Monday, April 23, 2007

someday.........

messy heart


He's a "product" of the social services system in the 70's. Abandoned by his mother at age 3, along with his brother a year old, he was locked into the house with a bag of marshmallows thrown at them just before the door was slammed shut to sustain them until his father came looking.

The terror has never left him. Actually, the terror continued to accumulate......one physically and emotionally abusive foster parent at a time.......one neglectful experience after another.......his father was too ill to care for the little boys, and died when this man was 9 years old. On the day of his father's funeral, the scarred little 9 year old boy got drunk for the first time.

Alcohol was the most accessible self-medication..........he filled cheeze-whiz jars and took them to school...........he sniffed airplane glue from bread bags. He remained psychologically numb and stoned to survive........... sometimes he lashed out with such rage that everyone thought he was crazy.

A friend of their father's took pity, and tried time and again to provide some semblance of order and normalcy through shelter and warmth and food......but by then the boys were out of control. Children's services was often called to intervene by finding yet another foster home where abuse was rampant.

Now, the little boy is a 43 year old recluse who lives in a shack not far from the centre of the city. No running water, no toilet facilities......no sink........trash bags and empty plastic containers are piled high in the dooryard. The stench from his home of 7 years is so rank that it fills the inside of my nose seemingly permanently. And I'm sitting outside. He tells me he doesn't want me to see the rotting mess inside. I look at the front of this shack which is 20 years past its due date and can't believe someone has been living in it for 7 long years.

So, we begin our conversation......outside in the warm warm sun........sitting on sturdy metal and arborite kitchen chairs made a generation ago, surrounded by trash and empty beer bottles. Between us is an amplifier and his guitar........an extension cord reaching out through the ripped screened front door......flapping in the breeze...... we ignore the trash, the waste, the falling down shack.......we tune out the incessantly yappy dog who lives next door.

He tells me parts of his story.........the reasons behind his diagnosis of post traumatic stress disorder, social anxiety disorder, agoraphobia........claustrophobia......physical pain from old fights and car accidents.....he shares some of his pain..........he looks twice his age.

I listen, encouraging him to tell me his story, but wondering how much of it I can absorb. It's just so horrible.

Somewhere along the way, we find a common ground in writing. This man is a poet and a song writer. He loves to write letters........40 page letters to his sister who lives in Ontario. Their mother took her and left him behind at age 3. His sister has stored all of his writing for him in a safe filing cabinet.........scores of paper filled with his thoughts, his angst, his ideas, his life.

He used to be in a band until the home he was living in 7 years ago burned to the ground shattering his already shattered psyche. Now, he can't cope with crowds or others around. He must live alone......he must generate his own tune.....his own pace. His medication allows him to find some balance, though he is now afraid of becoming addicted......."tethered" he states......to the psychotic drugs.

No one or nothing will control him again........he will go to his own beat.............never again will he feel cornered or emotionally bound. He never wants to feel trapped or addicted.

He writes and writes and writes.........we agree that writing is a stimulant.........and then he cycles out into the countryside everyday to feel the wind on his face.......to feel the elusive freedom he craves........He is a complicated broken man with a fighting spirit who despite his reclusivity, he wants to talk..........to make sense of it all................yes.

After an hour and a half, my intuition tells me to wrap it up.....too many half-buried stories....too much reminiscing........rage may start surfacing.......

I explain the disability application process to him........the premise of our meeting....... and then we say goodbye. I tell him genuinely how glad I am that we met.........how brave he is......how creative.......

Then, I get into my car to drive to my next appointment feeling drained overwhelmed and angry at a system that completely failed this man....angry at families and how deplorable they can be to one another....angry at the inhumanity he has endured all his life.

Deep breaths.........blow it all out.........

This is Canada? This man lives 15 minutes from a capital city and he has no running water or amenities? This man has to pay RENT for that rancid hovel........WHO is the landlord who refuses to purchase lumber so this man can fix the rotting flooring? Who is the landlord who threatens to sell the place before he spends a nickel to turn it into a rentable cabin? I curse the landlord under my breath and wish him sleepless nights until he finds his conscience.

Deep breaths...... blow it all out......... reflect, resilience..... fighting spirits......... creativity unfettered.......

these
are the lessons I learn today from a man who is afraid of his own temper, who has no place to shower, who lives in squalor.

I turn on the ignition to find Bruce Springsteen filling my safe air conditioned car with these words.............

We shall overcome......
We shall overcome......
We shall overcome, someday
Oh, darlin' deep in my heart
I do believe
That we shall overcome someday....



I let the Boss' words wash over me like a salve.
Fighting spirits....hope...resiliency
By the second verse, I'm singing in harmony......
well, trying my very best....
As I sing the lyrics, I start believing in them.
I head off to my next appointment.

10 comments:

Shaz said...

My heart is broken beside yours, a tear is shed but a smile and warmth enters my heart from you and your work and your soul.

Bar L. said...

Dana,
Its incomprehensible to me. I watched "Cribs" with my son last night and felt ill at the amount of money given to "athletes" (the guy was an X-treme bicycle rider). How can he SLEEP at night, he was bragging that his BED cost $10,000!
He had several cars that cost almost a million each - I am not kidding! For a CAR!

Sorry. I am so very thankful that you were the chosen one to meet with this man today. I have no doubt that you touched him in a way that made him feel cared for and understood.

Bruce is good about showing up at the right time, glad he was there for you today.

urbanmonk said...

Dana,

Made me cry.

Not becasue hes a poor soul, removed from my circumstances, but because i identify with him.

awareness said...

shaz.....thank you. It was a good day.......I do believe he and I both learned big things today.....all about connecting.

Layla....Bruce singing "We Shall Overcome"......what are the chances. It kind of blew me away...... :)
The waste and excess which surrounds us is unbelievable......I think knowing how others squander money, live for materialistic goods, and are oblivious to the human condition is beyond the pale. But, we live in a society where numero uno comes first always.

Another interesting point I should make was that he wasn't complaining at all about his home. My description comes from my observations and personal judgements I guess.......he wasn't asking for any help except to apply for a little bit of extra money through a disability pension.

Monk........I don't know how to respond to you with words....sure wish I could fly over to Oz and give you a big hug.

Robert said...

dana- soulstirring. You have alot of gifts sweet lady So amazing to see how you touch and are touched by truly unique souls in your job. You do a wonderful job in sharing the encounters as well. You sure have regained your *words* dana huugggsssssssssssssss!!!!

Dustin said...

Dana,

Wow, what a tragic and seemingly hopeless story. Yet, I think by simply listening you did more for him than you probably know.

I have been thinking lately about how hateful and horrible humanity can be to one another, but then I am reminded about how we also can come alongside those who are hurting and share in each other's pain--because we all know what it's like to feel pain. No matter who we are, whether friend or foe, we have all shared the common experience of suffering, in some shape or form.

kenju said...

Your questions are in my latest post. Choose wisely.....LOL

Ellen said...

I can't imagine what it is like to do your job, but thank all that is wise and great in our society that we do have "red hearts" among the ones chosen in your field.

If it were me, I would need stock in the kleenix industry, and many boxes in my vehicle just to make it through the day. Perhaps that is why I finally chose to stick working with food.... nothing sad about that, except onions.

Keep up the good deeds, Dana, for it is people like you that shed light into some of the most devestated souls our society can produce.

Ok.... need to wipe away the tears.... where did I put that box of tissues???

awareness said...

robert...thank you. I actually wrote it right after my encounter with this person as a way to spill it out of me so that I could go onto my next appointment. As much as I have (thank God) a partner who has the patience for my stories when I need to vent, sometimes I need to clear the old noggin before then. Plus, I have lost many of my co-workers who would fully "get" where I was coming from because I have moved offices.
Most are not comfortable with some of the stories or experiences I have encountered in this job. Reading versus listening to me describe something is very different because the "control" of learning about a situation is in the reader's lap.
I like this avenue to share some of what I have observed and experienced and when it hits me and stirs things up.......I can very easily spill it out here and move on.

Yes.....it feels like my "words" are back!! :) IN fact, I feel like a bit of a motormouth these days and could carry on and on and on.

Dustin.....I agree. It was the hopeless and tragic feel which got to me. However, most of this feeling was mine generated. My reaction (inside....I didn't share most of it with him) His words and the way he told his story wasn't projected that way amazingly. And, I don't believe he had given up.

What I have learned over the years is that it takes very little to connect with someone on a feeling level.....and it all comes down to allowing the other person a glimpse of yourself so that they know, for example that you feel pain.

The other key thing.....and its' SOOOOO fundamental..... Honest to God........is to show respect by being comfortable with yourself and with others.

Believe or not......we laughed a few times and one was over a story about glue sniffing..... it happens...... if you can almost suspend analysis of the topic at hand......

So...what you are saying is exactly how I feel. There is absolutely no magic to it........ it's just plain honest to goodness acceptance.

Having stated that........there are MANY individuals who would make me feel very uncomfortable, and in fact I cut the meeting with this person short because I was beginning to feel unsafe. With no one else around and in the boonies, I didn't want to take a chance with his precarious anger.

Judy! Thanks.....will check out the questions..... FUN

Ellen... You would surprise yourself. I know you would. It wouldn't suprise me though.

And if the stories you would hear were too much, you could find the nearest computer and spill it in a blog post!!

Unknown said...

Thank you for doing the work that you do. For not being afraid of the unbelievable and for reaching out.