Thoughts

Obsessive thoughts have small needles. It’s hard for them to find a good vein, so they poke around in your chest or corners of your brain. They poke your arms and legs and eyes. Then, when they find their entry point, they inject themselves. They run rampant. They skip around, leaving footprints of mud all over your brand new carpet. Once they’re inside, they rule over the castle, the kingdom. They stay as long as they please. They have strict rules: never reason with them. Never try to show them to anyone else. They like to stay under the radar. Never try to kick them out. They stay as long as they please. Obsessive thoughts have a mean streak. They do not like to be rationalized. They stack their blocks and juggle their balls and dance and laugh and sing and boss everyone around. They invite their pets and their cousins from out west. They stay as long as they please. And then you stay up all night cleaning up their mess.

But I didn’t make that mess!

In my kindergarten class, when it’s time to clean up and I ask a student to help with a certain area, the most common response is, “But Mrs. Satterwhite I didn’t make that mess!” Six year olds want life to feel fair. I think maybe we all do. We feel indignation at the idea of being responsible for a mess we didn’t make.

Recently I have been wondering… what can I do with this mess that I didn’t make? When I choose to do something that I know will pull me away from being close to God, I know that the response is to turn back to God in humility and repentance. But what about when something I didn’t choose pulls me away? What if, like this year, the thing that makes me doubt and even sometimes despise God is depression? Depression takes away the possibility in a fragile mind that anything could be good. Even God. Doubting God’s goodness has pulled me far away from the close relationship I used to enjoy with God.

Here’s the part that I have been feeling confused about… when I have turned away from God and made a mess of my own life, an appropriate posture of my heart has been repentance… but what about when I didn’t make the mess? What about when the mess found me and I was a victim of the mess? Do I repent because I was depressed? Surely not.

Recently I brought this question to a friend. He nodded and sighed in understanding. He said, “it takes a great deal of humility to bring before God sin you didn’t choose.”

The answer had been right in front of me the whole time. When a kindergartener plays the blame game for a mess, I say “In our classroom we are a family. We are a unit. That means we all created the mess together. The mess belongs to each one of us. We all had a part in messing up this room.” We all have a part in the mess.

This time in my life is the most fully I have ever understood the difference between sins and Sin. The condition Sin…the mess we all have a part in making. The mess that was started in the garden of Eden. No, bipolar disorder is not my fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s the fault of the fall of Sin. Nobody chose it. And like my friend said, “it takes a great deal of humility to bring before God the sin you didn’t choose.”

“But God, I didn’t make this mess.” Unlike a kindergarten classroom, the world is such a mess that we can’t just work together to clean it up and then pack our bags and go to carpool. The good news is we don’t have to. All I need is the humility to bring the mess to the ultimate cleaning company in the sky. Just like in the classroom, it was never about who made the mess in the first place, it has always been about who is going to do the cleaning.

A Letter to Pain

Dear Pain,

I have mostly questions for you. Where do you go when you leave us? When broken bones heal or depression eases up? Do you leave the earth completely? Do you die? Do you lie dormant until you are summoned again? Do you grow and shrink to fit our spaces, or do you just change forms… or change locations? I like to think you are kind. Maybe you’re taking orders from a higher ranking man. You’re just doing your job, that is why you make us sad. Nobody likes your job much, not even you. Do you feel misunderstood? Let’s acknowledge it… you’re a really phenomenal teacher and pretty much nobody appreciates you. One day you should rebel. Quit your job, elope with contentedness, free us all.

Love,
Susannah

Say More

I have two friends who are truly the best kind of people. They are creative and kind and hilarious and loving and smart and just downright amazing. Through a year of times when I have felt alone and confused, they have been right here with me even though their bodies are far away in different states. They have truly chosen to take the blows with me.

These friends have taught me how to be a good friend, and I think the lesson comes down to two short words: Say more. These two words usually come in the form of a response to a text message. “Can you pray for me today please? I’m struggling again.”

Almost always, their response was, “Say more.” Those words mean a lot. They mean “I want to hear you.” They mean “I am not annoyed with your neediness.” They mean “My desire to understand and love you is greater than my desire to not have to hear a long dramatic story again today.” They mean “I’m not afraid of whatever you’re struggling with” They mean “I am here, I care, I’m not going anywhere, and you don’t have to make yourself less or more than you are.” They mean love and companionship. They mean sticking around even for the not fun parts of friendship.

Lots of the time, maybe all of the time, “say more” meant “We don’t know what to say, so you need to be the one to keep talking.” It was just understood, there was nothing they could say. There was nothing they could say to change the chemistry of my brain or make my medicine work faster or change the thought patterns in my head. Lots of times this past year, I wanted to reach out to people for help but I didn’t. I was worried they would feel awkward and they wouldn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to put anyone in that position. But with these two, it was already understood. They weren’t going to know what to say. They didn’t have anything to give except their willingness to listen and respond in love. And I knew for sure, every time, they would offer those two things. What they might not know is that was the most valuable thing anyone could offer: a willingness to listen to and love me.

Seldom do they respond with, “I’m sorry, I hope it gets better!” Or “That sucks. I wish I could help somehow.” They wanted to hear more. They never tried to fix my pain or minimize it or trivialize it. They never tried to shut me down or shut me out or change me. They never tried to compare my pain with theirs or someone else’s. They just let me talk. They asked me to say more. And when I was done saying more, they thanked me for saying more and just left it at “WE LOVE YOU.”

Their response was healing to me because I spend a lot of time rationalizing, analyzing, minimizing, ignoring, or trying to fix my pain. There are very few places where us humans can just “say more” and release all our thoughts knowing that we won’t be judged. With these two, I won’t be rationalized or analyzed or minimized or ignored or fixed. I will just speak and be loved. Friendship is a beautiful thing when done right. I am very thankful.

A Poem About Therapy

Therapy Session

We march down the hall-
Me and my train of guests-in a
single
file
line.
One is eager to tell.
His black hat touches the roof.
A fiasco of an adolescent hides underneath the desk.
We drag her out
Kicking and screaming.
Her endless ponytail swishes defiantly on her way out.
The child speaks softly.
We strain our ears
With the respect he deserves.
His monologue is cut short by
A flamboyant gentleman
In bright yellow flannel.
The fat man tends to juggle plates or throw darts.
A first timer wore nothing but a rag,
Another donned silk and pearls.
Today we laugh,
Our eyes wide with shock.
We tune our hearts to the fragile beings.
Shriveled,
Strong,
gulping back sobs,
each share their piece in carefully allotted time.
One by one we banish each visitor-
The boisterous and the brave,
Both familiar and new.
We show my guests the door
Until it’s just you and me
And silence.
And sighs.
And “See you next times.”

My Dwelling

In my apartment, my mind is spilled onto the floors and walls. The couch moves with the seasons and the open, shelved Poe collection is flipped to my latest favorite.Clothespins hold the page on display. A clock hangs from the coat rack, but I pulled the batteries to stop the incessant ticking. Salsa jars are emptied and stripped of labels. I stuff them with flowers.

Plants. Dead plants, green plants, pots and dirt. Aloe rests on my kitchen counter and Lemon Button graces my windowsill. A large wooden bird cage imprisons a dried Eucalyptus plant. All my collected empty window frames are hung on walls. The panes of glass are carefully adorned with words-white ink- about God’s love to convince my skeptical mind. I like the way the real windows reflect light off the ones that were torn from their original homes. The one in my bedroom has fabric showing through the back. I stapled each inch carefully. It watches me sleep. I like to think maybe a dog sat on a chair and stared out those windows in a different house on a day a long time ago.

There’s a box for everything. Compartmentalized interests and necessities. An art box. A t-shirt box. A Bible and devotional box. A box for socks. A box for the dog. A box for my medicine. That one sits high on a slender red cupboard, taunting me. I have to keep it there so I don’t forget. It’s a whicker box like the one that holds my paintbrushes, only it’s slightly smaller both in size and in therapeutic value.

Our living room has white curtains. Grey sofa. Light blue coffee table. Mom and I bought it and up cycled it for $15. My mom lives all around. She’s in the rainbow kitchen rug and the bright teal yard sale chairs. Each eccentric accent of my kitchen echoes the parts of me that I got from her- the lemon yellow curtains, the firetruck red vintage stool in the corner, the rainbow hot air balloon sculptures that hang joyfully from the ceiling.

The old wooden floors are scratched and worn down, sometimes I put bleach on them. I’m not really sure why. When I look at them, I imagine previous residents-Families in transition, single women with pet cats, medical students. There’s dust in each corner. I like it there. One day we will drag the bed across the wood and out the door to a bigger space. We will sign our names with our own floor scratches and join the cycle of people who loved life within these walls.

Our TV is enclosed in a large, sturdy hutch we bought from Goodwill for $30. It took hours for dad to wheel it in. I like to close the heavy wooden doors to hide the screen. It doesn’t belong in a peaceful space like here. I am scornful of the TV. I placed it on top of a shelf full of all my books. They’re organized into a rainbow. Each spine cries out in mourning over their words who were stolen by the television above. I gave them a supporting role holding up the TV. I didn’t want them to feel sad. There is nothing worse than when your own beloved books feel sad.

Starry Night

“When you go out tonight, and you look at the sky and you see how dull it is, think about if you would’ve medicated Van Gogh.”

-Touched With Fire

 

Yes. I would have medicated Van Gough.

 

Questions I have for God

• Why do you sometimes heal people and sometimes not? How do you choose who?
• Do you think its funny when I make jokes in my prayers or does it make you want to smite me? (What is your sense of humor like?)
• How do you feel about irony?
• Tell me about “good fat” and “bad fat.” Avocado- good fat. French fries- bad fat. What’s the difference? I could ask a scientist or the internet this one but I might as well go straight to the source.
• How do you decide which babies to let be miscarried and which ones live full term? I know its not how much the mom prays, I know its not that you’re not powerful enough to let them all live, I know its not that you don’t love some people as much as other people, and I know its not because you lost that battle to Satan. You don’t lose battles to Satan, right? Hold up.
• Do you ever straight up lose spiritual battles to Satan!?!?!
• Do you sometimes let him win?
• Why?!?!?!
• Oh wait. Humans are the ones who let him win, right..? We ate the apple and did the bad thing so it was us. Generally speaking, we are all in pain because of the “fall of sin.” So how do you choose the ones who are in A LOT of pain and the ones who aren’t? Is it random like a coin flip? Why do people die and I have bipolar disorder and why do some people lose their babies and other people just get to eat taffy and pet their cats and have a full term pregnancy?
• HOW DOES GREEK YOGURT HAVE SO MUCH PROTEIN???
• Do you let people be in pain to “teach us a lesson?”
• Does my dog realize that when I kiss her on the head it means I love her?
• Does it make you sad that people on earth who all deserve the same ultimate fate get such different circumstances temporarily?
• Are you mad that I don’t get any of it and that every once in a while I wonder if I even like you?
• I would LOVE to hear your brainstorming process behind the creation of certain animals. A jellyfish??? A sloth??? Elephants with their giant noses?!?! Amazing. Bravo, God. Bravo.
• When we pray for something is it ever, like, 50/50 whether or not it would be a good thing or is it always very clear to you? Like if I pray that I won’t bite my cheek during breakfast today are you like no sorry you have to bite your cheek cuz if you don’t then the small Hungarian boy won’t ever know the name Jesus in ten years. Or are you like no cuz screw you Susannah I laugh when you bite your cheek because of that joke you said in your prayer last night. #SMITED. Or are you like uhh I don’t really care about that, maybe you should learn to chew better? Or are you like sure Susannah! It won’t really affect anything negatively so I will grant you your wish because I love you and hate pain. Or are you like no because Satan loves when people bite their lip and I’m busy battling archangels who are possessing an Indian man right now stop praying for dumb stuff. This has gone on long enough. Next:
• How come you didn’t make the “moral,” “judicial,” and “ceremonial” laws from Leviticus more clear cut? Can’t you see that we are all just guessing down here..? It really throws a wrench in the whole evangelizing thing (don’t even get me started on that word). I feel annoyed with you and the Bible for it. Sorry but ain’t nobody tryna decipher whether or not we have to show the priest clothes with red or green mildew only but not clothes with other color mildews. We can’t ask the priest that, the priest is busy making his own poor decisions (anyone seen Spotlight???).

When Harry Potter feels like life or death

My eyes itched from the dust as I crouched under the shelf in my parents hall closet. I ranted to David as I frustratedly tossed aside old children’s books and all ten of my seasons of FRIENDS and pillows and markers and lamps… I was on a mission. I was searching for my lost Harry Potter book. My mind was going and my mouth was going.

“I know I lent them to him earlier this year I think he read the first four I’m not sure though I found the last two on his bookshelf and the other one was a copy I got from a friend in high school but the original one I owned is still lost but OH LOOK HERE IS ONE OF THEM! JACKPOT ok I know the final one is here somewhere we are only missing one more do you think I brought it to the apartment…”

David felt exhausted. I saw it all over his face. I could tell he wanted to go home. He could tell I wasn’t going to be able to let it go until I found all seven of my Harry Potter books. I was frantic. My dad, in his striped pajama pants and slippers, was hilariously bewildered. I told him I wanted to re-read the series and that I really really needed the Chamber of Secrets book. He said, “Geez, are you gonna re-read it right now??” I thought to myself that maybe I could get through at least book three by morning…We searched the house….

Fast forward an hour. We didn’t find my book. David is asleep, and my mind is going 300 miles a minute. I think maybe it’s the soundtrack of hypomania. Flight of the Bumblebee is playing behind a track of the Pentatonix version of Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Simultaneously, a taunt on a loop, “Only six of the seven books are in your apartment right now. Only six of the seven books are in your apartment right now…” Rude.

My mind is like a movie of memories and ideas being played in fast forward. It’s quite fascinating and I have no desire to miss out on the ending by doing something as monotonous as falling asleep!

WHERE IS THAT DANG BOOK?

Ok, Susannah. It is past midnight. You are exhausted and totally off schedule. You need sleep. Your brain is tricking you when it says you’re not tired. You have to sleep now. The book will be found. It will probably happen within 24 hours. It doesn’t matter that only 6 out of your 7 Harry Potter books are on the kitchen table. Seriously it doesn’t matter. No, it won’t help to buy the entire series on your kindle. You don’t have money for that and it’s wasteful. Stop obsessing and go to sleep. Stop obsessing and go to sleep. Stop obsessing and go to sleep.

It’s been more difficult than expected to be out of my routine this week. I despise routine. I’m inspired by spontaneity and impulse and adventure. I love when there is surprise and suspense and drama. I love little changes that life brings. Snow days. School breaks. Impromptu trips. I have always hated routine. Recently I am learning that unfortunately, routine is exactly what I need.

Routine is important for my mental health. They say it to me all the time. I want to scream, “I KNOW, I KNOW!!!” They all say it… the mental health professionals and the blogs and my husband and all the other people. “Keep a routine. Get consistent sleep. Exercise regularly. Wake up at the same time. Eat. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.” Sleep is key.

What happens when it’s Thanksgiving break and my airtight routine turns into staying out late and sleeping in..? When Thanksgiving “dinner” happens in the afternoon? When I don’t have work to keep my day scheduled for me? When I can’t keep a routine..? When I can’t find a book and that keeps me awake and obsessing?

This is the first significant break in routine that I have had since my medicine started working, and it has been miles more difficult than expected. I broke all the rules. The only thing I hate more than routine? Rules. I napped for two hours. I stayed up late and slept in. I ate whenever and whatever I wanted and took my medicine late. And now it’s almost 1am and my mind is singing Christmas carols and all I care about is a lost book.

So, to whom it may concern, please… be smarter than I am. Keep a routine. Get consistent sleep. Exercise regularly. Eat. Wake up at the same time. Take your medicine. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. We have to sleep. We have to follow the rules.

Goodnight, Harry Potter lovers.

Mischief managed.

Dog Theology

David and I try to teach our dog all kinds of words and phrases that she (probably) will never understand. Some of our commands have worked great! When we say “stupefy” she goes belly up on the ground like she’s been hit by the Harry Potter spell… buttttt then there are the ones that don’t work quite as well.

We are trying to teach her “Not right now.” This command is harder than “sit” or “stay.” Sometimes when she wants to come with us on a car ride we have to say “Not right now.” With those three words we are trying to communicate that wherever we are going, she can’t follow. But she WANTS TO COME. She loves the car. She knows the car is good for her. She is desperate for it. But her knowledge is not our knowledge.

Let me give another example. I have a student in my class who loves books. Once when we were outside during a fire drill, she wanted to go back to the classroom and get her book. She begged us, but we wouldn’t let her. She said “But I really, REALLY want my book.” Her knowledge was not our knowledge. We said “Not right now.”

A toddler wants to eat cookies before dinner. A dog wants to come to the grocery store with her owner. A child wants her book. A 23 year old depressed girl wants her medicine to start working. And the answer resounds: “Not right now.”

BUT WHY!? I prayed. WHY can’t I have it now? Why can’t I feel better today? Why won’t you give me what I know is good. I want it REALLY REALLY BADLY. If you are a good teacher or pet owner or parent or GOD, then WHY CAN’T WE HAVE OUR book, cookie, car ride, health!?

It’s a hard answer to accept. “Not right now.” The beautiful thing is this: I never once have shouted those three words. I love my puppy. I love my students. I see the pain and disappointment they experience when I tell them “Not right now,” so I don’t shout it at them. I don’t feel angry or hateful towards them. I use those three words calmly. I use them with empathy and compassion. If I, a small mess of a human, can feel empathy and compassion when I address my students and dog with “Not right now,” imagine how tenderly God embraces us with that message. “Where I am going, you can’t follow. My knowledge is not your knowledge. Not right now.”

We are infinitely loved and fully seen in our confusion and disappointment and pain. That truth doesn’t take away the desires or the disappointment we feel as we go through life. It is legitimate that I feel the desire for what I think will be good. It is “fair” for me to want my medicine to work the way it should. But it is also true that my ways are not God’s ways.

It took over a year to figure out my medication. It was an awful, painful, confusing year. I found myself time and time again begging God to fix it….And time and time again he answered “Not right now.” I may never know why. I’m starting to actually believe something with my heart that I have always known in my head to be true. I’m starting to believe that-like a teacher or parent or pet owner-God has knowledge that I just don’t have.

It’s not easy for me to relax into Gods answer of “Not right now.” Maybe instead of focusing on the message “not right now,” I will try to start focusing on the tender and compassion-filled tone of the answer. Maybe the point of my praying and begging wasn’t to get what I wanted in the end. Maybe the purpose was a slow and painful and gradual formation of a heart that can accept both the love and truth of a calm “Not right now.” And for that I am…. thankful?