Flowers of Gratitude: A Black Man's Honorable Truth

19 March 2021

Today, I continue my daily practice of Gratitude.  It is today that I proffer these 'Flowers' from my heart to... ME.

Trust me, this isn't an easy gesture for me to make.  Then again, rarely is anything in life that requires change ever, 'easy'.  I'm a private person at my core, despite what some may believe.  It takes A LOT for me to open up to people out of fear of being judged or eventually hurt.  I know I need to work on it.  If life is a job, then that means the hardest project we'll ever work on is ourselves.  As my church dad would say, everyone is on assignment from God.  EVERYONE.  And that our destiny is already scripted in the heavens.  And many of life's puzzling answers, we already know because they're found in us.  The rest of life's journey is about 'showing our work'.

One of the hardest things I've ever had to go through was being admitted to a mental hospital on September 12, 2017.  Two hospitals to be exact.  I contemplated suicide for weeks.  Months.  YEARS.  I was broken.  Unhappy, overused, and unappreciated in my military career.  Feeling like a failure.  Trauma from the Afghanistan deployment. Nightmares.  Fits of rage.  Abusing alcohol and pain meds. Resentful. On the verge of divorce and unphased by it.  And feeling so detached and cold that I couldn't even sense a connection with my own kids.  A mental breakdown. Just... BROKEN.

I woke up that morning and told myself, "If I don't get any answers or help with this shit, I'm leaving.  I'm gone".  I knew how I wanted to go.  I'll leave that part out.  I went to Base Mental Health as a last-ditch effort.  As far as I was concerned, it was academic.  I'm 'leaving' today.  I barely made it out of the waiting area before my therapist profusely apologized for NOT reading my answers from the last safety survey.  All of which had red flags and sirens, never mind a 'warning sign'.  I eventually ended up in the second hospital two weeks later. I spent 30 days in a PTSD/trauma program for the military in Salt Lake City named, 'Strong Hope'.  One of my counselors wanted me to write a 'compassion letter' to my younger self.  I also had to read it out loud in group therapy.  On top of that, I had to act out a monologue (from BOTH perspectives) during our psychodrama lessons.  I hated psychodrama. Our whole group hated it. 😆 It was corny.  It felt weird.  It felt 'uncomfortable'.  It felt uncomfortable to feel a more sensitive side of my manhood play out in front of strangers.  It felt uncomfortable to feel empathy for MYSELF after harboring anger and shame for so long.  As uncomfortable as it felt, it was necessary for healing. And healing is ALWAYS 'uncomfortable'.

Almost four years later and I've healed only a fraction of what I believe requires healing.  Therapy is often hit or miss.  The meds aren't much better, even after 5 changes. My shrink thinks doing trauma work with all the daily stress is too much and can break me.  I'm not sure he's wrong.  But the work STILL needs to be done.

And that's where all the recent mental health posts come into play.  I avoided this post for so long for the same reasons I avoided opening up to people: fear of being judged or hurt.  Fear of being vulnerable is the real reason I haven't healed.  I know that now.  And I know that I have to do something different.  Great thanks in part to a comrade of mine who's also still healing.  I have to let go of my ego.  It's not about me anymore.  It never was.  God's light shines the brightest when we are our most broken.  And that same light serves as a beacon for others to navigate life's stormy waters.

So, here I am.  41 years old.  Beaten.  Bludgeoned.  Bloody. But not ALL the way broken.  I'm grateful for God's love. His grace.  His mercy.  His call on my life, even if I don't understand it all.  I'm grateful to be me.  Quirks, flaws, and all.  I'm grateful for the chance to share my story and my gift.  I'm grateful for resilience.  It truly is an honor.  I'm grateful for anyone who has or will ever be blessed by this post or any of my posts.  Every one of you.  I'm well aware of how 'cringy' this post may be to read.  I'm well aware some may say this is overboard and dramatic.  I'm not at all bothered.  I'm finally letting go of that part of my ego and moving toward healing.  I'm finally able to love and be kind to myself for a change.  Perhaps I can help you do the same?

Chew On This:

We all have a story.  What good is your story if it's kept a secret?  How do you want yours to be read and remembered in history?

- D.V. The Catalyst