Beware the Walking Wounded

It's the vulnerability of the wounded soul that is attractive. The hint that we can help and will reap the reward of this fantastic individual's greatness that is, we are told, momentairily overshadowed by a deep unhealed rend. For in every other way they are okay--maybe even fantastic. They are charming, beautiful, intelligent and a whole host of outstanding qualities that make the wound seem out of place.

We learn to love the person around the wound. Sometimes it is as though they are whole, and those are wonderful moments. Moments that keep us going for days, months, years, decades to come. Moments recalled as we sit dumbfounded in pain. How could someone who loves us so much hurt us so badly? So intentionally? So maliciously?

"What did I do?" becomes the question. Surely we must have caused this, inadvertantly salted the wound. And they are quick to agree, "It's not me, it's you", sometimes said so smoothly we hardly notice the prick. We walk upon eggshells, we cater, we go above, we go beyond, we get angry, and sometimes we go mad. Crazy. Trying to reignite the warmth of the lover, for the cold and barren place within their wound is such that most of us have never experienced.

There is a vampire like quality to this love. They are cold. We are warm. They draw the life out of us and into themselves. We emerge anemic, disoriented, harmed. They are energized, full of vitality (our vitality). Temporairily. For it is not theirs to keep, only consume. And that is how they survive.

When this person wants you, you are both prey and muse. A symbol of what they want and want to be, elevated above all others. But you are never "you". They have an infantile view of loved ones as extensions of themselves and they react to your departure as a betrayal.

Sometimes it takes a while to understand the dynamic. Our soul was not meant to sustain two. And the wound that they alternately hide and flaunt is not a wound, but a void. Like a black hole, it draws into itself and obliterates what it consumes. To feed it is to make it hungrier. To feed it is to waste the precious gift of our own soul.

Once you have transfused with this person a trace of them stays with you forever--To your benefit, because the memory will act as your alarm system. You will feel it in your gut, perhaps taste it as bile in your mouth. They will see the door of opportunity shut and move on as if you suddenly blended completely into the landscape. Neutrality is repellant.

Because what you know is that wounds don't heal from the outside in but from the inside out. And no amount of love, sex, money, religion, or adulation packed into that wound will ever do--such things will only become contaminated by the festering underneath. To heal a physical wound, nurture the body. To heal a psychological wound, nurture the soul. Take it into you, chew it, process it, let it become a part of you and rebuke the infection. Go forth whole.

originally written Wednesday, July 1, 2009 at 10:21pm

Parenting, Puberty, and the Autism Spectrum

My precious, precocious, oldest daughter has a diagnosis of PDD-NOS, Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. "The pervasive developmental disorders, or autism spectrum disorders, range from a severe form, called autistic disorder, to a milder form, Asperger syndrome. If a child has symptoms of either of these disorders, but does not meet the specific criteria for either, the diagnosis is called pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS)." Which, diagnostically, trumps her ADHD diagnosis although the two conditions can co-exist.

Just to look at her you'd not expect much different from your typical preteen. Her IQ is a little above average and she makes good grades in school. She's friendly and polite. She is healthy. She has very few "glaring" symptoms. Rather she has a range of symptoms that, depending how stressed she is, present as behavior that is quirky, odd, immature, or uncooperative. I do not mind my child being quirky. That runs in the family. The challenge for me is to keep in mind that she isn't "just" odd, immature, or uncooperative--important to remember especially when she's driving me nuts. She percieves the world a little differently. Traditional guidance/discipline (such as the universal "parental glare of disapproval") often doesn't have the desired result.
At age 11 1/2, she is very tall and clearly entering puberty with all of the usual hormonal repercussions. I had allowed myself to put the PDD-NOS on the back burner. With a high conflict divorce there was always some fire to put out in therapy. Plus there has been a social skills ebb and flow; she will be noticeably behind peers, then the gap will almost close to within normal range (as it did for most of 5th grade). A few months ago my daughter expressed her fears of managing socially in middle school--concerns echoed by her therapist--and PDD-NOS was back on the radar. Social issues are a hallmark of this disorder, as if middle school wasn't already social torture. And I realized we had been cruising along on my understanding of autism in young children. Adolescence is a different racket. And I have some homework to do.


One of the BEST information sites for Autism Spectrum disorders that I have found is from the National Institute of Mental Health. Click here to view.

A Weekend With Dad

This past weekend Neat Guy and I traveled to IL to see my father. The guys wanted to meet each other. When your father is 82 and having memory issues you feel a sense of urgency about these things. Dad recieved a provisional diagnosis of Vascular Dementia last month. At the time of diagnosis he was in pretty bad shape. Now he's been on medications for about a month and has stabilized...fairly well...Well enough to refuse to attend the neurology and psychiatry appointments his PCP arranged. "I worked in neurology for 5 years!" bellows my father, a retired neuropsychologist/farmer. "What are they going to tell me about myself that I don't already know? And they want money up front!"
Dad and Neat Guy hit it off. We talked and laughed for the entire 3 days. Neat Guy enjoyed the fatherly Q&A thus earning himself the honor of being the only man my sister or I have dated that my father has actually liked.
The first day we went to the family farm. Dad tinkered with his riding lawn mower, then used the wiley old farmer tactic of asking Neat Guy to test it out. Next thing I knew my boyfriend had mowed the entire property and Dad was grinning from ear to ear. We ate at Dairy Queen every day. DQ is Dad's favorite restaruant, perhaps because he is diabetic. One day he ate 2 large Blizzards and an ice cream cone. Another day Dad shuffled to the Walmart checkout with his prescriptions and beer. He swore it was non-alcoholic. It wasn't. He attempted to look surprised, then elected to make the best of things and enjoy a couple anyway. Damn the Rx warning labels! This is classic Dad. And this is why I fondly refer to him as "the Geriatric Delinquent".
Aphasia was his most obvious symptom. Second to that was apathy. He said several times he has "no ambition". He struggles to recall how to operate convenience machines: his computer, the tv remotes, the air conditioning thermostat. He forgot I was there last month. He doesn't feel safe behind the wheel of a car. He feels physically weak. But he answers phone calls with his characteristic deep "HELLO!!". And he still tells stories that have me laughing until I can barely breathe. He remembers back country roads spanning multiple counties. He worries about his farm cat. He bitches about my habit of placing a hand inside the steering wheel to make turns. He hangs his laundry out to dry because he likes the smell of the sun in his clothes. With a contemplative look and a wave of his hand he says, "As long as I can look around me and see beautiful things in nature, people enjoying themselves, I'm okay. I want to be here."