The Agony Column

G. S. Carnivals

G. S. Carnivals

Our Temporary Supervisor
I see this topic as a place for folks to share personal angst, frustration, and general puzzlement. Let's see if it flies....

I owe my own general sound mental health to my father. He began to become unstable about 40 years ago. I didn't want to be like that. Drugs, denial, anything to avoid it. I've done pretty well: good times, bad times.
Unfortunately, my dad was misdiagnosed as a schizophrenic many years before the concept of bipolarism was recognized. Over the years, the antipsychotics have messed him up. He'll never be the same, even with the proper treatment. Where I'm going with this is me. Dad's absence (hospitalization) forced me to grow up faster. I was the oldest child (and grandchild on both sides), and became the man of the house. I feel I was deprived of some of my childhood. As compensation, I think, I'm a smartass, the eight-year-old I never got to be the first time around.

O Heal Me, Miss Lonelyhearts,
Phil
 
That's a poignant piece of self-assessment, Phil. I like it when people share these kinds of stories, since we all have them, but then a sense of propriety (or whatever) keeps us from talking about them most of the time. It's unfortunate.

I'm not really prepared to divulge the messy details of my own life, except to say that I've dealt with my own instances of unsound mental health, fear of same, and a congeries of related issues over the years. Since I'm still rather young, I'm paranoid about what the future might hold in this regard. I also wonder whether or not I'd be more self-actualized if I were more "balanced." (Of course, wondering about these sorts of things isn't a very self-actualized thing to do. 😉 )

I used to think it was strange and neurotic to romanticize a condition like depression or anxiety. But now I consider how much narrower my spectrum of experience would be without these things... I owe a lot to the shadow on the wall.
 
Hello Phil . Thank you for sharing this intimate biographical sketch which also provides a glimpse on how destructive medical science can be when misused.
My lot was neurosis, like Woody Allen´s, but without his many talents.
An ill-tempered father used to reduce, now and them, his family (and specially me) to a state of profound anxiety. As I grow up, fear developed into a beautiful neurosis of the compliant type (in Karen Horneys´ typology [Neurosis and Human Growth, 1950]). I run away from my dad (and long term unemployment) to England. But neurosis is a sly cunning little thing and I reproduced the old patterns of behavior with a father figure, a spiteful head chef in the restaurant where I was his assistant.
Once, in my tiny bed-sit in West Hampstead, London, I was reading a short story by Richard Bausch, "All the Way in Flagstaff, Arizona". An alcoholic man try to prevent his family from falling apart. He decides to visit a therapist. The shrink’s piece of advice is to visit the graveyard where his father (an abusive bastard) is buried and vent his anger. There he goes our man and yell to the sad ghost and spit on the tombstone and come back to his doctor in a state of abject fear. Nothing get solved and the last scene shows very clearly how doomed the main character is.
As I read this extraordinary story (incidentally, how good a writer is Richard Bausch) something clicked in my mind. I understood, without a doubt, that you have to sort things out with your father while he is alive. When he is dead, he is kind of invincible. A truism, I know, but one which came to me with the fanfare and flames of an astonishing disclosure. So that very night I wrote a letter to my father saying how dearly I wished him dead and intended to severe any relationship with him. Obviously I had been thinking already about this extreme determination; the tale was just the prompt.
We didn’t speak to each other for a year, my life got less stultified and eventually we made up and rebuild our relationship on a much more level footing.
Sorry for this lengthy exposition and for imposing upon you the intrinsic embarrassment of most confessions. But I believe this anecdote might be an interesting example of how literature can give valuable hints to guide (or perhaps misdirect) your life. In my case it showed me how to transform neurotic suffering into everyone’s customary and healthy distress.
 
Thank you, Dan and Manuel. Your sympathies and comments are more than welcome!

I must say that I love my father immensely. He loves me without any qualification. Both he and I, however, haven't quite clicked on the expression level of affection since the mid-1960's. We both know. It's my disappointment and his shame.

I see my mom and dad once a week (usually Sunday). Lately, my dad's been asking me for books to read. (He's the one that turned me on.) I've been giving him second copies of stuff I have. Strictly science fiction. He can't stand horror. Mom, by the way, reads King & Koontz as they roll off the press. I may be from a dysfunctional family but, damn it, we read!

No Library Card in Years,
Phil
 
That Richard Bausch story sounds interesting, and probably applicable in some ways to my own life.

Regarding strained paternal relationships, I often think of Tony Harrison's poetry:

"Back in our silences and sullen looks,
for all the Scotch we drink, what's still between 's
not the thirty or so years, but books, books, books."

Incidentally, my father was a Dewar's drinker back in the day, and over the past few years, neat Scotch has become one of my own preferred drinks. The transformation has already begun! Time to atone!
 
I've had not much agony in my short existence, although I do on occasion doubt the point in it. Life is odd, at times rather unpleasant (arguments, the one or two deaths in the family being the nadir), sometimes simply bearable, and, albeit rarely, a vent for ecstatic happiness and compleat, gleeful mania (point in example getting a copy of TAROVFAOGT for Christmas).

Now, is it "deranged bibliophile" or "psychotic nerd"? Can't decide what to put in the sanitorium profile under 'occupation".
 
The Silent One";p="2913 said:
I've had not much agony in my short existence, although I do on occasion doubt the point in it.
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O Silent One,

I have so many things to tell you, but I can't. In good conscience, that is. *SPOILER ALMOST ALERT* Real life has its way of making itself known. And it will. At the entrance level of adolescence, your ability to comprehend the universe is still in development. At 17 or 18, you'll be a completely different person, because your brain will have changed. It doesn't stop there. Add to this the accrual of experience through the years. Good, bad, and indifferent stuff. You may be strapped into the carnival ride, but it hasn't commenced to move at top speed yet. Some have tossed their cookies on this ride. Or worse. *END OF SPOILER ALMOST ALERT* Enjoy your youth, Silent One. You have exactly one opportunity to do so. Without becoming a clown.

Phil
 
This morning, a beloved former coworker (no, not candy) left home for work. Just a normal day. She didn't make it. She died a couple of hours after her car accident occurred. Icy conditions... Jody leaves behind three young sons and a disabled husband. She was the family's sole breadwinner.

There are those that say, "Everything has a purpose." There are those that say, "She's in a better place now." There are those who say, "It's not fair." There are those who say, "God rest her soul." There are those, myself included, who do not have anything to contribute to the catchphrases of the inevitable....
 
Sorry to hear about that, G.S. I still remember my Driver's Ed teacher telling us that no one ever woke up and thought that they were going to die in a car accident that day. He also stressed that in car accidents it doesn't matter whose fault it is. I can't even imagine how difficult this will be for her family, especially it being Christmas.
 
G. S. Carnivals";p="3426 said:
This morning, a beloved former coworker left home for work. Just a normal day. She didn't make it. She died a couple of hours after her car accident occurred. Icy conditions... Jody leaves behind three young sons and a disabled husband. She was the family's sole breadwinner.
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I had no idea until today that Jody had left a gift behind. But that was Jody. Good can emerge from the bad...

http://lsj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20061023/ELANSING01/610230326&SearchID=73260765136351
 
I am increasingly agitated by the attack on synchronicity waged by the concerted effort between mine own lack of focus, laborious motor skills and lingering vestige in mental faculties. My foundations and dreams languish in disparate disparities. I am becoming undone once again. Only this time, not by choice, but by fate. Such a cruel twist of intent and cause/effect. There is no distinction between variables and the solution of the formula. Proof positive that my fears were real all the while. Period.
 
Dr. Bantham said:
I am increasingly agitated by the attack on synchronicity waged by the concerted effort between mine own lack of focus, laborious motor skills and lingering vestige in mental faculties. My foundations and dreams languish in disparate disparities. I am becoming undone once again. Only this time, not by choice, but by fate. Such a cruel twist of intent and cause/effect. There is no distinction between variables and the solution of the formula. Proof positive that my fears were real all the while. Period.
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Sorry, folks. Perhaps there is a great need for a drunken smiley. I had far too much to drink last night and at some point inadvertently inverted my conscious and subconscious levels. As evidenced above, nasty bits and pieces of repressed depression reign the latter plane. All is well as all is once again, at least beyond my splitting headache.
 
bendk said:
Odalisque said:
The Silent One said:
I've had not much agony in my short existence
Click to expand...

Give it time. Don't be impatient.
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This reminds me of a line from The Simpsons. I think it was an exchange between Lisa and Homer.

Lisa "This is the worst day of my life."
Homer "You mean, this is the worst day of your life so far."
Click to expand...

Well put. In fact, no one ever knows which will be the worst day of her or his life. By the time every day is present to be judged, no one is in a position to judge. We could try to determine which was the worst day in the life of a dead person, but only the person to whom the days happen is really able to determine their relative woe. What seems to me supremely bad may not seem so to you. :(
 
Dear Dr. Bantam,
I'm sorry to hear of your problem and I can commiserate with you. Life is often very hard, but it is not any one thing. Even in the most trying of times there are a lot of good things happening concurrently.
My Mother just died of acute leukemia. She was diagnosed on April 1st (and she had enough of a sense of humor to appreciate the date) and was, at first, responding to chemotherapy, but took a turn for the worse on April 19th and died on the 23rd. It is very hard to bury your mother.
However, I got to see friends and family that I hadn't seen in ages. I'm sad, of course, but she was 79 and had a good long life and was reasonably healthy until the leukemia hit. She died happy surrounded by her family. What more can any of us expect?
My life has been very hard. I have buried a lot of friends and family members as well. Still, there has been much good. I could complain about a lot of things but i simply try to do the best I can in all of the different aspects of my life and try to leave the world a little bit better than I found it. I used to be pretty neurotic but, with time and effort I have gotten over it. Even though I work as a Federal law enforcement officer (and have more problems with my management than I ever do with violators) I do my job and don't agonize over it when I'm off duty. I treat people as well as I can, I support my daughter, I respect my grl friend and treat others the way i want to be treated. That's all anyone can do. In a sense we are all dealt a certain hand of cards at birth and it is up to us to play them to the best of our ability. Even if it's a lousy hand we are still responsible.
In every life, even the ones that look pulled together when viewed from the outside, there are always periods of low energy, dissolution, reintegration and waste. We all spend a lot of time going down dead ends, getting overwhelmed by our emotions, wandering around in circles, etc. It's a part of life and it is always counterbalanced by periods of clarity, joy and success. Soometimes I have to grit my teeth and remind myself of my responsibilities to get through the day. Other times I actually enjoy my work. Sometimes I don't want to talk to my daughter, but if she needs me then I have to rise to the occasion. For me, I find responsibility is a good goad. Maybe it would work for you.
Things will get better in time.
 
Mr. D. said:
Dear Dr. Bantam,
I'm sorry to hear of your problem and I can commiserate with you. Life is often very hard, but it is not any one thing. Even in the most trying of times there are a lot of good things happening concurrently.
My Mother just died of acute leukemia. She was diagnosed on April 1st (and she had enough of a sense of humor to appreciate the date) and was, at first, responding to chemotherapy, but took a turn for the worse on April 19th and died on the 23rd. It is very hard to bury your mother.
However, I got to see friends and family that I hadn't seen in ages. I'm sad, of course, but she was 79 and had a good long life and was reasonably healthy until the leukemia hit. She died happy surrounded by her family. What more can any of us expect?
My life has been very hard. I have buried a lot of friends and family members as well. Still, there has been much good. I could complain about a lot of things but i simply try to do the best I can in all of the different aspects of my life and try to leave the world a little bit better than I found it. I used to be pretty neurotic but, with time and effort I have gotten over it. Even though I work as a Federal law enforcement officer (and have more problems with my management than I ever do with violators) I do my job and don't agonize over it when I'm off duty. I treat people as well as I can, I support my daughter, I respect my grl friend and treat others the way i want to be treated. That's all anyone can do. In a sense we are all dealt a certain hand of cards at birth and it is up to us to play them to the best of our ability. Even if it's a lousy hand we are still responsible.
In every life, even the ones that look pulled together when viewed from the outside, there are always periods of low energy, dissolution, reintegration and waste. We all spend a lot of time going down dead ends, getting overwhelmed by our emotions, wandering around in circles, etc. It's a part of life and it is always counterbalanced by periods of clarity, joy and success. Sometimes I have to grit my teeth and remind myself of my responsibilities to get through the day. Other times I actually enjoy my work. Sometimes I don't want to talk to my daughter, but if she needs me then I have to rise to the occasion. For me, I find responsibility is a good goad. Maybe it would work for you.
Things will get better in time.
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Many thanks for the kind words of encouragement. I offer my sincere condolences regarding the loss of your mother. I respect my mother greater than any individual I have ever known. What I find quite remarkable is that your recent events are much more dire than my own circumstances. While I recently had a serious medical scare with my heart, the heart catheter which was performed in order to determine the appropriate corrective operation divulged that the previous test was a false positive. I have a beautiful wife and two wonderful children. Indeed, integrating these responsibilities into my life have been my saving grace. Though I shall always struggle with depression, I have grown more stable with the passage of time. Instead, I have brief periods when repression is unleashed and acute regression must be battled. The night I posted my abysmal rant I had drank too much and unleashed the floodgates to dark thoughts. They should remain hidden, as I am not yet strong enough to wrestle them to their grave. I am less embarrassed by the fact that my pitiful moment of self-loathing pales in comparison to your recent struggles than I am impressed by your strong words of encouragement extended to a companion in need. I thank you for this immeasurably. Though my recent battle was not worthy of such noble support, I shall reserve and recall it for future episodes. Many thanks, my friend.
 
For my father, who passed from this world today:
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