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Losing Myself

Posted on January 15, 2015 by jenny

From my journal: Friday

Don’t even know how to start. When I got to Karen’s I thought I’d cry a lot. Also thought of getting on the bed and kicking and pounding. I probably should have done that. I’m not angry, but I did feel a lot of confused energy. Now I see that I have to move the energy. It would have been a good idea to move my body. Maybe I can walk today, or go to Neskaya to dance. At least it’s warmer.

Talking to Karen it became clear that I’d lost myself. I’d rushed out to help Damien, to take care of Marko, to help Lynelle —— and left myself behind. I woke up confused and lost, I had trouble writing here because of a friend who stayed the night, and then Lynelle called to say her apartment wasn’t getting warm. I freaked out as I used to do in the old days. There was too much I was juggling and this was a last straw. I called Irving, actually the guys came fairly quickly, and fixed it.

Karen wanted to know how I could find Jenny, how I could reconnect with her. When I tried, I got old voices telling me Jenny wasn’t important. I can feel them now — “Jenny’s not worth taking care of.” That’s why it’s so easy to spend my energy on something outside me, and so hard to come back and do the daily chores that support my life. O gosh, I think about it, struggling against the cold wind of my lack of value, and I just want to lie down and die. the grey one, who is protecting me from mother, is making it impossible to have my real life.

I am right in the middle of the conflict/double-bind that’s at the roots of my life. It looks much too hard. I can’t possibly do it. I want to die.

Mother wanted me to die — well, she didn’t put it that clearly — she just wanted me to not be there, not to need her. She wasn’t at all prepared for the demands of a baby, and my father was away at World War II. It’s like when she said of Daddy as he was dying “if he just stopped being fed…”

I simply can’t do what’s good for me at Lynelle’s expense. I just can’t. I don’t know if it’s conditioning or free choice. Am I a good person or just a traumatized one. All the injunctions so deeply driven in: “Don’t think you’re so great,” “Don’t show off,” “you don’t deserve…” “You’re not worth spending time & energy on,” etc. — that last one was not so much said as enacted. Actually a lot of them were enacted, didn’t become verbal until I started paying attention. The verbal is just an expression of the felt sense which is non-verbal.

Saturday

So now I’m up with a cup of tea and wishing someone would take care of me. When my friend was here, she took up too much space and there was no room for Jenny. Now there’s room for Jenny, Jenny who isn’t worth taking care of. I have to cook rice this morning and it feels like a huge chore. I have to/want to fill the big bird feeder, but I’m too tired.

I think I’m trapped in the frozen baby.

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“Not Worth Taking Care Of”

Posted on January 14, 2015 by jenny

Entries from my journal for early January:

Monday

I was typing the entry for December 1, where I had talked about not telling someone outside the shop that their car lights were on, and not picking up a hitch-hiker, and I added a comment: “Typing this up I see the pattern. I was truly too tired to do those extra things, but one of the injunctions from my childhood was that it was very wrong not to sacrifice myself for someone else’s welfare. Not OK to take care of myself at someone else’s expense. I also see another belief Mother taught me: “You don’t care about something if you don’t do something about it.” She often said “You don’t care about me,” if I wouldn’t do what she wanted. It was only much later, in a confrontation with my ex-husband, that I realized that it’s perfectly possible to care very much about something, and not be able to do anything about it.

Tuesday

A lot of early stuff has been triggered by taking on Marko. Marko is a small dog whose owner was dying, and his sister asked me to keep him until she could find someone to take him. “That twilight feeling” and seeing my life stretch into greyness ahead of me. Feeling like it’s too hard to keep going. Feeling like there’s no purpose or meaning in my life now. Wishing I could die soon. Seeing how my ability to take care of myself — especially in the realm of exercise — has degenerated. I haven’t gone out on my own in quite a while. The weather has been a problem too. I’ve lost whatever energy I had for the clay project and the Little Books project. I wrote a description for a Writers’ group and a couple of discussion groups, but I’ve lost my energy for that.

Wednesday

Hard to get up again this morning, despite the good session with Erica and a good talk with Eve. In fact I’m feeling bleak and grey right now. And then disappointed in myself. When I left Erica, I had more clarity. I even enjoyed the countryside when I drove home.

But today I’m back in the grey confusion. My head feels swollen. At least I’m not nauseous. I remind myself that the grey part of me is trying to protect me from mother’s “wrath.” That’s the word Erica used. I would have thought she was exaggerating before I knew how a parent’s emotions can be huge to a child. “Wrath” is the right word, because if Mom got angry, she might throw me away and that’s terrifying.

The fear of doing wrong and being — what? — the infant has no words or concept of death. The best I can do is the series “worthless-and-rotten-and-should-be-dead” and “sent back to Sears & Roebucks,” which are essentially trying to verbalize a “felt sense.”

Looked up in BVDK about the styles of dysfunctional attachment. “Disorganized attachment” is where the caretaker is a source of fear for the child. It’s the double-bind that Erica talked about: I can lose myself by being what Mom wants me to be, or I can lose myself by being who I really am, and then Mom, who is necessary to my survival, will leave or throw me away. So I end up in the grey world of terror and depression. This stuff is very hard to write down because it happened when I was non-verbal.

Being afraid of mother reminds me of that time when I was in therapy with Sheila back in the 70’s. She got me regressed, sitting on the floor with my eyes closed. Then she moved a cushion across the rug saying “This is your mother.” My body scrambled to get away from “mother” before my brain was able to think. I remember being very surprised. I knew I didn’t respect mother, but I didn’t think I feared her. I puzzled over this event, didn’t know what to make of it. Years later, when I learned about the physiology of trauma, I understood. It’s the same reason a Veteran’s body jumps behind a couch before his brain registers “that’s a backfire in the street.”

Understanding what I was up against gives me a lot more respect for my struggle, and appreciation for why it’s so hard to make art when I don’t have moral support. Erica said we were working down at the roots. “You’re right in the middle of the pain of that little girl.”

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Epiphany

Posted on January 6, 2015 by jenny

When I worked in a Planetarium, we did a “Christmas Star” show in December. Among different ideas such as a comet, a nova, or a conjunction of planets so close that they might have looked like one very bright star, we also talked about the triple conjunction of Jupiter, Saturn and Mars in Pisces in 7BC. It was discovered by Johannes Kepler in 1614. Kepler was also the person who showed that the orbits of the planets were not circular but ellipses, and that in turn paved the way for Isaac Newton to formulate the law of gravity. In some ways Kepler was the last of the medievals and the first of the moderns. Kepler also determined that Jesus was born in 4BC. I was very interested to find this confirmed by John Dominic Crossan using different information.

“Triple conjunction” refers to the movements of Jupiter and Saturn. They were in opposition, i.e. on the opposite side of the earth from the sun. This means that they were at their brightest, and also that they went “retrograde,” that is that they went backward from their usual movement. “Retrograde” actually describes the effect of the earth in its orbit, moving faster than the two outer planets, just as the train next to you appears to be going backwards as you pass by it. Jupiter moves faster than Saturn, so Jupiter would pass Saturn, making the first conjunction. Then both planets would turn retrograde, and Jupiter would pass Saturn again — second conjunction. The third conjunction happens when both planets go direct, as Jupiter, now behind Saturn, catches up and passes it again.

Babylonian astrologers would have observed the conjunction in 7BC. Once Jupiter and Saturn were direct, Mars came in and joined them. This planetary activity took place in Pisces, which to the astrologers signified the land of the Hebrews. It is not surprising that some of them might have traveled to Jerusalem to enquire about a “King of the Jews.” I find it highly unlikely that they would have been directed to the “stable,” which has no historical verification.

A number of years ago, as I was driving back from Montpelier a little after sunset, I saw the conjunction of Jupiter and Venus, which had been going on for a while, and the two planets had been joined by the crescent moon. This happened in 2008. I’m a modern person, with a degree in Astronomy, but those three objects blew me away. It was not hard to see them as spirit writing on the sky.

As we arrived in Advent this year, I thought again about the triple conjunction, and realized that the show in the planetarium, with little colored lights, bore about the same resemblance to the real sky as a picture of the sun does to the real sun. The real thing, in 7BC, must have been truly spectacular, like that view I had seen of Jupiter, Venus, and the crescent Moon.

Then, listening to the Carol of the Three Kings, the last verse struck me: The gifts were three: gold, frankincense and myrrh, the names of the Christ were three: “Glorious now, behold him arise, King and God and Sacrifice…” the planets were three: Jupiter – King, Saturn – God, Mars – knife, blood, sacrifice. I think the story is not a tale of three Kings, bearing gifts to a baby in a stable, but a memory of three planets announcing the birth of a very important being, the Avatar of the Piscean Age.

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Selective Amnesia

Posted on December 18, 2014 by jenny

At the end of our recent therapy session Erica said that the episode with Damien was a healing experience. She said why that was so, and I remember thinking I should write it down, but it seemed too complicated to get my pen and clipboard, so I forgot it. I wonder about the amnesia, that I wasn’t able to hold on to what she said. I wonder if that’s often happened when people have said good things to me and that’s why my old narrow stingy self-image is still with me. I haven’t been able to update it.

I also discovered, not so many years ago, that I had been “disappearing” all the nasty things mother said to me. Like a child who can’t afford to believe that their parent could be cruel, and has to make it that they deserved it, I would come up with an excuse and/or just forget it. I also remember my ex-husband saying he wanted to hit my father for saying something unflattering about me. I hadn’t noticed it, probably because I was so used to it, or maybe it was the same amnesia.

It was less than 20 years ago that I discovered this mechanism through the “Colonial Dames” incident. We were sitting on the front porch of our house at Biddeford Pool: Mom, my sister Jo, her friend Weezie, and me. Mother and Weezie were talking about the “Colonial Dames,” a high society women’s organization they both belong to. I was watching the discussion and glad that Mom had something that really interested her. Suddenly Mom turned on me and said in her nastiest voice “Of course you wouldn’t care about the Colonial Dames.” I felt like she had thrown a dagger into my open heart. At first I thought I had looked patronizing, that that’s how my gladness for Mom looked on my face. Later that day I wrote about the incident in my journal. The next day I read my journal and was confused — did that really happen? I asked Jo, and she said yes, it did. I saw that when Mother said nasty things to me I just disappeared them. No wonder they always seemed to come out of left field. After that I knew that I had to protect myself from Mother, not give her a target.

Much later, I realized that I hadn’t looked patronizing, I was trying to excuse Mom, another part of the pattern. I also thought that I could have said “It’s true I don’t care about the Colonial Dames, but I’m glad you have something you enjoy.” But then I realized that that wouldn’t have satisfied Mom. Nothing other than me joining the Colonial Dames. I also notice, from this distance, that my mother didn’t attack my sister, only me.

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Conversation with Jesus

Posted on December 17, 2014 by jenny

My take on Jesus is that he is no more the “Son of God” than any of us, that we are all children of god. It doesn’t matter to me whether the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection are true or false. I’m sure this world contains many things that don’t fit in our Western culture’s limited world view. It would not surprise me if there were many virgins who gave birth and many people who rose from the dead. I don’t believe every word that was put in Jesus’ mouth by the gospels, I know they were coming from a particular political take of the early church. On the other hand, I’m sure he was a very great human being, that he brought a message of forgiveness and the love of god for all of us. He did his best to help those who were outcast, sick, poor, crazy, whatever. He pointed out the hypocrisy of the wealthy who didn’t help the poor. He was very compassionate and very kind and very angry about injustice. He was crucified because he was a danger to the Empire. I do believe that cry from the cross “My god my god why hast thou forsaken me.” I can’t imagine someone who believed Jesus was the son of god making up those words. Once, when I was in a very painful place in my life, thinking of suicide, etc. I was at a friend’s house and there was a picture of Jesus, probably on the cross because his head was hanging to the side, and I realized that he knew the depths of human misery. He understood exactly what I was feeling. I can’t imagine any other god in all the pantheons who would know about that. They all sit on thrones up in the sky and are very holy. So Jesus has become a very important person in my life. Sometimes I call on him and he’s right there. Other times I don’t hear him, and I think that’s when there’s something closed in myself. Often he comes when I don’t really expect him.

Just had a conversation with Jesus. He heard my misery about failing with Damien, and that I had been trying to follow Jesus and maybe he was disappointed in me. He appeared next to me on the couch, looked at me with such kind eyes and told me I was forgiven. He reminded me that everything I did was motivated by wanting to help Damien. “I was trying to follow you, and I failed.” You did not “fail,” you just don’t have the resources that I have. “But didn’t you tell the disciples to heal just as you did?” They had been living and working with me. They had what they needed to heal others. “Can’t you just heal if you really want to?” That is an unfortunate notion of your control-obsessed culture. It’s true if you understand “really want” to be with your whole being, and also are able to let it go to the Healing Power.

Afterward I was thinking that it’s true that I wanted what was best for Damien, but that when I decided to take him, I left myself out of the equation. Sharon Salzberg shows how that’s a mistake, how we can’t do good for others if we don’t take care of ourselves.

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Expendables and Empire

Posted on December 16, 2014 by jenny

The Empire was characterized by an abysmal gulf separating the upper from the lower classes. On one side of that great divide were the Wealthy, who made up 1% of the population but owned at least half of the wealth. Also on that side were three other classes: the Politicians, who could own as much as 15% of the wealth; the Retainers ranging from military generals to expert bureaucrats; and the Merchants, who probably evolved upward from the lower classes but could end up with considerable wealth and political power. On the other side were, above all, the Workers, that vast majority of the population about two-thirds of whose annual income went to support the upper classes. If they were lucky, they lived at subsistence level, barely able to support family and social obligations, and have enough left over for emergencies. If they were not lucky, drought, debt, disease, or death forced them out of their jobs, their houses repossessed, and into unemployment, welfare or homelessness. This put them into the Degraded and Expendable classes — the former with origins, occupations, or conditions rendering them outcasts; the latter, maybe as much as 10% of the population, ranging from people working at jobs paying less than a livable wage and veterans with PTSD to drug addicts and beggars. Those Expendables existed, as that terrible title suggests, because the Empire usually contained more of the lower classes than the upper classes found it profitable to employ. Expendables were, in other words, a systemic necessity.

Does this sound familiar? The first time I read it, some years ago, it didn’t hit me with the same horror as it did today. This is actually a description of the Roman Empire in the first century AD, ancient terms suitably translated. It comes from a study by Gerhard Lenski, quoted by John Dominic Crossan, in Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography, p25.

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Not to Rescue, but to be Rescued

Posted on December 7, 2014 by jenny

I feel crashed, utterly felled, fallen into a deep dark hole by the decision to send Damien back. What’s most painful is seeing how I do have the skills to work with him and befriend him, what I don’t have is the ability to keep my life going while helping him. I thought I would be able to go on with some projects, dealing with checking accounts, finishing the booklet Pleiades, when the ink came. Well it came today, and I can’t do anything. All I can do is read books that are easy enough to keep my attention. I think that the gift that Damien gave me was being able to see how very difficult it is to keep any kind of a normal life going for myself. I need the help of Jane and Lana, I need more support than my friends can give me, just to get through the day. When something extra knocks me down, I completely collapse for a while. Eventually I pull myself together and go on. I’m usually very angry at myself that I can’t do it faster. I see how badly Damien has been damaged by a neglectful and abusive puppyhood. Neglect and abuse have pretty much robbed me of any kind of “normal” life. Unlike Damien I have friends, medication and therapy. Looking at the reality of my life, it seems amazing that I did anything at all. But I wrote a book, taught astronomy, was part of Journey into Courage, built and supported Neskaya. Those are astonishing achievements given what I was up against. Now I’m getting older, I have less energy, just getting through the day is getting harder. I’m not going to be able to do anything more with my life, not even rescue a dog. All I can do is keep getting through each day as best I can, and continuing my healing work.

Recently I fully accepted the knowledge that I am a good person. It gave me a foundation, a place to stand. I’ve lost that. When I fell apart last week, it was like the floor had been whipped out from under me. This thing with Damien has left me feeling like an utter failure. Shall I laugh or cry? Just a few sentences ago I was writing about my amazing achievements. But I’m seeing them from the bottom of the floor of the deep well that I periodically fall into. Both things are true of my life.

Instead of trying to rescue a dog with PTSD, I’m wondering about getting a dog trained to help people with PTSD. I saw a very moving video about a veteran and his dog. Imagining doing something that wonderful for myself is very difficult.

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Rescue Dog

Posted on December 1, 2014 by jenny

I brought Damien home a week ago. He mostly stays in his crate, but he does come out to eat, to drink, and to use his wee-wee pad. (I’m very grateful that he always pees exactly in the middle.) He’s not house-trained because he’s scared to go outside. His crate, food dishes, bed, and wee-wee pad are near each other in my bedroom. He spends most of his time in his crate. I tried spending time in the room with him, sitting on the floor and reading, but then he started staying in his crate all day, so I realized I was overwhelming him.

I’m pretty sure he has PTSD, that’s why he can be easily overwhelmed. He also startles when I make an unexpected move.

At his foster mother’s he slept on his bed in the living room. After a while, he discovered the kitchen and would go over when Karen was cooking. I found that when I was cooking, he would come out of the bedroom and as far as the step down which is a couple of feet from the door. It isn’t any higher than his bed at home, so I know he can come down it. I’ve tried enticing him twice, but he’s not ready yet. Lately, he’s been coming out to the edge of the step at various times. I’ve been rewarding him with a treat whenever he does that.

I didn’t realize, until I brought him home, how lack of physical contact would be very hard for me. He backs off if I try to touch him. His lack of response is also hard. He responds to treats, but not to me. The amount of pain I feel tells me this is a replay of being neglected by my mother and her lack of response to me. He, too, was neglected and possibly abused, so his actions can activate my own trauma. Yesterday I actually got very depressed. I began to think maybe it was a mistake to take on this very frightened dog.

I realize I haven’t felt that level of depression for a long time. It feels like even the most simple acts are too difficult, and why bother anyway. Also, my body feels like it’s full of some heavy grey substance that slows me down and darkens me. Luckily, I called a friend who was willing to listen to my misery and let me know she loves me. Another friend called and we got together for a cup of tea. These two events changed my day. I came out of the depression, like coming out of a dark place into daylight.

I also realized that Damien is depressed. One of the hardest things has been looking at Damien’s eyes and seeing the eyes of a soldier in Vietnam. The footage was part of the movie Dakota 38 in a section pointing out that depression is a common result of being in battle, watching people get killed. There’s a kind of blankness and deadness in the eyes.

My friend Elizabeth had told me about a Hawaiian healing practice, Ho’oponopono. I had heard the story of the therapist who cured an entire ward of the criminally insane by this process. It rests on the idea that we are not separate. If I see someone behaving badly, or suffering, or both, I try to identify the parts of myself that are like that. Then I speak to that part of myself saying “I love you… I’m sorry… Please forgive me… Thank you.” It was very easy to identify the parts of myself that are terrified and depressed. In fact it turned out to be very emotionally rich for me, even though I wasn’t sure what the words meant as I said them. I’ve been doing this several times a day, and trusting that it is making a difference.

Reading the material over again, I see that the therapist is looking for the part in himself that created the other one’s illness. I don’t see how I created Damien’s illness except insofar as we all are part of the energy field of PTSD. It still feels like what I’m doing is “real,” though I have yet to see that it’s making a difference for Damien. It is making a difference for me.

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Damien

Posted on November 20, 2014 by jenny

Saturday

I went to see Damien again, hoping that if he gets a little familiar with me, the transition to my house won’t be so hard. But it was a little disappointing. He was grumpy when I got there, possibly because I had to knock on the door and that set all the dogs off. He may have been triggered, not grumpy. But he’s really a scruffy little dog with skinny paws and clicking toenails. I remember Bella’s fluffy paws with a small ache.

I sit on the floor as I did last time, so as not to scare him. I’m also about four feet away. I toss a treat over near his bed and, hesitating a little, he comes out to get it. Then I put a treat a little nearer me and he comes for that too. Finally I did get him to come and eat from my hand. But he’s really not attractive.

His foster mother Karen told me one of her dogs started out fearful, but after she had worked with her for while she didn’t want to let her go, so she kept her. She’s also got attached to Damien, and is hoping he’ll find a better home with me. I’ll be able to spend a lot more time with him. I’m a little worried now, because I don’t really feel drawn to him at all. I had moments of fear in the pit of my stomach that I would have to say I can’t take him after all. I hope that will change. I hope that I will be able to help him learn and grow and come to have a more normal doggie life.

Sunday

Very mixed feelings about Damien. He’s ugly. Skinny bowed legs. Scruffy fur. Can’t imagine coming to love him. But I remember how Jo loved Biscuit, and she was an ugly little thing. She had character. I can’t tell if Damien has character. Karen said he had an “attitude.” I’m not sure I want a dog with “attitude.” Though I suppose you could say that Bella had “attitude.”

Well, I’m totally relaxed now, instead of terrified as I was yesterday. I don’t love Damien, but I don’t think I see enough to know who he really is, and that’s what I need to be able to love him. I feel a little more certain that love will come, than that it won’t.

I’ve been reading Rob Bell, reminded that Jesus came to the poor and outcast, to the ugly, and traumatized, and fearful. So this may be my part of Jesus’ work. Rescuing an unloved and damaged dog is no different than reclaiming a polluted river. It’s all a part of Tikkun Olam.

I’m all alone with Damien. Karen has gone out. He’s mostly on his bed, except when I put out treats. He’s looking much more attractive to me this morning, his eyes are softer. He’s also clear when he’s had enough. When he takes the treat from my hand, after being coaxed with several treats on the floor between us, he goes back to his bed. Then I ignore him for a while, reading Rob Bell, and then I put out more treats.

I got up to go to the bathroom, and while I was gone he came over to smell my bag and the other stuff I’ve left on the floor. When I came back out he retreated to his bed.

Monday

Painfully lonely. It’s hard waking up in a place with no people. No other living being. Funny thing, when I got home last night I missed Damien. I go to pick him up next Saturday. I’m hopeful, but trying not to have expectations. It make take him a while to feel safe in a new place.

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Taking Risks

Posted on November 10, 2014 by jenny

I always thought I was a coward, but reading Sue Monk Kidd, I saw that I’ve taken a lot of risks. I took those risks out of desperation. At one point, when someone was talking about getting out of their “comfort zone,” I realized that I’ve never had a comfort zone, except for rare and limited times. A lot of my life has been the struggle to find or create one.

In When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd talks about the spiritual journey, using the image of a cocoon. She talks about how you can do a lot initially, working on your stuff with will and intellect. But you can only get so far that way. I think of my work with Dr. Rankin, learning to look for triggers, and my ongoing work to monitor my thoughts and words. Then you come to a place where you can’t do any more. Now you have to let go and let it happen. Let God do it. I was unable to say “Thy will be done,” but I was given a mantra that worked for me at Kripalu: “I offer myself to this process.” Letting it happen requires the practice of patience, of listening, of allowing things to incubate in the soul. My therapist Karen helped a lot with reminding me of the process of “incubation” when I was feeling stuck.

“… having done all we can, we allow God to work directly on the more secret and deeply ingrained attachments we have to self. We allow God to release us through the experiences, encounters, and events that come to us.” p107 (italics in original) Certain intellectual processes have been really helpful for me. Learning to look for assumptions and data. Learning the symbolic language of dreams. Learning AA’s Twelve steps. I found step one: “admitted that I was powerless to change whatever I was struggling with, that my life was unmanageable,” to be very very useful. It helped me “let god do it,” although I wouldn’t have used that language. Learning about the physiology of trauma — it didn’t help me heal, but it did help me manage myself better.

I think it wasn’t until the trip with Bettie that I began to see the limitations of the intellect. The Seminar in Symbol and Myth my senior year was a big help too. It wasn’t until my “collision with California” that all my attempts to get what I wanted, or what I though I wanted, were blown to pieces. I desperately wanted a boyfriend, because I wanted someone to love me, because I thought if someone loved me that would prove I deserved to live. I hadn’t thought that out, I had just desperately wanted a boyfriend, but all my attempts ended in disaster.

Sue Monk Kidd talks about “mid-life crisis,” and how people’s lives have grown stale, and they feel a push toward something new and different, but did not dare risk their security. Looking back from this perspective, I see that I took a lot of risks. I risked moving to Claflin my junior year. I risked taking studio art even though told I’d get no credit because I hadn’t taken a history of art course. I risked planning a trip to Europe — looking back now I see how utterly foolish that was, but I was desperate, even though not knowing how desperate I was. I was so fortunate that Bettie wanted to go with me. It was out of desperation that I went to California, left Stanford, left Fred, followed Kathi to Davis, risked an affair with David, finally went home to Maine “with my tail between my legs,” an utter failure. That first year in Maine I was just trying to survive. Looking back, I don’t see that I had any security to go back to. A year “at home” with my parents taught me that.

I was fortunate in having enough money to not have to get a job. But not enough to feel secure. I bought a house and settled down in Brunswick and tried to make a life for myself. But there were times of terror, times of depression. I know now that if I’d had to work a 40-hour week, I’d have had a breakdown and had to be hospitalized. God knows what would have happened after that.

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