The Harm Our Words Can Cause

There is an old saying that I remember from my elementary school days. Whenever someone would say something bad to another person, that person would reply, “sticks and stones my break my bones, but words will never hurt me”. Those words were very brave coming from a first or second grader. I know personally deep down inside that wasn’t true. I know words can wound a person emotionally much like stones can hurt physically. Perhaps in some ways the words do more damage than stones. Physical wounds heal over time, but sometimes emotional wounds last a lifetime.

I’ve been called names because I didn’t fit in with what my peers thought I should be. At other times I was made fun of because people didn’t like the way I looked.

One of the worst things that can happen to a young person is for an authority figure to ridicule them in front of their peers. I can recall two incidents from my past.

The first was in eighth grade science. The teacher discovered that I was embarrassed easily. At every opportunity that presented itself she was sure to call attention to my blushing. Each time this happened, I just wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it in on top of me.

Update: The Turning Points Of Life

Sometimes when you’re standing at a turning point in life, it really helps to seek out answers to things that you don’t understand. There are times when seeking out answers may not help much. Such as why did a loved one have to die? In this situation about loosing my therapist, for me, seeking out answers has been crucial in helping me move on and hopefully to stop blaming people.

I think one of the keys to seeking out answers in situations like this is to wait until you’ve calmed down and are less emotional. Emotions can cloud judgments making it very difficult to understand other people’s view points.

I still don’t have all the answers as to why the doctor acted in the manner that she did, but I’m still seeking them out. I think I do understand what she meant by “Sometimes you have to take your therapists feelings into consideration”, after talking to one of Kara’s supervisors. Kara never told them that she felt she couldn’t work with me, but her supervisor asked her a more probing question. Did Kara think some of the things going on with the transference issue could stand in the way of my treatment? I think she was asking if Kara thought my feelings for her were beginning to distract me too much and I wasn’t focusing on getting better. Kara’s answer was yes, it was possible. I think that’s what the doctor meant.

There were other misunderstandings between Kara’s supervisors and me, but once again asking questions have been crucial. After I was able to think more clearly, what happened began to make more sense. I’ve even reluctantly begun to admit to myself that their decision was the right one. (Sometimes it seems like I’m just trying to convince myself of that so it won’t hurt so much.)

Different Relationships; Different Emotions And Thoughts

I have cried an untold of amount of tears over the loss of my mother. Just the other day I was downloading some of her favorite Southern Gospel music and a flood of emotions washed over me. I haven’t cried like that for her in quite some time.

As I was experiencing these strong feelings for her, I noticed something else. It seemed like I was grieving more for Mother than I was for Daddy. It just felt different. Last night, I began thinking again about the differences in the relationships that I had with each one.

Mother was passive, tender, sensitive and a worrier. Daddy was aggressive, domineering and sensitive in a way that was different from Mother. What I mean is, is if someone done or said something he didn’t like, he would want to get back at them. At least he was like this earlier in life when Mother was still living. Actually, Daddy would go through phases. Sometimes he was like this and sometimes not. Even living in the nursing home he would have these spells.

As I’ve mentioned before, Daddy suffered from Bipolar Disorder. But does that give a person an excuse to physically and verbally abuse people? Well, maybe an excuse but not a right. Should I look at it like there were times in his life when he couldn’t help it? Such as when we were children?

My sister and I looked at this differently. At least for a while. I seen it as something that I deserved, but later I began to think about it in a different way.

Apparently, later in life, Daddy didn’t think we deserved it either. He cried a lot over it and asked our forgiveness. I said I forgave him, but deep down I don’t think I did. I know at least one time I just spoke the words without any meaning. They just seemed the right thing to say given the frame of mind he was in. Now that he’s gone, sometimes it seems like it’s easier to forgive him. It would be better if I could forgive him now. It would help me cope with and heal from the grief.

To me, that seems selfish. Just wanting to forgive Daddy for my benefit. As I write this, I’m struggling with my emotions and thoughts.

I don’t even know if I truly loved my parents. At the end of every visit to their house, I would hug Mother bye and kiss her. She would always say, “I love you.” I would just turn away and walk out the door. I know this sounds like I was cold and perhaps I was, but telling Mother that I loved her would feel like a lie.

I believe “love” is more than an emotion. It’s more than just a “warm, fuzzy feeling” you have toward someone. As the country singer Clint Black says, “Love isn’t something that we are, it’s something that we do”. I believe when you love someone, you give part of yourself to that person. I’m not talking just about romantic love. I’m also talking about giving yourself to or doing things for your parents, siblings, friends or even complete strangers.
When I done things for my parents, it wasn’t out of love. It was more out of duty or because I felt I had to do it. A large part of the time when Mother would ask me to do something, I would raise h*ll about it. What grief I gave her!

Later, I did start tell Mother that I loved her. Once again, this was more out of duty. I began asking myself, “What if something happened to one of us and I didn’t tell Mother that I loved her?”

After Mother died, Daddy’s personality seemed to change somewhat. Especially after he went in the nursing home, there were times when he became passive and more dependent. More like Mother was. I would lose my temper with him. The only good thing that I can think of now is that somehow I learned to be more patient with him.

Right now, my heart cries out in opposition to what I done back then.

I know there are people, such as my mother, who would disagree with what I’ve said about not loving my parents. But this is just the way I personally see it.

The Consequences Of Not Properly Coping With My Anger

I continue to have the feelings of anger that are related to my dad’s death that I mention in the December 4 post, but they don’t seem to be as strong as they have been. I haven’t thought about trashing my apartment lately. I realize that I’m continuing to avoid dealing with them properly, but I’m afraid of the intensity of my emotions that I fear will be released. I also realize that I can’t properly grieve and eventually begin to heal by avoiding it. Also, if this anger isn’t dealt with appropriately, it’s likely that I could really take it out on my sister or someone else close to me.

Yesterday, I talked to my therapist, Kara, about my feelings. She asked why I was mad at Daddy. I told her because he died without giving me a chance to say good-bye. Kara pointed out the fact that it wasn’t Daddy’s choice to die when he did; he had no control over it. I began to look at it in a different light. If only a little bit. My anger toward him lessened.

If it’s not Daddy’s fault, then whose is it? God’s? Should I blame God for allowing my daddy to die? Is it right or fair to blame Him? A synonym of blame is to “hold responsible”. God is, after all, responsible for giving us life and He can take it away. Still, in a way, it doesn’t seem right blaming God. Does He make mistakes? Is God cruel and unjust? Sometimes it seems like it, but yet I feel guilty about blaming him. As I consider this, there’s a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and I feel physically sick.

It has also occurred to me that some of the anger and blame could be directed toward the nursing home where Daddy lived for over four years. I believe some of the nurses there really cared about Daddy, but others I don’t know about. I kind of wonder about the nurses who were on duty that night, but it’s just my mind questioning things.

If there is one person at the nursing home that I would like to hold responsible for my dad’s death, that would be the administrator Mrs. R. I believe there is only one person she cares about and looks out for and that’s herself. Do I have hard feelings for this woman? You better believe it!

Daddy had bipolar disorder and as a result he had a lot of manic episodes while at the nursing home. During one particular period , I was having a very difficult time dealing with it. He was constantly paranoid, believing that many people were out to get them. He was constantly accusing the staff of stealing from him and plotting against him. He was also very grandiose; “I’m the king of the mountain. I’m absolutely right and everyone else is absolutely wrong!”

Yes, Daddy was extremely hard to be around during these times, but I expected someone like Mrs. R. to be a professional and try to help the family. But did she? H*ll no! She raised as much h*ll as Daddy did. She wanted him put out, threatened to have him arrested. She angrily told me that he couldn’t get along with anyone. She emphasized “anyone!” I discovered later that Mrs. R. didn’t know her staff very well. There was more than one nurse who told me they didn’t have any problem with Daddy. Undoubtedly, they had a more professional and caring heart about them than their administrator did.

After Daddy got better, but still sometimes accused the staff of stealing something, Mrs. R. would say “There he goes again!” According to her, there wasn’t anyone else in her nursing home that was as bad as Daddy.

Whenever I would go see her about something where the nursing home was at fault, she would always do one of two things. She would either just sit there and look at me or she would say “You’re free to take him somewhere else if you’re not happy with him being here.” Not one time did she every say the words “I’m sorry”. It was different with the assistant-administrator and the social worker. They seemed to at least have some compassion.

During the time that Daddy was experiencing his manic highs, I really wanted to go off on Mrs. R. and tell her exactly what I thought of her. Probably the only reason that I didn’t was because a close friend cautioned me about trying to get along with her for Daddy’s sake. Now that he’s gone, what’s stopping me? If that woman had went through the motions of expressing her so-called sympathy, that might have been my breaking point. I really would love to ask her why she would start showing concern now.

While sharing this post with you, I’ve begun to realize that I have more anger than I thought. While writing this, I wondered what good does all this anger do for me? Once again I need to remind myself that anger is a part of the grieving process and needs to be worked through in order to heal properly. Even without the grieving part, anger is still part of being human and needs to be properly dealt with.

When I begun writing this, the anger was like a spark within me. Now, it feels more like a fire beginning to blaze.

The Key

I wrote this sometime around 2005 after the breakup of a very good friendship:

There was a beautiful wooden door with a shiny brass plate that said “Friendship”. We both had a key. I may never have touched the door, much less unlocked it. Then, one day, you used your key, opened the door and invited me in.

A whole new world was behind that door for me. A person with no close friends, over time, found the best one he ever had. We shared our mutual interests. We shared our thoughts and feelings. Never having to worry about others finding out. We laughed a lot and cried, too. We ate out with others and by ourselves.

As time went by, I became more emotionally attached. I thought I had to be with you. If I couldn’t see you, at least I could call. When we weren’t together, it felt like a part of me was missing. When we were apart, I thought of you constantly. Weren’t my feelings normal for someone I felt so close to? You are a beautiful lady, both inside and out.

I knew this could go no further. A friendship was all it could ever be. You had definitely told me that. Yet, my feelings for you continued to grow. They had become almost too much. After a difficult struggle within myself, I decided it was time to start cutting the emotional bonds that I had become entangled with.

I gave you my key and started to tell you I may be back for it one day. After giving it some thought, I knew this friendship didn’t need to go back to the way it was. I said,

“The key is yours, I won’t be back for it.”

As I started to leave, I opened the door, and turned to face you. I said, “Goodbye, my friend. It’s been a wonderful five years.” I then walked out and closed the door on our friendship.

As I walked down the path, I heard you lock the door. A tear ran down my cheek….