Solitude

Since my wife drowned, as I’ve struggled to deal as a grieving spouse with the nooks and crannies of anger, sadness, and countless other emotions, it’s felt like a cocoon of friendly support had protected me.

Friends, family members, colleagues at work, all checked in the see what I needed, how I was doing, their concern for me evident and appreciated.

In an ever-changing world of dynamic relationships, I knew that some of these connections would fray and snap over time, like a rope tether valiantly mooring a small boat in high seas.

Many of the relationships were extensions of Lisa’s friendships, where by some transitive property the groom (or bride) gets to the inner circle of likable new people. Mainly, if they liked my wife, and I liked my wife, we had that, and generally other things in common.

Nearly eighteen months after Lisa’s death, the fraying is in full swing. Some drifted away slowly, like a fog hugging the ground as it moved through a dell. Several broke quickly after what I can only guess was a suitable number of days/weeks of manning the line before moving on to more pressing needs.

You begin to see the groups less, me standing alone among the couples, conspicuous as Long John Silver and his peg leg amidst the gaggles, group, and gangs. I’m different now, and in the country, different can be uneasy.

Making new connections can be challenging given two known pieces of data: I have a big job with little free time, and I’m a practicing introvert. I could go pro, but the travel schedule is crushing.

I’ve tried some online dating websites and I’m surprisingly hurt by the rejections, ignoring, and dismissiveness of the genre. Why do you view me and then quickly click away? My email commenting on our 90%+ match rate is read and discarded, thrown on the electron trash heap with all the others.

And so it goes, and so it’s gone. Maybe it’s the baldness, or my short stature, or my advanced age of 50. Perhaps it’s my widower status that keeps potential mates at a distance. Maybe I come off as a jerk, or aloof, hard to relate to in that two-dimensional place.

Maybe I’m not what women are looking for. If so, the solitude could be protracted.

Don’t lose your spouse, and certainly don’t allow it to be unexpectantly. There’s no a single good thing that comes out of it. Not one.

Just solitude.

Death doesn’t take a holiday

Just when I thought I was out….anxiety pulled me back in.

It’s been over a year since my last post here. I had exited therapy some time ago and was making decent progress in dealing with panic and irrational fear. Highly functioning for the first time in years, things were looking up.

In therapy, my doctor had worked extensively to drive home two main points. First, rather than trying to anticipate and control every possible scenario in a futile attempt to impose safety, my energy should be better spent developing tools to deal with events when they occurred. Second, understand that even though I had a rocky history involving trauma and loss, the worst doesn’t always happen, so don’t anticipate that it will.

Skeptical? You better believe it. But her advice was sound, and it made a real difference for a long time.

August 2010, on our second day of vacation in North Carolina, my wife drowned in the ocean. It was starting to get dark so we prepared to leave, and she said that she was going to catch one more wave. Two minutes became five, then ten. Frantic searching was unsuccessful. 911 was called and rescue teams screamed to the beach, already notified of an apparent cardiac arrest.

Two people, a father and son, had been walking far down the beach and had found my wife floating, lifeless. Paramedics told me she was already cold by the time they got to her. They were very sorry for my loss.

My oldest son was with me, but my daughter had taken my ten year old son back to the beach house when things got frantic. I stumbled back to the rental property and told them Lisa was gone.

It was agonizing. I couldn’t sleep or eat. I had to wait for her body to be released by the medical examiner, then travel to a local funeral home to arrange for the return of her body. I had to make many phone calls to friends and family, including Lisa’s parents.

The worst doesn’t always happen. For me, that’s not true, as has been proven countless times.

The last ten months have been spent holding the family together, and administering my wife’s estate. It’s excruciating. After years of being told that it’s not my responsibility to always look after others, I’m right back in the role I despise.

My young son struggles, as we all do, but he’s already challenged with moderate-to-severe ADHD, and this provides additional burden for him. He’s demonstrating significant anxiety responses of his own, and we’re both seeing the same psychiatrist. She’s been great. But another generation of my family has suffered great trauma. I had hoped the chain would break with me.

Lisa wasn’t there for the first day of school, or Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. We did the best that we could, but it was miserable. January would have been our 13th wedding anniversary, April her 46th birthday. Mother’s Day was difficult, teary, and hollow.

We’re coming up on the 1st anniversary of her death, and I’m not sure what that will be like. Sad and lonely certainly. But what else?

We were going to grow old together, be wonderful grandparents, travel to new places, make a difference in areas we cared about. And now she’s gone and that won’t happen. What do I do with that?

I feel like a psychological Sisyphus, rolling an anxiety bolder up the hill, sweating and grunting, doing the hard work to take me to the pinnacle, only to have the stone return to the bottom yet again. And now my young son has a boulder of his own.

So I’m back. I’d like to say it’s good to see you all again, but that’s not true.

Damn it all the hell.

Am I Cold, or Sad?

Henry Wordsworth Longfellow was once quoted as saying, “Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”

I’ve been thinking about that quote lately, as the world has grown topsy-turvy and I find myself in an unsafe place. One of my defense mechanisms is to withdraw, like one of those potato bugs that curls into a ball at the first sign of danger, its hard outer shell offering a modicum of protection from the harsh reality of nature.

But the potato bug is small, and the world is very big. A threat of any consequence would easily overcome the tiny armored exterior. If nothing else, the insect could be completely crushed, smashed flat by an attacker.

That reality doesn’t stop the potato bug from curling up when danger lurks. Maybe it’s just one way for the bug to make it from day to day, confident that the instinctive reaction repels the enemy every time, until of course it doesn’t, but then the potato bug would be dead, you see, and the whole point would become moot, at least to the potato bug.

Getting back to me for a moment – when I’m feeling unsafe, or unsure, and I retreat, do people think I’m cold? Unapproachable? Distant? Aloof?

Maybe. Probably not those who know me well, and that’s admittedly a rather small group. Potato bugs don’t show their vulnerable underbelly unless they have to. But do I care about everyone else? And if the answer is “no”, does that make me less human? I don’t think it does. But if I had all the answers, I wouldn’t be sitting here in the shadows, typing black letters on a white screen.

Maybe it’s the difference between being detached and dejected, or separated and sorrowful. I’ve never been a “misery loves company” kind of guy, so it stands to reason that dysphoria could often be mistaken for distance. I take a pill for that. Maybe it’s time for a new pill?

I don’t know. I should probably ask about that the next time I see my doctor.

I’m not cold.

Fear and Bad Behavior

Seth Godin, on fear:

Bad behavior and irrational decisions are almost always caused by fear. If you want to change the behavior, address the fear.

And yet we don’t.

Instead, we impose an embargo or throw someone in prison. We put a letter in the permanent file or put the employee on a performance improvement plan. We walk away from a prospect or blame a lack of sales on our advertising.

“What are you afraid of?” is not just a great line for a movie trailer. It’s a shortcut in understanding what motivates.

Chill the F*** Out

Coping with anxiety can often be a staid, tiring endeavor, and it helps to occasionally take a lighter approach. To that end, I give you this entry from one of my favorite blogs, Dear Coke Talk.

A woman writes in lamenting about her new boyfriend and some of the feelings that she’s experiencing.

My boyfriend and I are in what I suppose would be considered a “serious relationship.” I don’t date a lot, only had one other “real” relationship and it was a joke compared to what I have now. I have never felt better about myself, what I’m doing in my life, or where my life is headed. Even though I’m a college senior and about to jump into a life of uncertainty when I’m a person who hates change, I’m excited about what will happen to me and to us.

And:

Is it egotistical of me to think that after three months of a relationship he’s seriously considering our future together? After all, we talk about how we would raise kids and even looked at engagement rings (in what I thought was just a goofy moment).

Pretty typical stuff, right? And those of us with anxiety issues should immediately recognize a key phrase used by the reader. Did you spot it?

Dear Coke Talk did:

Okay, I need to read between the lines for a second. When you say “I’m a person who hates change,” what you really mean is “I’m a magnificent control freak.”

Also, when you say “I’m excited about what will happen to me,” what you really mean is “I’m terrified of the gigantic spinning fireball known as adulthood hurtling toward me at incredible speed.”

I point this out because it’s key to what’s going on here. You’re anxious about the future, and all of this silly flirtation with notions of marriage is merely is a coping mechanism for dealing with your crippling fear of uncertainty.

Bingo!

The rest of her response is equally precious. This passage stands out:

I know I’m stepping outside the boundary of the question here, but this next bit of advice doesn’t just apply to your relationship: don’t be in such a rush to play it so damned safe.

I know you can’t wait to be a music teacher and a stay-at-home mom, but why not start a fucking band first? You’ve got your whole life to drive minivans and vote for Sarah Palin. Go do something wild before settling down.

Go conquer your fear of uncertainty. Go spend some time experimenting with the human condition. Go have your own personal rumspringa and only come back when you know you’re ready.

Come on, you’ve got the soul of an artist. I don’t want you to regret not having any crazy stories to tell your grandkids.

Good advice for us all.

Men and Women Differ Under Threat

Perhaps there’s more to this “fight or flight” thing than originally thought:

When we’re under immediate stress—say, we are about to give a speech or about to be mugged—we either fight or flee, or so scientists have long preached. But some psychologists are now suggesting that this scenario may apply mainly to males. Men get antisocial under pressure, but women tend to react in the opposite way: they “tend and befriend,” engaging in nurturing and social networking, perhaps as a way to protect their offspring, according to a theory proffered by neuroscientist Shelley Taylor of the University of California, Los Angeles. Here at the Cognitive Neuroscience Society 2010 annual meeting, psychologist Mara Mather of the University of Southern California presented powerful new support for Taylor’s hypothesis in the divergent ways that stressed men and women respond to faces.

So men withdraw and women bond? That would certainly explain many things I’ve experienced over the course of my life.

Full article at Scientific American.

All My Life’s a Circle

Hey, semi-loyal readers. It’s been awhile.

I’ve been spending time being sarcastic and funny on my other site for several months, but I’ve returned to KnowFear for a simple reason.

I’m back in therapy – this time with a psychiatrist instead of a psychologist – hoping to make it up another level on the terrace of healing. Nothing like having lofty goals, right?

All of which reminds me of the lyrics to an old Harry Chapin song, suitable since Harry won’t be having any new songs:

All my life’s a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.

All my life’s a circle;
But I can’t tell you why;
Season’s spinning round again;
The years keep rollin’ by.

It seems like I’ve been here before;
I can’t remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we’ll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There’s no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

I’d been doing pretty well for a bit. Highly functional, I believe is the term, the moniker both descriptive and low-balling at the same time. But I’d developed some hitches in my giddy-up and thought it was time for someone who knew what they were doing to take a peek under the hood before I use too much torque and snap off a bolt.

The issues? Falling out of regular practice with my tools, because I get lazy when things go well for a bit until I’m reminded that the Soapbox Derby car only has momentum until it reaches the bottom of the hill. Then what?

Home issues have presented themselves as we attempt to balance a super-smart nine year old son with moderate-to-severe ADHD with a father dealing with anxiety problems and a mom with her own ADHD-driven challenges. There are just times when we’re all takers at the same time, when normally there’s a good balance within the triangle. What the heck is one supposed to do about that?

The good news is that spring has sprung. The trees (mostly) have buds sprouting, and we’ll be greening up nicely in the next couple of weeks. Spring is usually my mental rebirth after months of cold and gray, a period I long ago christened The Dark Ages. Seasonal Affective Disorder? Please.

I’m not sure how often I’ll write, or what topics will rise to the top of the pile. I’m leery of becoming a lamenter, worried that anything I might bring to the party might be either over-done or trite. But I’ll let the comments be my guide. I do read them all, you know.

The Anxiety Lamp is lit. Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em.

Image via Wikimedia Commons

A Gene for Anxiety, Depression, and PTSD?

I’ve often wondered why some people are tormented by anxiety and depression while others are not, and how having parents with similar afflictions seems to translate into higher incidence among family members.

Phillip M. Newton, Ph.D., writing in Psychology Today, takes a look at the science behind FK506 binding protein number 5, which might hold the genetic explanation that’s long been assumed.

FKBP5 is part of the body’s stress-sensing system, and this system responds to stress by releasing the hormone cortisol which drives the biological response to stress stimulus. If the FKBP5 gene is slightly altered from person to person, that might explain the hyper-reactive response common to anxiety and PTSD sufferers.

Certainly, slight variations in the FKBP5 gene could account for part of our problem, but what about environmental factors – the other half of the nature vs. nuture formula?

Research around FKBP5 specifically has shown that history of child abuse shows correlation to later development of PTSD. From the article:

Researchers at Emory University, led by Kerry Ressler M.D. Ph.D, have identified four variants of the FKBP5 gene that are more commonly found in people who suffer from posttraumatic stress disorder. Many unfortunate factors contribute toward the development of posttraumatic stress disorder, with a history of child abuse being one of the most significant. Importantly, the genetic variants of FKBP5 are found in PTSD patients with a history of child abuse, but not PTSD patients who do not have a history of child abuse, suggesting a gene- environment interaction during childhood that can predict the development of posttraumatic stress disorder.

As more research develops on the genetic make-up of anxiety disorders, perhaps we’ll see the resulting data used as part of a gene-therapy approach to treatment in the coming years.

Childhood Anxiety Can Start Early

As an adult with anxiety challenges, I’ve often wondered at what point in my life I climbed aboard the anxiety train.

A new study published in the Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry posits that up to 15% of preschool children may have “atypically high depression and anxiety levels”, a number that I find statistically significant and somewhat surprising.

What wasn’t surprising was the genetic aspect of childhood anxiety documented. Children with high levels of anxiety and depression are more likely to have mothers who suffer from depression.

The study revealed that children as young as a year old demonstrate indications of higher risk. Given how quickly kids develop in that first year, it makes sense to think that the genetic similarities might come into play, but for me, it raises questions around environmental factors too.

The concept of preventative intervention in very young children with significant risk factors might be a good way to address core issues before they have a chance to lead to atypical behaviors and suffering. It will be interesting to see where the research eventually leads.

Anxiety Insights link

Evolution and Depression

Scientific American takes a look at depression from a different perspective in asking if perhaps it’s the result of an evolutionary process that’s more helpful than harmful.

The authors posit that our brains play an important role in survival and reproduction, and therefore they should be resistant to high rates of malfunction. Most mental illness is rare, except for depression. Why is that?

One possible answer is that depression isn’t a disorder at all, but rather an adaptation that brings both costs and benefits.

Here’s an example:

So what could be so useful about depression? Depressed people often think intensely about their problems. These thoughts are called ruminations; they are persistent and depressed people have difficulty thinking about anything else. Numerous studies have also shown that this thinking style is often highly analytical. They dwell on a complex problem, breaking it down into smaller components, which are considered one at a time.

Without completing restating the entire article here, the main point being articulated is that depression is nature’s way of letting you know that you have some complex social problems to solve, and that your brain is actively engaged in seeking those solutions. And rather than attempting to stop depressive ruminations, therapists would be wise to encourage them in an attempt to find the answers to the problems causing the bouts of depression in the first place.

If you’ve suffered from depressive episodes, I’d like your thoughts on this concept. Does this ring true for you?

Link , via Scientific American