... Finally, my work week ended. I spent my days off lying on my couch, watching movies and TV, and trying to numb my pain. I went to a Twelve Step meeting. Terribly ashamed of my great depression, I didn’t talk about it.
Then I had to go back to work.
Like an angler wading upstream one step at a time against a strong current, I made it through, one moment at a time, another work week.
I stood on 57thStreet, waiting for a bus. I remembered how, whenever I shared my feelings with Matt, he always responded by asking me questions, and then telling me that all I had to do was change my thinking and I’d be all right. Yes, thanks to him I always thought my feelings weren’t valid and were therefore my fault.
I got on the bus. The thought hit me: During all my years of therapy, Matt, no matter what I was going through, had never shown me the slightest bit of empathy.
A half hour later I walked into my apartment and meditated. Yes, my depression, my thoughts of suicide, my lack of self-esteem, must be connected to my not receiving empathy. Yes, when I was a child and my mother raged and no one came to help me or my sister, we had no choice but to deny how much we wanted someone to tell us that her anger was not our fault, and to deny how much we wanted some empathy. And I’ve been in denial my whole life, but now, because of my recovery, I’m able, finally, to admit my craving. Has the final layer of my recovery been peeled? Am I now ready to have all my character defects lifted? If so, I should be grateful. In the past, when the other layers were peeled, I also felt pain. And my mother—yes, she too was in so much pain because her parents spent so much empathy on their dying son they didn’t have any left for her. No wonder she raged. And my father: his parents were so self-involved they had little empathy for him. No wonder he denied his feelings. Yes, my cancer scare has changed me, though not in the way I expected. It has helped me admit that, by not understanding the pain of my sister and of others, I had caused them harm. Maybe the blood in my urine, like so many other seemingly bad things in my life, happened for a reason. And yet I still can’t believe in a loving, active Higher Power. Is it because I’m afraid of being hurt again? Am I that vulnerable? No! I can choose to see myself as someone who’s been through so much, and who has always gotten up, always kept using my pain to help me grow. Yes, my recovery, if I work it, will help me find a way.
I woke up the next morning and ate breakfast. My depression, it seemed, had lifted.
I went to a Twelve Step meeting and spoke about how my recent depression had changed me. After the meeting several people came up to me and told me how helpful my share was. Emphatically, they thanked me.
I thought, Yes, perhaps I still have important writing to do, important amends to make. True, I don’t see the solutions for my life right now, but in the past solutions have revealed themselves, not when I wanted them to, but later, unexpectedly, and always, I now see, for the better. And I see that my writings really are unified. Last fishing season I took so many notes for a new memoir. Finally, thankfully, I’m seeing how the memoir will end. ...http://www.amazon.com/The-Way-River-Forgiveness-ebook/dp/B008MMGN7M/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1358317899&sr=8-4&keywords=Randy+kadish