

The idea of grief existing in a set of clean cut chronological phases has virtually no acceptance in modern counselling. It is instead a truly personal process with no linear route. There is no "right" and "wrong" way to feel or way of doing things. Some people find this lack of prescriptive method initially difficult to fathom - they might need direction and identified emotions to feel- but, in the end, it essentially means we can all make our lives what we want them to be.
My process of recovering has been on one major condition that I have had to follow which is that I have had to respect my grief and know that I have to go through it- it will ultimately be a help not a hindrance. There has been no point fighting against it because it will bite me in the end and, by then, the distress and damage will have increased. Like trees bent over in the wind I have had to be akin to my grief, to be flexible.
A cyclist friend once told me to make the road my friend when I am on those long runs and I find the going hard. This is exactly what has helped me a great deal- I haven't fought that long road, I have tried to make it my friend, tried to understand it, tried to ride with it and trust it will take me to where I need to go. Even if the journey will throw unexpected challenges in my path, even if it is rocky and I have to slow down and walk for parts of it, even if it is misty and the road is winding and I feel like I might career off the edge at any point, it is still MY road and I trust it to take me where I need to go. And now fifteen months down the line the road is a little straighter, I can see a little further ahead, it winds a little less sharply round the bends. There will always be potholes such as my early week "meltdown" recently but I know they are temporary and that the road is still there, relentless, dependable, my friend.
At times when there has been emptiness and no visible escape there is always the road under me.

Tuesday 5 August 2014

I Am Mostly Not Sad

Sometimes the sadness lasts for a few seconds within a minute, sometimes for minutes within an hour. Occasionally the sadness lasts for a morning or an afternoon or an evening. Sometimes the sadness lasts for a day or two within a week. Always, there is some sadness there but I am mostly not sad. Mostly.

Monday 4 August 2014

Few Things Matter but They Matter More

I have come to realise that most things are irrelevant. There are a lot of wasted thought and unnecessary worries used up on spurious bullshit. Fewer things matter than I had previously thought. But the things that matter matter more than I had thought. So:
Fewer things than I'd thought matter. But the things that matter matter more than I had thought.

I always need to remind myself:
Ruby is as unalive now as before she was born. My grief is mainly about what I have lost not about what she is. The Stoic idea holds true that in time I will have control and mastery over my own emotions and, hence, my grief.  I understand that the Stoics did not like optimism or pessimism but were realists. I take this to mean one needs to be honest to oneself about one's true emotions- being upset when sad, joyous when happy and not lying to oneself and others by covering things up.

Having stated the above, today I had moments of acute sadness thinking of what could have been and what Ruby has missed out on. Fortunately I am rational enough that these type of thoughts do not last long.


Sunday 3 August 2014

Some Lovely Poetry

I met the philosophy teacher again at the museum for a coffee. I was less nervous and greatly enjoyed our conversation.

I found this beautiful and accurate poem by James Fenton.


For Andrew Wood

What would the dead want from us
Watching from their cave?
Would they have us forever howling?
Would they have us rave
Or disfigure ourselves, or be strangled
Like some ancient emperors slave?


None of my dead friends were emperors
With such exorbitant tastes
And none of them were so vengeful
As to have all their friends
Waste quiet away in sorrow
Disfigured and defaced.

I think the dead would want us
To weep for what they have lost.
I think that our luck in continuing
Is what would affect them most.
But time would find them generous
And less self-engrossed.

And would time find them generous
As they used to be
And what else would they want from us
But an honoured place in our memory
A favourite poem, a hallowed chair,
Privilege and celebrity?
And so the dead might cease to grieve
And we might make amends
And there might be a pact between
Dead friends and living friends.
What our dead friends would want from us
Would be such living friends. .



This haiku is by Chiyojo:

My little dragonfly hunter
I wonder where he is
off to today

Her son died young and after writing this haiku she wrote no more and left the literary world in which she was celebrated and became a nun. I find it so heartbreaking because of the weight of the answer she was forced to provide herself after posing such a buoyant question she had no doubt asked herself hundreds of times when her son was alive.


And this too:


Not Waving but Drowning
by Stevie Smith


Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way
they said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Friday 27 June 2014

Threats to Kill

I had a busy and extraordinary day at work. Someone with extremely complex needs threatened to kill himself, me and other people. Every possible service was involved and all ended well. But it was a bit touch and go for a while. I was calm, collected and in control, on the outside. Inside, I was shitting myself.


I met my philosophy teacher for a few hours. I was nervous and conversationally rusty as I have only met one or two new people in the last few years. It was intellectually stimulating, he seamed like a nice chap and I hope to meet again. Again, inside I was shitting myself.

Saturday 21 June 2014

Caravan

We bought a caravan and went away last weekend to Castlewellan, a beautiful part of the country.
The positive feeling of its ownership and also knowing we wouldn't have it if Ruby was still here are very clear and obvious to us both.

 I was alone in the house all day. I spent all morning in Ruby's room where I very rarely go. There is no sound like the wailing of someone crying on their own.

I saw the counsellor for the last time. We embraced genuinely and with warmth.

Thursday 15 May 2014

One Year Anniversary

I built my first bicycle. It is the most beautiful bike I have ever seen. I have only been up and down the road so far but plan to head off for a commute ten miles into town soon. It is a "fixie"- fixed wheel and fixed gear- in a 1920's style and colour.

Ran my first long run (17km) for weeks a few days a ago. Took three days to recover.

Claire and I off for two weeks over Ruby's first anniversary. It was extremely difficult for us both in the first week. We cried every day. Claire was very angry, I was very irritable. We met some of the family at Ruby's bench in Crawfordsburn Country Park, had lunch at the cafe and they left. Claire and I walked by the sea.
It was only a few days ago but is already a bit of a blur.
We put some of Ruby's ashes in the stream near her bench. I tried to imagine that every day is an anniversary of a day she was alive and happy and those days should be appreciated for that reason. It has mostly worked on the more difficult recent days.

We have started to look at touring caravans having talked about wanting one for years.



Monday 7 April 2014

Life Saving

I think I might have saved someone's life at work this week.
He wanted to take his own life. We talked for along time about the stress of change, about feeling in greater control when when you learn to let go of things beyond your power, making plans for anniversaries, constructive coping mechanisms, giving himself permission to be happy.


I have been missing my arms around Ruby, her hair on my face and her shoulders in my arm pits. It has been a very tough day.

Felt very sick with anxiety, a new emotion, on the way to a cafe to meet friends. It was beyond reason but then calmed with good conversation.

Wednesday 2 April 2014

Mother's Day

Mother's Day was two days ago, Claire's first since Ruby died. Tom made a card at the childminders and I bought a card that Tom signed and I wrote "+R xxx". What does one do?
Claire returned to work last week- two half days only- and it exhausted her as it did me when I returned. But that most difficult step is over.
I didn't attend philosophy class as I wanted to drink gin instead. I emailed the teacher and he kindly smiled me back. He seams a lovely guy and I could probably enjoy his company but what do I do now? I have built up so much sophisticated bullshit as an adult that I don't know how to make fiends, as children easily do. I have met some kind, interesting people whose company I enjoy and I have recognised this more in the last year than previously. But, perversely, it feels more difficult to do something constructively about it now even though my wish to do something is stronger than before.

I have been greatly enjoying restoring Claire's bicycle. i initially planned a simple frame respray but have ordered lots of new parts and I am halfway through rebuilding it. I have a new build project planned for me.

Sunday 9 March 2014

Ten months

Day off work today as usual for current Fridays. I'll be returning to five days per week in less than a month.


I can examine my emotions and feelings and thought processes and ways of seeing things and, of course, it all helps. But I haven't seen Ruby for ten months. And I miss her, I miss her, I miss her. I just miss her. Ten months is a very long time to not see your own child. That's all, I just miss her. I doubt this will ever leave me no matter how much control I can gain over anything else. My heart aches. I just miss her.

Saturday 1 March 2014

Ruby the Rider of Rohan

Ran home from work three days ago on Tuesday. It was only 12km,  a short one for me, but was the most difficult run ever. It wiped me out for days but then today I easily stormed through to 17km, my first ever 10-mile plus. Sometimes there is no logic to running!
On Tuesday, as I ran past some local fields, a two metre wide grass-covered mound caught my eye. It was the only mound in that field and was probably the result of rootstock from a fallen tree years before. There were no flowers anywhere in the field except for this mound which was covered in daisies. It struck me as looking just like a grave of a Rider of Rohan from The Lord of the Rings, Ruby's favourite book and film. I lost my breath and cried. I barely made it home.
I often think of Ruby thundering across Rohan on horseback, hair flowing, bow and quiver across her back, a broad smile from ear to ear, feeling at home as if she belongs there. She does.


Philosophy class tonight- virtue ethics. How is one to live?

Sunday 23 February 2014

Innocuous connections

Mum and Dad flew over from London for the weekend and leave tomorrow. Ruby was the elephant in the room.


The music playlists on my phone need refreshing so I have been spending a few hours each night going through all our music on the laptop, making new playlists for running, cycling, work, etc.
It occasionally means I unwittingly listen to songs Ruby had bought or songs that have a particular connection to her. I suspect I will come across innocuous instances of her influence in our lives until I am very old. And I suspect they will always make me cry.


I have an image in my mind of billions of neurones connected in myriad ways with an almost infinite number of lines of communication between them. New ones are growing on the periphery all the time and making new connections. Ruby's connections are so wide and complex. Her absence feels like a dissolved skeleton leaving unconnected connective tissue and weakened muscle with no contraction.
Sometimes the loss feels like phantom limb syndrome as if a huge chunk, a quarter or a third of who I am, is simply not there. At other times it feels as if that skeleton has crumbled and there are thousands of tiny hollows that run through everything, weakening my foundations.


Philosophy class last night. Kant. 10% relevant.

Saturday 15 February 2014

Flexibility

I ran 15km this morning as usual. i am off work every Friday for a number of weeks. Claire has a bug and is in bed. We used to have tough immune systems but now catch every bug passing our way.
After my shower I lazed in bed and read the news.
Then I took an hour or so just to look out the window. It is very wet, windy and cold, lots of sleet. The neighbours' conifers were bent double by the wind. It occurred to me that their survival tool- flexibility- is key and that the idea has many applications.
Going with the flow, rolling with the punches, yielding to an agent of force is so very important. For me, I guess, this means knowing I have to grieve and then letting myself do exactly that. I have to let myself go through that process in order to come out the other side. I am sure I will be a bit broken and bent. I know there will be irreparable fissures that go all the way down but I hope to be in one piece.
Be flexible; relinquish.


Week three of my philosophy class tonight- Utilitarianism and Deontology.

Saturday 25 January 2014

An Endeavour

Today was strange and busy.
In the morning, after dropping off Tom at the childminders, I ran for my usual 15km. Then Claire and I went to the cinema to see the wonderful "12 Years a Slave". In the evening I attended the first class of my "Introduction to philosophy" course (we are both trying something new- Claire has started to dance the Lindy Hop). Later on we watched the last few hours of an American TV series we have invested over forty hours of our time watching in the last five weeks. So my day was physically and mentally tiring but, ultimately rewarding. The best kind of day, in its own way.


Been vegetarian for three weeks. Craving cheese like heroin! Making meals like spicy Mexican bean burgers, falafels, sushi, roasted veg quiche, veg kievs, veg chilli, mushroom soup, etc.


I can't not choose. If I do not choose then that is a choice. So if I cannot not choose my potential choices need to be rational and considered. So I need not be contrarian or destructively argumentative but I need to weigh and consider. No dispensation for dispensations' sake.


I am hoping my recent understanding of humanism may give me skeleton or framework upon which to flesh out ideas, thoughts and understandings, maybe about some things that were under my nose all along that can now be seen in a  new light.
The default, normal position for the average human is, compared to mine, woeful. A shorter, unhealthy life with greater disease and destitution, most people are born into a losing struggle. Most people will live a life without the things I take for granted- food, shelter, sanitation. But I have met over three thousand people through work and most of them are OK. Content enough, surviving, remaining mostly positive about the world and its people. Even some tortured refugees who have lost everyone who has ever known them, for whom there doesn't exist any shared experiences and memories, there appears to be hope and a willingness to believe in the positivity of others. Surely dogma can only fail because the human spirit is too strong and unyielding.
I remind myself of a conversation I had with a gentleman who had received refugee status. He told me that after seeing his wife and children murdered in font of him and after he was shot and left for dead and after going on the run through the desert for weeks and after being captured and tortured for months he would lie on the cold, dark floor in his cold, dark cell in a cold, dark corner of some God-forsaken desert hundreds of miles from anyone who may know him. He told me I might think he only felt despair, which I did think. But he said he also felt hope. He said "if it feels like there is only despair then there is always hope too. There is always hope". I try to think of him when I find myself wallowing in self-pity or have a sudden attack of "poor me".

Thursday 9 January 2014

My Third Dream

I dreamt about Ruby last night for only the third time since she died and it was crystal clear.
She was wearing her daily uniform of long-sleeved red T-shirt, blue jeans and pixie boots. She had short hair, having only recently cut it just before we last saw her, and she kept on resting her head on my chest. She was showing me round classrooms in her boarding school (we would never send her to a boarding school!) which was in a tropical forest and was showing me her class work with pride.
Then we climbed a huge tree together in which she lived. Then Claire appeared and she and I had to leave on a train. We didn't want to go but knew we had to leave Ruby there. Ruby was happy and courageous and didn't stop smiling a huge grin.
When I woke up I didn't want the dream to leave me and I cried like a child.
I can still feel her shoulders under my arms and her thick hair against my neck.



Thursday 2 January 2014

First post- a new start?

I was off work for five months and have been back for two.
I have been fearful of compassion fatigue because of my inability to deal with the serious mental distress of others- a very difficult problem for a conscientious mental health worker. My coping mechanisms have decreased and I am tearful and unable to clearly see a way through others' fog. I have realised that my traumatic experiences have decreased my coping abilities because it has increased my sensitivity. My experiences have not desensitised me but have hyper-sensitised me to the point of fragility. This probably also explains new humanist-based thoughts about ethical vegetarianism and my other responsibilities as an atheist.
I think I need to simplify and prioritise.


Previously life was just lived. Now it has to be worked at.


Because there is no fatalism, because there is no creator directing me, I must create my own path, autonomously and with considered self-governing. Because I reject all religions I have responsibilities as an atheist. It is not enough to float through the waters being directed by the flow of my environment. I have responsibility to myself. I also have responsibility to those I love and who love me. Also to the community around me- my street and town, all other living organisms and the physical planet.
To myself, to live flourishingly and with consideration (as Aristotle would encourage me). To those I love and who love me, to ameliorate distress, to make safe, to encourage growth. To the wider world, to leave as small a footprint as possible, to cause no violence.