Re: (W2) Mental Histroy

One day my mother and I were discussing what I was like in grade school, she retold a story that my second grade teacher had told her in a parent teacher conference: "Well Nicholas has a unique personality, one day I saw him lying in the grass. I went over to see if he was ok, he looked over at me and said 'Oh...yeah, I am just meditating.' I asked 'What do you mean?' 'Oh, I am just looking up at the trees and trying to not think, it's called meditating." If I close my eyes and think about those trees, I can see them reach up to the sky and bow in the wind. Weather or not I was reaching out to myself in the years to come, I made a lasting memory.

As the years went on, I developed I different way of learning and achieve grades. I think it was more the text's lack of movement, then an actual distaste for reading; but I learned how to write book reports and answer questions on tests without really taking the time to read the book. Early on I could just look at the pictures and make up the story as I went. Then the teachers would read the information out in class. Third grade I had to start to rely on the information of kids that had actually read the books, I would take two or three people's responses of the book, cut out what did not line up and give my opinion on what was going on in the story.

It was my fifth grade social studies teacher that led to the discovery of my lower then average reading level. Some whole quizzes were straight from the book and I had no one to rely on for information, it was too dry for people to want to talk about. My sister, C, learned that I was having a hard time reading and she started to work at it with me. Really all she had to do was explain why it was necessary for me to read and encourage me when I did. C was more then my big sister, she was like a surrogate mother. I always wanted to make myself worthy of the unconditional love she had for me.

In seventh grade, I reached my reading level. It was then my world changed, my mother and sister T where treated for Cancer, and my sister M's son died of cancer. The words 'I love you' and hugs were appropriate for any family member going somewhere. A year later that proved to be the only thing that held me together. Dec 5th my sister had closed the back door to the house, I yelled 'Hey!' the door opened, the puzzled and saddened look on her face changed melted as soon as I said 'you left without giving me my hug.' We hugged and smiled. The next day she died of a blood clot, that had collapsed her lung.

Less then a week later I was in school again, but I had no set standards to live up to anymore. The only thing I tried to do was maintain a B average to keep from being lectured. I had lost the flavor of life and I was just living in an empty shell. My old group of friends went their own ways, there was still the occasional get together but nothing day to day. For the longest time I had no will to make new friends and when I did again, I did not really know how.

With nothing to focus my attention I started to learn what I wanted to know about things. I would ask questions about anything that flowed through my mind. After a while I enjoyed the negative attention I received from my classmates. Though I would have traded it away to be able to sit down and talk about mundane things, without knowing what it was to lose a loved one. Part of me wanted to be loved unconditionally, the other part wanted to be as far away from others; not to save myself from pain but to shield them. What if someone fell in love with me and I died?

Time continued on and I received an envelope with a catalog of events held by Lead America. The letter sent with it stated that I had been chosen based on my academic merit and seemed to be a key to a new life. I worked for eight months as a laborer to go to the conference. I earned the money with my bare hands, raking blueberries and splitting wood. I went to the Law and Trail Advocacy Conference; I made friends with people all over the country and I found out that I may have been the only one to work to get there. I built up my courage by making the best of the conference I worked for, I built up my confidence because of the friends I made. I tore apart a statistician in a mock trail and found a piece of myself.

With the new found courage and confidence, I acquired a girlfriend. The day before I started to run cross country I contracted mono from my girlfriend. I started to feel sick and tired, so I went to my family doctor. I asked for a blood test to be taken to see if I had mono, the doctor explained that he thought that I did not have mono and that I should come back if things got worse and he would take my blood. His reasoning sounded logical, I did have a large plate, so I continued to run. When the season was over I got really sick, I needed to sleep all the time and I was depressed. I went to a new doctor, because my old one had closed his doors. My symptoms and prior family illness, was sufficient to start on bipolar medication. My girlfriend dumped me because I was depressed all the time, this led to a further depression and I got worse and almost passed out in class. So I scheduled another meeting with my doctor and asked to be tested for mono. As it turned out I had had mono the entirety of my Cross country.

I went to college and continued to take the medication. Part way through my second semester I got really sick, all I could do was sleep and I would sweat in 34 degree weather. I suffered from muscle pains that sent me to the emergency room, each time I was turned away stating it as muscle strain. I failed two of my classes and withdrew from another. I did not want to go home so I stayed for the summer.

I was 19 and in Portland during the summer. I started to smoke pot with one of my friends. I could think again and it felt good. The mix of pot and my medication tore my brain to pieces. Then my reformed drug addict friend sat me down and said 'look at yourself, you can't even hold a full sentence. You are a lot better then this' I thought about it, he was right. I stopped smoking pot and I stopped taking the medication. I found a huge dept, some family issues and I decided home would be the best place to clean out.

I worked for a semester and then got back into school, this time while living at home. I started to work on the things that were effecting me. Then in April I went to take care of my father, the doctors had decided that they needed another family member to take care of his medication. It turned out that his living conditions were bad. My step mother was not well and their case worker was over worked at best. I saw every emotion that he went through as my step mother yelled at him and accused him of adultery.

It got to the point that my father said that he wanted to leave, within three hours we were out the door. The next day I made sure that he saw his brother and sister, because I knew that he would be moving to my sister house in Pennsylvania. After we met with his siblings we sat down and he started to cry about everything. He cried about the death of his parents, he cried about his brothers and sister's aliments, he cried about his divorce, he cried about my nephew, he cried about my sister. It was as though it had all just happened and all I could do was offer a listening ear and accept his grief.

I never wanted to have to live a moment like that. I refused to just leave my emotions unchecked until I have a mental breakdown. I started to search for how to deal with the emotions. In my search I read two books 'Dance of Anger' and 'Life After Loss' and I wrote an essay 'Dealing with Emotions'. The process trudged me through all the emotions that I had not dealt with, I wrote out everything that bothered me and if I had to cry I just let the tears flow down my cheeks as I wrote.

If there was anything that I learned through all of this tragedy is that it is part of life. I know when to cry and I know when to smile. Now all I have to do is learn patience and social skills; I guess I always did like to go from last to first. Meditation before critical thinking, book reports before reading, dealing with grief before social skills.

-NK